A Family for Christmas (18 page)

She knew he'd planned to build each child a unique gift from Santa. She assumed the gifts were not quite finished, but now that he'd missed the children's bedtime, she had to wonder if he was hiding from her. Well, she thought as she tossed the last errant sock into the hamper, if that was what he was up to, he was in for a shock.

She stalked to the phone and called Claire. “Hi, I saw your lights over there. I hope you weren't busy packing to go to your son's tomorrow,” she said when Claire answered.

“I packed two days ago, dear. Do you need something?”

“Actually I do. I wondered if it would be too much of an imposition for you to come over and watch the children for a little while. They're all in bed, and Trent's out working in the shop.”

“You either have some last-minute shopping to do or you want to get in on the fun down there in Santa's workshop.”

If Claire thought that, Maggie decided, one really furious wife had just missed her chance for an Oscar. “I'm headed to the shop. Could you come over?”

“I'll be right there.”

Maggie tossed a coat over her shoulders and met Claire on the porch. “Thanks. Help yourself to some cookies. Water's on for tea or instant cocoa. See you in a while.”

“Take your time, dear. Your Trent's tall for an elf,
but he's got the job down pat. It looks like a lot of fun's going on down there.”

Maggie unlocked the door to “Santa's Workshop” and entered quietly. The smell of polyurethane, oil stain and freshly cut wood hung in the air. Trent had Christmas carols blaring on a small radio. At first she didn't see him but then she noticed the sole of his shoe sticking out into the aisle on the other side of the table saw.

She walked over, and he looked up, startled. She arched her eyebrow. “Hiding?” she asked as she reached over and snapped off the music.

Trent bristled and stood. “No. I have a lot to get done before tomorrow night.”

Maggie crossed her arms and leaned back against the table saw. “You'll have to take a few minutes off, because we need to talk.”

Trent turned away. Wiping his hands, he let out a soul-deep sigh. “All right. I was hiding. I don't want to hear what I think you're about to say.”

“You don't have a clue what I'm going to say!” she shouted.

Trent whirled, clearly shocked at her tone. “Of course I do. I know how angry you are.” He held a hand out to her. “Please. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I told you in the car that I'd make it up to you. And I will, if you just give me a chance to figure out how.”

“You don't know,” Maggie said, despair clawing at her heart with sharp talons. “You don't know a thing about how I feel or why I feel the way I do. I need answers, Trent. I need to know why you just
stood back and let me flog myself daily for leaving you when you could have prevented it in the first place.”

“I let you leave because I saw how much not having children hurt you. I was hurt that you left. Devastated, believe me. But I was relieved, too, because I thought you would be able to go on with your life and have the children I'd denied you.”

“And it never occurred to you to tell me why you didn't want to adopt? What am I saying? Why you didn't want any children at all? And now that I think about it, you were only minimally cooperative with the fertility doctor, too. All it would have taken was five minutes of honest conversation to help me understand.”

“I couldn't tell you. I was afraid you'd leave.”

“So you dangled an artificial carrot in front of me for almost eight years! First, it was that we'd have children after I'd established my career and you had yours on solid ground. Then a year of trying on our own to conceive, then three years of fertility doctors. All the while you were secretly hoping we'd fail. Then there was a full year of arguments and anguish while I had to watch us grow farther and farther apart. And all the time you knew why. You had a choice but I was just along for the ride.”

Trent raked a hand agitatedly through his thick black hair. “I know! Don't you think I know? You think I haven't said as much to myself? I just couldn't bring myself to tell you.”

“And do you know why?” Maggie demanded. “Because you never trusted me. I didn't destroy your
trust. You never had any in me in the first place. Before we ever had problems, back when you apparently thought you wanted children—before we were even married—you didn't trust me with what was the defining fact of your life. Your adoption. Why Trent? Why could you never trust me?”

She could see that there was an answer. And that he knew what it was. She could, but something held him back. Eyes eternally sad, Trent shook his head.

“Tell me, do you love me at all?”

“Of course I do!” he protested immediately—vehemently.

“Or,” she continued as if he hadn't spoken, “do you just like the idea of being loved by me? What do you want from this marriage, Trent? Because I'm telling you right now, I'm not leaving. And—” she stepped toe-to-toe with him and poked his chest with her index finger “—you'd better never ask me again if I'm going to, if you know what's good for you! So you just think about that. Because, buster, you've got a marriage whether you want one or not! It's up to you what kind you want to have.”

