Anyway, it was the season of giving and I was caught empty-handed. Especially, given what he was going through with his cancer, I probably should’ve bought him something.
“It’s got a plug, but, believe me, it’s a gift. In fact, it’s more than that. This is for your new side career or whatever you call it. I thought I’d try to do something to encourage you. You know, let you know that I really am in your corner.”
“Holy smokes, Tom. I mean, thanks. I really mean that. Gosh.”
I didn’t know what to say. I sat down on the sofa and opened the smaller box first. It was a notebook computer. I almost fainted. “Tom! This is so fabulous! Honey, thank you! My God! Beth, look at this!”
“Daddy! It’s awesome! Can I use it too, Mom?”
“You’re welcome!” he said. “The other box has a color printer and all the cables and gadgets you need to recharge batteries and all that technical stuff that gives me a headache. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”
I ignored Beth’s question and realized that this was the final kiss from Tom. I no longer had to think about him wanting to come back. He didn’t want to anymore, but he wanted to be friends and, given all we had been through, that was a minor miracle. I’d take it and be graceful about it.
“Daddy, I have something for you. I made it.”
“Oh, princess, I almost forgot. This is for you. It’s a Visa card for your clothes and whatever you want. You can charge up to three hundred dollars a month on it and I’ll pay the bill. How’s that?”
Beth started squealing and screaming. She threw her arms around Tom and I didn’t blame her. I should do the same, I thought, these two gifts were unbelievable—one made my life easier and the other would keep me solvent. When Beth reached under the tree to search for Tom’s gift, I patted the couch beside me.
“Come on, sit by me.”
Like a good dog, he sat, obviously pleased with himself, as he should’ve been.
“Tom, thank you. This was so nice of you. I mean, this will make a lot of things easier for us and you knew that. Tom, really, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Susan, you and I have been through the wars together. I really want to try to make up for some of the colossally stupid things I’ve done.”
I squeezed his hand and started choking up a little when I saw Beth’s gift to him. She handed him a large, flat package. It had more gold and glitter than any of the others she had wrapped. It was, after all, for her daddy.
“Here, Daddy, this is for you. Merry Christmas,” she said quietly.
Tom opened it slowly, remarking on the paper and how artistic she was. He made her laugh by asking her if it was a sports car or a stereo. We saw it was a scrapbook. She had made a title card for the front that read THE GOOD OLD DAYS. As we turned each page, we saw it was filled with photographs that chronicled our lives, all of them smiling and happy. Under each one, she had made a remark on a strip of paper to remind him what the event was. There was one from her first birthday party, me holding her, smiling, her face and dress covered in frosting. The caption read: You and Momma didn’t even mind that I made such a mess of things.
That was just a little too close for comfort. I got confused and thought that she blamed herself for our divorce as I had blamed myself for my daddy’s death. But we were the ones who had made the mess, not her. We were doing our best for her sake, and, in some way, for ourselves too.
Tom just pointed to the picture and said to her, “Remember how afraid you were of Big Bird?”
She said, “I remember you picking me up and putting me on your shoulders.”
“Anybody want something to drink?” No one answered. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
In the kitchen, I poured a glass of water. Get a hold of yourself, Susan, I told myself, it’s Christmas. People always get emotional during the holidays. You’ve had a tough year. A lot of changes, but good things too.
This was the relationship I wanted to fight for. This friendship. This relationship of Beth’s with Tom. I could make it better for them. I realized that money had been one of the things that caused so much pain over the past months. Now that I would earn enough to provide a cushion, and now that Tom was stepping up to help a little more, we didn’t have to fight about that anymore.
In an odd way, even though we were getting divorced, we were still a family. Always would be. We had too much shared history to ever give each other up completely. Somehow, I’d make Beth see that and understand it. If Tom and I didn’t fight about anything, she’d have nothing to blame herself for.
I was leaning against the sink, my arms around myself, my jaw set square as it does when I’m deep in thought, when Tom appeared in the doorway.
