A Dropped Stitches Christmas (5 page)

And Randy either wants to be my knight in shining amour and rescue me or he is expecting something of a physical nature in return for a place to stay and he’s the last person I should trust. I wish I knew for sure what his motive is.

Some days I don’t know much about anything when it comes to my life. These are the times when I like to look up at the night sky. I see a few faint stars and something that looks like a bright star, but is moving so fast it has to be an airplane. I can’t help but wonder as I look up if God is up there looking down at me as I try to keep my toes warm by curling them into the hem of this old flannel robe.

I’d like to think He sits at the edge of heaven and looks down at someone like me. I give Him the Rose Queen wave just in case He is looking. He doesn’t send a thunderbolt down on me for my nerve or anything, so maybe He’s not as much like my uncle as I thought. It’d be kind of nice to think He might even be waving back. I wonder if there’s a God wave.

I look down at the robe. I have a couple of satin robes in my closet with matching nightgowns. But, when I’m upset, I always reach for this old flannel robe. It used to belong to my dad and my mom gave it to me when I was sick with chemo so I wouldn’t ruin my nice robes. This robe and I have been through a lot together.

Now, it comforts me. Maybe things will seem a little more normal tomorrow. Lizabett is supposed to meet me at The Pews for lunch. Maybe I’ll ask her to write in the journal so you’ll see it’s not just me that thinks things are changing. Of course, Lizabett always seems to think things are changing. Maybe it’s because she’s the youngest and always feels like she’s scrambling to keep up with everyone else.

Hi, this is Lizabett and it is Sunday morning. Carly let me read some of what she’s been saying (there are a couple of stapled pages which are a no-read for the Sisterhood so I didn’t see those, but I saw the rest). I have to admit that I am a little worried about things changing, too. Not for all of the same reasons as Carly is worried. With me, it’s my brother.

I’ve gotten used to Quinn being a Christian so I’m not so worried about that, but I’ve never had to sit on the sidelines while Quinn has been in love before and I find that I miss my brother. He used to nag me all the time, but now he doesn’t seem to even notice me. I coughed the other day three times and he didn’t even seem to hear me. I thought I would like that, but, well, I don’t completely. I miss the old mother hen. That’s what I call him when he worries about me.

Guys are a mystery, aren’t they? Whether they’re related or not. I heard about Randy’s offer to Carly even before I read about it in the journal. Carly seems to think it’s just a generous offer, but I think I’ll have Quinn talk to Randy. None of us want Carly going out with some guy who is going to rush her into doing something she’ll regret. Besides, they haven’t even gone on a real date.

I don’t think Carly is considering Randy’s offer, but she shouldn’t. She’s going to be the understudy for Mary. That should mean something, especially on a Sunday morning like today.

Carly and I walked down to that little French bakery and had croissants and jam for breakfast. Then we came back to our room at The Pews to start getting Carly ready for her part in the play. I borrowed some of Quinn’s books for our research. I know how it is for actresses. They have to feel their part. Even Lucille Ball had to know what character she was playing. It’s even more important for Carly because she’s playing Mary, the mother of Jesus, and everyone in the whole world probably has some opinion about what Mary was like. Most of the pictures I’ve seen of her just show her with her head bowed, but I don’t think any mother of a young child spends her life with her head looking down like that even if the baby in her arms were Jesus.

I’m not too sure how it would be for a young mother to hold the baby Jesus.

Fortunately, the play doesn’t spend much time on that part, so Carly won’t have to be a convincing mother.

Not that she has to be a convincing anything since she’s only the understudy.

One thing I know for sure though is that Carly would wow everyone if she just had a chance to walk across the stage. I wonder if the real Mary was as pretty as Carly. Of course there’s the glowing-Madonna thing the original Mary had going. It would be hard to compete with that.

When I first met Carly years ago, I envied her. I wanted to have hair like hers. I wanted to have fingernails like hers. And her clothes—I wanted to dress like her.

Carly is definitely the prettiest of us all. And, it’s more than that. She just looks expensive.

The surprising thing for me as I got to know Carly, though, was that the best part of Carly is herself. She doesn’t know how special she is. Sometimes people get so stuck on looking at her hair and her clothes that they don’t take the time to look at her. But they should. Carly is at the top of my list. That’s why I think she should be a star.

