Smoky Mountain Dreams (41 page)

Will lifted his arms in the air. “Touchdown! Yes!” Nova
smiled at him and kissed the side of his helmet. He hunched forward, all
excitement, focused entirely on the screen. “C’mon, guys, you’ve got this,” he
muttered.

Jesse smiled and shook his head. Will’s love for the Rams
was unexplainable. Nova thought it might be because their colors were navy and
gold and he’d always had a thing for gold. As far as Jesse knew, that could
well be the reason. He’d never really cared one way or another about that team
himself. Not like the Steelers. Or the Vols.

Nova touched Tim’s shoulder as she crossed the room and into
the kitchen. Tim followed her, his face a bit tense, and Jesse felt his stomach
drop to his toes. Clearly this Thanksgiving was not going to end on an up note.

“Why don’t you come out on the back porch with us for a
minute,” Nova said. “Tim spotted a falcon’s nest out there he’s been wanting to
show you.”

Brigid looked up from her cranes, clearly not fooled by Nova’s
excuse to get Jesse alone, at least if the small frown and flash of worry was
anything to go by.

Jesse stepped out back with them and pushed the sliding
glass door shut. The air was brisk and refreshing after the heavy meal, and he
took a deep breath and leaned back against the railing. “Okay, what didn’t you
want the kids to overhear?”

“I won’t insult you by dancing around the subject,” Nova
said. “The fact is, well, we’d like invite Ronnie and Milton for Christmas.”

Jesse blinked at her.

“We haven’t spent a holiday with our other grandchildren
since Marcy’s accident. At first that choice made sense because we decided that
you, Brigid and Will needed us most.”

“And you were way too angry back then for us to have a joint
Christmas,” Tim added.

“Ronnie was hurt at the time and she’s always thought we
took your side in all this,” Nova said. “But I think she understands now that
we just needed to provide some stability for you and the children so you could
get back on your feet.”

“It’s been five years now, son.”

Jesse snapped, “I know how long it’s been, Tim.”

“The time’s come that we don’t have to support you so much.”
Nova smiled tremulously. “You’re stronger now. Moving on and seeing someone new.
I can’t tell you how happy that makes us.”

Tim added, “We’re looking forward to meeting him again. Nova
and I suspected there was something going on, but I figured it was a casual
thing. Nova was right, though. She said she saw something more.”

Jesse ran his hands through his hair. The mountains faded
into the distance in soothing ridges, like the worn joints of a grandmother’s
hand. He wished he could reach out, pry that big hand out of the earth, and
crawl into a ball in the palm of it—safe, small, and protected.

 Nova went on, “Naomi, Paul, and Mark are growing up so
fast, just as fast as Will and Brigid, and we want to have them be part our
family holidays again. I already mentioned to Ronnie—”

Jesse cut her off. “That’s fine. The kids and I will find
something else to do this year. You’re right. We don’t need to be coddled
anymore.”

“Now, now, it doesn’t need to be that way,” Tim said,
putting his hand out. “It’s Christmas—a day of hope, a celebration of the birth
of the son or the sun, depending on your views. Surely we can all put aside our
differences for a single day, can’t we?”

Part of him wanted to agree. It would be so easy to crumble
and give in, to throw up his hands and say it.
“Fine, have
her over, and while we’re at it, she can just keep Marcy too. I’m done.”
They’d
all be happier if he did. Probably even Christopher.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fucking do it.

Jesse let out a slow breath. “Tim, these aren’t small
differences like whether or not someone can forgive someone else for saying
something shitty at the last family get together. She’s holding my wife hostage,
and you expect me to play nice with her? Ever?”

“Jesse, it’s in your hands,” Tim replied. “All you need to
do is choose peace. Ronnie says she’s willing to share a holiday with you if
you’re willing to share one with her.”