She pivoted and stormed out. The cold December night made her quickly aware that her cheeks were flushed. She couldn't face Claire like that so she walked to the street down Paradise Found's long private drive, then back again before entering the house.

After good-nights to Claire and a soothing cup of herbal tea, Maggie went to bed and was surprised to feel herself drifting toward sleep. She never heard Trent come to bed, and she only knew he had because his side of the bed had been disturbed when she woke
at seven the next morning to Grace's usual call for freedom from her crib. He was already gone, back to the workshop, and all that Christmas Eve day was a repeat of the night before. He came in for meals, then quietly excused himself to work on gifts. Was he hiding? Thinking about their future? She didn't know, but she wished she did.

I
t was the hour before dawn that saw Trent putting the last gift under the tree. The girls had both asked for cradles and high chairs, and Rachel had asked for a toy kitchen sink and stove. And he'd built every last one of them, plus a table and chairs set that he'd fashioned like a breakfast nook.

Trent smiled, thinking of the two girls sharing tea parties with their dolls; maybe even their brothers, too. He'd already checked out a third-floor room he was going to fix up for the girls as a playroom. They'd have a regular little apartment up there by the time he got through.

He'd earmarked another room to fix up for the rough-and-tumble boys. He chuckled. Soundproofing would probably play a large role in that project.

Against the far wall of the living room now stood a four-year-old's version of a computer table. It was all ready for the child's version of a computer that
Daniel had been coveting since being exposed to one while visiting Mickey at Shriners Hospital. A red wagon, its red paint finally dry, waited for him to hitch it to his Big Wheel, as well.

Mickey, who was as mechanically inclined as his father, had been tougher to plan for because he'd asked for nothing that Trent could build. Trent had decided on a wooden toolbox, which he'd filled with smaller tools that were just the right size for small hands and a tool bench that had adjustable legs so it would grow with the boy. He'd found plans for some wooden games and a couple of other projects, and had made a good start on them so that Mickey could finish with his new tools.

Each gift sported a tag that read
From Santa.

Maggie had apparently already put out the gifts the two of them had bought at local toy stores to give to the children. They were all gaily wrapped and beribboned, and stacked in a riot of colors and shapes.

Trent knew that inside the biggest boxes were the computer for Daniel and a little pink-and-blue copy of Daniel's Big Wheel for Grace. Under the big tree were baby dolls and baby doll clothes for the girls. And there were pots, pans, dishes and flatware along with pretend boxes and cans of food. The kitchen he'd built in miniature was going to be as well-equipped as a real one.

Of course, Maggie didn't know how crazy he'd gone with the little kitchen. It not only had a stove and sink but a refrigerator and a breakfront to match the table and chairs. It had everything the family kitchen had. He'd gone overboard and done all he
could think of, trying to make this Christmas perfect, hoping to overshadow the tension that had only lessened with Judge Golden's ruling.

He straightened the bow on the computer table and stepped back to look around. The living room was the perfect picture of the night before Christmas, with the tree lights reflecting off gifts and packages and candles glowing brightly in the windows. Snow had even begun to fall sometime in the last hour, and now it coated the ground and trees. It
should
have been perfect. But there was still a place so empty and hollow inside him that he wanted to sit down and cry like a baby.

He wished that, just as in the old poem, Saint Nick would appear at the fireplace and tell him he had nothing to dread. But Trent knew he did.

He was losing Maggie again, even if she didn't intend to leave him. He was losing her love and all the closeness they'd built between them these last months. He was losing her because there was something wrong with him that he just couldn't define, and so he was powerless to fix it.

And he really didn't know how to explain it to her. How could he make her understand why he'd been so afraid to be himself with her, when to all outward appearances the world at large saw him as a success in life?

Weary beyond the all-nighter he'd just put in finishing the toys, Trent trudged up the stairs and stumbled into the bathroom to shower off the sawdust. Then, practically asleep on his feet, he dropped down so hard onto the bed that he bounced Maggie awake.

She sat up, pushed the hair off her face and looked toward the dawn sky. “Tell me you aren't just coming to bed.”

Trent yawned. “Wish I could, but guilty as charged. All the toys are done, though. I think maybe I went a little crazy. There's hardly any room to move in the living room.”

