Blind Acorn Page 7

  He chuckled and said, “The more things change…”

  We silently placed various ornaments around the room, and both laughed when we reached toward the same end table to place different ones. Mitch looked around the room again and said, “Maybe we should map this out for future reference. It would be easier next time, wouldn’t it?”

  “That might be a bit more formulaic than necessary,” I laughed. “Wait!” suddenly sober, I asked, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged and said, “Maybe a little. Don’t think it would hurt. Then, like next year, it wouldn’t take as long. Maybe it would even keep our helpers in the room long enough to finish.” He shrugged again.

  “You make it sound like such a chore! Isn’t this supposed to be fun?”

  “Sure, it’s fun. Or, it was. You have to admit that it’s a little different now that the kids are older. The magic is gone, but the work remains. Aren’t there other things you’d like to be doing with this time?”

  Moments earlier, I was harboring such good will toward him that I was surprised by the intensity of my anger now. “Okay, Mitch. You can go, too. I didn’t mean to take you away from whatever is so important, but you can get back to it now. I’ll finish this myself.” I threw my hands in the air and exhaled loudly, conveying my exasperation in no uncertain terms.

  “I didn’t say I wanted to leave,” he began. But I didn’t give him time to get very far.

  “You didn’t have to say it! I can tell, I know you well enough. I usually end up finishing this myself, anyway. Just go.” Why was I chasing him away? I wondered.

  “Trinity,” he tried to reason with me, “let’s not do this. I didn’t say I wanted to leave. Let’s not spoil the day. Let’s finish up here and I’ll get the cards and we can start working on them. Maybe we can get them in the mail before Monday. Okay?” When I didn’t answer right away, he again asked, “Okay?”

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug of my own. Now I was wishing that I could escape. I could use some time on the treadmill, I thought. I really needed to give myself a timeout. But, instead, I grabbed some empty cardboard boxes and headed toward a closet with them. It would be a long afternoon and I had no one to blame but myself.

  Twenty-Four

  Thursday night’s dinner was going to take some time to prepare so I went right home after work to begin. It was something I always did one night during the busy holiday season. It was a favorite meal for all of us—and there were precious few of those—and part of our Christmas tradition.

  I would watch all of our various schedules and choose a night when I knew we’d all be home, then I’d surprise everyone. Probably not too much of a surprise since I did it every year, but it was a tradition now and one more thing, it felt, that I needed to get done for it to be a successful holiday season.

  The menu included a spiced-up version of lobster mac and cheese and was a classic comfort food for us. And there was a spinach strawberry salad, a hint of spring to come. But the coup de grace was dessert. My chocolate lava cake was the best ever, if I do say so myself. But I didn’t have to say so myself. There was general agreement on that. Vanilla ice cream did nothing to detract from it, either.

  I had put the cake batter together and was ready to put it in the oven when Mitch walked in. “You’re home early,” was all I said.

  “Christmas party tonight. I wanted to clean up and get ready so I wouldn’t be late. That way it won’t be so noticeable when I leave early.” He continued walking through the kitchen.

  “But,” I said quickly, “tonight is mac and cheese night. I didn’t know you had somewhere to go. What Christmas party are you talking about?”

  “The work party. Same one as every year. You know it’s always the Thursday two weeks before Christmas. How can you be surprised?”

  “Well,” I was trying to collect myself, trying not to sound hysterical, “we never talked about it and I didn’t realize that it was tonight. I don’t think I can get all of this done and get ready in time.”

  “I don’t expect you to do that. I wasn’t expecting you to go. I just want to put in an appearance and clear out early. You’ll be happier here with the kids, anyway.” He started up the stairs to change.

  I was dumbfounded. Speechless. The floor seemed to shift beneath my feet, the edges of my vision dissolving into a murky haze. I sat in the nearest chair, suddenly feeling clammy and cold. How can he do this? He doesn’t want me with him! That Christmas party used to be one of our things. We both complained about having to go. We would each wander around the room, greeting people, getting gossip. Periodically, we’d glance around the room for each other and, like we had prearranged a signal, we’d both be looking and grin.

