The Christmas Sisters Read online

  “Park? Are you sure he's still breathing? I haven't seen him so much as blink since we got here this morning.”

  “Football fever. You know how he is.” Petie stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth and let her eyes glaze over.

  Nic laughed.

  “But you still should have gotten one of my family to do this.” She tucked the bowl brush back in its peach porcelain kitty cat container. “Jessica or Scott would have been happy to have helped out. We ought to get some use out of them while they're home from college for the long weekend.”

  “I know Scott and Jessica would have helped.” Her niece and nephew—two finer, smarter, more easygoing young adults you couldn't hope to find. They couldn't help it that they looked like they'd been ordered straight out of a J. Crew catalog.

  “That goes for Parker, too.” Petie patted her hair down. It sprang back to the natural carefree wave she invested so much time and money to maintain. “Rolling out of the recliner for dinner is the only exercise he'll get today if I don't come up with something to tear him away from the games.”

  “I wouldn't do that. I know what football means to him.”

  Parker, like any Alabama Adonis worth his salt, had moved effortlessly through all the expected stages of a well-born but not well-to-do Southern man's life. High school letterman and president of his college fraternity, he'd then bounded his way up the ladder to a comfy rung in higher middle management. But the dreams of his day in the limelight of the Bode County Pirates never completely faded from his mind.

  “Well, he was the star quarterback the year they almost took state.” Petie beamed. “And I was captain of the cheerleading squad, and you were second in line.”

  “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion, big sister, that somewhere in a pile in the back of your closet there's a skirt with box pleats?” Nic laughed. “And a sweater bearing the face of Pirate Pete? And a couple of shaken-till-they-shriveled maroon and gold pom-poms?”

  “Don't be silly.”

  Nic raised an eyebrow.

  “The skirt and sweater are hanging in a garment bag, and I keep the pom-poms in a hatbox at our old house in Alabama. It's only fitting they stay in Persuasion, you know.”

  They met gazes in the mirror, then shared a laugh.

  “I'm serious as a heart attack, though.” Petie nudged Nic. “You should have gotten one of us to do whatever it is you did in here. You're a guest in our house. You should not be tending to our plumbing mishaps.”

  A person couldn't ask for kinder, gentler, more generous souls than Park and Petie and their two children. How was Nic going to survive another holiday around them without grabbing Mama's best turkey carving knife and slicing every last toggle button off their matching navy blue cardigan sweaters?

  Nic closed the safety pin and the heavy corsage slouched forward, pulling her sweater collar out of shape. Not that it had much of a shape to begin with. “I didn't call you because it was my child that decided to flush down the leftover gobs of tissue from her flowers. That made taking care of things my responsibility.”

  “Well, you can see Willa's reasoning in that. We called the craft paper “tissue” paper the whole time we taught her how to make the mums.”

  “The pipes stopped up and orange dye went everywhere.”

  “Now I wish you had called me in here. I've seen blue toilet water, even green, but never orange.”

  “Stop it, Petie, would you just stop it?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop trying to make everything all right. To make it seem like it was a perfectly logical thing for an eight-year-old girl to do.”

  “I just...”

  “You just wanted to smooth things over, I know. But we can't forever go through life smoothing things out for her and covering up for her when she pulls something like this—or worse.”

  Petie folded her arms and tipped her chin down. With the play of light and shadow on her face and the no-nonsense tilt of her head, she looked just like their own mother half a lifetime ago. “Sometimes I think you are too hard on that child.”

  Anger, pain and fear locked in a grip on her heart and choked her words as Nic managed to ask her sister in a harsh whisper, “Do you think the world is going to be any easier on her?”

  Petie said nothing.

  What could she say, really? She was, after all, talking directly to the queen of how tough the world can be on people who make a mess of their lives.

  “Don't you think I wish I could bundle her up in cotton and keep all the bad stuff at bay for the rest of her life?”

  “Maybe as her family we should be her refuge from the harshness of the world.”