“The kids will be thrilled. You'd better get some sleep. Christmas mornings come early if I remember correctly.”

Trent yawned again and flopped back in bed. “Yeah. I sure better—”

“Mama! Ma! Daddy! Daddy! Grace get up now. Criksmus! It Criksmus!” Grace bellowed.

Trent opened one eye and turned toward Maggie. “Please. Tell me I didn't hear that!”

“Would that I could, Daddy. What is it? Six o'clock?”

“Nnooo,” Trent groaned. “Maybe she'll go back to—”

“MAMA! TIME? DADDY!” Grace yelled from her room.

Maggie giggled, and it was music to his ears. If being exhausted eased the tension between them for just that day, it was worth feeling like he'd been run over by a huge toy truck. The absurd image of a toy truck chasing him down wrung a tired chuckle out of Trent.

“Well, it can't be too bad if you can laugh about it,” Maggie said as she twisted her legs to sit atop the covers. Her cute flannel pajamas and sleepmussed
hair made her look more like a little girl than the sudden mother of four.

“I was just thinking I felt like I'd been run over by a toy truck, and I got this mental picture of an oversize toy truck chasing me around the house. Oh,” he groaned, “I'm so tired I'm rambling. Please stop me next year if I get too carried away.”

“What
did
you build?”

He listed what he could remember and added that there might be something he'd left out. It was Maggie's turn to start laughing. “Now I understand the sudden interest in the third floor. You have to fix up playrooms to put it all in? That's more work you've created for yourself!”

At that Trent howled with laughter. “I know. Which means Mickey following me every second he's home. I hope I live through more of his help.”

Maggie, he could see, was trying hard to stay serious. “Trent, you're getting hysterical now. You're exhausted! You're taking a long nap before church. We'll go to the late service.”

Trent took a deep breath, holding his aching side. He knew this was a release of tension, coupled with exhaustion, but it felt good to laugh with her and see her still concerned for him. “I'll take a nap like a good boy, Mommy,” he choked, and started laughing again when she scowled.

“MAMA! DADDY!”

“Hey, you guys, how are we supposed to sleep?” Daniel groused outside their door. “Can I come in?”

Maggie pulled on her robe and climbed back under the covers. “Come on,” she called.

“C'mon!” Mickey complained as he followed Daniel into the room. “I know you guys are new at this parent stuff but don't you know it's supposed to be us waking you guys up on Christmas morning. It's tradition. And you're supposed to complain that it's too early and you're tired.”

“Mama! Daddy!” Grace screamed, clearly out of patience.

Deadpan, Maggie looked at Mickey and Daniel as Rachel stumbled in all sleepy-eyed and yawning. “It's too early. Uncle Trent is very tired,” Maggie said to satisfy their craving for tradition.

Then Rachel, innocent that she was, added the killer punch to his aching stomach. “Then why's he laughing so loud that he woke us all up?”

And the whole absurd scene was too much for Trent's lost self-control. He went off again, laughing so hard he almost fell off the bed. The kids all looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, which made him laugh harder.

“Come on, kids. Let's leave this crazy man alone for a few minutes.” She clapped her hands. “Everybody. Teeth brushed. Robes and slippers on. Meet in Grace's room. I'll be doing, hopefully, dry-diaper duty in there. And you—” she pointed to Trent “—light the tree and put on the carols.”

Ten minutes later, the tree lights shining, Christmas carols in the air, they all went into the living room together. And the kids went crazy over their “Santa gifts.” Trent and Maggie were both dragged from one gift to the next, and Trent had to pretend to “ooh”
and “aah” over everything he'd spent so many hours making.

He'd never felt such satisfaction. Watching the joy his work brought to their precious faces was better than that first job—the infamous water heater—so many months earlier. They were awed and appreciative and already planning how to thank Santa. And he'd never loved them more, these children of his heart.

Mickey sidled over to him. “Thanks for the workbench and tools, Uncle Trent. Now I can help you even better.”

“What happened to Santa?” he whispered back.

“I sort of figured out that he's pretend. But Aunt Maggie was so into taking us to see him at the mall and getting our pictures taken with him that I didn't want to wreck it for her. I had to pretend for the little ones anyway, so I just let Aunt Mag have her fun, too. She never got to play Mrs. Santa before, you know. And you never got to play Santa before either. But I wanted to thank you for the tool bench and stuff. You know?”

