David Gates - Jernigan

Tim clanked glasses down on the glass tabletop and her eyes flew open.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No prob,” she said. “I was just running off at the mouth, as per usual.”

“No no, go on with what you’re saying,” said Tim.

“I was just telling about Christmas. See, my dad used to have this leather, like, belt, with sleigh bells on it? And Christmas Eve he’d fool us kids. It was like part of an old harness or something.” She closed her eyes and smiled again.

“And?” said Tim.

“We’d hear these sleigh bells outside and we’d get all excited and then he’d come running in and tell he thought he heard Santa Claus, and of course we’d heard him too. I guess he snuck out the back door and went around front and shook the sleigh bells and then ran back around to the kitchen again. And then he’d come into the living room and ask if we’d heard Santa out there. Well, you can imagine: pandemonium . So then he’d make us go upstairs and hide, and when he gave the all clear we would come back down and there would be all the presents under the tree.”

“Now don’t tell me,” said Tim, “that you of all people never sneaked down to check what was going on.” (He was alluding to something about Martha that I was damned if I recognized. He was saying she was what?)

“Come on, he was too smart for that,” she said. “He’d always send my mother up with us, to stand guard like. I remember he used to say, ‘It’s fo’ yo’ own protection, dollin’.”

“Jesus,” I said. “That’s sinister enough. What the hell did he mean by that?”

“All he meant was if Santa saw you, you might not get any presents. It wasn’t sinister , Peter.”

“I withdraw the remark,” I said. “So what was his excuse for being downstairs in this highly, what shall we say, fraught situation, while the rest of you were upstairs hiding from Santa Claus?”

She laughed. “It was so funny,” she said. “He used to say he had to fix Santa a drink.”

I shook my head. “Not good enough,” I said. “Obviously he was down there at the same time as Santa, no? I thought no man could see Santa’s face and live.”

“Sue me,” she said. “We were little kids, Peter. I’m sure if we’d had you there you could’ve gotten to the bottom of it in nothing flat.” She took a slug of eggnog.

“You know, speaking of presents,” said Tim, “I just happen to have a couple of little things here with you guys’ names on ’em. Should we open them now or wait for Cindy?”

Martha sat up straight. “Is somebody coming?” she said. She put her glass down on the tabletop too hard.

“I didn’t tell you?” he said. “Jesus. Good thing my head is screwed on. The woman I’ve been seeing. She’s the one, in fact, who gave me that rug.” He looked at the Navajo rug on the wall. Martha kept looking at him. “Her sister couldn’t come until eight-thirty. What’d I say? Her sitter . Sister, Jesus. She doesn’t even have a sister. I think you’re right, Marty. I am putting too much rocket fuel in these babies.”

“I didn’t know you’d been seeing somebody,” said Martha.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Three four months now. She’s divorced, four-year-old son, uh, what else? We’re pretty happy.”

“She’s leaving her child with a sitter on Christmas?” said Martha.

“Oh, he’ll be asleep,” he said. “She holds the line pretty well on bedtime. She’s got a whole thing planned for tomorrow morning. But it’s sad for her, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Like she was a bad mother or anything.” Though she didn’t specify how she had meant it.

“You’ll like her,” said Tim.

“Oh I’m sure,” she said.

Silence. You could hear the tv going behind the bedroom door.

“Anybody getting peckish?” said Tim.

“No, I’m okay,” I said. “I’ll hold out until we’ve got a quorum.”

Martha said nothing.

“Sure?” he said. “I’ve got some primo local goat cheese. I mean, not local local. Place they make it in Hunterdon County. Plus some real cheese. For real people. And I’ve got this huge mother-humping can of almonds my Aunt Jeannie sends me every year.”

“No, I’ll wait,” I said.

Martha said nothing.

Silence.

“Jesus,” he said, “you’re practically running on empty there. How about another one of those bad boys?”

I lifted up my glass and took a sighting. “Nah, I’m fine for a while.”

“Martha?” he said. “Hair more for you?”

She shook her head.

“Oh well,” I said. “What the hell, right?”

“Good man,” he said. “Why don’t I just bring the jar in here and let you, ah, access it directly. No sense standing on ceremony.”

When he went out to the kitchen, Martha turned to me. “I’d sort of like to get out of here,” she said. “I don’t feel very well.”

“What’s the trouble?” I said, putting as much kind concern into it as I could. But it was fucking typical.

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, “too much to drink. Something. I just want to get home if you don’t mind.”

Back came Tim with a Mason jar. One more affectation. But forgivable. He set it down in front of me and said, “Go for it.”

“Listen, Tim?” I said. “I don’t think Martha’s feeling terrifically well all of a sudden, and I think maybe I’d better get her home. I mean, I feel like a real shit, you made dinner and everything, but.”

“I’m really sorry,” said Martha, her voice small. “I’m ruining everybody’s good time.”

“Listen, don’t worry about that,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”

“Just sort of sick,” she said. “Might’ve drunk too much. I was just getting over something.”

“You want to go in lie down?” he said.

“I think I probably better just go,” she said. “I’m really really sorry. Honey, would you be a doll and collect the kids?” She never called me honey. I mean, thank God.

I knocked on the bedroom door, called “Hey Danny” to give fair warning, and counted five before opening it. They were propped side by side on a platform bed covered with what looked to be quite a good quilt. Baskets I think that design was supposed to be, though you had to know quilts to know they were baskets. Judith could’ve told you. They were watching what must have been one of the Star Trek movies, because the costumes were weird and everybody was old. They weren’t even touching, the two of them. I mean touching each other.

“Sorry, guys,” I said. “I’m afraid we gotta roll. Martha’s not feeling too well.”

“What happened?” said Danny, sitting up. “She okay?”

Clarissa looked at me as if I were something mildly interesting on tv.

“Probably just a stomach thing,” I said. “I don’t think it’s any big deal, but I think we ought to get her home to bed, okay?”

Danny zapped the picture with the remote control and got to his feet. “Can I do anything?” he said.

Clarissa sat there. “Is my mother all right?” she said, talking slow.

“It’s not anything to worry about,” I said. “We’ll just get her home.”

“Daniel?” she said. “Don’t forget to rewind it like he said.”

“I’ve got it under control , Clarissa,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me fifty times.”

When we got outside, snow was coming down. “Hey, a white Christmas,” I said. I’d like to say I was being ironic; in fact, with all that moonshine in me, I could have been honestly trying to get some valedictory heartiness going. At any rate, nobody said anything back.