Queenie Baby: Pass the Eggnog (2 page)

My mom glanced over at me. My dad focused his eyes on his plate. The Grands clapped happily and hooted in support.

"I can help with costumes and makeup," Uncle Grover offered.

Granddaddy was trying to be on his best behavior, but he couldn't let that one go. "Tarnations, Grover! If you got any fruitier, they'd serve you on a plate."

My stepmother intervened, and no more was said about the Christmas play.

I was still trying to figure out a way to convince Ashley to let it go as we started the long and treacherous drive up Big Bear Mountain. There was no way I was going to be in one of her stupid plays again. Ever since I had been suckered into playing the Nutcracker, I had vowed never to subject myself to an Ashley Production again.

I looked over the snow covered ledge into the valley below. I'd forgotten how remote and magical this mountain was. I found it hard to believe I'd never made it back for a visit in all these years. My parents had been up fairly regularly, but I'd left home for college and moved to Annapolis after graduating. There just never seemed to be time. I smiled thinking back to that summer. It was the summer I felt grown-up for the first time. It was also the summer I went to second base with the neighbor's kid, Kyle, and learned to drive a stick, under my dad's supervision, in Victoria's ancient Beetle.

A soft snow had begun to fall as we turned down the winding driveway. I noticed little improvements like a cute wooden mailbox and a plaque announcing the Bickling House, named after Aunt Pearl's great-grandfather, Eli Bickling. Before Jake had married Victoria, when Aunt Pearl still lived here, we'd visited a couple of times a year and always dreaded it. It was remote and boring and more than a little creepy. But now I felt nostalgic thinking back on childhood memories made in the rambling, old Victorian. It made me think of my childhood home and regret the exodus of The Grands and The Parents from their homes into the homogenous habitat that was The Meadows.

The lane widened into a parking area, and from inside a close grouping of trees loomed the snow-covered, sprawling house. Smoke rose from two chimneys. The wooden siding and intricate lattice work had been restored to its full glory. I had seen occasional postings on Facebook from Jake announcing this improvement or that restoration. To see it in-person was impressive.

"Wow! That's some shack," Dan said, lurching to a halt in front of the massive veranda that ran the length of the front of the house.

"They certainly did a nice job restoring it," Ashley agreed.

"I wonder if they left the dumbwaiter." I said, thinking back to the one thing that had made the house exciting for a kid.

"I hope not," Ashley said in full-on mom mode. "I'll be having to chase the kids out of it all week."

"We played in it. What's the big deal?"

"No," Ashley replied, turning around in her seat. "
You
played in it.
I
got locked in it and wheeled down to that spooky basement."

She was right. I'd forgotten about that.

The heavy, oak doors opened, and out stepped Jake and Victoria. They reminded me of the bride and groom figures on top of a wedding cake. Such a perfect couple. The last time I'd seen Victoria, she was eight years younger than I was now. Looking at her flawless figure and face, I wasn't confident I could pass for her niece anymore.

Our entourage descended on the couple like Vikings on a virgin coastline. Everyone was talking at once. Hugs and kisses were exchanged. The Grands complained loudly about the cold. We were ushered inside into what can only be described as an old-fashioned Christmas wonderland. Think
The Bishop's Wife
starring Loretta Young. Stockings hung on the chimney. A huge fir tree topped by a star that brushed the fourteen-foot ceilings. The smell of polished wood mixed with cinnamon and pine. The sound of Christmas carols echoing softly in the background. I felt a strange tug in my chest as a bit of long-dead Christmas cheer threatened to bubble up. Or maybe it was just the bacon-cheeseburger and fries I'd had at lunch.

As we were hanging our coats on the two gleaming coat racks that stood on either side of the front doors, I noticed Mammaw standing by the large staircase. She was nodding and smiling. She said something and then turned to look back at us. I nudged my mom and pointed to Mammaw.

"Oh, lord," my mom murmured, "I hope she's not going to have a spell while we're here."