“I gotta go, Susan. Merry Christmas. Give my best to Maggie and Grant and the boys, okay?”
“Tom! Of course I will. Hey, thanks again. I really mean it. I feel like things are working out better, don’t you?”
“Yeah, if we want them to, they will.”
“Well, they have to for Beth’s sake. She loves us both so much.”
“Susan, we all love each other so much.”
“You feeling okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay. The catheter’s out and, well, I’ll see what the future brings. Susan, well, I’ll call you after the holiday and we’ll talk.”
“What? Is something wrong?”
“No. I swear. Everything’s fine. A little tired and a lot nauseated, that’s all. Now, you and Beth have a fabulous Christmas, okay? Give my best to Grant and Maggie and their boys.”
“Okay, lover boy, your jail bait is probably wondering where you are. Tell her I send my greetings and don’t drive like a maniac, okay? Be careful, you still have us to live for. Now get on outta here, before I insist on a conjugal visit.”
“God, Susan, you are so great.”
“That’s true,” I said as I opened the door for him. “So are you. Hey, Tom, thanks, huh? For everything.”
“You’re welcome. You know, you could’ve bought me a bottle of aftershave.”
“Oh, God, sorry, Tom. I was really insane that day.”
“Well, it was a tough day.” He smiled at me and we took a long look at each other. He gave me a peck on the cheek and turned to go. “Merry Christmas, Susan Hayes,” he said over his shoulder.
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Tom Hayes.”
Standing in the doorway, I watched him pull away in the twilight. I caught a burst of pine scent from our wreath, and the little white lights on our topiaries all came on with the timer. I wondered if he really was all right and what he had started to tell me that could wait until after Christmas. I decided not to dwell on it, thinking that he must be all right or he wouldn’t be back with Karen. But he didn’t look good.
IT WAS ALMOST Christmas and I couldn’t wait to get to Maggie’s house, out to the beach, to the Island Gamble, where we all belonged.
The next morning I cleaned up the kitchen, listening to the morning news, making a mental list of all we had to cram in the car to take to the beach. Timmy, Henry and their families were coming Christmas Day and staying for the whole week. The twins had sent their regrets again with some sorry-ass excuse. Beth had run out for a bag of coconut, marshmallows, a bottle of cherries and two cans of fruit cocktail. She was making ambrosia for her little cousins. They’d probably love it.
Now that I was a big-shot columnist and had this flood of money from my promotion, I decided to march myself into Berlin’s and see what the chic were buying for the season. This beautiful and elegant woman, Nancee Rubin, took one look at me and said, “Want to see the most incredible sweater in the world?” Now, who could say no to that? She was right. Triple-ply cashmere, rust-colored, deep V-neck, long-sleeved tunic with slit sides. Then she pulled out a pair of rust velvet pants, narrow legs, flat front, side zip. When she held one on top of the other I knew they had my name all over them.
“You can get suede Gucci loafers in the same color at Bob Ellis,” she
said and laughed, knowing I was going to beg for “drive-thru” alterations.
They hemmed the pants while I bought the shoes. Gucci? I must have been losing my mind! Two pieces of clothes and I felt like a new woman. Wasn’t that ridiculous? Merry Christmas to me, I said six hundred dollars later.
Finally, the car was packed to the hilt with gifts and our clothes for our Island holiday. Beth was taking out the last armload of gifts for my nieces and nephews and I was turning off all the lights. In the warmth of the Christmas tree’s twinkling white lights, I took a good look at myself in my momma’s big mirror. I look good in this color, I thought. I was older, yes, but still, I looked relieved, rested and happy. I was; that was all true. My head was in good shape.
Tom going back to Karen hadn’t really bothered me all that much. I didn’t care who he was with—I just wanted him to stay alive. No, I was doing just fine, but I wondered what my brothers would have to say about me helping Tom through his illness. Oh well, I thought, I could deal with them. It was a wiser woman who stared back at me, half-smiling, pleased with herself.
