A Dropped Stitches Christmas (9 page)

“I think Becca will come around before long,” Rose says. “She just needs to work through this all in her own way.”

“I didn’t mean to let her down,” I say.

Rose nods. “The Sisterhood is important to Becca. She’ll work it through.”

I hope Rose knows what she’s talking about.

I knit some more on the red scarf I’m making. We talk about the play I’m in and Lizabett gives her impersonation of me bouncing along in the back of the old pickup during that one rehearsal. I laugh with the rest of them, thinking all the time that Lizabett should be the one onstage.

Randy brings in our cups of tea on a tray.

We decide not to meet next Thursday because it will be December 22, the opening night of the Mary play. I have enough tickets for all of the Sisterhood to come. The cast party that the director wants to host at my uncle’s house is also that night.

“We don’t need to be guests at the party,” Marilee says. “I’m happy to serve or help or whatever.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. But be sure you plan to come.”

If my aunt and uncle do go ahead with the party, I don’t know how the food will go. Maybe the director will provide some. Maybe my aunt will hire a caterer. Maybe my aunt will want me and my friends to serve up appetizers we buy somewhere. It all depends on how socially important my aunt feels the party will be. If any kind of important people are going to be there, the food will be good.

Marilee drives me home and lets me out of her car at the front door of my uncle’s house.

“I know you go to the side door,” she says. “But the light is better here.”

She looks at the side of the building. “I could walk with you though. It’s pretty dark back there.”

“You can come if you want,” I say. “At least then you’ll see what the note says from my aunt.”

Marilee and I stand beside the side door and talk for a bit. There’s enough light to read my aunt’s note. She says she’s delighted to host the party for their good friend, the director, and that she’s excited about meeting the celebrities he will bring. She also says that she had no idea I was in a play and wasn’t that exciting.

“I guess the director didn’t bother to mention I’m the understudy and not really in the play,” I say after I read the note. There’s one more person to tell that it’s unlikely I’ll be onstage.

“Does it bother you? Being the understudy?” Marilee asks.

I shake my head. “Not anymore.”

“Good.”

Marilee and I hug good-night and I watch her as she walks back to her car.

I go to sleep easier tonight than I have in the past several nights. Maybe it’s because I trust Rose when she says things will work out between Becca and me.

A friendship is a delicate thing. The ties in a family are stronger; a sister is a sister even if she’s not talking to you. But a friend can become a non-friend just by declaring the friendship is over. It can happen so fast. Even a marriage requires a legal divorce to undo it. A friendship has no tie but the most voluntary one.

“In his later years, Pablo Picasso was not allowed to roam an art gallery unattended, for he had previously been discovered in the act of trying to improve on one of his old masterpieces.”

—Unknown

R
ose is the one that brought this quote to the Sisterhood during one of our difficult times. It really is more of a fact than a quote, but we loved it. We were all in chemo then and barely able to drag ourselves to the meetings. Rose brought the quote to us for a laugh, because she knew things like that delighted us.

After the laughter died away, Marilee asked if God, like Picasso, was trying to change us in some way after we were already supposed to be finished and that’s why we had cancer. She always was the one who wanted to know why God had let this all happen to us. When we decided on our name, the Sisterhood of the Dropped Stitches, Marilee said it was a good fit because God had dropped some stitches when He made us.

Hi, this is Carly. It’s Sunday morning and I’m going crazy. I made the mistake of telling my mother last night that Randy is taking me to church this morning. It’s the church where Quinn and Marilee go so it’s not a date, but try telling that to my mother. I’m taking a few minutes to sit on the balcony and have a glass of orange juice while I write a few notes in the journal. I told my mother I needed to prepare myself for church by coming out here. She looked a little confused, but at least she let me escape.

I’m wearing that old flannel robe, which doesn’t make my mother happy, either. But my cat likes this robe and she followed me out here to cuddle in the hem that is lying at my feet. If my cat wasn’t here with me, she’d be on my bed nesting so I let her stay.

My bed is covered with clothes. I will admit I am the one who started the pile and not my mother. I have no idea what to wear to a church service and that became apparent when I looked in my closet. I don’t think I should wear anything flashy, but I don’t want to go too casual, either. I want to show God I’m respectful and serious.

I’m not sure I’d be having any of this anxiety if I hadn’t been reading the New Testament lately. I’ve got to say that reading that book is changing my viewpoint about God. The truth is I’m beginning to think He might be real.

Yikes. I know.

That’s why I’m having such a clothes crisis. Ordinarily, I’d pick something from my closet to wear that would be appreciated by the people who would see me in church. That’s not so hard; I know how to dress to impress people. But I don’t know how to dress to impress God.