Mammaw's spells had improved since she'd been moved to The Meadows with the rest of The Grands. Prior to moving, my stepfather had calls from Mammaw's neighbors on a weekly basis reporting strange behavior, including talking to herself and wandering about the neighborhood at night. Mammaw had lived in her home since she married as a teenager in the early nineteen-thirties. It had taken a lot of pressure to get her to move to The Meadows. But she seemed to enjoy living with Aunt Pearl, and she liked to meet new people, so all in all the transition had gone smoothly.

"Mom," my stepfather, Dave, called loudly, "come on over and say hello to Jake and Victoria."

We all turned to watch Mammaw. She held up a "just a sec" finger to Dave and finished her conversation with herself.

As she shuffled over, my mom asked, "Why were you over there talking to yourself, Mammaw?"

Mammaw shook her head and smiled. "Oh, I wasn't talking to myself, dearie. I was talking to a nice lady who told me she'd show me where the good liquor was kept if I'd give you a message. But, of course, I don't drink, and I told her so. She said, 'You must have rocks in your head. Everyone knows a little nip never hurts.' I told her I'd reconsider my ideas concerning alcohol."

She started to ramble on about abstinence, when my mom asked, "She had a message for me?"

My stepfather rolled his eyes. My mom was the world's biggest sucker for all things mystical. She was also superstitious beyond belief. "Please don't encourage this, Brandy."

"Who's she seein' now?" Aunt Pearl asked loudly. "I swear she's always talkin' to someone or another."

 "So kind of you to notice Pearlie." Mammaw smiled at Aunt Pearl, then continued, "Yes, she said her name was Barbara, but everyone called her Babs."

My mom gasped.

Aunt Pearl said, "Now that's not nice. You shouldn't be scarin' Brandy like that."

My grandmother, Aunt Pearl's sister, had been called Bab's, but she had died in a car accident when my mom was a child.

Mammaw looked hurt. "I'm not trying to scare anyone. Oh, my, I probably shouldn't give you her message then."

"That's a good idea," my stepfather agreed. "Just keep it to yourself."

"No!" my mom cried. "What did she say?"

Mammaw hesitated and then said, "She said your father wants to see you."

A choked cry rose in my mom's throat. She hadn't seen her father since the accident. He'd turned her over to Aunt Pearl and walked out of her life. Not a card or a phone call in nearly forty years.

"Did she say anything else?" my mom asked.

"She said to make it quick, because he's fixing to join her for happy hour whatever that means."

My mom fell into Dave's arms and sobbed against his shoulder.

Granddaddy Hacker tried to bite a piece off of the intricate gingerbread house on the hall table. He managed to get the chimney in his mouth before the whole thing collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

I looked over at the Jake and Victoria. Something told me they were already planning to be out of town next Christmas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the only single in the group, I was given the choice between a shoe box size room under the eaves in the attic or a blow up mattress in the study. I took the attic.

My adult desire for privacy and sleep overcame childhood memories of unexplained drafts and things from above that went bump in the night. When we'd play truth or dare it was a toss up as to whether you'd be dared to go to the attic or the basement. The attic was also the location of my first make-out session with Kyle. He was a good kisser; I hoped it made for some sweet dreams.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the renovation had extended to the attic. Beautiful hardwood floors shown brightly in the waning sunlight drifting lazily through the one window. The window had a thick cushioned seat; a perfect reading nook. There was a twin bed with an heirloom quilt against one wall and a gas fireplace against the other.

"I'm sorry it's so small. The gas fireplace is also your main source of heat," Victoria apologized with an accent that sounded vaguely Russian.

"It's beautiful! You've done such an amazing job on the house."

She smiled. "It's been a labor of love. And, of course, Jake is an amazing carpenter."

"Looks like his business has survived the recession."

"It was slow for awhile, but he's as busy as ever now. I've started doing some interior decorating and sewing custom drapery. It's nice to have a flexible schedule," she said, looking out the window.

"Yeah, I temp around music gigs. It works for me," I replied, following her line of site.

"I'm glad you've all come for Christmas."

