A Dropped Stitches Christmas (16 page)

Carly was our golden girl with everything handed to her and I felt like I was the tomboy who had to keep scrapping along just to keep what she had in life. I sometimes went home from meetings wondering what I could do to be more like Carly. Was it some kind of designer brand for my clothes? A certain way of walking? I even tried on a blond wig in a store once until I realized blond hair made me look even sicker than I was.

The problem with having Carly on a pedestal is that I failed to be a very good friend to her.

I’m sorry, Carly.

That’s all I have to say. I hope you still want to be my friend.

I had a tear in my eye when I finished reading what Becca had written in the journal. The truth is that I used to envy Becca, too. She always seemed so in control of her future and I was floundering. Even without the Hodgkin’s disease I would have been adrift. But Becca always seemed so sure that she knew the way.

I need to go downstairs and give her a hug.

I stop in the bathroom and take a brush to my hair. It definitely needs a conditioner. No wonder Randy hasn’t complimented me on it. I try pulling it back, but it’s too thick. I give up and put some silver dangling earrings on. A little jewelry might help take the focus off my hair.

“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

R
ose liked to bring quotes like this to the Sisterhood. She kept trying to make us realize that there was so much room for hope in the world. Looking back, I think she also might have wanted us to be kinder in our judgments of other people. All too often, we looked at others and at ourselves critically. That’s not a good way to begin any friendship. Rose was the one who had faith in all of us that we could be good friends to each other. She saw our potential. We are forever indebted to her for that. I know she’ll be happy, but not surprised, that Becca is back with us.

I smell cinnamon when I knock on my uncle’s door. I also hear the sounds of laughter and talking. Someone yells, “Come in,” and I open the door to one of those scenes I used to visualize through the French doors in The Pews. Everyone just radiates goodwill and Christmas cheer. Maybe part of it is relief that opening night is over and went well, but the mood feels good whatever it is. There is an abundance of smiles and well wishes.

I recognize a couple of the kitchen helpers from The Pews and they are passing around huge trays of appetizers. There are the stuffed mushrooms and the bacon-wrapped chestnuts, along with sliced imported cheese and rose-curled radishes. The trays look like they could be photographed for a gourmet food magazine.

And the drinks. There’s a table set up on one side of the room that has big bowls of eggnog and fruit punch. Whipped cream floats in the eggnog bowl and orange slices swirl around in the bowl of fruit punch. I see Thermos jugs that must hold the hot spiced cider that I have been smelling.

The cast members are having a good time. I see some shepherds bragging about being the ones who were in charge of the fire. The fact that it was a fake fire does not seem to deter them; they are making it sound like the fires would have gone out if they hadn’t kept piling the wood on them. And, if the fire had gone out, the play would have been over because the shepherds would have all gone home early.

Marilee sees me and comes over. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Randy introduced me to
them
. I even got their autographs.”

“Did you find a baseball for them to sign?”

Marilee shakes her head and then gleefully holds up her prize, a round silver ornament. “Your aunt gave me this off of her Christmas tree and Becca had a permanent marker in her purse so voilà—it’s done.”

Marilee spins the ornament around and I see all the writing on it.

“The guys didn’t just sign it, they wished my dad a merry Christmas and made it all very personal. They even mentioned me. It’ll be perfect. I’m going to tie a red bow around it and he can hang it on his tree. It’ll be better than one of those keepsake ornaments. My dad told me he was going to have a tree this year since Quinn and I and my mom are going over to his place for a while on Christmas day.”

“Your mom, too?”

Marilee nods. “Just for a few hours. Not that anything has changed between them. That’s why I didn’t say anything to the Sisterhood earlier. I wasn’t sure one of them wouldn’t pull out.”

That reminds me. “I need to tell you about my dad in our next meeting, too.”

“Only if it feels right,” Marilee says. “We really don’t need to tell each other everything.”

“That’s good because it’s going to take me a while to know what’s up before I’ll even know what to say.”

Marilee looks at me quizzically.

“I’m not keeping secrets. I just don’t know much yet.”

Marilee nods. “I know how that is. Sometimes people surprise you.”

“Speaking of which, I can’t believe my aunt gave you one of her ornaments.”

Every year, my aunt has her Christmas trees professionally decorated. She doesn’t even let my uncle touch the ornaments once they’re on the tree. It’s not that the ornaments are so expensive, it’s that they’re placed just so.

Marilee grins. “When she heard what I needed, she reached right over to the tree and took one off for me.”

Marilee dangles another signed ornament in front of me. This one is gold and signed in black marker as well.

“Of course, she pulled this one off, too, and asked me to get it signed at the same time. She thought it was a great gift idea.”

