Unwrapping Christmas (5 page)
Rose went straight home from the dinner and gift exchange to find Joey and the kids gone. He must have taken them someplace to eat after all. Now would be a good time to decorate the tree, to get that chore out of the way.
A chore?
She used to enjoy putting up the tree and hanging the sentimental ornaments. Now it was just one more thing on her to-do list.
She was hanging the last silver bow on the tree when she heard the garage door open.
Joey
. Simply saying his name felt good, reassuring. She tossed the last of the tinsel in the box and went to meet her family, greeting them with energetic hugs.
“What’s all this?” Joey asked, trying to get in the doorway.
“I’m glad you’re home.” She leaned up and kissed him, then took the bag containing milk and cereal out of his hand. “I missed you.”
“We went shopping.” He drew her back for a more thorough greeting. When they were first married, they kissed like this every night. These days, a peck and a grunt were the norm. Taking his coat, she hung it in the closet. The kids trudged upstairs to call friends.
“How was the old hen’s meeting?”
“Fun. We had a gift exchange. I got another candle.”
He groaned. “The garage shelf won’t hold another candle — it’s about to fall now. Why don’t you get rid of those things? You don’t even like candles.”
She grinned. “Convince my friends of that. We’ll be the best equipped house on the block during a power outage.”
He wandered into the living room where a fire blazed in the hearth. The tree, always a splendid sight, twinkled brightly in the front window. Rose mentally sighed, so grateful that for now, this moment, all was right in the world.
Joey reached for the paper and sat down in his recliner. She glanced at her watch, remembering the box of fresh holly sitting in the garage. She still had time to decorate the foyer before she would collapse into bed. She glanced at Joey, then back to the foyer. He seemed perfectly content — shoes kicked off, immersed in the stock report. Still, she tested the domestic waters.
“Honey? Do you care if I hang the holly in the foyer?” If he forbid her to do another thing tonight, she would respect his wishes.
“Umm?”
He didn’t care. Rose exhaled and went to the garage with her newest addition to the candle collection. She paused on the bottom step, trying to shake the niggling thought that with all she did, she was as ineffective as a screen door on a submarine.
She sank to the step, letting the darkness swallow her. Scents of motor oil and dried grass mingled with the fresh holly. She could hear the ten o’clock news and the kids upstairs banging around when they should be getting ready for bed. The Bergmen household was a far cry from the Cleaver household. How did Ward and June do it? Keep a sane, orderly life, yet be strong, productive-minded community leaders? For a second, Rose thought about joining Joey. She’d remove his paper and glasses, sit on his lap, and just talk. They hadn’t done that in a long time —just talk.
Dear God, why do I feel so worn, so empty, so tired? I
spend every waking moment doing what I can, but my efforts
amount to sifted chaff, they’re meaningless. I try to keep people
well fed, but it’s their soul that’s hungry. How do I nourish a
soul with casseroles and cookies?
Wearily she got up and turned on the garage overhead light. She still had to take a casserole to Lois Monday night. Dragging a ladder to the candle shelf, she made the newest deposit. The white dove looked content perched with its peers.
On her way back into the house, she balanced the box of holly on her knee and tried to turn out the light. A sudden crash shattered the stillness.
Wincing, she called out, “Honey? The candle shelf just collapsed.”
The first lighted Advent candle is traditionally the candle of Expectation or Hope (or in some traditions, Prophecy). Th is draws attention to the anticipation of the coming of a Messiah that weaves its way like a golden thread through Old Testament history. As God’s people were abused by power-hungry kings, led astray by self-centered prophets, and lulled into apathy by halfhearted religious leaders, there arose a longing among some for God to raise up a new king who would show them how to be God’s people. They yearned for a return of God’s dynamic presence in their midst.
Eric was quiet and withdrawn at breakfast late in the following week. Rose noticed Joey shooting him curious looks.
“You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“You sure?”
“He’s upset because neither of you made it to the science class parents’ day,” Anna volunteered.
Rose paused with her forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth. She had completely forgotten.
Eric’s eyes burned hot with anger. “You
promised
. I had to ride with Ben’s parents.”
“Oh my gosh! I had to take a dish by Lois’s and I decided to do some last minute shopping . . . Oh, Eric, I’m
so
sorry.”
“Yeah. I’ll bet you didn’t forget any of your meetings.” He shoved his chair back and bolted from the room.
Joey glanced up. “What science class parents’ day? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I guess I didn’t
mention
it because I knew you would be at work.” Rose tried to defend herself, knowing full well she was in the wrong on this one. When did she become so defensive . . . so edgy?
Anna sidled from the room.
Joey shook his head. “I would have gone if I’d known. The event was important to Eric.” Silence encompassed the room as both Joey and Rose looked at one another. Joey continued, “So have you called Jean about Ken recently?”
“No . . . not yet, but I will.”
“You’ve been saying that for days. You’ll feel better if you do it, Rose.”
Rose flushed. She felt bad enough without him laying a guilt trip on her. “I’ll call, okay?”
Joey dropped his napkin on the table and stood up. “Did you ever think you might need to ease up on some of these outside activities?”
She would have come up with a dandy retort, but he had already left the room.
Pushing back from the table, she grabbed up the breakfast dishes. Why was
she
the villain? How come the kids didn’t blame their father for missed events?
Sinking back into the chair, she ran her fingers through her short cropped hair.
Rose couldn’t
shake her melancholy mood. Something was missing in her life, and she knew it as she later drove to the Christian Restoration Center. The volunteer work at the center was important to her. Someone had said that when a parent goes to prison, the whole family goes there too. This particular ministry worked with those behind bars, the at-risk families of those who were imprisoned, and ex-offenders once they were released. For the past three years, the church had helped with their Christmas program, wrapping gifts for the children of incarcerated parents.