Trent ruffled Mickey's blond hair. “Yeah, kiddo, I understand. And thanks. Playing Santa was fun.”

Mickey studied his face. “Then how come you look so tired?”

“Because Santa stays up all night Christmas Eve,” Trent confided. “You get what I mean?”

Mickey nodded sagely. Clearly he did.

With Maggie around there was more to Christmas than Santa and the gifts he'd left. “Okay. Let's all sit over here on the sofa,” she announced after they'd
all played and admired the gifts Santa's elves had built. “I think before we open our family gifts, we should remember what this day's all about. Mickey, tell me about how the Christmas story starts.”

“An angel appeared to Mary and told her God the Father wanted her to be the mother of His Son. And she said sure, since He was God and He was nice enough to send an angel to ask her and all. And then the angel told Joseph and he said cool, he'd be glad to be Jesus's guardian, sort of like you, Uncle Trent”

“Well, thanks, kiddo. I didn't know I was in such illustrious company as Saint Joseph,” Trent said.

“Does anybody remember where that happened?” Maggie asked.

“In Narbeth!” Daniel shouted.

“Nazareth,” Rachel corrected. “Narbeth is the town near Ardmore. But Jesus wasn't born in Nazareth ‘cause the king who owned the world wanted to count all the people so he could charge them more taxes. Joseph had to take Mary to Bethlehem where people knew how to count.”

Trent bit back a smile as Daniel's head bobbed in agreement. Mickey, he saw, was not as convinced that Bethlehem had been the counting capital of the world back then. Trent felt his heart swell. There was something so completely wonderful about four children listening so intently to the story of that first Christmas. It struck him as ironic that everything had been so much harder for the One all the celebration was supposed to honor than it was for so many of those He came to serve.

“Yeah,” Daniel put in, agreeing with Rachel's
math theory. “And when they got to Bethlehem all the other people got there ahead of them. That was ‘cause Mary couldn't walk so fast anymore, and they beat them there. So since they got there late there was no rooms to rent at any of the hotels or motels. Then a man felt sorry for their poor donkey ‘cause Joseph stuck Mary on him when she couldn't keep up. But she was pretty fat by then and the donkey looked real tired. The nice man let Mary and Joseph sleep in his stable with their donkey, so he wouldn't be lonely.”

Trent was fighting another fit of the giggles when Mickey jumped back in, preserving the authenticity of the actual birth record. “So Jesus was born that night and angels appeared to the shepherds who were watching their sheep in the fields. They told them all about how the Savior was born and that His name was Christ the Lord.”

“They had baby lambs,” Grace shouted, popping up like a jack-in-the-box to point at the manger. Then she just as quickly sat back down. “They taked one to Jesus to play with,” she added, hugging her bear.

“That was after they got off the ground. They were down there because the angels really really scared them,” Mickey continued.

“I think they got hurt, too, when they fell on the ground,” Rachel added, “because they were sore and afraid.”

“Yeah. Sore and afraid,” Daniel agreed with a wise nod. “I remember that part, too!”

Shaking his head, Mickey jumped in again. “Then three kings were following a star and they got a little lost and stopped to ask directions on how to find Jesus.
They were kings so they had to ask another king where they had to go. But he was a bad king and he killed all the little kids in Bethlehem later on but—” Mickey sighed, out of breath “—that's another story.”

Trent breathed a sigh of his own. He had enjoyed that and had managed not to laugh at the mixed-up rendition of the oft-told tale. He leaned back in the sofa as Grace crawled up into his lap.

“Do you all realize that the first Christmas was Jesus Christ's first sacrifice for us in a life full of sacrifices? And he became a little, helpless child that night. Look at Grace. Can you imagine going from just thinking something as huge as the world into existence to being as dependent on the people He created as Grace is on all of us?” Maggie added a lesson that struck Trent with a sense of wonder. It was a side of the Christmas story he'd never considered.

“Uh-uh,” they all said, shaking their heads. Their nearly identical brown eyes looked so serious and affected by her words that Trent felt compelled to look deeper than the traditional story and consider what Maggie had said.

Jesus Christ really
had
given up a lot. He'd cut off communications with His Father and was separate from Him for the first time. How frightening that must have been, to be so alone and isolated. And helpless. Why would He do that?