Page 76 of The Blessings of Christmas
“Certainly did, dear. Snug as a bug in your little guestroom. And, oh my. We took a peek at the baby’s room. Isn’t it beautiful?” Her mother’s voice vibrated with excitement. “Now what about dinner? Do you want me to run out with your dad and pick something up?”
“No, I can get it on the way home. How would a roasted hen be with some coleslaw?” The last thing Amanda wanted was her parents negotiating Harlem Avenue in the huge Lincoln Connor had dubbed “the boat.” The snow had started again and the temperature was below zero, so roads would be icy.
“Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.”
“Is Dad doing all right?” Amanda pictured him pacing from the kitchen into the living room and back, grumbling about the weather.
“Just dandy. I sent him outside to shovel.”
Her heart clutched. ”Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Five years earlier, her father had open heart surgery. Since then, her parents both seemed intent on proving how healthy he was.
“Well, you know your father when he gets something in his head. Can’t have you or Connor slipping on that walkway, sweetheart.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be home soon.”
When the last bell rang, Amanda was already packed up. After the last student left the room, she turned off the lights and darted for the parking lot. Traffic was snarled by the time she got on the Eisenhower to drive west toward Oak Park. She was beginning to wish she’d taken the side streets, although they’d only gotten her into trouble on Saturday. Trying to see through the swish of her windshield wipers, Amanda jumped when the phone rang. McKenna’s name popped up and Amanda skidded into the right hand lane, fumbling for her phone.
“Are you on the highway?”
Amanda’s sigh was pure exasperation. “You sound just like your brother. Did you find anything out about Angie?”
“Not yet. The holidays always slow things down. I’m sure that something just came up and she’ll get ahold of you. She probably didn’t want to drive to meet you in this weather.”
“Connor called her but she didn’t answer.” Amanda swallowed hard, fighting the anxiety banding her chest. “Really, McKenna. Who in her right mind would give up a baby?”
“A girl who knows this is the best thing for her baby,” McKenna countered.
The panic percolating in Amanda’s mind eased. After ending the call, she punched on the car radio. Christmas music streamed into the car, and she hummed along.
When she got off the highway, she stopped at Dominic’s and picked up two Cornish hens along with some coleslaw. “God Rest You Merry Gentlemen” played overhead while she wheeled her cart over to the produce department for some tomatoes. On her way to the register, she grabbed a box of Christmas cookies. Wasn’t even four o’clock but the checkout lines stretched past the magazine displays. Twenty minutes later, she crept along Harlem Avenue, the smell of the cooked hens filling the car and snow crunching beneath the tires.
Her father’s burgundy Lincoln looked big as a mobile home sitting in their driveway. Pulling up behind him, she got out and grabbed the groceries from the back seat. The walk etched through the accumulated snowfall made her smile. When she pushed open the door, the piney smell of the Christmas tree welcomed her. “Anybody home?”
In the living room her folks were watching “Judge Judy” on TV. Jumping up, her mother hurried toward her, a bright smile gleaming from her Sarasota tan. She enclosed Amanda in a tight hug. “Here you are! We were getting worried, weren’t we, Bill?”
“Oh, Donna. You never have to worry about Amanda.” Her father lumbered toward her. He was not a hugging man but Amanda grabbed him anyway. The Old Spice made her smile. Some things never changed. His red plaid flannel shirt smelled like mothballs. Probably not his Florida dress code. “Good to see you, Amanda.”
“You too, Dad. Sorry you had to drive so far,” she whispered. Not only was her father frugal, her mother had a thing about planes. Scared her to death. Amanda stomped the snow from her boots. “The roads are terrible. You finding everything okay?”
“Well, of course we are. Snug as a bug, that’s what. Here, let me take those.” Her mother reached for Amanda’s grocery bags and bustled off to the kitchen, voice trailing behind her. “I was just saying, I wonder where Amanda is. Wasn’t I, Bill?”
“Yes, I believe you were.” Her dad returned to Connor’s favorite chair.
By the time Amanda hung her coat up in the closet, her mother was back, scrutinizing her as only a mother could. “You look so pale and tired. Now take those boots off. You don’t want to bring any snow and salt all over these beautiful hardwood floors.”
Sometimes her mother could make Amanda feel like she was ten again. Connor had refinished the floors himself when they bought the house five years ago. She kicked off her boots while her mother fooled with the crèche set, repositioning Mary and Joseph closer to the empty crib.
“I’m so glad you have the crèche set out, Amanda. Don’t you think it makes the house look, well, more homey?”
“Sure does, Mom.” She sank onto the sofa. Her father remained involved with the TV while her mom fussed with the nativity scene. When her mother moved to Florida, she’d given Amanda and Connor the crèche set that had been in their home for decades. Now it sat up on of the leaded glass bookcases that flanked the fireplace. Taking her mother’s lead, Amanda always spread a white sheet over piles of books to give the impression of hills surrounding Bethlehem. Central, of course, were Mary and Joseph hovering over the empty crib while angels and the Wise Men gathered.
“Is it all right that I turned on the tree lights?” her father asked.
“Of course.” Christmas had always been her father’s favorite time of year. Although he watched every penny, the lights had always blazed bright on their Christmas tree, all twelve strings of them. Her mother always joked about it. “Bill turns off the lights when he leaves a room, but not those tree lights.”
Her mother clicked the TV off and settled on the sofa next to Amanda. “That’s enough of the TV. Now, I want you to tell us all about your baby shower yesterday. We did take a little peek at those presents in the nursery. My, oh, my.”
For fifteen minutes or so, Amanda described the brunch and answered her mother’s questions while her father tried to look interested. Sometimes she thought he depended on the TV just to escape from her mother’s nervous chatter. He watched the news a lot, the same grim stories again and again. Used to make her nuts when she was growing up. She’d escape to her room to read.