Nova added, “I even told her that you might have your new
friend over, and she agreed not to make a fuss. I think she might be coming
around on that front. She said something quite kind about your new boyfriend
and you, actually. Wished you happiness and peace.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to Ronnie about my
personal life.”

Nova gave him a steady, disappointed look. “We’d like you to
be there. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you and Will and Brigid. We’re
all family. If we’re ever going to come to an amicable agreement about Marcy’s
care, we need to find a way to make peace with each other.”

Frustration lanced through him, and he pushed off the
railing. “How can you suggest that? Until she’s relinquished her control over
Marcy’s healthcare, there won’t be any peace between me and Ronnie. So, no, the
kids and I will find something else to do for Christmas. We’ll go visit my
folks, or just make it on our own. It’s time we do that anyway.”

“Just give it some thought, Jesse,” Tim said, as calm as
ever. “This could be a real opportunity to make some headway with changing
Ronnie’s heart if you just come at it from a loving, peaceful position and
without so much anger.”

Jesse scoffed. “Please, Tim. I know you love Ronnie. She’s
your daughter, but she’s an asshole.”

“That’s not fair,” Nova insisted. “She’s not an asshole. She’s
a believer.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s the same difference,
especially when it comes to zealots who keep other people chained in their
bodies because
their
beliefs say they should. And
when it comes to fairness, no, it’s not fair, Nova. It’s not fair that Marcy’s
gone and that her body is here causing strife and discord in the family. It’s
not fair that you lost one daughter in a car wreck and the other to the
bitterness between Ronnie and me after it. I’m sorry, and I’m telling you, yes,
please
have her over for Christmas. Enjoy your only
remaining daughter. The kids and I will be fine. We’ll have a quiet Christmas
at home. Just the three of us.”

And maybe Christopher.

He’d miss the McMillan’s house at Christmas. He’d come over
every year since he was fifteen, and it seemed unfair to be cut out from that
grounding ritual. He’d miss the festive atmosphere of their house: the usual
scent of patchouli layered over the warmth of acceptance and love gussied up
for the season with the sparkle of lights, scent of fir and plenty of laughter.
He swallowed hard at the thought of missing it and walked to the end of the
deck, staring into the dusk while Nova and Tim stood silent.

But he could work to change the atmosphere of his own
place—get a tree up, and lights and wreathes. He could get the kids to help him
make paper chains for decoration like he and Marcy used to do together while
munching popcorn and watching the Grinch. It would be fun.

So why did he feel like he’d just been told he couldn’t come
home for the holidays? Like he’d been kicked to the ground even though he knew
this was his choice?

Is this how Ronnie’s felt these last years?

Probably. But she’d likely prayed about it and the feeling
had cleared up with some of her God’s heart-talking bullshit or whatever. Jesse
frowned, thinking of her sad smile that afternoon. He didn’t like being so
uncharitable. Ronnie just brought it out in him.

What she’s doing to Marcy brings it out
in me.

Nova sighed and said quietly, “You know I love you like my
very own son, but, Jesse, sometimes in this situation? You’re the asshole.” She
went back inside.

Jesse went cold and hot all over, shame and hurt flooding
over him.

Tim nervously wiped his hand over the back of his mouth. “Think
on it. That’s all I ask.” He followed his wife.

Jesse could see the football game on the screen through the
glass door, and make out Brigid looking out at him as her fingers worked on the
cranes, folding, folding, folding, ever folding. What was she folding them
for
? And why didn’t he ask her?

Because I’m too fucking afraid to hear
the answer.

He turned away and stared up at the hazy sky. The trees
rustled above, and the grandmother’s hand in the mountain peaks stayed firmly
buried in the ground, the rise of her knuckles so heart-rendingly visible and
forever promising that her hand might lift and hold him close. Might, but
wouldn’t.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He wanted to
hear Christopher’s voice so badly, but he didn’t want to disturb Christopher’s
Thanksgiving. He sent a text instead, wanting desperately to go inside and tell
Nova and Tim what they wanted to hear, but he stayed rooted to the spot.

