Chapter Eleven Loretta #2
Christmas alone must suck, especially in a big house like this. A big, beautiful house meant for a family.
I know it’s early in November, but I could surprise him with most of the house decorated. I could surprise him by saying I’ll stay here for Christmas. Maybe Mom and Dad can come down, and my siblings can fly in. I haven’t even talked to Sarah and Rodney...
My thoughts don’t race; they marathon. I haul and unpack with my phone clutched against my cheek, my shoulder holding it in place.
My brother wants to fly home and beat Matt to a pulp. My sister-in-law, Zara, volunteers to hold him down so Rodney can do the job right.
My sister wants to fly home and rip off his testicles, dehydrate them, grind them into a powder, and put them in his salt shaker.
This is why my sister has a minor in creative writing.
When I tell them about Jasper, they both tell me to hit the brakes, but they’re happy there’s a nice guy looking out for Ari and me.
Of course, Sarah also says I need to take a self-defense class, and if Matt ever shows his face again, I should call the police, then give him back every bruise tenfold.
“Sarah,” I sigh, “I’m not like that. I don’t want to hurt him; I just don’t want him to hurt us. He needs help. I still care about him.”
“Needing help is a fact! But, Lore, when a guy hits you or anything, you leave the first time.”
“Don’t lecture me. I know I should have stopped it.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. People like that don’t change unless something drastic happens. The first time he hurt you, Matt should have been on the phone to a therapist, looking for help to manage his anger, or his ‘stress,’ or whatever his excuse was.”
“I know that, Sarah.” I bite my lip. I love my sister, but this is why we butt heads. Sometimes her encouragement comes off like a lecture or a critique.
“I’m sorry, I’m just so mad. And I’m so effing far away.
Hey! I know. When I’m done with my contract in Stuttgart, I’m thinking about taking a position in Australia.
Or there’s a chance I could transfer to Madrid.
How about you spend a year with me? Chance of scenery, fresh start—half a world between you and that bastard. .." She wheedles.
“I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Australians speak English.”
“I would have to get Ari a passport. And I’m pretty sure Matt would have some objection to my taking her out of the country.”
“He lost his right to object when he drove you out of your own home. I know! What if I trick him into meeting me at your house, and I wait at the top of the stairs, and then—”
“Sarah! Stop,” I have to laugh. “We are not in one of those action movies you love. The only way I would ever hurt Matt is if he was trying to hurt Arianna, and I know he’d never do that.”
Sarah is quiet. “You know that, huh?”
“Well, yes. She’s his daughter!”
“You’re his wife.”
“She’s an innocent baby!” I say the words, but I remember that the fear of him hurting her was what finally pushed me out the door, of coming in and finding him beating up the nursery, of him kicking the solid wood crib so hard that it jumped across the floor.
“And what, are you guilty of some crime punishable by violence?” Sarah demands.
My voice shrinks. “No.”
“You are my Arianna,” Sarah’s voice thickens and distorts with a half-sob.
“I still remember when you came home from the hospital. I was nine. Rodney was five. There you were, our surprise, and Daddy put you in my arms on the couch and took a picture. I know I went away to college by the time you were nine, and I’ve been traveling forever, but I still think of you as that little baby, the sister I hoped for. ”
“Sarah, stop, you’re making me cry, and I’ve cried every day for... God, for weeks. For various reasons. My tear ducts need a vacation.”
“If you were with me, I’d protect you. Everyone in Germany speaks English. Heck, when they say, ‘I have a little English,’ it is code for ‘My English is better than yours, but I’m too polite to say so.’”
Sarah is strong and independent, thirty-two, and has no desire to marry, no desire to put down roots.
“We’d drive each other nuts. You’re 1980’s Shoulder-Pads Barbie, and I’m Little House on the Prairie Barbie.
I get excited about sourdough starters.” I wince, realizing mine is probably ruined now.
Matt won’t have remembered to feed it. “If I asked you to bake bread—”
“I’d say, ‘Why? I live in Germany.’ They have over three thousand kinds of bread. I’m serious. It’s part of the local ‘stump the dumb American’ trivia at my office.”
We laugh. “I love you. And Ari. Please think about it? Even for a couple of months. Oooh! Christmas in Germany lasts all December long. The Christmas Markets are insane. My treat.”
“I have a feeling Christmas lasts all December in Pine Ridge, too,” I say.
