This was a safe topic, so I expounded. “The big things? Wallpaper removed and walls painted. Old linoleum and carpet hauled away. Possibly new floors downstairs. We’ll see when everything comes up. Woodwork refinished in a couple of rooms. One of the bathrooms has to be gutted and completely redone—we’ll bring in the pros to do that. The kitchen needs new appliances and the backsplash needs to be regrouted.” I thought about my session that afternoon. “Some simple rewiring. New light switches to start.”
“I might be able to help there,” Cliff said.
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“No, really. I’d enjoy it. We’re leaving for Michigan Christmas morning to visit my grandmother, but I have all day tomorrow.”
I started to repeat my last sentence, then I realized there was a note of desperation in Cliff’s voice. He sounded like a man who needed something to do. And who could blame him?
“Well, that would be great.” I smiled down the table at him. “Help is always appreciated.”
“I’ve got just the thing for you. My newest invention. It combines several different technologies, but best of all it can be programmed as a motion detector and turn itself on and off when someone walks in or out of a room.”
I’d been thinking simple switches. The kind that go on and off when they’re flicked. I could just imagine what would happen if I tried to program Cliff’s, or even use them.
“That’s so kind of you, but Emerald Springs isn’t the same as real estate in a bigger city. This house won’t sell for that much,” I said. “I just can’t let you waste such a wonderful invention on—”
“Oh, let him.” Ginger sounded more petulant than usual. “He wants to show off. He thinks he’s going down in history with Einstein—”
“You mean Edison,” said Sid, always helpful.
“I’d like to do it for you,” Cliff said. “My treat.”
And what could I say to that? It’s hard to explain that I’m technology-challenged, without opening myself to offers of advice and tutoring, neither of which makes the slightest difference. And how many of these switches could he install in a day, anyway? Lucy can turn
those
lights on and off for me.
“Well, great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“I’m glad
that’s
settled,” Ginger said. “Cliff is so boring when he starts talking about his inventions.”
“I’d love to hear more about them,” Sid said, leaning forward as if she was enthralled. “Every single detail.”
“No, let Ginger tell you about her new cookbook,” Cliff said.
I figured Cliff knew that Ginger would continue the insults if he tried to talk about himself. Some relationships mystify me.
Vel leaped in before Sid could add another word. “Yes, tell us about your career, Ginger.”
“You’re sure?” Ginger purred. “Well, it’s been just such a surprise to me. But I guess I had the right combination of brains, looks, and talent to make a success.”
I kicked Sid under the table, because without looking, I knew she needed it.
Ginger put down her fork. “I was discovered while I was still in school. A Cincinnati television station was looking for somebody pretty and bright to demonstrate recipes on their local news show. Somebody told me and I went to audition. They thought I’d be perfect. Of course I worked hard, and before long they gave me a holiday special, and after that was a huge success, they gave me more. Then I was offered a weekly show all my own on our PBS affiliate. It was picked up by several stations across the country and would have made me a star, only . . .”
She shrugged sadly. “I was in a car accident. I injured my back.”
I remembered several years ago Junie had mentioned the accident to me in a phone call. I had even sent Ginger a get well card.
Sid perked up. “That
must
have been hard for you, Ginger, considering how much time you spent on it—”
I cut her off quickly. “I hope you had a good doctor. I know back pain can be awful.”
“It never really goes away. I’ve just learned to suffer in silence.”
I stared daggers at Sid, who had opened her mouth again. She clamped it shut.
Ginger continued her sad saga. “The show was cancelled, of course, since I couldn’t do any new episodes for months and months. And standing for any length of time was just excruciating, so I couldn’t get a restaurant job.”
“There’s a happy ending coming.” Cliff smiled fondly at his wife.
Ginger didn’t spare him a glance. “I realized that what I really wanted to do was set down some of my wonderful recipes for other people to enjoy. You know, a gift to all those people who’d loved my shows. So I started work on a cookbook. I called it
Splurge: Decadent Dining for Gutsy Gourmets
. It hit at just the right moment. Of course I’d planned it that way. But everyone was so tired of eating nothing but lettuce and carrots and brown rice. It was a naughty cookbook for naughty people. The talk shows loved me.”
