The Christmas Note (9 page)

There’s something about the way his jaw clenches or his face turns solemn as he sets to work that is oddly familiar and I stop, looking at him. “Have a good one,” I say, letting the door close behind me. Something has always bugged me about Josh, but I can’t figure it out. In the end, he’ll put in his four weeks of holiday work and will have been just another kid who earned “i-something” money at Wilson’s.

I take the stairs up to the break room to clock out and grab my coat and backpack out of my locker when a man stops me on the landing. “Excuse me,” he says. “I’m trying to find something for my wife without her knowing it.” He’s holding a navy blue sweater in one hand and a yellow one in the other. “She’s right over there with her mother.” He lifts one of the sweaters toward two women in the jewelry department. “Which color do you think would be best on my wife?” All I can see is the profiles of the women, one is a brunette and the other has silvery white hair.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not good at that sort of thing. You should ask one of the ladies on the floor.”

He looks disappointed, but he shouldn’t have asked a total stranger for shopping advice! “My son Josh works here. Do you know where I could find him? He’d have an opinion.”

I glance at the two women and realize one of them must be Josh’s grandmother that he told me about. “He’s down these stairs,” I say. “Just knock on the door.” He heads toward the mail room, and for a second I watch Josh’s mom and grandmother, trying to see their faces. I catch a small glimpse of his mother’s face and think Josh looks like her. Navy blue, I say to myself, stepping into the break room.

The skies are bright for my short walk to the law office. I’m skipping lunch today so I can get out early and head to Miriam’s to help her and Gretchen bake. I don’t know why, but I find myself looking forward to being with them and baking something, anything for the first time. Once when I was around ten or so I begged Ramona to buy some of those slice-and-bake cookies at the grocery store. She wouldn’t do it, and I noticed two other shoppers nearby so I got louder. “Please, Ramona! We never have cookies. I’ll bake them myself.” The other women looked at Ramona and smiled in an isn’t-she-cute way, and I saw they were on my side. “Please! Please! We never bake cookies. I’ll clean up the mess, I promise.”

“All right, lamby,” Ramona said, smiling at the other women and tossing the roll of cookies into the cart.

When we walked to the parking lot Ramona set the bag of groceries in the trunk and pulled out the roll of cookies, bringing them into the car. I got excited when I saw her using her nail file to open the roll, thinking we’d get to enjoy some cookie dough on the ride home. She managed to open the roll and scooped out a large handful. “Here,” she said, hitting me in the mouth with it. “Open up.” I started to push her hand away, but she yanked my hand down, pushing the dough into my face. “Eat it! You made a fool out of me over it so you open your big mouth again and eat this.” I opened my mouth and Ramona shoved the dough inside. “Swallow it.” I gagged trying to chew the sweet, gooey mound but Ramona shoved another handful into my mouth. The dough hung from my nose and off my chin and tears filled my eyes but I willed them not to fall. I vowed at that moment to never shed another tear because of her and dried up then and there like Arizona. One handful after another was pushed into my mouth and when the roll was nearly empty Ramona threw what was left out the window and started the car. My face and shirt were a sticky mess and I wanted to throw up but I acted like I wasn’t sick. Ramona looked over at me. “Do you still want to go home and bake cookies with your mommy?”

Ramona was on the phone when I threw up the first time. I didn’t make any noise; I didn’t want her to know that I was sick. I kept a bag by my bed so I wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom and I threw up two more times. I threw the bag out the apartment window so she’d never have the satisfaction of knowing what she had done to me.

I bring the chill of outside with me as I open the door to Layton & Associates. Jodi is at her desk when I walk into the office, and I see she has the phone to her ear. I take my time hanging up my coat and scarf and untie and then retie my sneakers. When she hangs up, she waves at me behind the glass and I walk to her door, indicating I’d like to step inside. “Come on in,” she says. I open the door as Jodi opens a file drawer at the side of her desk. Jodi is about my age, maybe older, for all I know. She runs several times a week, though, and is probably older than she looks. Her hair is light brown and hangs at her shoulders. She’s married, but I don’t know how many children she has, and I feel bad about not knowing. “How are you, Melissa?” This is as far as Jodi and I ever get, and I know she’s curious why I’m standing in front of her.