  Okay, Trinity, I told myself sternly, get it together. You have things to do and it’s just a dumb party that you don’t enjoy anyway.

  The cake in the oven, I struggled to get myself back on track. I felt as if I’d never catch my breath again. How would I explain this to the kids? Mechanically, I had finished the prep for the meal and was washing some dishes in the sink when Mitch returned. “Save me a piece of cake,” he tossed over his shoulder as he went out the door. It was done, he was really going to go without me. For the longest time, all I could do was stand in the kitchen, my head in a fog.

  So, this is what we’ve come to,” I thought. We live separate lives in the same house. And I wondered about the half-life of this awful, hollow feeling as I set the table with three, not four, plates decorated with trees and garland.

  Twenty-Five

  I couldn’t sleep all night. True to his word, Mitch hadn’t been out late and came home looking for dessert. I didn’t know how to talk to him, was still paralyzed with emotions I couldn’t really name.

  As I tossed and turned, I tried to figure out how I would approach him, how I’d find out why he didn’t want me with him. The most reasonable conclusion I could draw was that there was someone else. Someone he’d rather be with. And, since he spent so much time at work, I reasoned that it must be someone there. In fact, I thought, maybe that’s why he spends so much time at work.

  This was new territory for me. I was sick with suspicion and had never questioned his fidelity in the past. I’m not what you’d call a jealous person, never felt any reason to be. Suddenly consumed with the thought that he’d found someone else, my head was buzzing and felt hot. I didn’t know how to calm myself, could barely breathe.

  I got up early and, zombie-like, made coffee and walked from room to room with it. When I heard him coming down from the bedroom, I hurried to the basement with my coffee. I wasn’t ready to see him. I heard him moving about the kitchen for a few minutes and then the garage door opened, and he left. For work. Work, I thought, where she is. Whoever she is.

  My own job was a special kind of torture all day. Fridays can be extra challenging for some reason. I’ve often thought it might be because our clientele harbors a bit of anxiety about being on their own for the weekend, since we were a Monday through Friday option.

  In any case, Rona chose that day to get into several arguments —not all with me. While we did disagree about the best way to clean tabletops, she also argued with two other volunteers about the appropriate way to portion gravy and whether it was too warm in the kitchen. All told, she spent her entire day at odds with someone. It was exhausting for the rest of us, and lack of sleep added to my particular exhaustion.

  When I finally got home, I carefully planned dinner to be easy for me to manage. That way, I could begin to talk to Mitch without being distracted. Because I knew I needed to do that. I was going to go crazy if I didn’t find out what was going on.

  By the time he came home, I had a casserole in the oven and salad ingredients arranged on the counter. I had a bottle of wine nearby, unopened but ready. Pretending to be very busy checking the casserole in the oven, I glanced quickly at him. “Hi,” I said, my back to
him. “When I have a minute, I thought I’d open this wine. It’s been a long week. Are you interested?” Please say yes! I thought.

  “Sounds like a great idea,” he said. “I’ll even open it if you give me a minute to run up and change.”

  “Sure,” I answered, my back still to him. As he climbed the stairs, I began to think maybe he wanted to talk to me. Panic began to set in as I considered that maybe he had something to tell me. Maybe he wanted to tell me that he had found someone else. Maybe he wanted to tell me that he was leaving. And I had just invited him to share a glass of wine and do it. What have I done?

  When he returned, I was busily chopping vegetables and he said nothing as he opened the bottle. He poured two glasses and leaned against the counter looking into the yard. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “So, how was the Christmas party?” I managed to get that much out before my dry tongue filled my mouth, making more words impossible. I reached for my wineglass, still looking at the salad bowl rather than Mitch. I didn’t want him to see the mix of worry, pain, and suspicion that I was sure was all over my face.