I wonder if He likes wool suits.

Uh-oh, my mother is coming down the hall looking for me. I better get going.

I pick up my cat and step back into the hallway only to discover my mother is thinking of basic black. She’s holding up the short dressy thing I wore for a reception during the Rose Queen competition. It was designed to win the votes of male judges.

“You can’t go wrong with black,” my mother says as she holds up the hanger.

The early-morning light filters into the hallway and there’s enough sunlight to make the sequins on the dress sparkle. Not that there’s a lot of sequins, but there’s one single tasteful row of them outlining the neckline and it makes the dress shimmer.

“This is church, Mother. I don’t think I should wear something that’s low cut.”

“But it’s a church
date.
With your friend, Randy. And, trust me, men have always liked this dress. I swear it’s what got you the crown for the Rose Parade.”

“I don’t want to be overdressed.”

“You don’t want to be a wallflower, either.” My mother purses her lips in the way she has that’s supposed to tell me she expects me to be difficult so she’s overlooking it this one time.

“I’m thinking maybe a black skirt and a plain white button-down blouse,” I say.

My mother looks horrified. “People will think you’re a waitress.”

“That’s fine. Being a waitress is good, honest work.”

Mary might have even been a waitress if there had been restaurants back in Biblical times. Come to think of it, I wonder if there were restaurants then. It’s odd to think of a place without any. Certainly, they would at least have had vendors along the roads like the hot dog stands they have at the beach today. People had to eat even if they were living in Biblical days.

“There’s nothing wrong with some women being waitresses, but—” My mother narrows her eyes. “This Randy doesn’t expect you to work for him if you get married, does he? I won’t have you spending your life working in some man’s diner. You were the Rose Queen, remember? You deserve better.”

“Mother.” I take a deep breath. I’ll never forget I was the Rose Queen; my mother won’t let me. “Randy and I haven’t even gone out. I don’t think you need to worry about anyone getting married quite yet. Besides—”

“Oh, I’m not opposed to you marrying the man. That diner of his is a good business. He gets big-name professional athletes there.”

“Besides,” I continue as though my mother hasn’t spoken, “there is nothing wrong with any honest job. I don’t want to spend my life as—” It suddenly strikes me what my mother just said. “How do you know so much about Randy’s business?”

“Well, I called up that diner where you hang out and talked to him about it. He was really very nice. He seemed to understand that a mother would have concerns about her daughter. And he makes a very good income.”

Okay. So now I’m thinking of wearing a bag over my head when I go to church. I gave my mother the telephone number to The Pews years ago and, to my knowledge, she’s never used it until now. It was supposed to be for emergencies.

“Mother, we’ve never even gone out on a real date yet.”

“And you never will if you wear a uniform. That’s what a black skirt and a white blouse is. It’s a uniform. It says
don’t bother to look at me, I’m just here doing my job
.”

“I hope nobody does look at me,” I say as I walk back toward my room with my cat in my arms.

I let my cat down and she finds her bed in the corner of my room.

Then I look into my closet hoping there’s something else in there that would work for church. I finally pull out a navy dress. It’s fitted and has simple lines. I put it on and it looks nice and dignified.

I walk back out into the hallway. My mother is still there waiting for me to come out.

“Well,” she says grudgingly. “I guess it’s better than the skirt and blouse. You should let your hair down. You have such lovely blond hair. Randy will like that.”

I have my hair pulled back into a bun at the back of my head. “I’m not worried about impressing Randy this morning.”

“You’re going to church,” my mother says suspiciously. “Who else are you trying to impress?”

“God.”

My mother thinks I’m being flip. I can see that right away.

“Seriously, Mom,” I say as gently as I can. “That’s why I’m going to church. I want to learn more about God.”

“We’ve never had any problems with God in our family,” my mother says defensively. “If you had questions, you should have come to your father and me.”

“That’s okay,” I say. I can’t even think of how to address that statement. My mother never mentions God, not even at Christmas.

“It’s where Marilee goes to church now. It’s a good church.”

“Well, I hope Randy takes you out to lunch afterward,” my mother says. “And not at that Pews place. You spend too much time there already. Make him take you to a nice restaurant. Maybe the brunch at the Ritz-Carlton. You’ve always liked the brunch there.”

“I’ve only eaten there a few of times. You’re the one who likes the brunch there.”

“Well, what’s not to like? They have lobster and shrimp. And eggs Benedict. And—”

“I know.” I raise my hand. “They have everything.”

I’ve taken my mother there for Mother’s Day for the past few years. It’s not the kind of place I’d like for a lunch with Randy. I’d like to just sit someplace and talk to him.

Just then the doorbell rings.

