The Christmas Note (7 page)

Ramona has a half sister, Kay. I’ve only seen her on a few occasions, but one time, when I was a teenager and she and Ramona had drunk too much one night, she asked Ramona if some girl named Louanne was my sister.

“You know, Louanne? Jake’s girl. I
know
you remember Jake,” Kay said, laughing. Ramona shot her a look that could have ripped out Kay’s spleen. “My God, you look just like each other,” Kay said, looking at me.

“Shut up, Kay!” Ramona hissed. Kay withered a bit in her chair, and I was too frightened to ask any questions. All these years later I never asked Ramona a thing about that night, but it was the last time I saw Kay.

“Hi.” I jump and turn to see a young kid standing in the mail room doorway. He has dark hair and a tall, lanky body. “I’m Josh. I was told to be here at eleven today.”

I throw packages for the office into a bin. “For what?”

“Melissa’s supposed to train me for the mail room.”

I sort the letters in my arms and toss each one into a slot on the wall. I look over my shoulder at a mail bin on the floor. “Well, I’m Melissa and that’s the morning mail. We pick it up and put it into these slots. If it’s a big package we put it into the bin with the department name.” I kick at the bins on the floor with my foot. “If you have time you can deliver it right to the department. Otherwise, just leave it here and somebody will come get it. Everyday we receive some sort of merchandise and we help unload it into the stockroom or take it directly to the floor.” I toss a few more packages into bins for security, ladies’ wear, and jewelry. “There. You’ve been trained.”

Josh walks to the mail bin and lifts out a few packages. “This just has a person’s name at it,” he says, reading the top envelope.

“A list of employees and which department they work for is right there,” I say, looking at the wall to the left of the mailboxes.

He steps close to the list and glances for the name, putting the envelope into the slot for the children’s department. “How long have you worked here?”

I’m not interested in chitchat with this kid and I sigh. “A while.”

“Do you think it will be a problem if I have to take off suddenly someday?” Already he’s scamming for a way out of work. “My grandma is really sick, and my mom doesn’t know if we’ll just have to run out of town real quick.”

I shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure there will be enough part-time help to cover you.”

He reaches for more mail and is painstakingly slow finding the department name on each package. The buzzer rings in the mail room, and I sigh in relief. A shipment is at the loading dock, and that means I won’t be alone with this kid anymore. “Come on. There’s a truck that needs to be unloaded. Grab your coat.”

Unloading the shipment and getting it on the floor or in the stockroom takes up the rest of my time before I leave for the law office. “Will you be working tomorrow?” Josh asks as I put on my coat.

“I’m here everyday with bells on,” I say, leaving.

I usually walk through the city square to get to the office but today I’m especially hungry and realize I didn’t stop for lunch and left it in the fridge at Wilson’s. I walk the few extra blocks to get to Betty’s Bakery, thinking of my aunt Kay and the girl she said could be my sister. The place is decorated with those big, papery snowflakes that hang from the ceiling, and a tinsel swag with ornaments hanging from it is draped over the bakery case. I choose the empty booth in the corner and wait for a waitress. A couple of older women are sitting at the table next to my booth and chattering like magpies.

“I just want some soup and water,” I say to the waitress when she hands me a menu.

“Vegetable beef or clam chowder?”

I hand the menu back to her. “I’ll try the clam.”

“Do the vegetable beef, babe,” one of the older women says. “That clam chowder isn’t fit for consumption.”

The waitress turns to look at her. “Thanks for the rousing endorsement, Gloria. You’re great for business.”

“Sorry, Heather. I love Betty’s stuff, but that chowder has got to go!”

“Vegetable beef,” I say.

“Thatta girl,” the older woman says.

I look at her, wondering, and then just come out with it. “Are you the Gloria who’s friends with Gretchen?”

She smacks the table in front of her. “One and the same, and this old broad here is Gretchen’s mother.”

Her friend rolls her eyes and speaks through her teeth. “You have absolutely no tact when introducing people, Gloria!” She looks at me. “I’m Miriam, Gretchen’s mother.”

“I live next door to her. She gave me some chicken and dumplings you made,” I say, looking at Gloria. “They were great.”