“But my uncle doesn’t play baseball. He golfs. I don’t think he even watches baseball on television.”

“It’s not for your uncle. It’s for the housekeeper’s son.”

I didn’t think my aunt even knew little Manny. The housekeeper only brought him around when she absolutely couldn’t find anyone to stay with him. Manny was ten years old and sat in the kitchen when he came over. I knew him, of course, because I always stopped by the kitchen door on my way upstairs so I could pick up any scraps that the housekeeper had left over from dinner the night before. I use them to feed my cat.

My aunt thought housekeeper was a more dignified title than cook so she called Mrs. Gonzales that even though the woman’s duties primarily include preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner for my aunt and uncle.

I never would have guessed my aunt had a soft spot in her whole heart. Which just shows me, I shouldn’t assume people can’t change. Rose was right all along about people being able to change. My mother is changing. My dad sounds like he’s changed. I am changing. There’s no reason my aunt can’t change right along with us.

Speaking of people changing, here comes Becca.

I open my arms when I see her and she comes right to me.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I hug her.

“Not as sorry as I am,” she says.

We look at each other and it’s like we’ve never been apart.

When Becca walks away, I look around and see Randy setting up a small table by the door that goes into the kitchen area. He sees me and, after he has spread a white cloth on the table, he walks over. “That will make it easier for the waiters. They won’t have to keep hauling the empty glasses back one at a time.”

I’m proud that Randy thinks of other people even at a party like this.

“Is there something I need to be doing?” I ask because I would like to be someone who thinks of others as well.

Randy shakes his head. “You’ve already done enough. This is a great place to have a party.”

I start to explain that my aunt and uncle are really doing it for the director, not for me. But after Marilee’s ornament, I’m not so sure. Maybe they have more fondness for me than I know.

Randy is still looking around. I forget he’s never been inside my uncle’s house.

“It’s my aunt’s mission in life to have rooms like these,” I say.

And it’s true. My aunt spends a small fortune when she remodels one of the downstairs rooms. Everything coordinates without matching anything exactly. The ornate green pattern of one sofa becomes a counterpoint to a nearby chair that has a different pattern but colors that blend. My aunt’s interior designer has to hunt for days for the combinations that my aunt finally settles on buying.

In fairness I need to add to what I’ve said, though. “My aunt isn’t all about the looks of it, though. I think she’s changing. She gave Marilee an ornament so she could have your friends sign it.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You don’t know what a miracle that is. Especially since my aunt had another one autographed for her housekeeper’s young son. If my aunt can change, I guess anyone can change.”

Randy nods. “I have sure seen some changes in my life.”

This is not the opening I’d been looking for, but it might be the best opening I’m going to get to talk about the changes I want to make. But, before I can say anything, someone is clanking a spoon against a glass and calling for everyone’s attention.

The director is motioning for everyone to come closer to the center of the one room and we obligingly crowd together.

“I want to say thank you,” the director says. Someone must have given him a portable microphone, because his voice is clear through to the back of the room. “I had my moments of doubt that this play would go on at the last minute, but you have all pulled us through.”

There is applause.

“I want you to know I’m proud of each of you,” the director continues and there is more applause.

“And I want to read you some words from our first review. It’ll be coming out tomorrow, but remember you heard it here first.”

Everyone is quiet as the director unfolds the paper he has in his hands.

“Despite a last-minute casting crisis, this was an exceptionally well-acted performance. Mary and Joseph transported us back to the days of the Dust Bowl and, in doing that, they showed us the wonder of the first Christmas in a fresh, new way. It’s community theatre, but it rivals the big productions when it comes to heart.”

The director calls for quiet when people start applauding.

“Before you wear your hands out, let’s give it up for our very own Mary and Joseph. It’s not every Mary who will dye her hair to play the part.”

At that, everyone starts to clap their hands. I see my mother has just slipped in the door and she is beaming at me.

Randy and I smile and nod in every direction. I am prouder than I was when someone put that Rose Queen crown on my head years ago.

Only one thing bothers me.

“That’s not why I dyed my hair,” I murmur in an aside to Randy.

I guess I say it with enough feeling that Randy turns to look at me. “I don’t get it. What’s wrong your hair?”

By now, the applause has stopped and everyone is chatting again.

Randy is still looking at me.

“It’s my very
brown
hair.”

“But it’s only dye. You can change it back if you want.”

“Is that what you want?” I say, feeling miserable. “Some guys prefer the blond look.”

“Not me. I like you just the way you are.”

“Well, I don’t think I will keep it quite this brown,” I say, a little happier now. “My real color is more of a chestnut color and not as dry, of course.”