“I was wondering if I could hire Mr. Layton’s services?”

She shuts the file drawer and faces me. “Really?”

“I’d like to find a brother and sister I never knew about.”

She smiles and walks around her desk. “Come on.” I follow her to Robert’s door, and she steps inside. Robert is typing on his computer and looks at us over his glasses.

“Hello, ladies.” He stops typing and takes off his glasses. Jodi’s smiling and my face is blank. I didn’t think she’d tell him so quickly! I thought she’d get the ball rolling herself.

“Melissa would like to hire your services, Robert.”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, watching me. “What’s happened, Melissa?”

I know I’m red in the face … from the wind, the cold, the heat in this office, or the fact that I’ve rarely spoken to this man who gave me my job. “I just discovered that I have a brother and sister that I never knew about.” He waits for me to finish before he says anything. “I’d like to find them if you do that kind of work. If not, I’ll—”

Robert smiles and puts up his hand. “You never knew about them?” I shake my head. “Isn’t that something?” He smacks his hands together. “Let’s find them!” He looks at Jodi. “Have her fill out Kate’s papers.”

I follow Jodi to her office and she opens a file drawer, pulling out a file. “What are Kate’s papers?” I ask.

She pulls a stack of papers from the file and raps them on her desk to straighten them. “Cases that Robert knows his wife would want him to work on.” I don’t know what she really means. “Pro bono.” She hands the papers to me. “He’ll do it for free.”

“I didn’t mean for him to—”

“I know that. Fill out the papers and let’s get working on your case.”

My case! It feels too sudden. “How long do these things usually take?”

She puts the file back into the drawer. “Depends. We found a biological mother about six months ago and it took one day. One day! Over a year ago we tracked down a father, and that took a few months. You never know.” She opens another drawer and pulls papers out of a file and checks to make sure she’s handing me the right ones. “These papers will help us get started. They ask for your biological parents’ names, if you know them, along with their Socials, if you have that info. Some people don’t even have a name. Just a hospital or a town. We’ll take what you have and get started.”

“Thanks, Jodi.” I walk to the back room, where I close the door and slump to the floor, reading the papers. One line asks for my mother’s name. Another line asks for her Social Security number. I stare at them for what seems like an eternity before I reach for my backpack. I had written Ramona’s Social Security number down years ago and carried it in my wallet. I hold the tattered note in my hand and read the number over and over. I print
RAMONA JUNE MCCREARY
on one line and write down her Social Security number on the other. I run my finger over the words and numbers, and somehow I feel it. I’ve just opened the tiger’s cage.

*   *   *

When I finish up at three thirty I walk to the front of the office where Susan is on the phone. I pull on my coat and hat and put the papers in Jodi’s in-box. Susan taps on the box, gives me a thumbs-up, and then waggles her fingers ’bye in my direction. I take a breath and wave, opening the door.

I don’t know if I’m excited or scared to death. I want to be excited
,
I say to myself. I want to pray like Mrs. Schweiger always did and have her kind of belief. I want to believe that my brother and sister would want to meet me and that they’re good people. I want to meet them and tell them that they were the lucky ones; they got away. They never helped their boozy mother into bed or had cookie dough crammed down their mouths. They were the favored ones, the chosen ones. The blessed ones.

It’s a little before four when I arrive at Miriam’s house. Her home is decorated with simple Christmas lights draped over the shrubs and wrapped around the porch railing and posts. That must be Gloria’s house next door with a Noel sign hanging on the door and evergreen and lights wrapped around the porch columns. I knock on Miriam’s door and Gretchen’s son opens it a crack, staring at me. What is his name? I can’t remember.

“You’re Melissa from next door,” he says, opening the door wider.

“How are
you
?” I ask.

“My nana says you can’t bake either, so this whole baking deal will be over with toot sweet.”

“Now don’t tell her such things,” Miriam says, coming up behind him and putting her hand over his mouth.

He pulls her hand away and throws his arms in the air. “That is exactly what you said, Nana!”

“I know, but don’t tell her such things.”

He walks away, shaking his head. Gretchen steps into the entryway and holds her hands out at her side. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I ask, slipping off my shoes.