I was so glad I had never turned on my television to find Ginger rhapsodizing about her own talents. This was bad enough.
“Tell them about the
new
cookbook,” Junie said.
“Well, if you promise not to tell anyone else.” Ginger lowered her voice. “I’m calling it
Binge: Fattening Foods for the Delinquent Dieter.
Don’t you love it?”
No one spoke. Appealing to gourmets yearning for the richer food they loved was one thing. But what woman would be caught with a book called
Binge
on her bookshelf? Even if she locked herself in the bathroom twice a day to scarf down a gallon of rocky road ice cream, she wasn’t going to advertise.
Ed finally rescued us. “It’s certainly a unique approach. Do you have a publication date?”
“Some time next year. We need to get all the promotion in place. There’s talk of another television show, maybe the Food Network.” She looked at Sid. “But enough about me. I’m sure the rest of you have made
huge
successes of your lives.”
“Girls,” I said quickly, “you’ve been so quiet.”
“You told us to be quiet.” Teddy frowned. “You said that—”
“Well, it’s your turn now.” My smile was as bright as a Christmas star. “I was thinking our guests don’t know about the big Christmas Eve pageant on the Oval.” I looked away from my daughter to include everyone. “That’s what we call the park across from the church. This is quite a deal here. It’s been a tradition for twenty years. Deena will tell you all about it.”
“I will?” Deena looked disappointed. I wondered if she’d been hoping there would be another dustup at the table.
“You will.” I aimed the smile at her.
Deena shook her head, as if to point out what she was forced to put up with. Luckily it’s Christmas, and there’s enough little girl inside her to hope for the best.
“Every year one of the churches near the Oval puts up a nativity scene. You know, the kind with real animals? Sheep and donkeys. People play shepherds and Wise Men and Mary and Joseph.”
“Nobody plays Jesus.” Teddy gnawed her lip and looked straight at her father. “Was Jesus real?”
“No question about it,” Ed said.
“Was he born in a manger?”
“Teddy, let Deena finish,” I said, before Ed started a lengthy overview of the scholarly debate about Jesus’s birth. Teddy will tackle these questions in seminary in oh, twenty years or so. Why spoil the fun?
“So, as I was saying”—Deena narrowed her eyes at her sister—“It’s a tradition. And each church gets to do something special, as part of it. The stable’s behind the Catholic church this year. And the Baptists get to choose Mary and Joseph. I think the Methodists get to choose the shepherds. Somebody else gets the Wise Men, and last year one person got to lead a camel there on Christmas Eve, but nobody got to ride it. That’s pretty lame. I offered to ride a horse, but they said there weren’t any horses at the manger. Like they’d know for sure.”
“What does your church get to do?” Junie asked. “Costumes? Lights? Music?”
“Nothing fun.” Deena looked at her father.
“All the churches meet on the Oval as the sun goes down,” Ed said. “Together, we process to the nativity and sing carols. The Lutherans lead the songs this year. Afterwards we all leave and go to our separate services. And while we’re inside our churches, somebody puts the baby in the manger. It’s just a doll, of course, but this year I choose the person who gets to do it.”
Junie wiped her eyes. Junie gets weepy whenever something touches her. “Why, that’s so beautiful. What a lovely, lovely thing. Who did you choose?”
“It’s always a secret,” Ed said. “A person who might need spiritual recharging. Supposedly nobody is left outside to see.”
Teddy finished. “And then we come out with lighted candles, only the little kids have to use electric ones which isn’t fair, and we march back to see the baby in the manger.”
“We sing ‘Silent Night,’ then everybody goes home,” I finished. This particular nativity pageant may be a wee bit corny, but I’m already outrageously fond of it.
“Choosing somebody to put the baby in the manger is a lot better than having to clean up sheep poop every day,” Deena said.
I squelched her with a look, but Junie laughed. “From what I hear somebody in this family wants her own little animal to clean up after.”
“Me!” Teddy said. “I want guinea pigs for Christmas, two of them. So they can have babies.”
