“Divorce.”
The man ducks away.
“You sure
made it a Merry Christmas,
you jerk!” I yell at his back.
Mom doesn’t correct me.
Stupid Questions
“I have a few more presents to wrap.”
Mom rushes to her room
and shuts the door.
I finger the tape and scissors
right here
on the side table.
“Es?”
Dale stops pushing his car
over the rug.
“What did that man give Mom?”
“Some papers.”
“What did the papers say, Es?”
“Dad’s not coming back.”
“You mean to visit?”
“No. To live.” I glare at Dale.
“Well,” Doozerdude blinks,
“I think he still might.
Even though I don’t need him to
or anything.”
“He’s not!”
I stomp to my room
and slam my door.
Mom doesn’t come out.
Why do I have to answer
all his stupid questions?
He never believes me
anyway.
Liar
What a big, fat liar.
He said
they were just separated.
He said
it wasn’t like they were divorced.
He said
total lies to my face.
I pummel Dumplin’ Spinner
and kick him
under my bed.
Dad
is
a
lie.
Christinas Morning
Dale heads for the tree.
I sit on the couch
next to Mom.
Not a word
about the divorce papers.
Just a “Merry Christmas, Estele.”
A hundred facts she’s hiding.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
A hundred questions I know
not to ask.
Gifts
Dale and I open each gift
and say, “Thanks, Mom.”
Dale really loves his building set.
But I would trade
my T-shirt,
my little radio,
and my books
for Dad to be here today.
Which is totally crazy
for how stinking mad I am at him.
But it’s not right
to not have your dad
at Christmas.
He always handed out the gifts
one at a time
so it felt special
and lasted a long time.
Dale did it the same way,
but it didn’t feel right.
Mom and Dad must have bought this stuff
before he left.
It sure is nice
Mom didn’t return it
for the money.
For Mom
“Thanks, Estele.”
Mom looks at the pot holder
I made on my loom for her.
She rubs the bumpies.
‘It’s beautiful.”
I shrug.
It seems stupid now.
For Doozerdude
“Cool, Es!”
Dale jumps up and gives me a hug.
I stiffen but don’t pull back.
“I can color this really cool!”
He actually loves
the picture I drew him
of knights and a dragon.
It seems lamer
than the pot holder.
Nice
“And here are presents
from Mr. Paul.”
Mom gives one to Doozerdude
and one to me.
“Cool!”
Dale’s already ripped off the paper
and is slashing a new plastic sword around.
I peel the paper off carefully.
“It’s a big dinosaur-egg jawbreaker,” I say.
“Isn’t that nice?”
Mom beams.
“Yeah. It is.”
I add the hurking egg
to my little pile of presents.
Not bad, Mr. Paul.
Cranberries
I crank open the can.
“Mom,” I say.
“Hmm?”
She looks up from basting.
I lift the jaggedy can lid
and pry it back.
“Dale has a lot of questions, Mom.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
I turn the can over
and beat the cranberry blob out.
Plop. It splats into the dish.
“He and I talked last night,” she says.
“You did?”
She sets the greasy baster
in the sink.
“Mm-hm.”
Relief pours over me
like I’m being basted.
Mom comes over
and hugs me from behind.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
She squeezes me.
I don’t have to
do everything.
Cornish Hens
“Each of us getting
our own bird
is like knightish times,” says Dale.
“Medieval times,” I say.
Doozerdude doesn’t know
the hens were cheaper
than a turkey.
We pick the bones clean.
Afterward,
I dump the three hollow carcasses
into the trash.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Music
I turn on my new radio,
and move the dial
to pop music.
The tunes float through our house
for the first time
since Dad left.
Mom snuggles with Dale
on the couch.
I stretch out on the throw rug,
close my eyes,
and let the music
twirl through my mind.
Leaving for the Vigil
“Not the whole knight getup,” I groan.
“Dale-o is fine, Estele,” says Mom.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Not another word, young lady.”
We go out to the car.
Dale whips his sword around.
“I have to dress like this, Mom.
’Cause this is kinda spooky scary.”
“No it isn’t, Dale-o.”
Mom unlocks the doors.