Gloria jumps out of her seat and plops down on the bench across from me. “You’re Melissa!” She reaches for my hand and puts her warm, soft palm on top of it, squeezing. “I am so sorry about your mother, babe.” Something in her touch or in the way she said “babe” makes my throat quiver and I look down at the table, pulling my hand out from underneath hers. “Come on up here, Miriam, and let’s eat with Melissa today.” I don’t have time to say no or tell them I’m in a rush. Miriam reaches for Gloria’s coat and purse and hands them to her, taking her seat next to Gloria. “So, how are you, babe?”

It’s the second time Gloria has called me babe, and I push a lump in my throat as far down as I can, trying to find my voice. “I’m fine.”

She pats my hand again and smiles like she knows me. “Life is short. It’s so, so short. Makes your head spin when you think about it.” She squeezes her warm hand around mine and I don’t pull away. “Were you close to your mother?”

I look at both their faces and wish to God that either one of them could have been my mother. I don’t even know them but sense they are good and kind, decent, and soft. They were there when their kids wanted to play a game. They wiped runny noses and bundled up little bodies for playtime in the snow. They cooked meals and baked cookies, even if the meal was Hamburger Helper and refrigerated slice and bake cookies. “No,” I say.

Gloria’s eyes mist over, and I can’t imagine why she’s crying. “She never knew what she was missing. Isn’t that right, Miriam?”

“Awfully tragic,” Miriam says, nodding at me.

I bite the inside of my cheek and feel so stupid. Why am I so emotional? These women are strangers! Gloria pushes Miriam out of the booth and then slides in next to me, putting her hand on my arm and keeping her voice low. “It’s harder to let go of a bad relationship than a good one. With a good one you’ve got sweet memories and kind words. With a bad one you just got a whole lot of unanswered questions and open wounds.” I keep my eyes on the table. I can’t speak and feel like a fool. “Don’t ever think that tears are a bad thing,” she says, somehow knowing that I feel like exploding. “Lord have mercy! I’ve cried buckets in my lifetime. But Miriam here doesn’t cry much.” She leans in and whispers. “Afraid it will melt the wax.” I laugh and Miriam hisses through her teeth. “I buried my first husband and cried myself sick. My son ran away from home and was gone seven years. I can’t begin to tell you how many tears I cried over that loss. Grief takes a while, but joy does come.” She wraps her arm around me and she’s as warm and soft and sweet-smelling as I imagined. She squeezes my shoulder and then smacks the table, the silverware bouncing in front of me. “I know! Why don’t you come on over for Christmas dinner? Miriam and I will be cooking for the whole gang, although Miriam doesn’t really cook. But she has always wanted to pretend to cook sweet potato casserole, so that’s what she’ll be doing this year.” I smile and Miriam shakes her head, unaffected.

I begin to say, “I don’t really know anyone and—”

“Now don’t make a lot of ballyhoo out of nothing,” Gloria says, “because you know Gretchen and now you know us. And you can plainly see that we’re about as simple as people come.”

“I wish you would speak for yourself, Gloria,” Miriam says.

I twist the napkin in my hand, glancing at Gloria. “Okay.” I can’t believe I’ve accepted an invitation to eat with strangers. “I’ll be baking a difference, by the way.”

She throws her arms in the air. “Gretchen asked you! Good girl!” She grabs her head as if a lightning bolt just struck her. “Did she tell you about Robert Layton?”

“I work for him, actually.”

She bangs the table again, and Miriam grabs her head this time. “Would you please stop making that confounded noise, Gloria!”

“Well, this is just downright providential! Of all the people to work for in this town and you’re working for somebody who can help you find your family.”

Family.
The word lodges in my throat and heat breaks out on my back. The search sounds so easy when Gloria talks about it, and she makes me smile. “It all still seems so crazy,” I say. They’re looking at me, waiting for more. “All these years I thought it was just Ramona and me. Now … someone else is out there who may not even want to know about me. It’s a strange way to piece a family together.”

“What?” Gloria says. “It means that your siblings were adopted, and that’s the most powerful, beautiful story of love there is, isn’t that right, Miriam?” Miriam smiles. “Both of Miriam’s children are adopted, and they are two of the most loved kids I’ve ever met. Love is learned, you know, and your two siblings were loved long before they were even born and have grown up in families of love. I just know it. And that means they will only have love for you, too.”

I look at Miriam. “It’s true,” she says.

