The Christmas Table (Christmas Hope #10) - Donna VanLiere Page 0,41
the reading center. “That’s not southern, Miriam.”
Miriam picks up a box for the front windows. “If it’s not British, it’s Southern. Everything American sounds the same to me.”
“And everything British sounds goofy,” Gloria says, opening a box. “Tiggety who! What does that even mean?”
Miriam pulls decorations from the box in a huff. “It’s tickety-boo, Gloria, and I can assure you that things are not tickety-boo right now.” Gloria laughs and hands her a reindeer decoration for the front window ledge.
Lauren loads a classic Christmas CD into the player and turns it up, drowning out Gloria and Miriam. “Christmas spirit, people!” She puts on an elf hat and wraps tinsel around her neck as she decorates Gloria’s office. When she finishes, she walks into the entryway, where Miriam is putting up the final evergreen swags across the wall at the top of the doors. Dalton, Heddy, Gloria, Andrea, and Amy are putting their empty boxes back into the storage room as Lauren turns on the switch for the lights draped over each doorway. “Woo-hoo!” she says, looking at the room. “Just a little Christmas cheer does wonders for a room! Come on! Let’s take a picture.” They squeeze in together in front of the reindeer cutouts on the wall and smile as Lauren takes a selfie. She raises her arm to take another one but stops, clutching her stomach, bending over.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, next to her.
“What is it, babe?” Gloria asks, putting her hand on Lauren’s back.
Lauren stands up straight. “I don’t know. That was more than a kick. It—” She doubles over again and Dalton steps to her side, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“We need to get you to the doctor,” Andrea says.
“I really think I’m fine. Agh!” Lauren says, groaning in pain.
“You’re clearly not fine,” Miriam says.
“I’ll get my car,” Andrea says, running for the front doors.
“I’ll get your bag out of your locker,” Gloria says to Lauren. Lauren groans in pain again, and Miriam helps Dalton get her through the doors and to Andrea’s car. Gloria opens Lauren’s locker and reaches for her bag, hanging inside. She notices something in the top cubby of the locker, but there isn’t time to think about it. It will have to wait until later. She hurries the bag outside and gets into the backseat with Miriam. “We’ll call as soon as we hear something,” she says, waving to Dalton and Heddy.
TWENTY-FOUR
November 1972
Since Thanksgiving, Alice has been living with Joan and John. When Joan has enough strength, she helps Alice in the kitchen; when she is unable, Alice takes food on a tray to her inside the bedroom or in the living room. “We have to make sure Mommy gains weight,” she says to Gigi and Christopher, setting a tray down on Joan’s lap with a plate filled with a chicken salad sandwich and a cup of butternut squash soup.
“You still want her to get fat?” Gigi says, sitting on the sofa next to Joan.
Alice smiles. “The doctor wants her to gain weight.”
“Dear God, please make Mommy fat,” Gigi says into the air as she bounces off the sofa to play with the LEGO bricks that are strewn across the floor with Christopher.
Joan is quiet as she looks at the food. “Mom, I…”
Alice sits down next to her. “Just a few bites? Please?”
“I just don’t think I can right now. I want to, but…”
“You only took one bite of toast this morning.” Alice puts her hand on top of Joan’s. “Can you try? You’re so close, Joan. You can have the surgery and…”
“And then what?” Joan is looking at her mom without tears or fear or any worry. “Another surgery?”
“Maybe,” Alice says, her voice a mixture of understanding and hope. “Maybe, Joan. We don’t know. I know it’s a bad day, but this meal could turn it around,” she says, smiling.
“How many times did you tell us that when we were kids?” Joan says, grinning. “‘Everything will look different once you eat dinner!’ Or, ‘Come eat these cookies. They’ll turn your whole day around!’”
Alice chuckles. “Well, it’s true!”
“According to you, anyone who has a bad day just hasn’t had a good meal.” Joan leans her head onto her mom’s shoulder. “I never thought I’d have a hard time eating what you’ve cooked. You were the best mom.” Alice’s eyes fill at the words. “You still are.”
Alice uses her index finger to dab under each eye. “I didn’t come here to blubber. That’s not helpful at all. My mission is