“This is just a nice vigil for Chris.”
Doozerdude’s armor
crinkles as he hugs himself.
Just Family
“Both of you in the back,” says Mom.
“We are going to pick up
Mr. Paul.”
I stamp my foot.
“Why is he coming?”
“Because he’s concerned for Chris
like the rest of this community.”
Dale and I crawl in.
He sets his sword between us.
Man.
I thought this was going to just
be family.
The Count
I checked the calendar.
It’s exactly four weeks since Chris was kidnapped.
Before we left for winter break,
Rock was going on and on
how unlikely it is
Chris is still alive.
He got detention
because a couple of girls were crying
and he wouldn’t shut up.
Four weeks for Chris.
Three weeks and three days
since Dad left.
Seems like it would work the same way.
The longer he’s gone,
the less hope of him coming home.
Especially with stupid divorce papers.
Man.
Not even a note from the kidnapper
about Chris.
And definitely no ransom paper.
That would at least show us
he’s still alive.
Even if we couldn’t see him yet.
Son
“Thank you,” Dale and I say
when Mr. Paul gets in the car.
“You’re welcome!” he announces.
“Got my sword right here, Mr. Paul.
“That you do, son.”
He buckles up
and starts to chat with Mom.
Son?
Did no one else hear that?
Quiet Conversation
Mom pulls a U-turn looking for a parking space.
“I really should let the church know.”
“They might be helpful,” Mr. Paul says.
“And I’ll need a lawyer,” she goes on quietly.
Like we can’t hear anyway?
“I can give you the number
of a really good one,” Mr. Paul whispers,
patting her shoulder.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever pay one.
Maybe with payments
after I’m able to start working again.”
“I can help—”
“No, I’ll work it out.” Mom
cuts him off and keeps going.
“I can’t lose the house.
It’s our first priority.
The lawyer will have to guarantee us that.”
She turns another corner
cruising for a spot
and continues more loudly,
obviously forgetting
me and Dale are listening in.
“I’ll schedule all the appointments for
when the kids are at school
like I do for my midwife checkups.”
“That’s convenient.”
Mom nods.
“It keeps everything simpler
and less traumatic for them.”
“Of course.” Mr. Paul’s words
sound so smooth.
Mom pulls over to the curb
behind a long row of cars.
I get out as soon as I can.
The Bus Stop
The only sounds:
whispers
and shoes scuffling for a spot to stand.
Everyone is gathered
at Chris’s bus stop.
I see Wally way over
on the other side.
We smile at each other.
There must be two hundred people.
The police have closed the street.
All the little candles wink.
“Be careful,” I whisper to Doozerdude.
“I am!” he hisses.
He cups his candle.
Why would Mom let a seven-year-old
hold a candle?
She’s all busy whispering to Mr. Paul.
My sigh wiggles my little flame,
but it doesn’t go out.
I wonder what this looks like
from way up above.
I wish you could see us, Chris.
It’s beautiful.
Holding Hands
We put our candles
in the open spaces of the concrete block wall.
“Could you all move close together
and hold hands?” asks a man in charge.
Everyone scootches up close.
Dale adjusts his sword
in his belt
and grabs my hand.
Mr. Paul takes my other one.
And gives it a squeeze.
My hands sweat
the whole time
we’re praying.
Lose the House
“Psst, Es.”
Doozerdude is at my door
clutching his sword.
“What?” I hiss.
“How can you lose a house?”
“What are you talking about?”
He scratches one foot with the other.
“Mommy said we can’t lose the house.
“Oh, that.” I turn onto my side.
“That just means
she’s going to take care of everything
so we don’t have to move.”
“Good, ’cause I don’t wanna.”
“Me either.”
“Okay. ’Night Es.”
“’Night, Doozer.”
Won’t She?
Mom will, won’t she?
Fix it so we don’t lose the house?
Where will we go if she doesn’t?
Ugh.
I can’t
even think of it.
In Bed
When I close my eyes,
I see all the candles
burning in the wall
for Chris.
God,
do you see Chris
out in the dark somewhere,
scared,
with some wicked stranger?
Vacation
Lazy days
of sleeping in.
