The Christmas Note (16 page)

My insides are still shaking in the dark, and I don’t know if it’s from feeling grateful or overwhelmed. I know so many others have come home from a tour of duty and have not been offered a free car wash, let alone a word of appreciation. They come home and work themselves back into a community without much of a rustle one way or the other. It’s what I expected, but sometimes the unexpected can really take a bite out of expectations. I reach across Ethan, who is breathing heavy in sleep, lay my hand on Kyle’s chest, and close my eyes.

Seventeen

At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.

—
P
LATO

MELISSA

I’ve never done anything for anybody and that’s the truth. I’ve lived inside myself, which is a pretty lonely and depressing place for thirty-nine years and I wanted out. I was scared to death when I walked into businesses in town and asked if they could do something to welcome Kyle home. Phillip and Miriam went with me on the first two visits, and then we branched out on our own. There was something mischievous, something that felt like electricity beneath my skin, in keeping this a secret from Gretchen and the kids. I went in earlier each morning to Wilson’s, and Robert gave me three days off so I could “work the streets” as Gloria said.

I replay the image of Kyle walking through the civic center doors and watching Gretchen, unaware of his presence and helping someone buy a cake for the fund-raiser. Phillip was grinning and Miriam was crying. For the rest of my life I’ll remember Gretchen’s scream and her face. It was the best night of my life.

The roll of wrapping paper I bought two days ago is on the kitchen table and I open it. I haven’t purchased a Christmas gift in years, so I never had a use for wrapping paper. Gloria helped me find a gift for Miriam: trouser socks. They sounded boring, but Gloria said nothing brings a smile to Miriam’s face like a good pair of trouser socks, so I bought her three pairs. I’m giving Phillip cigars, Emma a game that the lady in the toy department at Wilson’s said was popular, Ethan a football, and Kyle some gloves and a new winter hat to keep his head warm.

I pick up Gretchen’s gift and stare at it; it’s a frame that says “sisters” at the top with a photo of us together in front of her Christmas tree, and below it is the note she found in Ramona’s apartment. I had it mounted and framed in town, and since I’ve picked it up, I can’t stop looking at it. What if Kyle and Gretchen had decided to move closer to his parents rather than Miriam? What if Ramona’s landlord had left the message about her death with someone else on the street or given up altogether? If one thing, however small, would have been different, I would have never known Gretchen as my sister and I doubt I ever would have known her as my neighbor. I would have just stayed behind my closed door and wished she and her children would do the same. If I strain, I swear I can hear that finger snap from heaven again.

Once I finish wrapping the presents I grab a cup of coffee and a piece of Mrs. Claus Coffee Cake I bought last night and head to work. Wilson’s will be swamped today with last-minute shoppers.

My cell phone rings at one when I’m on break and I assume it’s Gretchen because she wants me at her house after work for Christmas Eve dinner at six. I know she’s calling to pester me again about how to make pistachio salad. It’s pudding, marshmallows, pineapple, and Cool Whip! How hard can it be? I muster up a spring in my voice because she says I always sound grumpy when I answer the phone.

“Melissa, it’s Robert.” He’s been out of the law office since Monday; his grandchildren are in town. My heart skips a beat, wondering if he has news. “It was a great night last night. You did tremendous work.”

“Thanks, Robert,” I say, putting a dollar bill inside the slot of the vending machine. “Gretchen and her kids were surprised.”

“They were,” he says. “And if you’re ready, I have one for you.” My heart starts that wild beating again as I bend down and pull out a bag of pretzels. “I received a call about your brother.” I’m smiling and flop down on a chair in the break room. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“He took a bit longer to track down because the name his adoptive mother used on his adoption papers was her stepfather’s name and not her birth name. That stepfather’s name tracked to several men with the same name, and long story short, we finally tracked her back to her birth name and came up with a little boy born in 1976 to Ramona McCreary and adopted by Les and Susan Linton.” My mind is racing as I try to write all this down on the back of a magazine lying on the table. “I have Bruce’s information if you want it.” I scribble everything down on the magazine and take a breath before I thank Robert and hang up the phone.

I dial Gretchen’s cell but it goes to voice mail. I don’t leave a message because I want to tell her in person. I feel as nervous this time around as I did when Robert told me he’d discovered my sister. The names Les and Susan Linton bounce off my brain as I eat the pretzels, and I keep staring at their names written on the back of the magazine. I try calling Gretchen’s home and cell numbers again before I go back to work, but both phones go to voice mail. I put the magazine in my locker and try to keep my mind busy for the remainder of the afternoon, but it’s like putting a piece of candy in front of a kid and telling him not to touch it for four more hours.

The afternoon is busy and goes fast, and the names Les and Susan Linton continue to roll through my mind. At four thirty, I’m organizing the mail room when a face pops into my mind and my pulse surges. I run upstairs to the break room and roll through the combination on the lock and yank open my locker, snatching the magazine off the top shelf. I read the names again, feeling my heart in my throat.

I run out the door and ask every employee in sight if they’ve seen my supervisor, Pat. “He was in the office,” the lady in jewelry, whose name I never can remember, says.

I take the stairs by two and fling open the office door. He’s standing at the copy machine. “Pat!” He turns and sees me standing with the door open. “Something huge has come up. I’m off in thirty. Can I go now?”

“How huge is it?” he asks, smiling.

“I’m going to be a sister!”

He looks confused but waves his hand in the air. “Go! Have a great Christmas.” I’m yelling the same thing to him as I bolt down the stairs and grab my coat and backpack from my locker and clock out.