By the time we got to Maggie’s, I was so far back in my memory that I half expected Rascal to come bounding up, barking and wagging his tail, to greet us. Instead, as I pulled in the driveway, I saw a yard filled with cars. North Carolina plates. That was Timmy! Georgia plates. That was Henry! All the lights were on. My brothers had come early and we were going to have a wonderful time. I could feel it.
Beth and I got out to raise the tailgate and unload the car. Beth went on ahead of me. Typically, I tried to carry too much and stumbled, packages going everywhere on the ground. I could hear shrieks of laughter and greetings as Beth entered the kitchen. The screen door slammed.
“Is this my sister? I can’t believe my eyes! You look like one million. Net!” It was Henry, the tycoon of the family, coming down the stairs to greet me.
“Yeah, it’s me, Brother Bucks! Gimme a kiss! They didn’t get you for insider trading yet?”
“Why, you! I’m as pure as the driven snow, and damn grateful my office isn’t wired!” He swung me around in the air in a huge circle.
“Put me down!” I screamed. “Help!”
The door swung open again. It was Timmy, the family psychologist (and boy, did we need one) coming down the steps. “Unhand her, you brute!” he yelled.
Finally, Henry put me down and the world was spinning.
“You’re nuts! Oh! My head!”
Timmy was picking up my packages and Henry helped too. Henry, laughing to himself, went up the stairs with his arms filled.
“He’s crazy,” I said.
“Still crazy, to be accurate. You’re nice to indulge his repressed childhood,” Timmy said, in shrink-speak.
“Whatever! So how are you? God, it’s good to see you, Timmy.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How’s my sister-in-law and my nieces and nephews?”
“They’re responding to treatment well,” he said, deadpan.
“Very funny,” I said. “Come on, there are a multitude of cocktails to be drunk!”
“Right! Think of all the poor sober people in China!”
I slammed the door of the car and, with a suitcase in each hand, struggled up the back steps.
The kitchen was crowded with my family, shrieking, pouring drinks and eating. I could hear Maggie in the dining room, shouting to Grant.
“Put on that Shannon Gibbons CD! For Lord’s sake, Grant, if I hear Kenny Rogers one more time, I don’t know what I’ll do!”
A wave of pleasure swept through me. I was so happy to be here, with my brothers and my sister and all our offspring. I wandered into the living room and the Christmas tree stopped me dead in my tracks. Maggie had done it again. The tree was covered in varnished shells from the beach, popcorn and cranberry chains, red plaid satin bows and white lights. I was alone in the room and stood there for a few moments thinking about how everything Maggie touched became beautiful and glorified. I turned to see her standing beside me. Suddenly, I felt emotional.
“It’s a beautiful tree,” I said.
She threw her arm around my shoulder and squeezed me. “It’s disposable. Just pull off the lights, that is, if they’re still working by New Year’s.”
“How is it that you’re so clever and I’m not?”
“But you are. This has been a rough year, Susan, but it’s almost over. You know, you’re surrounded by people who love you. You should always surround yourself with people who love you. Life’s hard enough without fighting every battle all alone.” She handed me a tissue from her pocket.
“I surrender,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’m fighting no one from this day forward.”
“Okay, let’s go have us a Geechee Christmas and to hell with the outside world.”
And we did. We ate our traditional seafood dinner with riotous gusto, the noise level of the house at such a roar, I could almost see Fat Albert, dead for twenty years, coming to the house to arrest us all for disturbing the peace. We drank the six bottles of rare sauvignon blanc that Henry had brought from his cellar and we were cruising. We told Alice Simpson stories, Stanley Rifkin stories, Livvie stories. We teased each other to death.
We made the pilgrimage to Stella Maris together for Midnight Mass. The night was clear and crisp. The tide was out, so the sound of the ocean was like gentle background music.