“I don’t care if you dye your hair green,” Randy says emphatically. “I’m not smitten with you because of your hair.”

“Really?”

“Of course not. How shallow do you think I am?”

“No, I mean the part about you being smitten.”

At the moment, even I wouldn’t care if my hair was green.

“Can’t you tell?” Randy grins. “I took you to brunch at the Ritz-Carlton and bought you a dozen and a half long-stem red roses. Who did you think I was trying to impress?”

“My mother.”

Randy laughs at that. “Well, maybe I was a little. Your mother seems to have definite opinions about what a guy should do to show he is worthy of dating you.”

“My mother and I don’t always agree. Next time we can go to a little Thai place instead of the Ritz-Carlton.”

“And the roses?”

“I like the roses. They can stay.”

Randy laughs as he puts his arm around me and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “You got a deal.”

“Oh,” I say. “And if my mother tries to tell you that I shouldn’t work a day in my life, don’t listen to her. I intend to have a job soon. I don’t want to be a princess anymore.”

Randy’s eyes are starting to do their crinkling thing and I’m not sure he’s even been really listening to me, but then he answers. “You got it.”

This time the kiss Randy gives me isn’t so quick. It would have lasted longer if people hadn’t noticed he was kissing me and started to applaud.

“Half of them think we’re together like Mary and Joseph,” I say as we pull apart.

“The fans are never wrong,” Randy says in my ear as he kisses me again.

I’m inclined to agree.

“In the faces of men and women I see God.”

—Walt Whitman

I
think I’m the one who brought this quote to the Sisterhood. After being sick for a while, I became struck with people’s faces. The face of a sick person doesn’t hide much to those who look at it closely. Back then, I thought to see many problems in the faces around me. I never thought to see God in someone’s face though. I knew I saw kindness in Rose’s face, but that was as far as I went.

This is Carly and I’m sitting in our back room at The Pews. I’m writing in the Sisterhood journal while I’m waiting for the others to come to the meeting tonight. It is the Thursday night after Christmas and I’ve neglected the journal for almost a week now.

That’s why I’m catching up. I know Lizabett has written a lot of nonsense about me being discovered as a movie star, but my one performance is over and no movie producer has called me. I haven’t told Lizabett, but I’m not even disappointed.

I don’t think being a movie star would be good for me right now.

I’ve decided to become a Christian. Not that it means I couldn’t also be a movie star. But it does mean that I have other things I need to focus on in my life for the time being. I’ve met with Pastor Engstrom and he’s going to meet with me for a few weeks in January so that I can learn a little more about the Bible.

I think Randy is going to meet with Pastor Engstrom, too, but we are doing it separately. We don’t want to be distracted by each other.

I’m glad we’re doing it that way. I really like Randy and it’s difficult to think about much else when he’s around. And, Marilee, when you read this, you can say you told me so. I know you did. You were right.

Randy will always be my Joseph.

The day after the big party was the day before Christmas Eve and I went shopping. After Randy and I talked about Mary and Joseph at the party, I knew exactly what I wanted to get for Randy.

I bought him a small crèche, carved out of olive wood. I knew he didn’t have one, because he said he didn’t usually even decorate for Christmas. He didn’t have a tree or ornaments or anything.

He loved his crèche when I gave it to him. The face of Joseph even looked a little like Randy’s face.

Christmas day was wonderful. Randy, my mother and I all went to my dad’s new place in Eagle Rock. It was so good to see my dad again. And he is doing just fine. His place is not large or fancy, but there’s a bit of a backyard with it and a tree for some shade. He grilled us steaks on a small barbecue and we ate outside under the tree.

My dad had the sweater I’d given to him weeks ago on and I also gave him the red scarf I had recently finished knitting. He wrapped that scarf around his neck like it was his most precious possession. Just having him back was the best present I could have imagined.

My mother started packing the day after Christmas. She’s going to move in with my dad just as soon as I get my first paycheck and find a room to rent. Uncle Lou is back from Italy and he didn’t hesitate for a moment when I asked about the job. I’ve already worked a few shifts and my hours at The Pews will work in well with my class schedule. Other people have put themselves through school. I can, too.

I hear a knock on the door of the Sisterhood room and I look up.

Lizabett and Becca are both there so I motion for them to come inside.

The Christmas decorations are hanging on both sides of the French door and the air outside is still cold. Both Becca and Lizabett have rosy cheeks. Tonight Uncle Lou will be bringing us our tea.

It doesn’t take us long to get everyone settled down to their knitting.