I can feel my heart beating high in my chest as I ring the doorbell. Karla opens the door and smiles. “Merry Christmas!” I say. “I hope I’m not bothering you on Christmas Eve.”

She steps aside. “Get in here! Mom and I were having some coffee and some of the cake I bought last night. Want some?”

“Which one did you buy?” I ask, following her to the kitchen.

“Frosting the Snowman.”

I laugh at another one of Gloria’s names. “What kind is that?”

“White,” she says, which makes me laugh harder.

Mrs. Schweiger is at the kitchen table with her box of photos sitting on top of it, so I know she’s already been busy today. The kitchen smells yummy and I wonder why they’re having cake so close to dinnertime. “Cake before dinner?” I say.

“Mom has to have something on her stomach for her medicine,” Karla says. “I said, ‘how about some cheese and crackers’ and she said, ‘how about some cake?’ You see who won.”

I hug Mrs. Schweiger, and she cuts a slice of cake for me while Karla sets a cup of coffee in front of me. “I don’t need any cake,” I say.

“It’s Christmas. You do out-of-ordinary things at Christmas and wear big pants.”

That makes me laugh and I take a bite. “Mrs. Schweiger,” I say, getting right to it. “Do the names Les and Susan Linton sound familiar?”

Her eyes are big and she smiles. “From the apartments. Of course. They were wonderful people. Very kind.”

“Did you know much about them?” She opens her mouth to answer, but I rephrase what I said. “Did you ever suspect or imagine anything about them?”

She leans forward, looking at me and I see something in her eyes. She points her finger at me, grinning. “What are you up to, Melissy?”

I smile. “I think you know.” Karla looks from me to her mother and waits.

“It would have only been a thought,” says Mrs. Schweiger.

“And what was that thought?”

“I knew how their family was brought together. They were always very open about adopting all their children.”

“What else?” I ask, taking another bite of Frosting the Snowman cake.

“You and your mother had already lived at the apartments nearly three years when I saw Ramona watching the little Linton boy play one day in the parking lot. You remember how the children would play tag in that big, circular end of the lot. Your mother
never
stopped to watch the children, but that day she did, and as she looked at him, I looked at her and then back at him, trying to see what she was looking at. Something jiggled somewhere in my brain, and I didn’t know what to think by what I was seeing but noticed that your mother was upset.” She pats my hand. “In the couple of weeks following, all I could do was try to steal a glance of Ramona from time to time and look at that little boy and wonder, but I never knew anything for sure.” She pulls out the stack of photos from her box and flips through them.

I lean back in my chair. “That’s why Ramona moved out of there so fast, isn’t it? She knew that the Linton boy was the little boy she’d given up for adoption.”

Mrs. Schweiger’s mouth puckers and she cocks her head. “I think she suspected. And long after you left, I always wondered.”

“And the Lintons?”

“They never knew Ramona. Never even saw her, as far as I know.”

I hand her the magazine. “My boss just located my brother. His name is Bruce Linton.”

Karla says, “Are you kidding?” and tears fill Mrs. Schweiger’s eyes.

“His parents are Les and Susan Linton.”

Mrs. Schweiger lets out a whoop and plops Bruce’s picture down in front of me.

“And he’s a fire chief in California!”

*   *   *

There’s no time to make pistachio salad, but I hope everyone will forgive me, considering I’ve been a bit busy tracking down my brother! I forget to knock and walk into Kyle and Gretchen’s, holding up the magazine. “We have a baby brother!” I shout, hoping too late that no one is napping. The house is full, with Kyle’s parents and Phillip and Miriam. Gretchen steps out of the kitchen and she hurries to me, taking the magazine. She reads over the information and looks at me. “I played with him for three years. He and his family lived above us in the same apartments where the Schweigers lived. When Ramona figured out who he was, we moved away.”

“What are you going to do?” Gretchen asks.

“You mean what are
we
going to do,” I say. I pull out my cell phone, and her eyes are big, watching me. For the rest of my life I’ll wonder how all of this happened. I’ll go through the what-if’s countless times and settle on the same conclusion: I am seen. I dial the phone and put it on speaker so everyone can hear. Gretchen and I take our places in the wings, waiting. When a man’s voice answers, Gretchen grabs my arm and we both smile.

The next act is about to begin.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to:

Troy, Gracie, Kate, and David for loving Christmas and keeping it crackling at our house.

Jen Gates and Esmond Harmsworth for your belief and passion.

Jen Enderlin, Matthew Baldacci, Michael Storrings, Rachel Ekstrom, and the St. Martin’s sales staff for being outstanding in all that you do!

My longtime friend, Captain Bryan Ralls, United States Army, for guiding me through all things military. I appreciate your service to this country!

Mary Weekly for invaluable help and your gracious, sweet spirit.

Ann-Frances Barker, Carole Consiglio, Lynn Cook, Kim Cotton, Dawana Hunt, Dorothy Ley, Carri McPeek, Misty Riggs, Renee Sly, and Elizabeth Sweatt for your heart.

Also by Donna VanLiere

The Christmas Journey

The Christmas Secret

Finding Grace

The Christmas Promise

The Angels of Morgan Hill

The Christmas Shoes

The Christmas Blessing

The Christmas Hope

About the Author

DONNA VANLIERE is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of the Christmas Hope books,
Finding Grace,
and
The Angels of Morgan Hill
. She lives in Franklin, Tennessee, with her husband and three children. Please visit her at
www.donnavanliere.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE CHRISTMAS NOTE
. Copyright © 2011 by Donna VanLiere. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

VanLiere, Donna, 1966–

    The Christmas note / Donna VanLiere.—1st ed.

            p. cm.