“For all I know, it’s going to be hard to track them down,” I say.

Gloria leans close to me. “Just keep a little faith, babe.” I don’t even react to that because I’ve never had any faith to begin with, let alone even a little of it. I wanted faith; the kind that Mrs. Schweiger had that just spilled over and out of her as natural as a breath, but I’ve never known what that’s like. Gloria seems to read my mind and moves her hand to mine, patting it. “When you say ‘I believe,’ it has the same power as letting a tiger out of its cage.”

Sometimes you meet people, total strangers, who feel like home. Even if that home is filled with noise and dysfunction and silence that is beyond bearing, it’s still home, with its secondhand furniture, worn comforters, and smiles from people who love you despite your lopsided personality and crooked moods. Gloria and Miriam make me feel like I’m home. “I’ll talk to Jodi when I get to work in a few minutes.”

Gloria lifts her fists into the air as if she just won a race. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine.”

She nods, looking at me. “For thirty-nine years you never knew you had family out there. Now everything has changed just like that,” she says, snapping her fingers.

*   *   *

The wind is sharp as I walk the few blocks to the law office, but I don’t feel it against my face. My mind is crackling with what will happen in the days ahead. Somewhere there is a woman in this world who is my sister and a man who is my brother. I shake my head, still not believing that Ramona lived with that secret her entire life. My siblings could be wasting their days like Ramona did, living from bottle to bottle or they could be like Gretchen and Gloria and Miriam. I know how my luck runs, and I hold little hope that my siblings won’t be like Ramona.

When I walk into the office I notice that Jodi isn’t in her office, and I wave at Susan at the front desk as I walk to the room at the back, where I work. I sit at the computer and type in the name Kay Hart. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping to find Ramona’s sister still alive so she can tell me if I have a sister. A two-year-old obituary for a Gene Riggins in San Antonio pops up and I read through it, spotting Kay’s name, “survived by his wife, Kay Hart Riggins.” I have no idea if it’s her. I never knew she was married, and Ramona never said anything. I do a search of the white pages in San Antonio for Gene Riggins and find a number. My cell phone is in my backpack, and I reach for it but realize that if Kay has caller ID she’ll recognize my name. I decide to use the office phone and dial the number. It rings, but I can barely hear it over the sound my heart is making in my ears.

“Hello.” Sweat sits on my lip. Is that Kay’s voice? “Hello?”

I’m hoping that Ramona shared secrets with her sister and that Kay can tell me whether Louanne, whoever Louanne is, is my sister.

“Hello,” she says again, sounding like Ramona.

I try to find my voice. Kay could be the key to letting the tiger out of its cage.

Eight

Sometimes a neighbor whom we have disliked a lifetime for his arrogance and conceit lets fall a single commonplace remark that shows us another side, another man, really; a man uncertain, and puzzled, and in the dark like ourselves.

—
W
ILLA
C
ATHER

GRETCHEN

I like distractions. Some people can’t handle them. If something distracts them from their already planned day, it drives them bonkers. Not me. I like busyness because it keeps my mind from slipping here or there. Gloria’s Bake a Difference project and helping Melissa find her siblings are great mind occupiers for me. Since Mom and Melissa met on Monday, I decided to strike while that iron was hot and invited them to come over Friday afternoon to start baking. Mom insisted we come to her house since she has the bigger kitchen. I spent Tuesday and Wednesday looking for a job and recipes online and found great ones for turtle candies, German chocolate cake, hummingbird cake, chocolate raspberry cake, and caramel candy. (I didn’t find any job postings.) I don’t know which ones we’ll end up making, but all the recipes were supposed to freeze well and Mom said we could store whatever we made in her freezer until the bake sale.

I haven’t seen Melissa this week. She’s worked late the last three days at the law office, but at eight twenty, as I finish packing the kids’ lunches for tomorrow, I notice her car pull into her driveway. I creep down the hall to check on Ethan and Em and see that they’re asleep. This first week of school has worn them out. I pull their door closed and walk to the sofa, falling into it. This is always the worst part of my day. Just sitting alone with everything quiet except my thoughts that make a tremendous racket. A knock startles me and I jump to my feet, peering through the peephole in the door. Melissa is standing on my dark stoop, and I flick on the outside light, opening the door.