How I Came to Sparkle Again (13 page)

“Ready?” he asked her.

“What if my face is ruined?” she mumbled out of mostly closed lips as she held a bag of snow on her nose.

“Oh, baby, your face isn’t ruined. You’re going to be just fine.”

Jill’s eyes welled up as she watched the tenderness exchanged between them.

“You don’t need to worry about that. You’re going to be fine,” Jill assured her. “The doctors are going to put you back together really well.”

As her husband walked her to their car, Jill thought about marriage vows, about how he was keeping his. And she thought about the marriage vows she had taken. She didn’t promise to love David only if he loved her and kept his vows. She promised to love him through good times and bad. She made a
promise
.

As the day wound down, she finished up her paperwork, restocked the bandages, folded the wool blankets on the beds, and finally signed out and locked up. She walked home thinking about vows, about good times and bad, and attempted to find some memory to hold on to.

Last year, as they’d decorated their tree with angels, David had said, “Wouldn’t this be more fun with children?”

Jill looked at him and said yes. She looked deep into his eyes to see just how much he meant it, whether he meant it lightly or whether he meant it deeply, and near as she could figure, he was doing the same. They both meant it deeply.

That night, they made love with a different intention and a different intensity. It was beautiful, in fact. It was souls merging and miracles and everything a person wanted conception to be. Jill was deeply disappointed a few weeks later when it was evident they hadn’t conceived. They had two more months of disappointment. Each time, Jill felt as if she had failed. And each time, David held her and whispered in her ear that she didn’t need to be sad, that everything was okay, that maybe their child didn’t want to be a Virgo or a Libra or a Scorpio, and that would always make Jill laugh because David was the last person to believe in astrology.

When she finally saw the plus on her pregnancy test, she went to the library and checked out
Linda Goodman’s Sun Signs,
and that night at dinner she opened it up and began to read aloud about people born under the sign of Sagittarius—athletic and fun, prone to sticking their foot in their mouth, and phobic of being fenced in.

“I’m a Capricorn,” David said.

“I’m not reading about you,” Jill replied. “I’m telling you what our child is going to be like.” And the look in his eyes said,
What? Really? Is my dream of being a dad really going to come true?
David was fairy-tale happy. Jill had been surprised just how happy he was. “You’re going to be a dad,” she said.

He stood up, leaned across the table, and gave her a powerful kiss.

That was a good moment. If she could take one moment out of her life to put in a frame and hang on the wall, it would be that moment. It was so hard for her to believe that a year after that moment, she was one hundred and eighty degrees away from it. And as much as she wanted to look to that moment for something to hang on to, here was the thing about that moment: It was never coming around again. At least not with her. David might have that moment again with someone else. He could. And he had been so happy, why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t he want that moment again? Why wouldn’t he want a woman who could give him that?

When she got home from work, Eric was outside the Kennel in the sun, wearing his cowboy hat and holding a Corona in one hand and a hose that snaked from the laundry room window in the other. He was rinsing off a five-foot-tall cut fir tree. Seemingly endless suds foamed and grew as the water hit the branches. Jill could hear someone vacuuming inside the Kennel. She walked up, stood next to Eric, and just watched. He handed her his bottle of beer. She took a swig and handed it back. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him looking at her, but she was still avoiding eye contact as much as she could these days. One sympathetic look from anyone could send her into sobs.

“Looks like there’s an interesting story here,” she finally said.

Eric nodded. “Yeah, well … we thought maybe you needed a Christmas tree.”

“And a very clean one at that,” Jill said, genuinely touched.

“Nothing but the best, Jilly.” He took another swig of beer. “Hans and I poached this one from the United States Forest Service just this morning, brought it down on the cat, and hid it behind the house. We were very proud of ourselves.”

“Most poachers are,” Jill said. She cracked a little smile.