“Gran.” Christopher sat down in a hard, uncomfortable
hospital chair next to her wheelchair. His mother had just vacated it for the
bathroom. “Gran, why did you do that?”

“It sure looks like a bad idea now, doesn’t it? As much as I
hate the man, I didn’t think he’d actually stroke out.”

“Gran. Seriously.”

She folded her gnarled hands and sighed. “All right, I
thought a heart attack was possible, but mostly unlikely. I guess, somewhere
deep down inside, I just wanted to torture him a little for all the hell he’s
given you.”

“But it ended up being at my expense, Gran. I thought you
loved me. I thought I was your favorite, but you threw me under the bus to get
a rise out of an asshole. Ruined Thanksgiving not just for Bob, but for me and
the kids and Jackie and Mom. Why?”

Gran cast her eyes down, her crepe-roses cheeks pinking. “I’m
sorry, baby. I was wrong and I didn’t think it through. Which is silly because
in that nursing home, except for having to listen to Edna’s dang stories, I’ve
got nothing but time to think. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. Liven up
the day.” She took his hands in hers. “I was wrong as I could get.”

“Liven up the day, huh? More like kill up the day.”

“Shh. Don’t talk that way. He’ll be fine. You’ll see. Plenty
of years left to call you names and treat you awful.” She sighed. “Biggest
failure of my life is that I didn’t raise your mama to be strong of mind enough
to see through his crap and to stand up for her baby above all else in this
world. If I could turn back time, I’d do it better.”

“Mom’s choices are not your fault.”

“Guess I’d have to find out just where we went wrong,
though. The hours I’ve spent searching my memory, Christopher, trying to figure
out just what I did or said that made her so weak-minded—so easily persuaded by
fear.” She trailed off, her hazel eyes going milky with memory. “I wish I knew.
I just wish I knew.”

“Ah, Gran…”

Sammie Mae returned from the bathroom, her eyes red-rimmed
and cheeks flushed from tears. She’d obviously tried to clean herself up by
splashing water on her face, because the hair around her temples was damp.

She stopped in front of Christopher, hands on her narrow
hips and fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I wanna talk to you.” She looked at
her mother and then nodded a little way down the hallway. “Alone.”

Christopher squeezed Gran’s hand and then let go to follow
his mother until they reached a quiet corner with vending machines. He looked
back to the waiting area where Jackie had moved into the spot by Gran. Joe had
gone to drop off the kids at his ex-wife’s house. Christopher’s phone buzzed in
his pocket, startling him. He quickly glanced at the screen.

My Thanksgiving’s been less than
stellar. How about yours?

Lord, he wished he and Jesse were together. He’d text him
back in a minute, but first he had to deal with this. “Yes, Mama?” Christopher
asked when Sammie Mae turned around, her face quivering with emotion, looking
fragile and fierce at once.

“Christopher, I’m so ashamed of you.”

It hit like a punch to the gut. How was it possible that he’d
actually hoped—something he understood only now that hope was gone—that she was
about to tell him she loved him? That she was sorry for what Bob had said. But
no. That wasn’t what Sammie Mae ever had to say.

“Why did you
do
this? Has Satan warped
your heart so much?”

He stared open-mouthed at his mother. She’d been there, hadn’t
she, when Lee had tossed the news out on the table? She’d seen Gran’s
expression, and had to know she was complicit if not the mastermind behind the
whole thing, but it was
his fault
?

“If you can’t give up sinning, couldn’t you have just kept
it private?”

“Private?”

“In your bedroom. With the door closed and the blinds down.
No one needs to know your…your…‘personal business’ or whatever you want to call
what you do. Couldn’t you have just kept it to
yourself
?
What did you expect to come of flaunting sin like that?
Nothing
good, Christopher. Nothing good can come of sin! When are you going to
learn
?”