  “That's okay for you and your kids and Collier and Mama, but I can't afford that luxury.” Nic's footsteps fell on thick carpet, hard and quick as her own pulse in her ears. “It's my job to prepare Willa for what's waiting beyond the safe harbor of the people who love her.” And you have no idea how far I am ready to go to do just that, she almost added but caught herself just in time.

  Thanksgiving dinner was hardly the place for her to announce that she did not plan to go to Alabama this winter. Or that she wanted to sell her share of the house there to get enough money to put her daughter in a special program. She rounded the corner from the guest bath with her sister dogging at her heels and found her daughter waiting for her.

  “Mommy, am I in big trouble?”

  Tiny as she was, Willa, with her tender heart in her eyes, filled up the entire hallway. Paper mums adorned her headband, the orange made bolder in contrast to her shiny, deep brown hair. More crudely made flowers circled her wrists. She held one in her hand, the fat green pipe cleaner stem twisted between her fingers. She stood so still the crackling-thin paper did not even rustle.

  Nothing on earth had prepared Nic for this child. Of course she had read all the parenting books. She'd had long talks with her mother and sister about breast versus bottle and how long to let a child cry before picking it up. She had no doubt that she could be the best mom in the world to a happy, healthy child. But it seemed God had other plans.

  Who could be adequately prepared for standing in the cold starkness of a hospital and hearing a doctor say that your baby has sustained an injury to her brain? What book or normal life experience prepares a mother for that? No, with her precious Willa, Nic had to get by on a wing and a prayer...and then more prayer.

  Willa's brown eyes, made huge behind her oval glasses, grew wider still, waiting.

  And then a whole lot more prayers. Nic sighed. She reached out and touched her daughter's cheek.

  Willa twitched her nose, a sign of her struggle to keep in that smile that always came so easily to her.

  No one had ever told Nic how deeply she would love this warm, fragile, headstrong girl. Love her so much she would let the child hate her if that's what it took to give Willa a fighting chance at life.

  “You have to learn to stop and think about the consequences of your actions, young lady.” She dropped a hand to the girl's thin shoulder. “Remember how we talked about that? That there are accidents and then there are consequences? Accidents can not be helped. This little incident most certainly could have been avoided if you'd just asked for some help or advice.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Now, I cleaned up the mess you made, but that doesn't mean you get off free as the breeze. Do you understand that?”

  Willa nodded.

  Nic nodded, trying to appear firm in her resolve not to coddle the child.

  “I made this for you.” Willa held out the paper flower in her hand.

  The crumpled orange mum went blurry in Nic's gaze.

  “For your pretty hair.”

  Eyes downcast, she sniffled and tucked the flower behind one ear, mindful of staying steadfast. “Thank you, honey.”

  “It's my Thanksgiving present because I'm so thankful to God to have a mommy like you to love me and watch out for me and fix things when I mess them up.”

  “A
nd I'm thankful to have you, sweetheart.” Nic wrapped her arms around her daughter and nearly hugged the stuffing out of her.

  “Maybe we can find some other chore for our Willa to help out with.” Petie patted Nic on the back, then let her hand rest there.

  It felt good, holding her baby in her arms, having her big sister so near. Some days, single motherhood got the better of her. It made her weary to her bones. But moments like these made her feel like maybe she wasn't as alone in caring for Willa.

  Guilt settled low in her stomach over the decision she had made regarding the house in Alabama and keeping her plans a secret from the people who had helped her so much.

  Willa wriggled free from her mother's grasp. “What kind of chore do you want me to do, Aunt Petie?”

  “Well, let's see...” Petie draped her arm over Willa's shoulder. “Surely we can come up with something.”

  “A real chore, now.” Nic followed close behind them down the hallway that led to the spacious kitchen. The scents of cinnamon, allspice, and nutmeg laced the air. “Not something like pumpkin pie taster.”