“Move Queen Anne? Most certainly not! Why it might some day be suggested that my statue should be moved, which I should much dislike.”

—Queen Victoria when asked about moving a statue of Queen Anne for her own Diamond Jubilee

O
ne of our rules in the Sisterhood is to treat each other as we would like to be treated. Rose, our counselor, brought this Queen Victoria quote to us one day early on in the Sisterhood meetings. Rose wanted us to know that we are a group of equals and need to treat each other that way. Just like the queens had done. We made ourselves a crown that night out of yellow yarn and passed it from head to head to show we were all the queen. I had more fun with that crown than I did with the one I wore as the Rose Queen.

I learned that night that it’s easy to be queen if you don’t mind sharing the crown.

There is nothing equal in the theatre. This is Carly and I’m taking a break to write in the journal while Lizabett makes a couple of phone calls. I never knew Mary was so important. Of course, I knew she gave birth to Jesus, but it didn’t end there.

I was half joking earlier about what my mother would tell the neighbors if I had a visit from an angel, but as Lizabett and I have been digging into the books she has, I’m beginning to wonder what Mary’s mother could have possibly thought.

I’ve never thought about Mary’s mother before.

I don’t even know what I would think if I had a daughter. Lizabett is back and sitting back down at the table again. We don’t say anything and Lizabett keeps looking at the books.

One of the books I read earlier tells about Mary. I knew she was young, but I had no idea she was probably thirteen or fourteen. I guess they didn’t have Children’s Protective Services back then. And I knew she was unmarried, but I had no idea she was engaged to be married.

“Her mother can’t have known about the angel visit,” I say to Lizabett, putting down the journal. “If she did, she would have forbidden Mary to keep talking to the angel.”

Joseph was a good catch. He seemed prosperous and kind. Surely, her mother knew the angel’s prophesy could change everything between Joseph and Mary. If Mary’s mother was anything like mine, Mary would have been grounded until she forgot all about the angel. Most mothers want their daughters to marry the dependable guy and not listen to the angel.

“And look at all the blue.”

I don’t know what it is with all of the blue, but as I look at picture after picture of Mary, I see her wearing so many shades of blue. Sky-blue. Robin’s egg–blue. Powder-blue. I think the wardrobe person should pay attention to Mary’s blue in the play. I wonder if Mary ever really even had a light blue garment. I know they had dye back then, but dyed cloth would be more expensive. Except for Mary’s clothes, all the material in the play was brown. Maybe the dust look will be more accurate than blue would have been.

But then maybe Mary came from a rich family. Maybe she had the San Marino address of her day. It doesn’t say any place that she had to be poor exactly. Maybe a light blue dyed robe was like having a Gucci handbag for her.

“Imagine having a secret like that?” Lizabett says as she sets down the book she’s looking at.

Well, I can certainly imagine having some secrets. “She wouldn’t be the first young teenager, not even in a good neighborhood, to be pregnant before she got married.”

“Yeah, but to be pregnant because of God! While you’re still a virgin!” Lizabett is looking a little shell-shocked herself. “That’d be like—I don’t know what it would be like. People wouldn’t even believe her, would they?”

“No more than you’d believe me if I said I was having Elvis Presley’s baby.”

“But Elvis Presley is dead.”

“I know. That’s the point. It’s impossible.”

Lizabett shakes her head. “No wonder Mary didn’t tell anyone.”

I’ve been flipping through a book of nativity paintings and reading about the symbolism in the paintings. “I don’t even think she told Joseph about the angel’s visit.”

“Wow.”

“She must have been lonely,” I say, thinking of the secrets I’ve kept. Secrets never make you feel closer to anyone. You’ve always got that hidden thing between you and them.

“I’d rather be lonely though than tell my fiancé that I was pregnant, especially because he’d know he wasn’t the father. He probably wouldn’t believe the God thing.”

“This does sound like great stuff for a play, doesn’t it?” I look up from my book. “I never knew it was so filled with drama. It could be
Days of Our Lives.
”

“I can’t wait to see the play,” Lizabett says. “You’re going to be a great Mary.”

“Understudy,” I correct her. “I’ll be the understudy.”