“This morning, while you were at work, the three of us brought it in, put it in the stand, and began to hang lights. It was at this point that we noticed millions of tiny bugs dropping off the branches. At first, none of us said anything because, you know, acid flashbacks can happen. But finally Hans went, ‘Is it me, or are there fuckin’ bugs everywhere?’” Eric imitated Hans’s voice perfectly, making Jill laugh for a moment. “That’s when Tom began to scream like a little girl. Come to find out, he hates bugs. I think he’s had crabs two or three times. Maybe that’s why. Anyway, it’s been two hours and he’s still vacuuming.”

“That’s generally not an indicator of good mental health,” Jill said.

“No, sadly, it’s not. So Hans and I threw the tree in the yard and Tom came out with that can of Raid and gave the tree a thorough dousing. We gave it a good shake and then brought it back in, but it stunk too bad and gave us all a headache, plus we worried that it might be significantly more flammable, so I said, ‘Hey, I know, let’s wash it!’ And since Tom wouldn’t let me take it in the shower, I brought it out here with the dish soap, and, well, I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s been about an hour now and it still stinks. Tom’s pissed because he needs to take a shower to wash the psychosomatic bugs off him and I used all the hot water on the tree. I thought it would cut the oily bug spray better.”

Jill wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or do both. “You know, this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long time—maybe ever. I love this tree.” She blinked back tears.

Eric looked at her like a deer in headlights for a second, and then he held out his beer arm, gesturing for her to come in for a hug, so she did. And it felt good. When she began to break away, Eric said, “Yeah, you’re not going to want to go in there. Go to Lisa’s for a while. Hans has gone to work, but Tom’s a wreck and the house stinks. It’s my night off, so I’ll come over and let you know when Tom finally gets a shower and the place airs out.”

Jill smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

“Pine beetle?” someone called out. It was Uncle Howard. He had his backpack on and was headed back toward the resort.

“Little baby ones, sir!” Eric called back.

“The hardware store is having a sale on artificial trees,” Howard offered as he approached. “Sure, they smell like plastic, but you could just hang some of those pine tree air fresheners on them—you know, the ones that people have in their cars?”

“Sweet idea, Howard,” Eric said.

Howard came over to give Jill a hug. “Happy Solstice,” he said. “It’s uphill from here starting tomorrow.”

“I sure hope so,” she replied. “I’m waiting to feel a change.”

“Well, be patient. In March and September, around the equinoxes, the length of the day can change three or four minutes, but around winter and summer solstice, it only changes by a few seconds. It’s a slow climb out. Conserve energy, hunker down, and wait. Spring is coming again, and then summer,” said Howard.

“Sometimes I wonder how much more I can take,” she whispered.

“All of nature does,” Howard replied. “Go spend time with the aspen trees. They’ll tell you how it works. They’ll tell you to look to your roots for energy. They’ll tell you there’s warmth below the surface.”

Jill gave him a sweet smile. She loved him so much, even though she only understood about half of everything he said. He tried.

“Well, your yard is going to be an ice rink tomorrow,” Uncle Howard said to Eric. “Do you have skates? You and Tom could put on a show and, you know, wear those little sparkly suits. You could charge admission. I’m sure it would help you get girls.”

Eric gave him a courtesy laugh, and with that Uncle Howard waved and walked away.

Jill walked over to Lisa’s house just as Lisa walked out onto her front porch with two new boxes of Christmas lights. “They’re magenta!” she exclaimed. “How funky is that?”

“Pretty funky,” Jill said. “They’ll match this.” She pointed to Lisa’s lacy lingerie hanging next to her ugly wool socks on the clothesline on her porch.

“I heard about the tree incident,” Lisa said.

“Can you believe how sweet those guys are?” Jill asked.

Lisa snorted. “Hey, we should grab Tom and Eric and sneak into the hot pool at the hotel.”

“You know, I don’t think I’m up for it, but you guys should definitely go. I think the chlorine might help kill Tom’s psychosomatic bugs.”

“Sure?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah,” Jill answered. “You know, the Kennel guys get a bad rap. They’re really all heart.”

“Shh … don’t let that get out,” Lisa said.

*   *   *

Mike and Cassie sat across from each other at the dinner table that now seemed uncomfortably large and empty. Mike watched her chew her enchilada, hoping she would offer the answer to the question he was wondering—why she hadn’t mentioned the Christmas program. She offered nothing.

