Bob shrugs. Stops the swishing to take a drink. Resumes. “So I got real used to watching Tom. It was how I knew what he was thinking. Feeling. And because I’ve been doing it so long, learned to read him so well, I’ve come to notice that what’s on his face . . . sometimes it says a whole hell of a lot.”
I can tell Bob is gearing up to tell me something that my protective walls aren’t strong enough to handle at the moment, so I hurriedly try to deflect by leaning forward and lowering my voice to a joking whisper. “Bob. Are you trying to tell me you think you can read your son’s mind?”
He snorts. “Of course not.”
I sit back, relieved.
“I’m trying to tell you I can read my son’s heart,” Bob continues in complete seriousness. “And I could tell the second he got out of that truck. What he wanted? It wasn’t Lolo.”
THIRTY-SIX
KATHERINE
December 24, 3:00 p.m.
Before I can press Bob on what exactly he means by his bombshell revelation, his office door is burst open by Meredith’s girls, who are practically vibrating with the opportunity to show “Auntie Katie” their Santa pictures.
And Christmas spirit and sentimentality must be seeping from the Walshes’ surplus of Christmas ornaments like asbestos because I find myself a little watery-eyed to know that I’m still Auntie Katie.
Rationally, I know that Clara, the younger one, was tiny when Tom and I split and likely has only the haziest memories of me, but still . . .
Auntie.
My heart is growing three sizes after all. Because the sheer joy at being labeled a member of the family, even in a tangential way, is almost as strong as my joy at hearing Bob’s words.
Words that keep bouncing around in my head, even as I declare both of my nieces’ Santa pictures equally adept. My former nieces. Mustn’t forget that.
And yet . . .
“I could tell the second he got out of that truck. What he wanted? It wasn’t Lolo.”
“Come on, Grandpa,” Sophia says, holding out a hand to Bob. “Mommy says it’s time for It’s a Wonderful Life before dinner.”
“Did she now,” Bob says, climbing to his feet and taking his granddaughter’s hand, even though it’s covered in what seems to be frosting. “I don’t suppose I can put in a vote for National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?”
“Oh, you can put in a vote,” Sophia says as she drags him out of the room. “But I don’t reckon it would do much good.”
Bob turns and meets my eyes with raised eyebrows. Reckon? he mouths.
“You too, Auntie Katie,” Clara says, trying to pull me from my chair. “The whole family watches.”
“Oh, you know what?” I say as I let her lead me from the room. “I need to grab something upstairs real quick. I’ll be down in a little bit.”
I start to wonder if lying to children on Christmas Eve counts as a deadly sin. And then I remember: Santa. The biggest lie of all. I’m good.
Even still, Sophia gives me a suspicious look. “What do you have to grab?”
Um.
“Pills,” I blurt out. “I got hurt pretty bad yesterday. I have to take some medicine for my head.”
That’s at least truth-adjacent because the mere idea of watching It’s a Wonderful Life in the same room as Tom and Lolo cuddled up on the couch is bound to give me a headache.
“I could tell the second he got out of that truck. What he wanted? It wasn’t Lolo.”
Damn it, Bob, I think as I stomp up the stairs. Do you not know me at all? I don’t deal in wishes and dreams and unicorns. I can’t afford to have people running around, planting seeds of hope, derailing a perfectly adequate life . . .
Obviously, the medicine I got from the hospital was taken along with my purse and suitcase, but in the shared hallway bathroom I find a bottle of Advil in the medicine cabinet. I help myself to a couple, which I swallow with some water scooped from the sink.
I stand and use the back of my hand to swipe my mouth, then freeze when I see my reflection. I look . . . different.
I mean, not good different. That’s obvious, given, well, everything.
But somehow I look . . . softer. Maybe a little happier too.
I point at Mirror Katherine. “Tighten up. We cannot afford to go soft right now. Not until we find a way out of this mess. It doesn’t have to be pretty. We can pick up the pieces later.”
Mirror Katherine merely gazes back at me, bemused, like she’s a couple steps ahead of me on the Christmas Carol journey and has already had goose with Tiny Tim.
I make a sound of disgust and flip the light off so I don’t have to deal with her. Heading toward the stairs, I slow down when I hear Tom’s voice coming from his bedroom, and I wince, braced for Lolo’s voice to follow, but it’s not hers. It’s his mom’s voice, and they’re both speaking in hushed tones.
My feet slow even further until I stop beside the cracked door, not close enough to be seen, but just close enough to eavesdrop.
Don’t judge me.
“Thanks for this, Mom,” Tom says.
“Oh, don’t be thanking me. All I did was get it out of the safe. That ring is yours, Tom. For your wife. I was surprised you gave it back to me in the first place.”
The ring! My ring.
Except, not anymore.
My stomach clenches with the awful realization that he plans to propose to Lolo tonight after all.
Tom is silent for a moment, and I can picture him turning the ring box in his hands, frowning. Brooding.
“It didn’t feel right to keep it. Not after the divorce,” he replies finally.
“And it feels right now? To take it back?”
This time, Tom doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Yeah, it really, really does.”
My breath comes out on a pained whoosh as the tiny seed of hope that Bob planted dies a slow, agonizing death at Tom’s confirmation.
He’s proposing to Lolo at midnight. With the ring.
I close my eyes and inhale as quietly as I can while still trying to steady myself. See? I tell that idiot version of myself I saw in the mirror. This is why we don’t go soft!
I’m taking a step backward so I don’t get caught when a soft “hey” sounds directly in my ear.
I jump. “Jesus!” I turn to face Kayla, Tom’s youngest sister. “Good God, you’re quiet!”
“Extra-padded socks. The ones you got me last year!” She kicks out a leg to show me.
“Shh!” I hiss at her too-loud voice. “Also, I got those for running, not espionage.”
“Me espionage! You’re the one spying on Mom and Tom.”
“I’m not—”
“What’s the scoop?” she whispers, leaning toward the cracked door where Tom and his mother continue to talk. Due to Kayla’s appearance, I’ve missed whatever they’re saying, and I’m glad. Probably the wedding date.
“What’s the plan. Off Lolo?” she asks, looking at me over her shoulder.
“What?!”
“You know.” Kayla bugs her eyes and drags a thumb over her throat.
“Yeah, I know what ‘off’ means, Kay. And I thought you guys liked her.”
She shrugs. “Of course we do.” Then she grins. “We like you better.”