“That’s him,” I say as I give my mother a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t forget your jacket,” my mother says. “It might rain.”

I stop in my bedroom to get my jacket and my purse before I go down the stairs.

When I open the door for Randy, I see him look up the stairway behind me. He waves at someone and I look over my shoulder to see my mother beaming down upon us.

“Have fun,” my mother calls down.

“We will, Mrs. Winston,” Randy calls back. “Don’t worry.”

“She’s going to worry anyway,” I say as I close the door behind us.

“It’s nice to have your mother interested in you,” Randy says as we step off the small porch.

Dark gray clouds have started to move into the area since I was sitting out on the balcony earlier. We follow the sidewalk out to the street. The front lawn of my uncle’s house is larger than some city parks. The grass is always green and trimmed to just the right length. The bushes are sculpted and the trees dignified. There are no swing sets or basketball hoops on the lawns of San Marino.

“I’m sorry she called you,” I say as we reach the end of the walkway.

Randy’s Jeep is at the curb. “I didn’t want to pull in the driveway in case your uncle needed to get his car out.”

“Thanks.”

Randy opens the door to the passenger side of his Jeep. “And don’t worry about your mother. She only wants you to be happy.”

“Sometimes I wish she could want me to be happy from a little farther away,” I say. “She treats me like I’m sixteen.”

I step up into the Jeep and sit in the passenger seat.

Randy nods. “It’s because of the cancer. She told me that.”

Randy closes the door.

Whoa. I have to wait for Randy to walk around and open the driver’s side door.

“You mean you actually had a
conversation
with my mother?”

I thought my mother had just asked Randy a few pointed questions. I had no idea they had actually talked.

Randy climbs into the driver’s seat. “Well, sure. She told me how hard it was for her to accept that you had cancer and how she worried about you night and day because she didn’t think you were taking it seriously enough.”

Randy closes the door and starts the ignition.

“Not taking it seriously enough? I thought I was dying. I had these fevers and night sweats and—” I stop. “Besides, she didn’t even want to admit that I had cancer. She told everyone I had mono.”

Randy looks over at me and nods. “She said it was hard for her to accept.”

I need to take a deep breath here so I wait for Randy to drive away from the curb. “I know my mother means well. I’m sure you understand how it is. Does your mother do this to you?”

Randy shakes his head as he turns onto a main street. “My mother died when I was eight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. It’s been a long time.”

I’m silent for a minute. “You could share my mother. She can worry enough for two.”

Randy chuckles. “Thanks.”

Randy printed out the directions to the church we’re going to from MapQuest and I give him the right and the left turns until we get there.

I’m still kind of spinning from this mother business. I know I complain some about my mother. Okay, a lot. But I’m glad she’s not dead. I would miss her dreadfully if she were.

We’ve got a few minutes to spare when we pull into the parking lot beside this tall church with huge windows. The windows are a pattern of stained-glass squares. It looks sort of modern. The parking lot is full except for several parking spaces marked for visitors.

“I guess that’s us,” Randy says as he pulls into one of the visitor spaces.

“Guess so.”

Randy steps out of the Jeep and comes around to my door. I watch him as he comes and I have to say he looks very good in a suit. He’s not wearing a tie, but he’s got a white shirt on and a charcoal-gray sports jacket.

“Nice suit,” I say as he opens my door.

“I didn’t know what to wear.”

I take his hand and step out of the Jeep. “I didn’t know, either.”

I’m standing right in front of him now and he’s smiling at me.

“You look lovely,” Randy says and he just keeps smiling into my eyes.

“Oh.” I can’t remember ever having a guy tell me I looked good when he was just looking at my eyes.

Of course, we can’t kiss in the visitor’s space of the church parking lot, but he does hold my hand as we walk across the parking lot and it’s almost just as nice.

A raindrop falls on my head right about the time we get to the steps of the church. The sky is getting even grayer. Randy and I stop and hesitate at the top of the stairs. The church has heavy wooden double doors leading inside and they are closed. It’s starting to rain in earnest now so I can understand why they would have the doors closed.

“I was hoping to be able to peek inside first,” I say to Randy.

He’s got a grim, determined look on his face. “I know. That way we could leave if we didn’t like what we saw.”

“I don’t suppose there’ll be anything too bad inside,” I say. I never expected to face a commitment before I knew anything about the church. I wonder briefly if all of those stained-glass window panes are to keep the people outside from looking in or the people inside from looking out. Either way it’s not good.

Randy tightens his hold on my hand and takes a step forward. “Well, here we go.”

I have this strange sense that I’m crossing over some barrier as I step forward. Maybe this is how Alice felt when she slid down the rabbit hole and found herself in that strange, new wonderland of hers.