Lizabett nods. “But maybe someone will get sick. The flu’s going around. I’m not giving up hope.”

After reading up on Mary, I must admit I would kind of like to play the part of being her. Not because I expect to have a holy glow or anything. But I would like to get inside Mary’s skin like a good actress is supposed to do with a role.

Lizabett and I are still reading away when Marilee and Quinn come. I know they’ve been to church and I check to see if Marilee has any kind of holy glow about her because she went. She doesn’t and it’s too bad because I’d like to see some of this glow Mary must have had. Since Marilee and Quinn are here, the four of us move to a table out in the dining part of The Pews.

I don’t know why the Sisterhood never eats at our table when we have an outsider with us. We never talk about it; we just make the move out when we have company.

Marilee had called Becca on her way over to The Pews, so Becca is going to join us in a few minutes. The Pews is fairly crowded, but we get a table close to the counter. We gather six chairs, because Randy is going to sit with us as well. It’s going to be a regular party.

“I think Randy still has his spicy cheese-and-chilies burger on the specials board,” Marilee says. Quinn is the only one who bothers to look at the menu folder at the end of the table. “I think he’s got enough of that imported cheese to do the Italian tuna melt, too. That one was my creation.”

“I didn’t think Uncle Lou let anyone mess with the menu,” Lizabett says.

Marilee grins. “That’s why it’s a good time to try out a few things. Italy’s far enough away he can’t drop in for lunch. I think we had the whole Pasadena police force in here for that spicy burger. It’s something Randy fixes at his diner and it goes over big there.”

Randy comes out of the kitchen and heads for our table. He smiles when he sees us. Lizabett nudges me with her elbow. Okay, so maybe she’s right and he’s smiling at
me
instead of
us.

The waitress, Linda, comes over to get our order.

“How’s the rehearsing going?” Randy asks as he pulls out the chair next to me.

“We’re trying to develop the character,” Lizabett says. “You know, to get inside Mary’s head.”

“She was amazing,” I add as Randy slides his chair in beside me.

It strikes me at that very moment that Mary never got to go on a date in her life. I know they didn’t do that sort of thing back then anyway, but I have to say she missed out on some of the best times. When Randy slid his chair in, he slid it a little closer to me. We’re pretty crowded at the table anyway, so it doesn’t seem too obvious when he puts his arm around the back of my chair. At least, I don’t think it’s too obvious.

No one is looking at us anyway. I guess Marilee and Lizabett decided to look at the menu after all.

The next thing I know the door to the diner opens and Becca storms inside.

“Guess who I found?” Becca demands as she walks to the table.

With Becca, it could be anyone, but I take one look at the girl who comes in the door behind Becca and I know. The girl’s face is bruised and she walks stiffly like she’s got other sore places on her body. She’s got a beige scarf wrapped around her head like a turban. Her jeans are well worn and her navy T-shirt is ragged around the hem.

“It’s Joy.” Becca leads the girl to the table. “Here, you take this chair. I’ll get another one.”

Marilee and I look at each other and then look away. Joy’s skin has that tired look that comes with cancer. I’d guess Becca was right when she said Joy is less than eighteen years old, too.

“Maybe you should start with something hot,” Randy says to Joy as he gets up. “I’ve got some red pepper tomato soup. You can eat that while you decide what else to have. It’s got lots of vitamin C.”

“I don’t need more than that,” Joy says as she sets down the menu.

“You’ll hurt Randy’s feelings if you don’t try a hamburger at least,” Marilee says.

“You’ve got that right,” Randy says as he turns to flash Joy a smile and heads to the kitchen.

“A hamburger does sound good,” Joy says.

“You may as well have the works on it,” Becca adds as she pulls her chair into the circle. “Extra cheese at least.”

When Randy brings the platter out, Joy not only has extra cheese she also has a side salad with lots of tomato and avocado on it. I also see grilled onions for her burger and several sections of fresh-cut orange.

When Joy sees the platter of food, her face changes and I see the closest thing to what Mary might have looked like that I have seen all day. It’s a brief flash of raw wonder followed by hesitation.

The waitress set everyone’s platters down shortly after Randy brought Joy’s to her, but I think we’re all watching Joy while trying to look like we’re not. I know I can’t take my eyes off of her.

