Gail Martin - Finding Christmas

The buzzer sounded on the microwave, and Donna opened the door and carried the plate to the table. Carl didn’t look up. He grabbed the fork and speared a hunk of beef.

“Get me a beer,” he said between chews.

Donna opened her mouth to tell him he shouldn’t drink so much. Then she closed it. One of her Christian friends had told her how much better her life had become since she and her husband had accepted Jesus, and Donna longed to share that with Carl. If he stopped drinking and developed a personal relationship with the Lord, maybe he’d stop pushing her around.

Knowing today wasn’t the day to make the suggestion, Donna retrieved the beer, snapped open the lid and set it beside his plate. She pulled out a chair and joined him, hoping he’d ask about Connie.

For a father, Carl showed little interest in his daughter. And that wasn’t all that bothered Donna. She could handle being pushed around, but sometimes he got rough with Connie. Nothing terrible, but just too threatening, and Donna felt fear each time she thought about what he could do to a six-year-old.

Carl finally lifted his head and focused on her. His eyes narrowed. “What’s bugging you?”

“Nothing. I just thought we’d talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything, Carl. Talk like most husbands and wives do. Tell me about your day.”

He snorted and dug into another piece of meat. “You want money, I suppose?”

She did. She wanted lots of money. Then she could take Connie and go far away where no one could find them. “No. That’s not what I was thinking, but it would help if I had a little pocket money.”

“I earn the money, and I pay the bills,” Carl said. “If you need some cash, ask me. Don’t I give you enough for groceries.”

Donna knew she was on dangerous ground. “Yes, but if I need clothes or—”

“Why do you need clothes? You don’t go anywhere.”

That wasn’t what she wanted. “A credit card would be nice.” She held her breath.

Carl’s hate-filled eyes sought hers. “You women are all alike—money-grubbing, unappreciative wenches. You and my mother. She drove my father to drink, and then he’d take it out on…”

The determined set of his jaw warned Donna she was in trouble. His hand snapped out, but she ducked back and he missed her.

“I don’t need anything, Carl.” Her voice pierced the air, and she feared Connie could hear them. “I—I just wish you’d come home earlier so you could spend time with Connie. She hardly knows you anymore.”

“That’s your job. Why do you think I married you?”

His caustic remark felt like a punch in her belly, and Donna drew back. “I thought you loved me,” she said, now realizing her belief was a fairy tale.

“You thought wrong,” he spat. “You’re the housekeeper and baby-sitter. I don’t even want to look at you.”

She calculated he wasn’t drunk tonight, just spiteful and he hadn’t hit her. Now seemed her best chance of having her curiosity answered about what she’d seen in the basement. “I found a paper in the basement today.”

His head shot upward. “What kind of paper?”

“A restraining order—a permanent order to keep you from going near Connie and her mother. What was that about? I thought you and—”

His fist smashed down on the table, lifting the plate from the surface and sending his butter knife clattering to the floor. He snatched it up and pointed it at her.

“Carl, I’m just confused. You said you were a widower, but if you and she weren’t together, then why do you have custody now?”

He leaned across the table and poked the knife at her chest. “Are you stupid? Her mother’s dead—and that’s where you’re going to be if you don’t quit snooping. Why were you in the basement? Stay out of there.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for my stuff, and I have to go there to do the laundry.” The look in his eye frightened her. “I suppose the question was stupid. Where else would Connie go but with her father?”

“Connie can go to her grave with you for all I care. You’re both a weight around my neck. Women are worthless.”

He eased the knife away from her chest, and Donna caught her breath. Another question about his name nudged her, but she wouldn’t ask, not if she wanted to live another day. “I can heat up some more stew.”

“It’s garbage,” he said, giving the plate an angry shove across the table. “Anyway, who can eat with your puss gapin’ at me?”

She started to say she was sorry again, but stopped herself. Donna wasn’t sorry. She’d put up with too much, and if she didn’t love Connie so much, she’d pack her bags and leave. If only Connie were her child, they could make their escape together—but she had no rights.

For the sake of Connie, she was stuck.

“So who was your friend last night?” Nita Wolfe asked.

Joanne swiveled in her desk chair and faced her co-worker, who was standing in her office doorway. Nita was one of those women with a good heart and the spirit of Cupid. If Joanne spent too much time talking with the copy machine repairman, Nita assumed it was a budding romance.

“Actually, an old friend of Greg’s,” she said.

Nita’s conspiratorial expression shriveled to one of disappointment. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. He’s a longtime friend who’s been away. Now he’s back in town.”

Nita perked up as she moved closer. “Married?”

“No.”

“Aha.” Nita raised her eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just never know what God has in store.” She put her hand on Joanne’s shoulder. “You’re too young to be alone the rest of your life.”

“Thanks for the wisdom, Nita, but I can handle my life just fine.” Even as she said the words, Joanne admitted to herself that her life was lacking. She’d made a valiant effort to move on in every area but relationships.

A movement in the doorway caught Joanne’s eye. She followed Melissa Shafer’s entrance into the office, noted the woman’s eyes shifting from one side to the other. Joanne guessed her motive.

“Am I interrupting?” Melissa asked, giving Nita a look.

“Not at all. We were just talking,” Joanne said.

“Just wanted to see what you did to the office.” She wandered behind the desk and gazed out the large window overlooking the Detroit skyline. “It’s nice to have real sunlight.”

Joanne opened her mouth to apologize and then closed it. Recently, they had both been interviewed for the same position. Joanne had been given the promotion. “It’s nice, but I’m not sure it’s worth the added work and worry.”

Melissa grinned. “You worry? Never. You’re too cool and collected, Joanne.” She glided away from the window. “Well, congratulations. You made an impression and I didn’t. No hard feelings.”

“Thanks,” Joanne said, amazed at Melissa’s understanding.

Melissa strutted back to the doorway and paused. “You can get back to business.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave and vanished into the hallway.

Nita’s eyebrows arched. “I like the inflection. I suppose she assumed we were talking about her.” Then she grinned. “I bet you did make a better impression during the interview.”

Joanne shrugged, already wanting to forget the conversation. “By the way, here’s the novel I said I’d loan you.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the book she’d brought from home. “It’s a good story, and a nice way to spend a quiet evening.”

Nita skimmed the novel cover for a minute, then lowered the book and studied Joanne’s face. “All joking aside, you look stressed. What happened? Did your friend have bad news?” She settled her hip against the edge of the desk and ran her finger along a picture frame propped beside Joanne’s telephone.