  “I hate pumpkin pie.” Willa flailed her hands in short, awkward movements, her body stiff.

  “Then maybe we should make you pecan pie taster, instead.” Petie took the child's hands in hers and slowly lowered them. “Of course, you understand that since Auntie Collier is making the whole meal, you may not be able to tell the difference between the two.

  Willa laughed. Her hands jerked upward again.

  “Nope,” Petie said soft as the voice of a human conscience. She pressed down on Willa's forearms.

  In autistic circles they called these motions ‘stimming’, these often inexplicable, sudden actions that screamed to anxious onlookers “Hey, look at me, I'm different!”. Nic called them ‘The behaviors’ and she worked constantly with her daughter on toning them down. Now they usually only surfaced when the girl was overly tired or excited. Petie had handled them just right and seeing her do it touched Nic in ways she had not expected.

  “Here. One of your flowers is drooping. Can't have droopy flowers on Thanksgiving Day, can we?” Petie so deftly diverted Willa from the spontaneous behavior that none but a trained eye would have ever known what she was up to. Then Petie steered the girl to the left. “If you go straight ahead you end up in the den with the menfolks. You'll have to listen to Uncle Park spout football scores and statistics. You aren't interested in football scores and statistics, are you, sugar?

  “I like Aggravation.” Willa let her aunt turn her body in the right direction.

  Petie gave Nic a curious look.

  “The board game,” Nic whispered.

  Petie nodded. “Well, let me tell you, darling. If you like aggravation, you have come to the right place.”

  The clack and clatter of utensils grew louder as they neared the kitchen. Mama laughed. Collier muttered something then gasped. Then Collier laughed, too.

  “Welcome to the aggravation headquarters for the Dorsey family holiday extravaganza.”

  Pots and pans and casserole dishes, oven mitts, aprons, and an open cookbook littered the counters, the table, even the chairs of the usually spotless room. Potatoes boiled on the stove. Water ran in the sink. Smoke rose from an iron skillet smoldering on a trivet on the butcher-block center island.

  “Wow.” Willa's mouth hung open.

  “I don't know why you're so shocked.” Nic put one hand on her daughter's back. “Your bedroom back home isn't much neater.”

  “Well, at least my room isn't on fire!” She pointed to the frying pan.

  “Yes, sadly, this is what it's come to at our house.” Nic laced her arms over her chest. “Our expectation of neatness has now reached the if-it's-not-on-fire-then-it's-fine level.”

  “Why don't you get yourself in that kitchen and ask Aunt Collier if there is something you can do to help out?” Petie sent Willa scooting off with a playful swat to the behind.

  The aroma of coffee, roasting turkey, and yams slowly bubbling in brown sugar with marshmallows browning on top tickled Nic's nose. She sensed her emotions mingling, moving through her consciousness in much the same way. Her desire to stay strong and independent, her need to do right by her child, and her longing to please her family all churned together just below the surface of her tenuous composure.

  “Look who's here,” Jessica chimed out as Willa cautiously picked her way around the room.

  Nic started to go on in herself, but in one step, Petie blocked the doorway.

  “Promise me you won't be too hard on her. It is Thanksgiving, the start of our special time of year.”

  Nic tensed.

  Mama welcomed Willa's arrival on the scene with a big fuss over the mums, comparing her to a holiday parade float.

  Willa twirled around, showing off for her doting aunt and grandmother.

  Nic searched her sister's eyes for any sign that she'd understand what Nic was about to propose to the clan.

  “This was such a small thing. Let's not ruin the day over it.”

  Especially when there are so many bigger things to ruin the day with.

  “She was only being a kid.” Petie gathered the dark waves of hair falling over Nic's shoulder in one hand. “She didn't do it on purpose.”

  “I know, but I—” Nic felt practically yanked out of her shoes when her sister tightened her grip.

  A cheer rose from the den followed by the slapping of hands. Park and Scott hooted. Wally coughed.

  Nic tried to pull away from her sister.