“It’s too much. I didn’t expect all this,” Joy says quietly. “I can’t pay for it.”

“There’s no charge,” Randy says and then smiles at her. “I’m just testing out some new menu items and I thought you might give us your opinion.”

A look of hope builds on Joy’s face. “Well, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“It’s definitely okay,” Randy says quietly. “We need more customer feedback.”

“Then I need to wash my hands first.” Joy looks around.

“The hallway to the right of the counter.” Randy points to the restrooms.

Jay stands up and walks to the hallway.

I sit there and think that maybe part of the holy wonder Mary felt was about hunger. I can only believe that when that angel talked to her, Mary wanted the angel’s promise to come true with a hunger that has something in common with what Joy felt.

I half expected the initial rush of wonder. What I didn’t think about was the hesitation that must have followed for Mary and then the sense that she wasn’t good enough but was filled with hope anyway.

“You did a good thing with that hamburger platter you made for Joy,” Quinn finally says to Randy.

“I packed it with as much nutrition as I could.”

“I’m sure she’ll eat as much as she can.”

“She should really come in for eggs in the morning,” Randy adds and then looks at me. “She’s sick, isn’t she?”

“I think so.” Maybe those of us in the Sisterhood aren’t the only ones who recognize the differences in skin color.

“There’s got to be some agency that takes in sick people when they’re homeless,” Randy says as he stands up. “I know a guy who runs a nonprofit for kids on the street in Hollywood. I’m going to call him right now and see what we can do.”

“He’s a good guy,” Becca says as Randy goes into the kitchen with his cell phone in his hand.

“Seems to be,” Quinn says and I hear the hesitation in his voice so I know he’s thinking, like the others might be thinking, about that offer of an apartment.

“Randy seems to worry about homeless women,” I say just to give myself a minute to think of the words to say. Nothing fancy comes to me so I just say it. “I think he was worried about me and that’s why he offered me a place to stay. I don’t think he had any other motive.”

“You?” Marilee says with a laugh. “You’ve got that big house. He doesn’t need to worry about a place for you.”

“The house belongs to my uncle,” I say and then I admit what I haven’t told anyone except Randy. “And I’m worried my uncle’s going to tell me and my parents to leave. If he did, we’d have to scramble to find a place.”

“But you’re rich,” Marilee protests.

I shake my head and look down. “My uncle supports us. Neither of my parents have worked in years. I plan to get a job soon, but my mother gets upset if I even talk about a regular job. She doesn’t think any job is good enough for me. I’m going to have to do it eventually, but I want to wait until my dad gets back from his time in rehab. He’s doing so good he might be able to get a job this time. My mother might not be so upset then.”

I say it all in a rush and I know it comes out sounding jumbled. And maybe a little defensive.

There’s silence for a minute and then Joy comes back to the table. Just seeing Joy’s legs come into view gives me the courage to lift my head. I look around the table at my friends. Marilee and Lizabett are both looking stunned. I can see Becca starting to form a question in her mind. Only Quinn seems to be at ease.

“You were worried about all that and you didn’t tell us?” Becca finally gets her words out.

“We didn’t have any rules about keeping secrets,” Marilee says a little too quickly.

She’s right; we didn’t have a rule like that. But she knew, like I did, that everyone else had shared their lives. Marilee talked about the problems she’d had adjusting to her parents’ divorce. Lizabett talked about how she felt her family was smothering her. Becca talked about the struggles she had trying to be her own person in her family. And, all that time, I let them believe my family life was as smooth and unruffled as they pictured it.

“How long have you been worried like this?” Becca ignores Marilee and demands to know.

“We’ve lived with my uncle since I was twelve. It’s been okay,” I say and then I stop myself. If I’m going to do this, I need to be honest. “I’ve been worried he’s going to ask us to leave for the last six years or so.”

“Since before you got your diagnosis?” Lizabett says softly as she scoots her chair a little closer to me and puts her hand on my shoulder.

I shake my head. “I started to worry about it
after
I heard about the Hodgkin’s.”

That was part of the reason I never said anything to anyone. I had so much to worry about with the cancer that I thought I was just imagining that my uncle didn’t seem as tolerant of us being in his house.