Daddy's Coming Home For Christmas

Chapter Seven: Beheaded Snowmen

Beth

How could someone look so handsome and be so terrible at the same time? I covered my mouth with shaking fingers as I watched the rental car peel out of the driveway.

Rafe looked amazing. He had matured, and the years looked good on him. His shoulders seemed broader, his arms more muscular, his angular face had filled out a little. He looked like a movie star.

A mean movie star with a bad temper who was intent on kicking me out of his family's house. I had no doubt he would do it, too. He would wave around a fistful of money, probably hire one of those home health nurses from one of those agencies, and kick Lucy and me to the curb.

I had $132.00 in my checking account. I had intended to use that money to buy Christmas presents for Lucy and Charlie.

What good would such a small sum do if we found ourselves homeless tomorrow?

I didn’t own anything of value, except my two sewing machines and my car. If I sold my car, could I raise enough money for a deposit on an apartment? Or, should I try to live out of my car until I could save up enough? How could I subject my baby girl to that kind of hardship and depravity?

My thoughts raced around in panicked circles. I needed help, but who could I call? My parents hadn’t spoken to me in years, not since I publicly shamed them by getting pregnant at nineteen. I had very few friends, and none of them were in a financial position to help me out. Asking my ex-husband for a loan would be humiliating beyond measure, but what choice did I have?

I suppose there was always the women’s crisis shelter…

All this because Gabriel hadn’t told his brother about Charlie’s stroke.

What if I talked to Raphael again, what if I tried to explain to him the arrangement that I had made with Gabriel? The idea of facing him, explaining the humiliating situation I found myself in after the divorce was finalized. How Gabriel had graciously allowed me to stay in the family home in exchange for taking care of Charlie.

I would have taken care of her anyway, even without the house.

Lucy slipped her small hand into mine. She looked up at me with that innocent, angelic face. “Don’t worry Mommy. Everything is going to be okay.”

I tried to smile down at her. “You’re right,” I said, trying to sound half as confident as she did. “Let’s go make those Christmas cookies.” Baking was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had promised Lucy that we would make cookies as soon as I finished my work for the day.

Making Christmas cookies was a Segretto tradition. In fact, the first time Rafe and Gabe invited me to their home, we had decorated sugar cookies together.

Charlie had stood at the counter, rolling out the chilled dough while Gabe used cookie cutters to make shapes of snowmen and Santa hats, Christmas trees and reindeer. After they came out of the oven and were cool enough, Raphael and I decorated them with colored buttercream frosting.

This year I had Charlie’s wheelchair pulled up to the table, so that she could at least watch Lucy decorate, while I stood at the counter and took over the rolling, cutting and baking.

I put Nana’s favorite old-timely Christmas albums on the old record player, and listened to Lucy belt out Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer at the top of her little lungs, just like her father used to do.

I forced my lips to smile, and took pictures on my phone, making sure to capture Lucy’s fingers, stained with food colouring, and the suspicious green smear of frosting around her lips, after a Christmas tree-shaped cookie “accidentally” broke.

We always ate the mistakes and the broken cookies.

Nana Charlie sampled a beheaded snowman and gave a thumbs up of approval with her good hand. When the last tray was out of the oven, I collapsed on the kitchen chair next to her. She reached over and gave my arm a squeeze, with a soft, sad look in her eyes.

Nana Charlie knew I was just trying to keep things happy and normal for Lucy, even though it felt like we were poised on the brink of disaster. I also knew that if she could, Charlie would advocate for us. But she had difficulty verbalizing even simple words, as the stroke had affected the part of her brain that controlled speech and language.

I leaned over and kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek. “I love you, Nana Charlie.” I said softly. “You’ve always been here for us.”

She blinked rapidly in response and squeezed my arm again.

I sighed and stood up. “You guys finish the frosting, I’ll clean up and start dinner.” And then after dinner, while Lucy and Nana Charlie watched their favorite shows, I would go back to my sewing room and try to get some more work done on the tailoring orders. It would be better to keep my fingers busy than to sit and fret over something I had no control over.