Later, we had decaffeinated Irish coffee or nightcaps, and hot chocolate with whipped cream for the children. We put the cups and glasses in the dishwasher and turned out all the lights. I went out for a look at the ocean. I just stood there thinking how lucky I was to have such a great family, how different from each other we all were but how we loved each other in spite of, and because of, our differences. Finally, I went inside and locked the front door. Grant and Maggie were long gone to bed and the boys and their families had turned in as well. The Island Gamble grew still and my head rested next to Beth’s in an old double bed, under a quilt and two blankets.
“Hey, Beth? You sleeping?”
“What?”
“Hey, did Chris call you for Christmas?”
“He’s a jerk,” she said and began to snore softly. Beth’s cold feet touched my legs and we curled up like two spoons. Mother and daughter. I prayed silently for us, for all my family, for Livvie, her Nelson, my momma and daddy, Tom and everyone else I could think of who crossed my mind. I prayed that Beth would learn how to handle men, but not too soon. I had not spent the night before Christmas at the Island Gamble in decades. I was astonished at how restful it was. The old Island Gamble had begun a new life with Maggie and Grant’s family—a happy one. She had left the past behind and begun again welcoming us all home.
Christmas Day came and went, the morning spent making mountains of pancakes and many pots of coffee, opening presents and clearing away the wrapping paper and tissue. For the next few days, we simply enjoyed each other, taking long walks on the beach, cheating at cards and exaggerating family history.
The thirty-first of December dawned. Maggie and I were in the kitchen preparing for the picnic we’d planned for the eve of the new millennium. Even my macho brothers and their lazy wives helped to pack the coolers. One held shrimp, crab claws, turkey salad and ham salad sandwiches and the other was filled with wine, beer and sodas for the kids. We had bags filled with corn chips and salsa, cheese and crackers, grapes and apples, and the traditional chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers for s’mores.
It was going to be spectacular. Special permits had been issued for bonfires to burn every hundred feet on every beach in Charleston County. It would be low tide at ten o’clock and the weather was clear and perfect.
Two huge barges had been anchored in the middle of the harbor for a massive fireworks display. And another two barges were positioned in the Ashley River for the other side of the peninsula.
Stella Maris had a special Mass planned for ten-thirty, giving us all enough time to attend Mass and not miss the fireworks. Then Stella Maris would join
every Christian church in the world by ringing her bells for three hours. I showered and put on my rust pants and sweater, spraying myself liberally with Maggie’s bottle of Allure. Maggie came in the room, all dressed for the festivities in black velvet pants and a red sweater embroidered with firecrackers, martini glasses and champagne bottles.
“Hey, you about ready? Grant’s got the bonfire going on the beach and he wants us to watch it so he can change clothes,” she said. “You look great!”
“Thanks! Sure, I’ll be right there. Uh, Maggie, one thing.”
“Sure, what?”
“Where on God’s earth did you find that sweater?”
“Catalog. Like it?”
I just shook my head and said, “Yeah, I love it.”
We walked to Stella Maris as we had done as children, the Hamilton parade of Island veterans, past the dark looming forts to our beautiful little church. Even my heathen brothers had decided to come.
“Who’s on the altar?” Henry asked as we walked.
“You won’t believe it,” Maggie said. “Remember Ben Michaels?”
“The guy who ate thirty hot dogs on the Fourth of July? The pinball wizard? The shag king of the Isle of Palms?”
“Yep, same one. Went to Catholic University, became a priest, did ten years in the Amazon as a missionary and then the bishop gave him our parish,” Maggie said.
“Holy shit,” Henry said.
“‘Holy shit’ is your uncle’s idea of prayer,” Timmy said to Beth.
“Don’t make jokes,” I said, “the guy’s a brilliant priest. Stella Maris has over seven hundred families.”
“Hold on, Susan,” Henry said. “You still going to Mass?”
“Yeah, and lightning’s gonna fry your bongee butt when you walk in the door,” I said. Bongee is the Gullah term for the ridiculous or the stupid.
At ten-thirty we filed into Stella Maris and it took three pews to hold all of us. Over one hundred people couldn’t even get in and had to watch the Mass on a TV monitor in the church hall next door. There were people in church whom I had no idea were even remotely religious.