“Do I need to make a call?”

I hand my coat and backpack to Miriam and roll my eyes. “Your daughter can be very pushy.”

“Don’t I know it,” Miriam says, whispering.

“I am not, Mother! Go put her coat away!” I follow Gretchen to the kitchen, where my nose goes into overdrive. Gretchen picks up a spoon and stirs something in a pot on the stove. “Well? How about it?”

“Leave her alone, Gretchen,” Miriam says, motioning for me to sit at the table. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready.” She sits across from me and slaps her hand on the table. “So, are you ready?”

I laugh and nod. “Yes. I turned them in today.”

“Oh, that’s splendid!” Miriam says.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I have this feeling in my gut that my siblings are going to be more like Ramona and not in the least like you two.” It comes out faster than I realize and Gretchen smiles.

“Wow. That was pretty close to a compliment. Give her something hard to drink, Mom, and let’s see what else she gives up.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment,” I say.

Gretchen bangs the lid of the pot down. “Too late. Caught you being nice.” She washes her hands and looks at me over her shoulder. “All right. Up on your feet, you two. Let’s get a move on. Wash up.”

The front door bangs closed and Miriam jumps, clutching her chest. “Gloria!”

Gloria peeks her head into the kitchen. “Aha! I was at home but had this creepy feeling, as if something was wrong over here. Now I see. Miriam’s in the kitchen!”

Gretchen laughs and pulls out two big mixing bowls from a cupboard. Gloria rears back and opens her arms. “How are you, babe?” She hugs me to her, and I find myself hugging back. “Has it been a hard week?” I feel everyone’s eyes on me and don’t answer. Gloria wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Good days are on the way. Starting today! What are we baking, Gretchen?”

“Hummingbird cake and a chocolate raspberry cake.”

Gloria pounds the countertop and makes yummy noises. She pushes up her sleeves and moves to the sink. “Tell me what you need, doll.”

“Okay,” Gretchen says. “You help Mom make the raspberry one, and Melissa and I will take care of the hummingbird.”

Gloria shakes her head. “I knew you’d stick me with your mother.”

Miriam laughs out loud, and I find myself smiling, listening to them. Gretchen puts me in charge of measuring out the flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt while she gets the pans ready. “I haven’t helped bake a cake since I was a kid and helped Mrs. Schweiger from next door,” I say, remembering Mrs. Schweiger and I crammed into her tiny apartment kitchen making a mess with flour and sugar.

“So you have baked something!” Gretchen says.

“Not really. Mrs. Schweiger did everything. I was just there to lick the beaters and eat the frosting.”

When I’m done with the dry stuff Gretchen asks me to mash some bananas with a fork. I’ve eaten plenty of bananas but have never mashed one before. I press the fork into it and Gretchen laughs. “You don’t have to be nice to it. Just mash it down.” I mash away, and Gretchen opens a can of pineapple and chops up some nuts.

“These ingredients don’t sound like they’ll be good together.”

“You’ll be amazed,” Gretchen says, chopping the pecans.

I am fascinated by the simplest act of pouring oil, breaking eggs, and using the mixer. I’d never had reason to use one before and find myself grinning.

“For crying out loud, Miriam,” Gloria says on the other side of the counter. “Grate the chocolate, not my nerves.”

Miriam sighs. “I am trying my best, Gloria!”

“Are you trying to lull that chocolate to sleep? Grab a hold of it like you mean business and start working it over the grater.”

“I want to switch teams,” Miriam says, holding the grater in the air.

I laugh and read aloud the instructions of how to blend the rest of the ingredients. The bowl is awkward in my hands as I pour the batter into a pan. A huge glob of batter slides down the outside of the bowl and Gretchen swipes at it with a spatula. I’m leaning over the next pan when Gretchen’s cell phone rings. She excuses herself to the living room, and Gloria and Miriam exchange glances.

“He’s not just standing today! He’s walking!” Gretchen says, running into the kitchen. The phone is still next to her ear. “They’re sending him to Texas.” She dashes back to the living room, and Gloria hugs Miriam, whose eyes are filling.

“Who’s walking?” I ask, setting my sloppy bowl down.

“Kyle,” Gloria says.