Are You Sitting Down? (13 page)

“Kids, grab your coats and shoes.
We’re leaving for Grandma’s in a few minutes,” I yelled
in
to the living room where they were watching cartoons.

“Yay!”
t
hey squealed.

I washed my hands and then walked into the living room to survey the floor for toys to be picked up or snack wrappers to throw away.
Rachel was already putting her dolls away.

“Good girl, Rachel,” I said drying my hands on a dish towel.
“Put your shoes on, Robbie.”

The Christmas
tree looked oddly bare
, as I reached b
e
hind it to unplug the lights
.
Mark had already packed the gifts into boxes for me and put them in the trunk of the car.
The gifts from Santa, all wrapped and stowed away in the attic for now, would briefly make it look cheery again tomorrow morning.
I packed our overnight bags last night and he’d put those in the car
for us
too
.

“Mommy, I don’t think Granny’s tree is as pretty as ours this year,” Rachel said.

“Don’t tell Granny that. Let’s at least let her think hers is,” I said while helping Rachel with her coat.

“Okay.”

I helped each of them to the car, fearful they’d either fall on a patch of ice on the driveway or they’d run into the snow to play.
When I went back inside for the salad and the desser
t
s, the phone was ringing.

“I was hoping I’d catch you
,” the voice on the other end said.

“Hello Mom.”

“Have you left yet?”

“You called the home phone, Mom.”

“Oh!
So I did.”

“The kids are already waiting in the car so we will be there shortly.
Did you need something?”

“I think I need one more can of cranberry sauce.
I called Mr. Greer and he’s holding a can at the counter for you.
Would you be a doll and stop by there on your way over?”

“No problem.
Is anyone there yet?”
I asked.

“Travis got here a few hours ago.
Clare and Jake are here too.”

“Great.
I can’t wait to see them.
See you in a few.”

“Thanks, dear.”

I hung up the phone.
After putting the
food
in the car
I
went back inside for a quick run through the house to make sure I had not forgotten anything.
Craving a treat, I peeled a gum drop from the roof of the kids’ ginge
r
bread house which was sitting on the kitchen counter.
The sweet replica of our family and home seemed oddly real with only a mother and two gi
n
gerbread children standing in the snow-like frosting. The Daddy gingerbread man was gone b
e
cause Mark had eaten him a few days ago.

My motherly instinct wandered through the house and checked for lights that might still be on in the kids’ rooms.
The peaceful quiet of the house was comforting, even with Mark gone.
I wanted to just leave the kids in the car and sit down and enjoy it for a bit.
I’d spent so much of the past few years unable to be alone thanks to Judge Railen, so taking n
o
tice of the serene house now seemed strange to me.
It was just the peace of no television playing and no kids screaming that I was savoring right now.
Otherwise, I don’t think I liked the sound of being alone.

I knew Mom
would warn the others
that Mark would not be here this year, so no one would ask about him.
We’ve all had struggles
, but because it’s Christmas we were exempt from talking about them.
Mom, afraid talking about our pro
b
lems with each other would ruin the holiday, wanted things to be perfect.
Maybe Travis would want to toast Justin at the di
n
ner table tonight.
Maybe Clare felt like announcing that Andre had started paying child support.
But Mom’s desire for a pi
c
ture perfect postcard Christmas would keep all of us hushed.

The White family always managed to sweep their pro
b
lems under the rug, especially when we spent time together.
We never discussed our failures with one another.
We each had too many.
So, it was the
diminutive
bits of happy we have that we utilize
d
at the holidays
.
My marriage was falling apart and about to end in divorce, but they already knew that.
I didn’t need to say it out loud.
I didn’t feel the need to talk about it
with them
.

Instead, I really wanted to tell someone
how much I was still in love with Mark.
That was the happiness I wanted to put on the table.
I wanted to stand up in the middle of the living room tonight and scream it to everyone while they were ope
n
ing gifts.
Instead, I’d call Mark
tonight
.
I’d tell him.

By the end of the day today, I’d call and tell him
I still loved him.

Travis

“Wow, I wish she was always that happy to see me,” Mom said
after
Clare
ca
me up and hugged me before running into the house.

“Do you need some help with Jake?”
I asked.

“I’ve got him.
I’ve got the baby boy,” Mom sang.

Jake blinked his eyes awake with a wobbly head.
He looked around to familiarize himself with where he was.
Se
e
ing Grandma’s face made him light up with bliss.
He grabbed at her neck with a baby hug.
Mom hugged him back and gave him Grandma kisses.

“Hey there, lil guy,” I said gently shaking Jake’s arm.

Jake wrapped a tiny hand around my finger and looked i
n
tently at my face with intrigue.
He
had not seen me in
weeks
, but I could tell his tiny mind was trying to place me.

“I can’t believe how much he’s grown,” I said.
“How’s he walking?”

“Honey, he doesn’t walk anymore.
He runs.
Will you check the car and bring in her things?”
Mom said, taking
Jake into the house.

I
wrinkled
my
nose at the sight of the inside of
Clare
’s car.
The seats were damp in places from spilled drinks.
The floorboards were filled with
old
bags from fast food restaurants.
I
collected Jake’s bag and the gallon of milk that was sitting on the front seat.
If
Clare
was staying the night or had brought gifts, the rest of
her
things must have been in the trunk.
Curiosity told
me
to snoop in the glove box.
It was locked.
I
looked over at the steering wheel and noticed
she
had left the keys in the ignition.