“I read in the paper that the Christmas program is tonight. Aren’t you in it?” he asked.

Cassie’s chewing slowed as she thought about how to answer. “I didn’t tell you because I don’t want to go.”

Mike took another bite and waited to see if she would offer a reason. She didn’t. He swallowed and then asked, “Why?”

Cassie looked at him as if it were obvious. “Really? Would you want to stand in front of a couple hundred people and sing songs that make you think about spending Christmas without Mom? Would you want to stand there and try not to cry and know that people were looking at you and feeling sorry for you?” Her eyes welled up and her cheeks got blotchy.

Mike nodded. “I understand,” he said.

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“I don’t know what to do this year either, you know,” Mike said. “You’re going to have to help me. We’re going to have to figure it out together, because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Cassie chewed and nodded. They looked at each other, terrified.

“I guess I was worried that if we did holiday stuff, it would just draw attention to the fact that it’s Christmas and Mom isn’t here. But not doing holiday stuff isn’t helping us forget. Should we get a tree?” he asked.

Cassie thought about it and nodded. “We should get one tonight.”

Mike smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.

They took their dishes to the kitchen. Mike rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher while Cassie started putting on her layers. He joined her in the glassed-in porch, where they kept their coats and boots.

“I miss your snowflakes in here,” he said. “Usually before Christmas, you cut out snowflakes and tape them all over the windows.”

Cassie looked at the empty windows and nodded sadly. “I’ll make you some snowflakes,” she said.

“I would like that very much.”

They walked around the house to the garage, where Mike took the sled with the red runners off the wall and a coiled rope off a nearby hook.

“Do you want me to pull it or do you want to?” he asked.

“You pull it,” Cassie said.

“Want a ride?” he offered.

“Nah,” she said, and took his hand instead. He swallowed hard.

They walked down the sidewalk together hand in hand, toward the little park beside city hall where the Shriners sold Christmas trees.

“This is a pretty nice moment,” Mike said.

“Yep,” Cassie agreed.

“Maybe we’ll end up having a lot of nice moments like these, and each one will help us endure all the sadness in between.”

Cassie gave his hand an extra squeeze. “Yeah,” she said.

“Nice stars tonight.”

Cassie looked up and saw some stars that formed a connect-the-dots heart. “Do you think that’s where Mom is?”

“Sometimes,” he answered. “And sometimes I think she’s right beside us.”

“Do you think she’s right beside us now?” she asked.

“Nah, I think she’s riding on the sled.”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah, she would do that, wouldn’t she?”

“Standing up, like it was a surfboard,” Mike said.

“Let’s decorate the tree with pictures of her.”

“That’s a nice idea. I like that idea.”
Breathe in,
he told himself.
Now breathe out.

They walked in silence for a bit. The condensation from their breath froze on their eyelashes and hair.

“This is the longest night of the year,” Mike said.

Cassie paused and replied, “Every night is the longest night.”

“Yeah, it sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”

Christmas lights were strung above the little park outside city hall. Like everyone else in town, the Shriners knew Mike and said their hellos. And like everyone else in town, they were saddened by the sight of Mike and Cassie without Kate.

Mike picked up a tree from where it was leaning against a rack. He spun it so Cassie could see it from all angles.

“That one looks good,” she said.

“Don’t you want to shop around?” he asked.

“No. That one’s good.” She could feel people looking at them.

Mike paid the Shriners twenty bucks, tied the tree, and then tied it to the sled. “Which way do you want to go?” he asked her.

She pointed toward downtown. Every window was lined in little white Christmas lights, and boughs of greens were stretched across the street. Big red ribbons hid the speakers that played hammer dulcimer holiday music from the lampposts. It looked like a town where nothing bad ever happened.

“It still looks magical, even though it’s not,” Cassie said.

“What looks magical? The town?”

“Christmastime,” she answered.

“Oh, Cassie, Christmastime still is magical. It just hurts a little more this year. That’s all.”