Right now, Rose’s heart felt heavy when she picked up four women at the church parking lot.
“Have you heard about Sue Barton?” Sharon rummaged in her purse and took out a stick of gum.
“She phoned the other night, but I was on my way out to choir practice. I haven’t gotten back to her yet.” Rose sat back to navigate the heavy morning traffic.
“She found a lump in her left breast.”
Deafening silence filled the car. Not a woman spoke, but Rose’s heart sank. Sue had found a
lump
in her breast? Was that why she had called? Her throat closed as she listened to the quiet speculations now floating around the interior of the car.
“Probably nothing — they say that 80 percent of all lumps are benign,” one of the ladies commented hopefully.
Eighty percent of other women’s lumps were benign, and that was a blessing. But what about the other 20 percent? Rose switched lanes, her ears tuned to the conversation.
“My sister found a lump last year. They did a biopsy and everything turned out fine.”
“Sue’s such a worrier,” someone commented. “She stresses over everything.”
A lump definitely qualified as “stress” in Rose’s estimation. She would call Sue the moment she got home. Her headache that had been only an annoyance now began to expand and intensify. She hadn’t made that luncheon date with Jean yet. She wondered how the family was doing. Had they heard anything from Ken’s tests, or were they still in a perpetual frozen state waiting for the phone to ring?
And Blyth — she needed to pray for Blyth, but her mind was going in fifty different directions. Drawing a deep breath, Rose reminded herself of first things first. Wrap the presents for the inmates’ children, and then worry about phone calls.
It was nearing three o’clock when she left the prison fellowship building. Her head felt like someone had ripped it off her shoulders and given it a couple of hard stomps. She dropped the other women off at their cars and headed home, wondering what to do about dinner. She couldn’t send Joey and the kids out again. She still had a sea of pending tasks ahead of her and not a leftover in the refrigerator.
As she drove along the highway, the exit to Dr. Reel’s office came in sight. Before she realized it, she threw on the blinker. Five minutes later, she walked into the clinic, unannounced and with no appointment.
The receptionist glanced up, smiling. “Rose?” Her gaze dropped to the appointment sheet. “I don’t have you scheduled.”
“I don’t have an appointment.” Rose sagged against the small reception window, aware that she probably looked as wiped out as she felt. “Is it possible to see the doctor? My head feels like it’s about to explode, and I’ve already used my Maxalt for the month.” She thought of the empty blister packs in the bathroom cabinet and wanted to weep. Insurance paid for only so many a month, and she had a lot of month left.
“Rose?” Dr. Reel’s nurse, Lana, spotted her and stepped to the window. “What’s going on?”
“I’m out of Maxalt and on impulse I stopped, hoping the doctor can work me in.”
Lana winked. “I think it’s possible.”
Ten minutes later Rose climbed onto the obligatory scale. “I have to weigh for Maxalt?”
Chuckling, Lana jotted Rose’s current weight on the chart. “Are you dieting?”
“Me?” She laughed. She could eat anything that didn’t eat her first and never gain a pound. “I forget to eat most days.”
Lana sobered. “I know we’re all under a lot of stress this time of year. You need to get plenty of rest and eat healthy. It’s important to take care of ourselves. Makes those trips to the doctor further apart and your Maxalt last longer.”
Dr. Reel breezed in, greeting Rose warmly. She had been his patient since she was much younger, and he knew the origin of every nick and abrasion on her. “Rose, Rose, hair of blonde,” he teased as his eyes scanned her chart. “You’ve lost five pounds since your last visit. Why is that?”
She smiled and shrugged, bracing for the lecture. “I’m too busy to eat.”
“Still doing all that volunteer work?”
“Some of it, yes.” What was this? Had Joey called him? No. He wouldn’t have a way of knowing she would stop by today. It had been purely a reflexive inquiry.
Dr. Reel shook his head. “There’s only so much one person can do. Set your limits and stick with them. Slow down, write yourself notes about eating, and hang them around your neck.” He winked. “You’re ten pounds below the norm — don’t lose anymore. Now, Lana tells me you’ve used all of your Maxalt — when was your last refill?”
“Two weeks ago.”
He shook his head, doing a basic examination of the type doctors are required to do.
“Migraines getting worse?”
“Not worse, but more frequent.” Lately it seemed she was threatened with one every day.
“Got to slow down, young lady.” He patted her knee and sat down on a rolling stool.
By the time she left, Rose had something to get her through the headaches until she could refill her present prescription.
“These pills are no substitute for rest and setting a slower pace,” Dr. Reel told her. “I’m suggesting relaxation exercises and a multivitamin to nudge your appetite.”
On the way out, Rose stopped Lana and thanked her for getting her in so quickly.
Humming “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” Rose tooled home down the freeway that was heavily congested with rush-hour traffic.
Call Sue!
Her mind instructed her. She could multitask, and if she called now, she wouldn’t forget it. She fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. Her groping fingers found her wallet, notepad, pen, flashlight — a flashlight? Why would she have a flashlight in her purse? Frustrated, she upended the purse, dumping the contents onto the seat. A quick glance at the mess — and that’s what it was — revealed the phone, and she snatched it up, then swerved back into her own lane. Traffic was moving fast and she had to keep up with it. It was dangerous to take her eyes off the road.
What was Sue’s number? Four, seven, six, no that wasn’t right. The car in front of her braked for a turn. Rose slammed on the brakes, dropping the phone. She leaned over, stretching for it, her fingers barely brushing the smooth metal. Just a tiny bit further. Her head dipped below the dash for a second and her hand closed around the phone, just as squealing tires and blaring horns jerked her erect.
