The Christmas Strike

“Yes, David. I told her exactly what you said. That you were sorry and were going to make it up to her.”

“What was her reaction?”

Was I really supposed to tell him that she’d opened up the latest copy of Vanity Fair and hadn’t said a word? “She’s upset, David. Why don’t you just let it go for today?”

It was his sixth call and I was, frankly, worn out. Gwen refused to take her husband’s calls but as soon as I hung up the phone she’d call me from her bedroom upstairs, wanting to know what he’d said. I’d been up and down the stairs so many times I was getting jet lag.

“All right.” The poor guy sounded both defeated and deflated. “If you’re sure that’s what she wants.”

I assured him it was, told him to hang in there and hung up.

“Mother!”

It was uncanny how Gwen always knew the minute I hung up the phone. I ran up the stairs and arrived at her room, breathless.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him to give up for the day.”

She sat up straighter in bed. “What? You mean you told him to stop calling?”

I leaned against the door jam. “Basically, yeah. I mean, you don’t want to speak to him anyway. So what’s the point in his continuing to call?”

“But how can I make him suffer if he doesn’t keep calling so I can refuse to speak to him?”

“Gwen, he’s suffering enough already. And if that’s what this is about—”

She shrank back into the covers and got a pouty look on her face. “No—of course not. I’m just not happy with him. Not like I thought I’d be.”

“Life sucks sometimes, baby. What can I say?”

She slid her gaze in my direction, then immediately looked away. “You could say that I deserve to be happy.”

I walked from the door frame to sit at the foot of the bed, patting her ankle over the covers. “Of course you deserve to be happy, Gwen. But maybe you need to adjust what your idea of happiness is.”

“Oh, I should have known you’d take his side,” she said, rolling so that her back was to me.

I raised my eyes to the ceiling and asked the floral wallpaper border to give me the strength to resist the urge to tell her she was acting like a baby. The room was still decorated with the blue-and-white striped wallpaper I’d hung when Charlie and I had taken over the room after my mother’s death. The same white tieback curtains hung at the windows.

“I’m not taking sides,” I said. “But I think taking David’s calls would be the…ah…mature thing to do, don’t you?”

Her back still to me, she shook her head. “Why should I be mature when he’s not living up to his promises?”

“But he made promises to clients, too, Gwen. Maybe it’d be easier for you to understand if you went back to work.”

She sat up straight in bed. “Has David said anything? Did he tell you that he thinks I quit my job too soon?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that, if you don’t have enough to do, maybe—”

“But I’d have enough to do if David had time for me!”

“Baby, it’s hard to build up a business and a reputation. You’ve got to try to be understanding—to think of what it will mean for your future.”

“Oh—so when I’m too old to look fabulous in a bikini that’s when he’ll have the time to take me on a cruise?”

Yes, Nat had been the rebellious one, but Gwen had been the demanding one. The one who wanted everything right now. She seemed only capable of seeing any situation for how it affected her. I shook my head. How could I have raised two such different daughters?

I sighed. “Are you coming down for dinner?”

“I’d rather just have a tray in my room if you don’t mind.”

I decided the extra trips up and down the stairs were worth not having her at the same table with Natalie. I wasn’t sure there were enough antacids in the entire town to take care of the indigestion that might cause.

By Monday I couldn’t wait to take Ivan Mueller’s ledgers back to him. After which I planned to drive out to the discount store on the highway and get some Christmas shopping done. It was the last thing I felt like doing. My holiday spirit was still limping along like a wounded animal. But it would keep me out of the house long enough for Gwen to maybe answer one of David’s calls herself. Maybe if they talked—really talked—David would get through to her. I certainly hadn’t had any luck so far.

Ivan was his usual affable self.

“There’s my beauty of a bookkeeper,” he said when he looked up at the sound of the bell above the door. “And how was your weekend?”

“I’ve had better,” I answered ruefully.

He put his palm to his chest. “No! You are unhappy about something during this happy time of year?”

Ivan had come to the United States in the late forties. He didn’t really have an accent, but he had a courtly way of speaking that was very old world. He was short and still wore suits he’d probably had custom made in the early fifties—pin-stripes and lapels a little too wide, but the fabric excellent. He wore rimless glasses and kept his thinning hair in place with something oily. Probably the same product he’d used when he bought the suits.

He had exquisite taste in jewelry, much of it he’d designed himself. Most Willow Creek couples had exchanged their vows over Ivan’s rings. I couldn’t really afford to be a customer but he regularly gave me earrings for Christmas. And I treasured every pair.

“My kids are going through a rough time, Ivan. Things ain’t pretty at my house.”

“I am sorry to hear this. I have just the thing that will cheer you up,” he said. “Made for a special customer. Wait until you see.”

I watched him toddle off to the back room then started to gaze at the cases of jewelry. Maybe I’d skip the discount store and just get each of the girls a pendant or something this year. Ivan had some beautiful ones. But Gwen already had better than anything I could afford and Natalie wasn’t much into jewelry. Not the real thing, anyway. She’d find the cash more useful.

Ivan returned shuffling along, with a long, narrow black velvet case in his hand. He motioned me over to the counter and opened the case. I’ve never considered myself a diamond kind of gal. They didn’t fit into my lifestyle, nor could I afford them. But when Ivan revealed the gorgeous diamond-and-gold bracelet reclining inside, I experienced the same feeling I had when I’d heard that song on the jukebox. Possibilities or maybe dreams that hadn’t quite died—something that had only been a shadow of a notion up until now—still trying to break free inside of me.

“You like?” Ivan asked.

“It’s—well, it’s just the most beautiful bracelet I’ve ever seen.”

“Here. You try it on,” he said.

“No, I couldn’t—well, maybe—”

He was already clipping it around my wrist.

“Those are perfectly matched brilliant-cut rounds. Oh—” he shook his head slowly, importantly “—very, very difficult to find stones that match so perfectly at this size. Set in eighteen karat gold. And you see how the clasp is made up of rubies and sapphires? The very best of everything.”

The best of everything. What would that be like, I wondered. To have the best of everything?