  “Kids do dumb things.” In one fluid gesture, Petie whipped the paper flower from behind Nic's ear and wound it around to secure a ponytail nice and neat. She stood back and gave a smile of uninvited approval. “You of all people know that.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Petie ignored her, just went on fluffing the flower and talking. “You're doing the best you can, and no one blames you for a little mishap now and again.”

  From love to guilt to shame, her big sister had pushed all the right buttons. Nic gritted her teeth.

  Halftime music blared from the den.

  Scott's big feet thundered down the hallway headed straight for the kitchen. Park's play-by-play to a grumbling Wally followed right behind.

  Beyond the doorway, Mama tied an apron around her Willa's slender waist.

  Jessica stuck a paper cutout of a pilgrim boy and an Indian girl into the flowers on Willa's headband, creating a crown effect.

  Collier handed the child a wooden spoon to wield like a scepter.

  Instead of being held responsible for her actions, they'd turned Willa into the princess of the party. Well meaning or not, it entirely undermined everything Nic was trying so hard to accomplish with her child. This was exactly the reason she had to do what she had to do.

  Petie smiled a bit too brightly. “When we all get down to the house in a couple weeks, I'll make a special point to work with Willa on what goes down the—”

  Nic couldn't take it. Not another minute of it. “Petie, I'm not going to the house this year.”

  The room fell silent. Even Scott thudded to a halt a few feet behind her. She felt every eye focused on her in utter amazement, horror, and disbelief.

  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  Nic threw back her shoulders. She pulled the mum from the ponytail, letting her hair fall in whatever mess it may, and raised her chin. “And I guess you might as well know—I also want to sell my share of the house for as much as I can get for it.”

  Three

  What are you saying, Nic?” Collier dropped the lid back onto the pot of potatoes with a decisive clank. She waved away the cloud of steam swirling up into her face. “Sell your share? Not go down for winter vacation?”

  “Look, I know it's an awkward time to bring it up.”

  “Don't you dare shrug your shoulders and play all coy about this, li'l sister.” Petie looked ready to snatch her bald. “This is not like you've just announced you're on a d
iet and not eating pie today. You're talking about the end of a tradition—of selling our home.”

  “It hasn't been our home for years. People don’t even know who we are around there anymore. They call us the Christmas sisters because that’s pretty much the only time we get down there. You had to hear about my plans sometime.”

  “Heavenly mercy, Nic, why do you always drop this kind of stuff on us during the holidays?” Petie cut in quick. “You just have to command center stage with some pronouncement sure to startle this family out of their senses, don't you?”

  “Oh, like driving this crew out of their senses is some kind of challenge,” Nic muttered, more defensive about the accuracy of her sister's claim than haughty over being scolded in front of everyone.

  Nine years ago she had ruined one of the few serene New Year's Eves her family had ever known with her failed attempt to run off with Sam Moss. She'd spoiled that next Easter with the news that she was pregnant, caused more fireworks than the Fourth of July display with the threat of losing the baby, and aptly chose Labor Day to give birth. The only holiday gatherings she had not made a mess of yet were Decoration Day and Christmas. And Christmas was coming.

  No wonder they all looked like she'd scared the daylights out of them.

  “Oh, Nicolette!” Mother tossed her head back in a display of high drama that few women, short of Nic and Petie and Collier’s aunts, could have surpassed. “Oh, my...my... Just listen to the way you talk to your family! I'm having a dizzy spell, I swear I am.”

  “Scott, if Grandma faints, do catch her.” Petie propelled Nic straight through the melee of the kitchen toward the sliding glass door that led out back. “Everyone else go on about your business.”

  “What about me?” Collier slapped her oven mitt down on the butcher-block.

  “You might want to turn down the heat on that turkey. Nicolette and I are stepping out onto the back deck for...a chat.”

  “Turn the heat down?” Collier cranked the knob on the oven even as she protested. “Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to time everything out to perfection?”