Page 94 of Devil in Disguise
Even the Chili Dogs
The weekend was busy,the stadium packed, the game loud and brutal. Neither Harlan nor Owen got injured, though, and the Devils won. Which meant that if they won the final game of the season next week, they’d win their division. That was good, but mostly, Dyma was glad about the “not injured” part. She loved watching, and she hated watching a little bit, too. She wondered if anybody else felt like that.
She didn’t get a chance to talk to Owen’s parents again up close until they were at the airport together on Monday morning. Actually, until she was in the ladies’ room with Joan, who was dressed in jeans, a Western shirt, boots, and a belt with an oversized buckle, like Wyoming was already calling her name.
“I like to see new places,” she told Dyma in front of the mirror as they washed their hands, “and I always love watching Owen play, but there’s nothing like heading back home. Especially at Christmas. Christmas on the ranch is about my favorite thing.”
“It must be hard,” Dyma said as they headed out again, “never having Owen there for it.”
“Well, it is and it isn’t. That’s how it is with football, and it’s not like he’s in the military. I figure, I’ll just enjoy him when he’s there. I’ll tell you a secret, though. I still send him a stocking. Let’s stop and get a coffee. Why does that always sound good in the airport?”
Dyma laughed as they got in line. “You do? Seriously?”
“Yep. And he opens it with all of us, except that he’s on the phone, of course.”
Dyma tried to imagine it, and found that she actually could. “What do you put in it?”
“Oh, little things. Hand warmers. New socks. Fancy underwear. A little bottle of Wyoming Whiskey. Some of my special chicken rub. He loves those orange hard candies and lemon drops that come in the round tins, too. Always has. He liked sour better than sweet even as a kid. He said it was more interesting.” She laughed. “Which is a mom thing to tell you, but you like remembering your kids when they were little. Anyway, he always gets those, too. So he’s not breaking his training, just having a little treat.”
“Fancyunderwear?”Dyma couldn’t help it. She was laughing.
Joan laughed, too. “I know, but I know what his favorite kind is, and that he’s probably not going to look through all the patterns and pick out the fun ones. If it’s up to him, they’ll all be navy blue, and he deserves a more exciting life than that.”
“Wait,” Dyma said. “The ones with mountains on them? The ocean waves? The … not the chili dogs!”
“Really?” Joan said. “He wears the chili dogs? You should’ve seen Waylon smile when I showed him those. I had to go out and buyhima pair, too. He won’t love it that I’m telling you, but he wears them. Makes me laugh every time. I want Owen to feel loved at Christmas, that’s all, especially if he’s in a hotel room somewhere, and last year, I wanted him to laugh. He wasn’t doing that too much. This year, though, he’ll be home. Portland-home.”
“Yeah,” Dyma said, feeling a little shy about it. “We did Thanksgiving all together, and it was really … really good. Especially since Harlan and Owen were on the same schedule, so it wasn’t weird. It was just, like you say. Like if you had any job where you had to work on the holiday, so your family scheduled the celebration around it.” She wanted to explain how right it had felt, how complete, but she didn’t know how.
Last year had been their first Thanksgiving and Christmas without her grandma, and both holidays had been so sad. Just her, her mom, and Grandpa Oscar, roasting a chicken because a turkey was too much meat. Christmas, especially. The way her mom had been as cheerful as she could possibly manage, putting up the tree like normal and getting them to help decorate it, playing Christmas carols as it rained instead of snowing outside. That was how it had felt, too, like this was all wrong. Like it was happening in a dream, and it couldn’t be real. Dyma had tried to joke more, to make them all laugh, but it had been such an uphill battle.
Her grandma had always been that person for them, the one who drank too much eggnog and insisted on watching the Hallmark Christmas movies while making sardonic comments, like that the lady had better run back to the big city pronto, because that guy’s bakery was bound to go under, as little time as he spent working, and it sure didn’t look like the town had any other job opportunities. Her grandma had always got out the Bailey’s on Christmas morning, too, had sung along to even the most stupid songs. No matter how she’d tried, Dyma couldn’t fill that spot.
She and Joan got to the front of the line and ordered their drinks. Dyma got herself a gingerbread-spice latte and one for Annabelle, who was waiting at the gate with their carry-ons. She wasn’t doing the expensive-drinks thing anymore, but she did it anyway, because she was thinking about her grandma and her gingerbread cookies. One of her first memories was of standing on a kitchen stool and icing them, with Christmas music playing. “Making snowflakes,” her grandma had called it. They’d made snowflakes every single year. Except last year.
She needed to go home and make snowflakes with Annabelle, with Nick sitting in his little seat and watching them. She needed to tell her mom, this Christmas, how sad the last one had been, and how glad she was to be happy now, especially knowing that her mom was, too. She needed to tell Grandpa Oscar. It was too lonely, grieving alone.
Joan said, “I’ve got this,” and pulled out her card.
“No, wait,” Dyma said. “I can—”
“Too late,” Joan said, and handed the card over. “Now. What were we talking about?”
They moved over to wait for their drinks, and Dyma tried to remember what theyhadbeen talking about. There were tears in her eyes, and if she’d been joking, she couldn’t joke anymore. Joan went on, “I’m glad Owen has that, that he’ll be with all of you. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but I gave him a stocking for you, too. I like the idea of him having somebody to share it with.”
Dyma said, “That’s really … that’s so nice of you.” She was a little choked up now, darn it.
“Honey,” Joan said, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s just …” Dyma waved an arm and tried to laugh. “I’m happy. Isn’t that silly? I was thinking about making Christmas cookies with my grandma, and how I couldn’t last year because she was gone. How much happier I am now, and that I wish I could tell her that we’re OK. Mom and I. That we’re happy. I want to make snowflakes with Nick when he’s bigger and be the fun sister and the person he can say anything to, like my grandma was for me. It’s silly to cry because you’re happy, but I’m … I’m …”
Here she went again. Was she just going to cry all thetimenow? Was she going to turn into one of those people who couldn’t watch the commercial about the old man getting a call from his grandson, or the guys on their camping trip helping the stray dog rescue her puppies from the mudbank, without having a weepfest about it? You were supposed to get more cynical as you got older. What washappeningto her?
“Oh, honey,” Joan said, and hugged her again, and Dyma got herself back under control and said, “I’m fine. Seriously. Wow. Not a crier, except, suddenly, I am.” She touched her eyes with a napkin, blew her nose, and tried to laugh.
“Well, a whole lot’s happened,” Joan said. “And when a whole lot happens, you start realizing what matters. Nothing wrong with having emotions. Plus, you’re going to see your mom for the first time since that show. What does she say about it all?”
“I haven’t talked to her about it.”
