Authors: Peter Hedges
It took a moment to sink in. Maggie smiled, Claire had questions, and Scotty slid off his chair, crawled to the center of the kitchen where he proceeded to jump up and down. Then he launched into a variation of his seven dance. And as he danced, he thought, See what happens when you’re good.
(1)
The Ocean house had never been so clean: carpets vacuumed, toilets scrubbed, the kitchen floor mopped, the refrigerator defrosted; new outfits for the children, showers for all; a six-foot-tall Christmas tree decorated with blinking lights, stockings hung from oldest to youngest—everything was ready, and they were hours ahead of schedule. The Oceans sat around waiting. Scotty was especially careful not to make a mess.
(2)
Sent in to get the Christmas cookies, Scotty found the platter covered in cellophane on the kitchen counter. The cookies were cut in various shapes: a Christmas wreath, a Christmas tree, a candy cane. Some of the cookies had been colored a
seasonal green, some Santa Claus red—the remaining majority were a tannish white, browned at the edges. Claire had baked the day before while Maggie and Scotty decorated. The wreath cookies had green frosting and were peppered with little red-hot candies, the Christmas tree cookies had colored sprinkles, and the candy canes had been given uneven frosting stripes by Maggie, who hadn’t yet mastered the frosting gun.
As Scotty was about to lift the cookie tray, the doorbell rang. He stood frozen. He held his breath as the front door was opened. He heard the muffle of greetings, the happy voices. He checked his clothes. He wore his first suit—blue, like his father’s—a light blue dress shirt, Buster Brown shoes, black socks, and a red clip-on tie, a first, too. His father wore a red tie and Scotty wished they had on different colors.
“Wear a different one, Dad,” he’d whispered earlier that evening.
“No, Scotty. This way we’re the same.”
Scotty had pulled at his out of frustration. Then he ran to the bathroom, climbed on the toilet seat, and checked to see if the tie had remained straight.
Now, he checked the tie again. “It’ll do,” he said. Then he lifted the cookie tray as high as he could. (He was determined not to drop it.) He made his way into the living room where his father, his sisters, his maternal grandparents, and most important, Joan Ocean, who stood in the doorway with sacks of presents at her side, all looked his way.
There was plenty of smiling and Scotty could feel all eyes were on him. He lowered the tray to the coffee table. He made a big sigh like “Whew.”
“Don’t you look nice,” Joan said.
Scotty walked toward her and extended his hand, which Joan shook.
“You look like a little man.”
What Scotty saw before him, he decided, was definitely new and improved—Joan wore a black dress, tight fitting, and bright red lipstick; her cheeks were colored and her hair pulled back simply, revealing ruby drop earrings, which dangled.
Scotty wanted to sit next to his mother. But Maggie had taken the spot, so he waited near the Christmas tree. Surely she’ll look over at the tree, he thought.
Scotty’s clothes itched. Normally he’d make a scene. Wearing clothes such as these, he’d moan and fidget—but not on Christmas Eve 1969. She was in her living room tonight and Scotty would behave his very best, give her no reason to flee again.
His grandfather and the Judge brought in the sacks of gifts. This year Scotty didn’t run to stack his up to see how high they would stand. He gave no indication of caring. He sat, a cookie held daintily in his hand, waiting his turn to speak. Only one part of his hair stuck up.
When Maggie went to the bathroom, Scotty took her place. He leaned toward Joan’s ear, cupped his hand so only she could hear. Her hair smelled of shampoo and cigarettes.
“You back for good?” Scotty asked his mother, in a whisper.
Joan smiled, but didn’t say anything. She squeezed his knee with her available hand.
***
Before going to midnight Mass, everyone opened one present. Scotty went first but only because he was youngest. Joan suggested he open the gift from her parents. So he did. It came in two boxes. In the first, there was an assortment of various wood shapes. In the second, various tools, boy-size.
“To build things,” Scotty said. He hugged his mother.
“They’re from Grandma Dottie and Grandpa Jim.”
He crossed the room to his grandparents. He shook his grandfather’s hand and kissed near his grandmother’s ear. The grandmother leaned forward to kiss him, her lips bright red with Christmas lipstick, and Scotty turned his head at the last minute. She planted a big smooch on his cheek and his face contracted more the harder she pressed. He saw his father sitting in the corner, watching the festivities with a quiet joy. Their eyes made contact, the men, and they both knew.