I shook my head. "Hope you and Jake know what you're getting into."

Her smile reached her eyes this time. "We do now. Look," she said pointing to the window, "your Granddaddy is trying to help Jake chop wood."

I glanced out the window. Granddaddy could barely lift an axe let alone chop wood. The last thing we needed was for him throw his back out again.

I slid the latch and opened the window. "Granddaddy! Stop that right now!"

He looked up and gave me a wave. "I'm choppin' wood!"

I shook my head and leaned further out the window. Icy snow flakes pelted my face. "No! Put that axe down! You're going to throw your back out again."

He waved me off. "Just quit yer jawin'. I've been choppin' wood since before any of y'all were born."

He turned back to the wood pile. Jake looked up at me in confusion, and I gave him the no-go signal. "He'll throw his back out," I yelled again.

Jake gave me a thumbs up and put down the axe. After some gesturing and some grumbling, Granddaddy headed back to the house.

He shook his fist at me as he went by. I leaned back in and closed the window. My face was frozen and my hair was wet.

Victoria handed me a towel. Her lips curved in a sad smile, and there were tears in her eyes. "Are you okay?" I asked.

She wiped her eyes and waved away my concerns. "I am fine. Just being sentimental. You have so much family. They must give you a full life."

Oh, yeah, they gave me a full life. I didn't think it would be right to tell her how full. "It's a mixed blessing," I replied diplomatically.

"We don't see Jake's family much, and I haven't been back to Romania since we were married. And, of course, we don't have a family of our own yet…" Her voice trailed off sadly.

So that was the problem, I thought. "So you've been trying for awhile?"

She nodded. "We've tried in-vitro twice without any success. It just doesn't seem to be possible."

"What about adoption?" I asked.

"We've been on a list for two years. I had hoped that we could adopt in Romania, but the changes in the laws have made it more difficult. It would require us to be gone for several months; it is almost impossible with the businesses." She shook her head, wiping fresh tears away.

I patted her arm. This conversation made me uncomfortable. It got my clock ticking and brought up a myriad of "what ifs" about having a family of my own. I was only seven years younger than Victoria, and my boyfriend Mark hadn't been making any let's-get-married noises. He was even too busy to join me for Christmas. Not that I was ready to settle down yet, but what if I waited too long? Yikes!

"I'm sorry to dump this on you," she apologized. She wiped her eyes and stared out the window.

"You're not dumping on me. I'm so sorry this is happening to you and Jake. If any couple deserves a baby, it's you two."

She smiled. "Thanks."

"Besides, there's always hope. I've found that the universe likes to toy around with you before giving you what you want. My career has taken off, but I'm spending Christmas without Mark. Not exactly going according to my master plan." I shrugged. I finally meet the man of my dreams, and suddenly he can't decide if he's a real estate developer or a CIA agent. Right now I was giving him space to work it all out. After all the space he gave me during my big tour, it was the least I could do.

"I've been following you on Facebook. I can't wait to see you perform live," she replied enthusiastically. "Do you happen to know any Christmas carols?"

 

 

* * * * *

 

Things were calmer when I made my way back downstairs a half hour later. Aunt Pearl and Mammaw were sitting with Uncle Grover by the fire. My sister's kids were in the backyard playing in the snow with Granddaddy, while their father snored loudly on the couch in the den off the kitchen.

Ashley and Victoria were baking cookies and planning the Christmas production in the kitchen. I assumed The Parents were hiding out in their rooms with a bottle of something. My mom had gulped a shot of whiskey to calm her nerves after the reunion with her dead mother. Dave had promised to go into town to see if they could find out anything about her father. He had also extracted a promise from Mammaw for no further communications with the dead.

"I've had another thought," my sister said without preamble.

"Congratulations," I replied.

She stuck her tongue out at me.

"You two make me miss my little sister," Victoria said with a laugh.

"Do you still have that dumbwaiter? I'd like to stuff her inside and send her to the creepy basement for old time's sake."

Victoria shook her head and laughed harder. "No. We got rid of it when we did the renovation."