“No guinea pigs.” I was sorry I hadn’t gotten to Junie first. “We have a cat. A cat who hunts.”
“But that’s the only thing I want for Christmas.”
“I don’t want animals,” Deena said. “I want tickets to the Botoxins concert in Columbus on New Year’s Day. But apparently that’s not going to happen, either.”
“Aggie, I can’t believe you aren’t giving the girls what they really want for Christmas,” Ginger said. “Now, if they’d asked for a Porsche, I could understand.” She giggled.
Ed and I locked eyes for a moment. Mine said:
“Your turn, buster
.
”
Ed’s tone was pleasant and measured. Just. “Deena’s too young to fend for herself at a rock concert. And none of her friends will be going.”
“Because Mom got together with their mothers and made sure of it!”
She got me there. Deena is one of a group of girls who call themselves the Green Meanies. Emerald green, of course. I did organize an informal gathering of Meanie moms that meets when necessary so our daughters won’t play us off against each other. It’s slightly better than nothing.
“Everybody agreed you’re too young,” I said, although strictly that wasn’t true. Before she would go along with the rest of us, Crystal O’Grady, mother of Carlene, had to be bribed with the name of the woman who had painted tiny holly sprigs on Grace Forester’s nails.
“I remember what it’s like not to get what I wanted on holidays,” Ginger said. “But I’m sure you two know best. I’m sure you got the girls something nice.”
“New socks and a half-price pizza coupon,” I said. “We’re always more than generous.”
“I’m sure it will be a very nice Christmas,” Junie said.
Later that night Vel sat at the kitchen table with another glass of Junie’s cabernet while Sid and I cleaned up. Ed gets a break from kitchen duty at Christmas time, and the girls had gone upstairs, most likely to discuss what a terrible mother and father they have. Junie had gone off with Cliff and Ginger to do a tour of the Emerald Springs Christmas lights before the Grables returned to their hotel. Bix had taken off after his five-pear dinner. Sid hadn’t told us why, but if possible, she was in a worse mood than she’d been during dinner.
“If you can just step back and watch things unfold, it’s a marvel how quickly and easily Ginger can sabotage a gathering,” Vel said. “Really, she has a natural talent.”
“I hardly remember her mother, do you?”
“Probably a little better than you do. Fig was even prettier then Ginger, if possible. And manipulative? She could twist Junie into a pretzel.”
“Junie’s not usually much of a pushover. I bet she was so worried about Ginger, she just let Fig have her way. She thought she had to protect Ginger at all costs.”
Sid banged two pans together in the sink. “Why didn’t somebody just report that woman to Children’s Services and have Ginger settled permanently in a good home? Anybody’s home but ours!”
“Well, because Fig moved from town to town like we did, and those things take time. Or at least that’s my guess.” Vel got up and peeked out the window at what sounded like footsteps. “I thought that might be Junie. But it looks like Bix is back.”
“Aggie, can you finish here?” Sid’s voice sounded like it was being forced through a strainer. She was gone before I could answer.
“Did you watch Bix help Ginger on with her coat?” Vel asked softly.
Somehow I had missed that.
“He smoothed her hair over the collar, lock by lock.”
“Lord.”
“Prayer may not be a bad idea.”
We listened. There were definitely loud voices coming from the front of the house.
“So,” I said. “Let’s crank up our volume, so we don’t have to hear this.”
“Well, did you catch the farfalle, fusilli, gaffe tonight? I told you, Ginger doesn’t know a colander from a sieve.”
“Maybe it was just a mistake.”
“Okay, here’s another one. Remember when Junie told Ginger not to give her any pepperoncinis? Ginger gave her three, but she
didn’t
give her any of the portabello slices I marinated. I think she mixed them up.”
Since the noise out front was growing louder, I spoke louder, too. “Maybe it’s some kind of learning disability.”
“Or maybe she just didn’t pay a lot of attention in cooking school.”
“Then how did she have her own show? How did she write a cookbook? The book is real. I’ve seen it. Maybe she’s just not paying attention. Maybe she’s got other things on her mind, like wrecking our family life.”
“I can tell you she used a packaged sauce on the beef at the open house.”