She’s back was what they knew.
She’s back.
When Scotty got released from his grandmother’s clutches, Maggie laughed then quickly covered her mouth, remembering it was Christmas and you don’t laugh at someone on Christmas.
“You have lips on your face,” Claire said.
Joan had a handkerchief. She wiped Scotty’s cheek.
“I used to leave my lips all over your grandfather’s face. There was a time when all we did was kiss,” the grandmother said. She smiled. The grandfather smiled but wondered if this was something Scotty needed to know. Then he leaned forward and explained the use of certain tools.
“You know the hammer.”
“Yeah.”
“You know the screwdriver. Now this here is a leveler.”
Scotty held it. Part metal, part wood, the leveler had a thin tube filled with green-yellow liquid. In the tube an air bubble moved from side to side as Scotty tilted it every which way.
“You want the bubble to be in the middle. That way you got everything balanced, everything equal.”
Scotty nodded as if he understood. As Maggie tore off the
wrapping of her present, Scotty looked to his mother. Joan smiled as Maggie squealed. She had given Maggie the game Mystery Date. You’re back, Scotty thought.
She’s back, Joan Ocean is back.
***
As they put on their winter coats to go to church, Joan announced suddenly, “I want Scotty to open one more gift.”
She extended a small package.
Scotty carefully tore away the paper. He opened the plastic case. Inside was a boy’s wristwatch with luminous hands.
“Oh boy,” Scotty said.
“So you can see it in the dark,” Joan said as she helped him put it on his wrist.
“I can tell time,” Scotty said.
“Of course you can.”
***
Outside, a thin layer of snow covered the driveway and the stoop. As the family headed to the cars for the ride to church, Scotty could make out the silhouette of the mailbox. He reminded himself,
Be sure not to lick it
. Not going through that again, he whispered to himself. Lesson learned.
In the car, Scotty rode in front between the Judge and Joan, but closer to Joan. He pushed in the cigarette lighter. When it clicked, he looked to her and she nodded and he pulled it out and held it up. She leaned forward, her cigarette between her lips, and Scotty heard it begin to sizzle. His mother inhaled and he slid the lighter back into place.
At the church, luminarias lined the sidewalks and the walkways leading to the church.
“Who would think that a grocery sack, a handful of sand, and a cheap candle could make such a light?” the Judge wondered aloud. “Who would think?”
Those attending the service saw Joan enter with the Oceans, and all agreed that she’d never looked better.
Scotty stood next to his mother. He wanted to hold her hand. He forgot about his painting and how she would love it. For the first time in weeks his memory became like an Etch-A-Sketch freshly shaken—he was wiped clean.
During the service, all eyes were on the Ocean family. The Judge wore his best blue suit. Scotty’s sisters each wore a dress made by their other grandmother, a widow, living in Florida. Dresses that neither of the girls would ever wear again. But the picture would be taken and sent south after the New Year. In previous years, when the girls were younger, the dresses were often identical. This year, in honor of the individual, and due to the definite chasm that had grown between the sisters physically, each dress had its own style. The fabrics went well together and while the girls weren’t happy, for a night they would suffer. For a night, for this night even Scotty would not complain. He didn’t fidget. He had no trouble staying awake.
***
That night Scotty lay in his bed, his eyes open. He knew he’d slept some of the time, he didn’t know how long, what with the outside still dark. A whistly wind blew against the storm windows of his bedroom. Scotty held back the curtain with his hand. He saw winter outside. He saw the frozen glass, the glaze of ice on trees, branches standing brittle, waiting for warmer days. Poor trees, Scotty thought. Wish it could be warm out there like it is in here.
Too excited to sleep, Scotty dropped feet first to the floor. He put on socks that he found in the top drawer of his dresser. “Hope they match,” he said to himself as he opened the door and crept down the hall. He pushed open his parents’ door. The only light came from the glow of the Judge’s alarm clock. Scotty practically leapt over the lump under the sheets that was his father. He came down on the other side; he came between his parents and he landed as inconspicuously as any seven-year-old boy could. He waited for the mattress to go still from the aftershocks. He rolled away from his father toward his mother when he found that side of the bed to be empty, the pillow fresh. He felt for her; he peered over the side to see if she’d rolled onto the floor. He checked under the bed. He slid open the closet door.
