The Accidentals(62)

“Where are you going?” Alice demands, running into the front hall after them.

“To hear some blues,” Frederick calls over his shoulder.

“Let him go, Alice.” Dr. Richards sighs.

“That’s all he ever does!” Alice shouts. Everyone in the neighborhood hears the door slam.





Chapter Twenty





I fall into bed that night, overwhelmed. I miss Jake and I’m desperate to talk to him. But we said we’d talk on Christmas, so I only have to wait one more day.

When I wake the next morning, it takes me a few minutes to remember that it’s Christmas Day. I get up and comb my hair, putting on the slippers that Aurora gave me for Christmas. From my suitcase, I take the presents I’d brought for my grandparents and the big box I’d shipped here for Frederick.

I feel heavy today. Like everything is just too much effort. I wonder who’s waking up in our old green house on Pomelo Court. There’s someone else’s tree in the corner of our too-small living room now.

The only way to get through the day is not to think about that.

When I leave my room, Frederick’s door is open. I peek inside, but he’s not there.

Downstairs, I find Alice fussing in the kitchen. “Good morning,” I say.

Alice turns. “Good morning, sweetie! I was just going to bring your grandfather some coffee by the Christmas tree. Would you like some?”

“Sounds great.”

“Why don’t you wake your father? We’ll have a little Christmas breakfast together.” My face must give me away, because Alice’s smile slides away. “He’s not up there?”

I shake my head.

“Oh, Frederick.” She turns away. “You wouldn’t dare,” she says to the coffee pot.





We stall, drinking coffee and eating a breakfast quiche that Alice got from the caterers. “I used to do all the cooking myself,” she says. “But this year I was in the mood to work less and celebrate more.”

I wonder how celebratory she’s feeling now. I’m embarrassed for Frederick. And it dawns on me that we shouldn’t be waiting around for him. It only makes his absence more glaring.

I lean down to my little stack of presents. “I think we need this,” I say, handing a wrapped CD to Alice. It’s a recording of the Belle Choir singing Christmas tunes. “They’re some of my friends,” I explain when she opens it. The disc was made last year, so I’m not on it.

“Thank you! Let’s put it on.” A moment later, a cappella voices warm the room with “Let it Snow” in three part harmony.

“Here’s one for you,” my grandmother says.

I open up a box to find a cashmere scarf and gloves. “Pretty!” I say. “I think I’ll be wearing these until April.”

“I figured.” Alice smiles.

And so it goes, with my grandparents and I exchanging gifts that we’ve labored to choose, since we don’t know each other well enough to make it easy. I feel the strain of all our mutual effort.

When my gift for Frederick is the last one unopened, and Grandpa Frank has already collected the discarded wrapping paper, the front door finally opens. I sneak a look at my watch. It’s after eleven.

The three of us wait for him to appear in the living room. But as I watch, Frederick stumbles past, heading toward the stairs without a look in our direction. I hear a small thud and a curse, and then the sound of him ascending the stairs.

“Sweet Jesus,” Dr. Richards says.

I can’t even look at Alice. Instead, I get up slowly, pick up the gift I’ve brought for Frederick, and go to the bottom of the stairs. When I hear the shower running in the bathroom on the second floor, I climb the stairs slowly. I put the gift beside his empty bed and then go into my room to curl up on mine.

The only ray of sunshine is a voicemail message from Jake. “Hi Rachel. I’ve been trying to leave you alone, I know you’re busy with family stuff. But I wanted to say Merry Christmas, and that I miss you. A whole lot. Pretty much all the time. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

I listen to it twice more before calling him back. “Hi,” I say when he answers. “I liked your message.”

“How are you doing?” he asks, sounding winded. “Sorry, I was splitting wood when the phone rang.”

I would give anything to watch Jake split wood rather than sit in the tensest house in Kansas City. “I’m okay. My father has been an asshat.”

“That sucks. To you?”

“To his mother. But I’m caught in the middle.”

“So fly back, and I’ll pick you up in Boston. Have you ever been to Vermont?”

My heart leaps at this offer, even though I can’t accept. “That is super tempting, but I don’t think I could do that to Grandma Alice.”

“My own selfish desires aside,” he pants, “I hope it gets better.”

“Me too.” Then I smile so wide that I’m glad he can’t see me. “Jake, I loved your gift.” On the morning he left Claiborne, I’d found it on my desk. From a nest of tissue paper I’d pulled his Christmas dinner plate, all shined up with a note. Rachel—you should keep this. There’s enough Claiborne paraphernalia in my family already. But put it somewhere I can see it, because it will remind me of the best night of the year.