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. It’s worse than I imagined, I thought.

  At last he said, “About what you’d expect. Lots of expectations about holiday bonuses, a small number of big drinkers making more noise than all the rest, lots of rumor-mongering.” He took a drink.

  “Who took Carl home?” I asked casually. Carl usually required assistance to get home after the Christmas party and we had sometimes brought him home ourselves.

  “Julie and I put him in a car fairly early, so I think he didn’t disrupt the fun for the others.”

  Julie? Who is Julie? I didn’t know how to ask without sounding hysterical, so I said nothing.

  Maybe he intuited the question because he followed with, “You remember Julie, she was an intern and we hired her when she finished school. She’s related somehow to Jake King.”

  Wow! Kind of young for you, isn’t she? I thought but didn’t say. Are you really up to starting a second family? Finally, as the silence stretched out between us, I had to say something. “I think I remember her,” I said. “Short, acned, a bit mousy-looking?” I remembered no such person, but thought I’d see how he described her himself.

  “No,” he said quickly. “I don’t know who you remember but Julie is actually a knockout. Classic blue-eyed blond, great figure. Quick wit, good command of her job. Her only shortcoming seems to be a high-pitched, squeaky voice. Poor kid,” he chuckled.

  “So, does she know Carl, then? You said she helped get him into a car.”

  “Not really. She and I were leaving about the same time, so we took him out with us. She was going to some other event and had called for a car to get there. She got to share her ride with Carl. I should give her a bonus, just for that.”

  I was going to have to think this explanation through. It sounded plausible, but maybe it sounded that way because I really wanted an explanation other than the one I’d come up with on my own. Perhaps I had overreacted. I’d be paying attention to mentions of Julie in the future, in any case.

  Twenty-Six

  The high school band Christmas concert was always held on the last day of school before the holiday break. The timing was appropriate, and nice, but close enough to Christmas to be thoroughly inconvenient. No one, however, asked my opinion.

  Lucy had borrowed some shoes from me, not unexpectedly. I knew that if Mitch didn’t make it to the concert, she would be disappointed. She wouldn’t say anything, but I knew her well enough to know that she liked us present for these moments in her life. So, I had called his office earlier to remind him.

  I was momentarily speechless when a squeaky, high-pitched voice answered. When I recovered, I asked if the usual receptionist was available. Julie said that, no, she’d left early, and they were all helping out with the phones and reception desk. I told her who I was, thinking I’d learn something from her reaction. All she said was, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Barrett?” I asked for Mitch, who was, of course, unavailable. I wasn’t about to leave a personal message with her, so I asked for his voicemail and left the reminder there.

  I arrived at the auditorium early, since I drove Lucy and she needed to be there early. The room was already too warm, and I wondered idly what it would feel like when it was full of bodies. I sat along the left side, near the front of the room. I’d arranged with Mitch that we’d meet there when he arrived, probably at the last second. I began to compile a list of things I needed to get done in the next few days. Losing myself to this task, I paid no attention to the crowd gathering for the concert and was surprised to look up and see the room nearly full before my list was complete.

  To the right of me were about a dozen occupied seats and then an aisle. In the aisle I couldn’t help but notice Lila, surrounded by her posse. There was Mina Albertson, Riley Adams, Kyle Cooper, Kimball Nunez, and Becca What’s-Her-Name. They circled Lila like satellites, providing a buffer between her and the rest of the world. And she seemed almost to levitate in their midst. She was borne along by the group, looking around dispassionately. I’d called her a couple days ago and left a message when she was unavailable. I tried to catch her eye now, I knew she’d seen me. When I stood, she glanced at me with a small nod and an equally small smile. But from her eyes I had the sense that she was afraid that I’d approach her and preferred that I didn’t. Okay, Lila, I thought. You’re back among your own. It seems that my services are no longer needed. I’m alright with that and I wish you well. I returned the nod and the smile. She looked relieved.

  Mitch slipped into the seat beside me just as the lights were lowered to announce the start of the program.