“Dad,” he finally said, poking the Judge gently in the back. “Dad.”
“Hmmmm,” said the Judge, more asleep than not.
“Where’s Mom?” Scotty whispered.
In a voice too loud, the Judge replied, “She doesn’t want to live here anymore.”
Scotty did not breathe. He felt no noticeable pain. He rolled off the bed and walked quietly back to his room. He climbed in his bed, determined to not seem surprised.
He didn’t move for a long time.
As he lay there, it was as if a vacuum hose had been inserted down his throat, for he could not speak, and everything vital, everything pure, got sucked out, everything sucked out until finally only his heart remained; its veins and ventricles and arteries clung to his ribs. He imagined the high-pitched sound a vacuum makes when a piece of plastic or a baby sock clogs the passageway. Then something shifted, the whine of the vacuum
kicked to a higher pitch, the heart began to stretch, to be pulled, and finally it was ripped out and went screaming down the tube, gone.
(3)
In the morning, after a breakfast of coffee cake, the Judge and his children opened their remaining presents. Maggie was the last to notice Scotty’s lack of enthusiasm, the way he slowly opened gifts. “You’ve lost the Christmas spirit,” she said, as she emptied her Christmas stocking on the living room carpet. Inside she found Barbie’s Accessory Pak and the Barbie Hair Fair, which included one Barbie head with short hair, a wiglet, ringlets, ponytail, and extra wig.
She sighed and said, “No more Barbie! Please!”
Then Claire carefully removed the wrapping off a book. It was a biography on Thomas Jefferson, whom both the Judge and Claire admired. By coincidence, Jefferson’s daughter had taken over the running of Jefferson’s house after his wife had died. The Judge apologized for the inference. But Claire said, “There are many differences between Patsy Jefferson and me. The most obvious is that they had slaves.”
Over the coming weeks, and always after Claire had ordered Maggie and Scotty to shovel the driveway or take out the trash, Maggie would say, “Yes, master.”
Claire got upset at the insinuation. She was no slave driver: She was doing the best she could.
The Judge insisted Maggie stop it. So Maggie substituted Mother for master, which Scotty began to imitate. “Yes, Mother. Okay, Mother.” Occasionally this would make Claire
cry, but mainly she ignored them, clearing her throat in an intentional manner, and assigned them more chores.
***
As the Judge prepared to open his gift, Claire said, “Explain it, Scotty.”
Scotty said nothing.
“It was your idea,” Claire reminded him.
The commercial had been Scotty’s favorite during the holiday season. Santa Claus riding the Norelco Tripleheader shaver as if it were a sled down a snowy mountain. Santa delivering toys to all the good boys and girls on a razor. Every time the commercial played, Scotty lunged toward the TV and followed the razor with his finger as Santa rode it through the snow.
When he and his sisters had been dropped at Kmart to do their shopping, Scotty announced his idea. Anything to soften the Judge’s face had been Scotty’s thinking. A simple hug felt like a bed of nails being pressed to his face. It seemed like the perfect gift.
“It’s rechargeable, Daddy,” Maggie said.
The Judge seemed pleased.
Scotty started to open his gift after his sisters insisted.
“It’s what you asked for,” the Judge said.
Scotty couldn’t remember having asked for anything. He was in a fog. Everything felt as if it were covered in maple syrup. Was he the only one upset?
“Did you hear Dad, Scotty?” Claire asked. “He said it’s what you asked for.”
That meant Scotty better like it.
“Hurry up.”
Scotty finished tearing off the wrapping paper. The gift was an official NFL boy’s Minnesota Vikings uniform. In a few
weeks the Vikings and the Kansas City Chiefs would play in Super Bowl IV.
Inside the box were a helmet, shoulder pads, padded pants, and a purple and white jersey. Included were two sets of iron-on numbers.
“Gee, I wonder what number Scotty will want,” Maggie said.
Not only had his predictability become a source of comfort to his family; it was becoming a source of ridicule. They knew what he’d eat; they knew his favorite colors, his favorite TV shows, the commercials he perked up for, his routine. He could be anticipated, countered. He didn’t understand that he was being taken for granted, but he sensed that something must change.