“They have this little bazaar that goes all year, the Night Market. Jasper says we can check it out next week. And the neighbors,” I go to the coat pegs by the front door and dig through my coat pocket to pull out a flyer Harper gave me, “gave me this thing about community events.” I look over the list, marveling at all this little town offers—enough to cover the front and back of a piece of paper.
“Minor league hockey games, library events, festivals, choir concerts, a gingerbread building contest...”
“Weren’t you and Matt in some little small town?”
“Yeah, but it’s not like this. Pine Ridge is a quirky place.
A lot of people seem to know each other, but not in that ‘oh no, the town is inbred, and outsiders are going to have it rough’ kind of way.
More like ‘Oh, you’ve landed here. You must be family.
’ Although, realistically, I think that’s just because I’m living with the town’s beloved weatherman and roving reporter.
I’ve already met the cop’s wife, the lawyer’s wife, and the mechanic’s wife, and I think I have standing invitations to call them and get coffee.
One works at home, one works at a preschool, and the third one helps at the garage and is a freelance photographer.
See?? I couldn’t have told you that much about my neighbors after two years in North Lake.
We called our neighbors ‘Mr. Doesn’t Tie His Bathrobe’ and ‘Granny Yoga Pants.’”
Sarah snort-laughs. “Okay, okay, so you like the place, and you like the weatherman. As long as he sends sunshine your way, I’ll approve.”
“You’re older. Why isn’t your sense of humor more sophisticated, Madam Globe Trotter?” I tease.
“Just trying to keep it at your level.”
“Oooh!” I laugh, and it feels so good. “Please come home for Christmas. Come here for Christmas. If Matt shows up and tries anything, you can twist his arm and march him to the police station, okay?”
“Now, that’s tempting. All right, let me talk to Mom and see if they want a houseguest.”
“Or I bet you can literally stay here. Jasper already offered for Mom and Dad to come down. It’s a huge house.
And if we need more room, there’s a kind of mini-suite downstairs in the basement.
Realistically, we wouldn’t, because it’s a four-bedroom house, and that’s only because one room is storage and another one is empty. It’s a six-bedroom McMansion.”
“You talk about the place as if you own it.”
I blush. I don’t own it, but I feel welcome here.
“I feel welcome here,” I confess. “I don’t feel guilty here.
I was starting to feel guilty for being at home with Arianna.
Matt would scream that I wasn’t contributing, but then if I said I’d work, he’d say I had no faith in him and start yelling about childcare costs.
I’d work for hours to have a hot meal on the table, dishes done, clean house, clean clothes, happy little girl, fully stocked kitchen, and a cold beer waiting. .. He’d still say I was lazy.”
Sarah is seething. I can hear the curses she’s broadcasting, her brainwaves crossing the Atlantic and beaming directly into my head with deadly sisterly accuracy. “Girl, you know I don’t like that kind of language,” I scold.
“Remind me again why you want to be a drudge?” Sarah demands.
“I don’t find it dull or boring! I love it.
It’s a challenge to raise kids, make meals that are different each day, do home maintenance, and keep everything running smoothly.
It’s peaceful and awesome—when someone appreciates it.
Tell me why you want to do math all day? Now, that sounds like torture.”
“The math represents money and chemical formulas. I’m making bank, baby, and I’m in a male-dominated field!
You know what happens when a 5 '11” blonde with big shoulders and high heels walks in and starts talking chemistry?
Every repressed nerd who never got kinky except online steps up to pitch in on my fantasy fuck-ball team. ”
“Sweet Jesus, Sarah, if Ari’s first words start with F because of you, you’re getting coal in your stocking.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll behave. I’m going to go, call Mom, and look at my schedule; either Rochester or Pine Ridge will have an extra houseguest for the holidays. Good deal?”
“Best deal!” I squeal.
“I love you, shortie.”
“Love you, too, stretch.”
“Kiss my niece for me?”
“Only a hundred thousand times,” I promise.
“Remember what I said. Matt is responsible for getting his own help. Nothing you did is wrong. And if he tries to hurt my niece, or my baby sister, you have my permission to use deadly force and say I did it.”
“You’d go to jail if they believed me.”
“I’d rather you visit me in the slammer than I visit you two at the cemetery,” Sarah says, voice unflinching and firm. “Promise me.”
“I’m safe here,” I reply. “But I promise. Let’s go back to the fun ‘I love you’ portion of the phone call.”
“Love you more than anything, sis. I mean it.”
“Love you, too,” I murmur, and hang up.
“OH MY WINTER WONDERLAND! What is this? What’s all this?” Jasper comes home and drops his laptop case and shoulder bag in the hall.