  Twenty-Seven

  The snow mixed with rain by the time I pulled into the parking lot. Before I could go home and start all the prep work for Christmas Eve dinner, I still had shopping to do. Food, a couple last minute gift cards, that wine that my father likes, a new tablecloth. It felt like I was in a hamster wheel. Running as fast as I could, I still seemed not to make progress. For every item on my to-do list that I completed, I thought of at least one new one to add.

  Sitting in that parking lot, I wasn’t feeling much holiday spirit. The rain was really coming down and I didn’t want to get out of the car. Go ahead, I thought. Be a rebel, sit here for five minutes and do absolutely nothing.

  I let the engine run for some heat and started the wipers. I watched some people going into the market and others coming out and hurrying to their cars. They mostly looked as harried as I felt, rushing through the slush, avoiding falling into it, carrying plastic bags and potted poinsettias.

  There was a Salvation Army bell ringer standing by an exit door with a red kettle hanging from a small tripod. A small woman, she huddled into her clothes against the cold. The only part of her that moved was the arm ringing that bell. Not a good day to draw that duty, I thought. Most shoppers ignored her entirely. Those entering the market just walked quickly past as if they didn’t even see her. Maybe they didn’t, in all the hurrying. Those leaving the store juggled grocery bags and handbags and gloves and coat buttons. Many of them ignored her, too.

  A man in a suit with no overcoat rushed by with a floral arrangement, giving his head a quick shake in her direction as he did. A woman with two small children and a cart full of food shrugged as she pushed the cart and pulled the kids through the slush. But most just ignored her.

  Above the sound of the ringing bell, I noticed the noise of a car with a muffler that sounded like it had outlived its usefulness. It reminded me of Thorn’s car. I hated it when Lucy got into that car with her. I turned toward the sound and realized that it was Thorn and that she was parked in the next row, only a few cars away from me. She didn’t look in my direction and began to walk toward the market.

  As usual, she was dressed in black. Black jacket with torn and frayed sleeves, black leather skirt, bl
ack (and torn) tights and scuffed black boots. Silver hardware hung from multiple piercings in her ears and lips and eyebrows. Her eyes were rimmed with black, as usual. Fingerless and fraying black gloves exposed her black-tipped nails.

  I don’t know why it annoyed me to see her here. I didn’t want to run into her inside; we’d both be forced to appear to be friendly. But it was something more than that. I didn’t want her in my world, it seemed. This place was too normal for her to be here. In fact, I grew suspicious that she was here at all. What, I thought, is she up to?

  As I sat stewing in my righteousness, Thorn approached the bell ringer and spoke. I couldn’t hear what she said but the woman smiled and nodded her head a little. Thorn reached into her pocket and withdrew something that looked like folded bills. She slid it into the slot on the top of the kettle and began to turn away. Then she turned back and spoke again, putting her hand on the woman’s arm for a moment as she did. The woman smiled again.

  I was incredulous. How can this be? That, I thought, was clearly not the Thorn I knew. Like lightning it struck me that maybe I didn’t know Thorn at all. Not really. I had my assumptions and that was that. I barely even gave her credit for being human, and here she was the most humane of all on that dreary day. Embarrassed for myself and all the other normal customers, I began to cry at my own lack of grace. My gaze shifted to the rearview mirror and I looked into my own eyes. Who are you? I thought. I don’t even recognize you anymore. You used to be kind and tolerant. What happened to you?

  Twenty-Eight

  The Sunday morning after Christmas was raw and wet. Even though things were pretty quiet around the house, I was looking forward to a little time alone in the apartment. Although I’m the one in the family who most loves the tree and all of the seasonal decorations, I’m also the one most anxious to put it all away immediately after the holiday. But, somehow, a tradition of leaving the tree standing and decorated until New Year’s Day had evolved in our household and I was unable to change it. It would be nice to go to the apartment and put away what few bits of Christmas décor I’d brought there.