Finding a spot
to stretch out
and read.
Getting a turn
in front of Mom’s fan.
Oooooaaahhhhh.
The fan beats back
my voice
in chunks.
Oooooaaahhhhh.
Lazy vacation dayzzzzzz.
Ring!
“Hello?”
“Hey, Essie,” says Wally.
“Hey!”
“How was your Christmas?”
Divorce papers,
Cornish hens,
and Chris’s vigil
snap through my head.
“Fine. How was yours?”
“Okay. Wilhelmina
got the whole toy store, practically.”
“Wow.”
“Wasn’t the vigil cool?”
“Totally.”
“Who was that guy
that was with your mom?”
“Oh, just a family friend.”
“Was your dad working then?”
“Yeah,” I say.
Like I know.
“He’s been so busy
I’ve hardly seen him lately.”
“Bummer,” says Wally.
“Yeah.”
“Wish I could get over to your house
and hang out,
but no one’s around to drive me.
It’s Baby Play Day at the mall.”
“That’s okay.”
“Well, I’ll see you next week.”
“Okay. Actually next year.”
“Right! Live long and prosper.”
“Live long and prosper, Wally.
Bye.” I hang up.
I’m a liar
like Dad.
Over
I lie on the couch
and pretend to read.
But I peek over the top
and watch Mom take down
the tree decorations.
“Should I help?”
“No, thanks,” she says.
Ornaments
and lights are packed in boxes;
presents are put away.
One last gift lies by the lowest branch.
Mom sneaks it out
under her arm
behind a string of lights.
I lean forward
and watch her slip it into the hall closet.
It’s the present I made Dad.
He didn’t even
come to get it.
It’s just a picture
of me.
Garbage
The three of us
yank the dead tree
out of the stand.
Needles tinkle to the floor.
We drag it to the front door.
A long muddy streak
runs along the terrazzo.
“Heave ho,” grunts Doozerdude.
We ha
ul it
over the door jamb.
Mom tugs up front,
leading the way.
Dale’s head
barely pokes out of the side branches.
I shove the prickly sticks
away from my face,
but they bounce back
and scratch me.
“Ugh!” we grunt together
and drop the tree by the street
for recycle pickup.
We shake the needles off our clothes.
“There!”
I give it
one last kick
to roll it close to the asphalt.
“Good job, you two!” says Mom.
“Estele, would you
put the garbage can out too?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Dale follows Mom into the house
while I drag the can over.
I snap down the lid
to keep the reeking stink inside.
Now all the garbage
is together.
Up in the Mango Tree
I lick my smooth dinosaur-egg jawbreaker.
The sweet, sour zing makes my mouth pucker.
I lick and lick
until I can’t taste the sweetness
anymore,
and my tongue is all sore
from the cutty bumpy surface
that came up once the sugary stuff
disappeared.
Ouch.
Forget this.
I’m going to trash it.
“Well, hey there!”
I look down and around.
It’s that neighbor, Ms. Ruthie.
“Hi,” I say back like I should.
“Was Christmas good to you?” she hollers.
I shrug.
She wanders over to our property
and stands under the tree.
“Well, it sure was hard for me,” She looks up.
“All my kids are gone,
and with my husband’s recent passing,
it was real hard this year.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Look out below.”
I drop the egg to the grass
and swing down.
I remember seeing her husband
every now and then.
Does Mom know he died?
“Ruthie,” she says, sticking out her hand.
I shake it. “Essie.”
“That’s some egg you got there.”
“Yeah.” I reach down for it.
“But it cut up my mouth awful.”
“Candy can do that, can’t it?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Rinse with some warm salt water.”
“Okay.”
She smiles real big.
“Seems we’ve been neighbors forever
and haven’t ever taken the time to meet.”
I nod.
“I guess now’s the time.
Except I have some cookies in the oven,
so I need to skedaddle.
Hope to chat some more with you soon, though.
Don’t forget to rinse.”
“Right.”
She turns back to her place.
I wander into our house
and chuck the egg into the trash.
Ms. Ruthie seems real nice.
Warm Salt Water
Ahhh.
The salt water helps.