I
took the keys and unlocked the glove compartment.
The door fell forward revealing a heap of clear brown prescri
p
tion bottles.
It reminded
me
of a box of spools
Mom
once kept from sewing. They made nice blocks for
us
kids to play with.
I
picked up a few of the bottles to examine the labels but only found
Clare
’s name on one or two of them.
They were all pr
e
scriptions for valium and various types of pain killers.
I
recognized some of the names from when Justin was sick and ha
d
to take all sorts of medication.
I
shut the glove box and went inside the house.
I
tucked
Clare
’s keys into
my
pocket, waiting for an opportune moment to confront
her
about what
I
’d found.

I entertained Jake while Mom checked the pots on the stove and Clare was still upstairs in the bathroom.
His heavy sleepy eyes, fuzzy hair, and pouty lips reminded me of Justin rolling out of bed and waddling through the house in the early morning.
He was always a light sleeper, often going to bed b
e
fore nine if we were in for the night, and always waking up by five.
He’d make coffee and check email while I was still in bed.

Sometimes, I would awake to find him sitting on our ba
l
cony.
The sun had just come up and he’d be enjoying a cup of coffee in the cool morning air.
I’d stand and watch him through the kitchen window over the sink, while
pouring
coffee for m
y
self.
Justin would be sitting at the small patio table and tal
k
ing to himself, or to some ghost sitting across from him.
I tried not to disturb him.
I’d wander off into the house to watch telev
i
sion.
On some days, out of the corner of his eye he’d see me standing their behind the window. He’d smile and wave to me, like a friend sitting in an airport or a café who spots a loved one they’ve been waiting for.
His smile was like sunshine; I was happy to see it every morning.

I still woke up early now out of habit.
I made my own coffee and checked email or read a few pages of a book.
I e
n
joyed my time to myself in the morning before work or on the wee
k
ends.
Not much had changed, except Justin wasn’t a part of my morning now.
Instead, it was me who sat at the table on chilly mornings and talked
to
his
ghost.

“Do you think I should go upstairs and check on her?”
Mom asked.

“I think she’s okay.
Give her a few more minutes.”

“What if she’s fainted?”

“I think we would have heard something.”

“I’m not so sure.
I’m going up there.”

Mom leaned in front of me to pick up Jake.
It was as if she didn’t trust me with him
.
I didn’t trust myself with him.
Kids are fun, as long as a parent is close by when they start to cry or need a diaper changed.
Mom hurried up the stairs
with him
to check on Clare.
I went into the living room to admire the Christmas tree.
It looked the same as it always had for years now, as if Mom just left all the lights and ornaments on and tucked it away in the attic like a piece of furniture.

She
had never
put lights on the tree when we were kids.
There was a large spotlight that hung on the curtain rod to shine down on the tree.
It had a motorized disk divided into four colors that turned in front of the spotlight, changing the color of the light from green to orange to red to blue.
These spotlights were meant to shine onto aluminum Christmas trees.
I still see them in vintage and antique stores sometimes. It was a firm brick in the foundation of my childhood
holiday
mem
o
ries in this house.

When dad passed
last year
, Mom didn’t want to put up the tree.
I’d driven up to spend Thanksgiving with her.
Ellen
d
e
cided
to cook and have everyone over to their house.
A
fter dinner, we came back to Mom’s house and put the tree up for her.
Since Ellen and I had planned on doing this, I’d gone to a store and bought strands of multi-colored lights to put on the tree instead of using the spotlight.
I’d also bought a few dozen painted glass balls and a hodge-podge of Santa and toy-like ornaments.
Ellen bought a new angel for the top.

Giving Mom’s traditional tree a face lift would hop
e
fully keep it from reminding her of Dad.
The spotlight
was never
used
again
, however,
Mom insisted we put the tree up for her again this year because we’d done such a good job with it b
e
fore
.

I often thought Mom pulled out the photo albums to consult pi
c
tures from years past when it came to putting
it
up
herself
.
Even the faded constru
c
tion paper ornaments we’d all made as kids in school still adorned the tree branches with their pipe cleaner hooks.
She always chose different themed gift wrap each year and di
f
ferent color
s of
live poinsettias for the mantle, but the yard decorations always looked the same.

Mom made sure that one of us always took photos of the tree each year.
All of the gifts were piled under
it
, often spilling out into the middle of the li
v
ing room floor or onto an adjacent chair.
With five kids, there were always so many gifts that they were
leaned up against the wall in the back.
If we were getting clothes, shirt boxes were stacked three and four deep against the wall like books on a shelf.
Mom would insist we turn the camera sideways and take a long picture of the tree up and down, and then we had to take a picture of just all of the gifts, then the top half of the tree.

These three photos would receive a whole page in a photo album of hers labeled with that year on the
cover
.
She’d take the two pictures of the top and bottom half of the tree and place them side by side
overlapping
to create one big image.
Photos of each of us kids and each grandchild opening their gifts would follow.
Although she usually made faces or conveniently ran out of film, we always took photos of her opening her gifts last.
After dad died, the photos of her didn’t find their way into her albums.
The scrapbooks of our memories were all about us kids and the grandkids instead.

Making these photo albums
was
a year long
family
tr
a
dition
for as long as I could remember.
There was an album for each
of us
, containing photos from every birthday and also every school yearbook picture
in order from kindergarten through our senior year of high school
.
Mom always bought a package of our school photos in the spring and the fall.
The white env
e
lopes with the clear plastic windows and our school logo on the front, still containing extra wallet sized photos we had never given away, were tucked between the pages of the albums.