Marilee has finished up her blue scarf and I even saw it around Quinn’s neck the other day. Becca finished the turquoise cap she was knitting, but she won’t say who she gave it to. I’m guessing it was Joy, since Becca has spent days filling out forms and calling government offices to get Joy the medical care she needs. Lizabett wasn’t making a Christmas present so she’s still knitting away.

We are all talking about what to do next and are trying to settle on the yarn we want to use next.

“January’s a good time of year to begin new projects,” I say as I pull the Sisterhood journal off of the bookshelf and set it on the table.

I would keep the Sisterhood journal in my hands forever, but I know that’s not fair. It helped me to be able to write my thoughts down when I was troubled. “It’s time for someone else to take the journal with them.”

Marilee studies me a moment and then nods. “Yes, it’s time.”

“Becca?” I push the journal in her direction. “You’re next if we’re going by age.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to—” Becca protests and then lets her words die out. “Do you think it would work for me, too?”

“What do you mean?” Marilee asks.

“Well, both of you look so much more content now,” Becca says. “I was just wondering if it will make me calmer.”

“Not unless you want it to,” I assure her.

“I don’t know what I want,” Becca says bleakly. Knowing her, I can tell that is a statement of despair. Becca always knows what she wants, or at least she used to know.

“Problems?” I ask.

Becca hesitates and then reaches out her arm to pull the Sisterhood journal toward her. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I could give Becca a lecture on secrets, but I don’t. “If you need us, we’ll be there.”

Becca nods as she picks the Sisterhood journal up and holds it. “I know.”

There’s a knock on the door and I look up to see Uncle Lou, Quinn and Randy.

“We’re just going to pour your tea and then leave,” Quinn says as he puts his head in the door. “We know you’re not done talking yet.”

“That’s right. We’re making our own plans in the kitchen,” Randy says as he carries in a tray that holds four cups of some tea that Uncle Lou found in Italy and a plate of imported biscotti.

Randy winks at me. “See you when you’re finished.”

I didn’t know Randy would be here tonight so I’m grinning up at him like the lovesick fool that I am. I notice Marilee has a similar look on her face. I think Quinn surprised her as well.

“You girls need to keep up your strength,” Uncle Lou says as he sets the cups down in front of each one of us.

When we have our tea, the men leave the room and go back to the counter to sit down.

I happen to glance over at Becca and I see she’s looking at Marilee, who’s watching Quinn through the glass panes in the French doors. Becca has a funny look of half misery and half longing on her face.

“Why you’ve got a boyfriend,” I blurt out without thinking and I see a flush of color on Becca’s face.

“Not really,” she says, but her color has already given her away.

“Well,” Marilee says, turning from the window and sounding very pleased. “You definitely need to have the journal then.”

“And no fair taping all of the pages shut, either,” Lizabett says, with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Becca grumbles.

“The road to true love is never smooth,” I say. Maybe Becca didn’t give the cap she knit to Joy, after all. “There will always be things to say, I guarantee it.”

“You’re going to have to help me then,” Becca says with a sigh.

“We’re the Sisterhood,” I say softly. “Of course we’ll help you.”

I look up at Randy and I see he’s looking through the glass panes at me. I am so fortunate. “You all helped me with Randy,” I say.

“And me with Quinn,” Marilee adds.

“Then I suppose I am next,” Becca says, although she doesn’t sound a bit happy about it. She does keep a firm hold on the Sisterhood journal, though, and I know she’ll carry through. Becca always does what she has to do, whether she wants to do it or not.

After we’ve finished our Sisterhood meeting, Randy asks me if I’d like to walk down Colorado Boulevard with him before he drives me home. I say yes. There’s something about walking down this well-lit street in the evening that makes me think of old classic movies. Most of the shops are open late and soft light shines out from each window. There’s a man standing on the corner with his saxophone playing some Delta blues; he’s got a hat out for tips and Randy puts in a few dollars. Several of the restaurants have sidewalk seating and the candles on the tables give a golden hue to the night. People are walking up and down the street, talking and laughing.

Randy and I walk all the way down to the bridge that goes over the Arroyo Seco canyon beneath us. It’s quieter here. Randy has his arm around me and we look at the lights from the houses on the other side of the canyon.

“There’s a house that still has its Christmas lights up,” Randy says as he points.

“I still have the lights strung on the balcony at my uncle’s house, too. I don’t want Christmas to end.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Of course, I don’t turn the lights on even though they’re still up,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m one of those Christmas-trees-up-until-Easter people.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were.”

“Oh.”

Randy smiles down at me. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, pretty much anything you do is okay with me.”

And then he kisses me. Which is pretty much okay with me, too.