Read Online The Christmas Note by Donna VanLiere - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna VanLiere
Ads: Link
to mine, patting it. “When you say ‘I believe,’ it has the same power as letting a tiger out of its cage.”
Sometimes you meet people, total strangers, who feel like home. Even if that home is filled with noise and dysfunction and silence that is beyond bearing, it’s still home, with its secondhand furniture, worn comforters, and smiles from people who love you despite your lopsided personality and crooked moods. Gloria and Miriam make me feel like I’m home. “I’ll talk to Jodi when I get to work in a few minutes.”
Gloria lifts her fists into the air as if she just won a race. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
She nods, looking at me. “For thirty-nine years you never knew you had family out there. Now everything has changed just like that,” she says, snapping her fingers.
* * *
The wind is sharp as I walk the few blocks to the law office, but I don’t feel it against my face. My mind is crackling with what will happen in the days ahead. Somewhere there is a woman in this world who is my sister and a man who is my brother. I shake my head, still not believing that Ramona lived with that secret her entire life. My siblings could be wasting their days like Ramona did, living from bottle to bottle or they could be like Gretchen and Gloria and Miriam. I know how my luck runs, and I hold little hope that my siblings won’t be like Ramona.
When I walk into the office I notice that Jodi isn’t in her office, and I wave at Susan at the front desk as I walk to the room at the back, where I work. I sit at the computer and type in the name Kay Hart. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping to find Ramona’s sister still alive so she can tell me if I have a sister. A two-year-old obituary for a Gene Riggins in San Antonio pops up and I read through it, spotting Kay’s name, “survived by his wife, Kay Hart Riggins.” I have no idea if it’s her. I never knew she was married, and Ramona never said anything. I do a search of the white pages in San Antonio for Gene Riggins and find a number. My cell phone is in my backpack, and I reach for it but realize that if Kay has caller ID she’ll recognize my name. I decide to use the office phone and dial the number. It rings, but I can barely hear it over the sound my heart is making in my ears.
“Hello.” Sweat sits on my lip. Is that Kay’s voice? “Hello?”
I’m hoping that Ramona shared secrets with her sister and that Kay can tell me whether Louanne, whoever Louanne is, is my sister.
“Hello,” she says again, sounding like Ramona.
I try to find my voice. Kay could be the key to letting the tiger out of its cage.
Eight
Sometimes a neighbor whom we have disliked a lifetime for his arrogance and conceit lets fall a single commonplace remark that shows us another side, another man, really; a man uncertain, and puzzled, and in the dark like ourselves.
— W ILLA C ATHER
GRETCHEN
I like distractions. Some people can’t handle them. If something distracts them from their already planned day, it drives them bonkers. Not me. I like busyness because it keeps my mind from slipping here or there. Gloria’s Bake a Difference project and helping Melissa find her siblings are great mind occupiers for me. Since Mom and Melissa met on Monday, I decided to strike while that iron was hot and invited them to come over Friday afternoon to start baking. Mom insisted we come to her house since she has the bigger kitchen. I spent Tuesday and Wednesday looking for a job and recipes online and found great ones for turtle candies, German chocolate cake, hummingbird cake, chocolate raspberry cake, and caramel candy. (I didn’t find any job postings.) I don’t know which ones we’ll end up making, but all the recipes were supposed to freeze well and Mom said we could store whatever we made in her freezer until the bake sale.
I haven’t seen Melissa this week. She’s worked late the last three days at the law office, but at
Sometimes you meet people, total strangers, who feel like home. Even if that home is filled with noise and dysfunction and silence that is beyond bearing, it’s still home, with its secondhand furniture, worn comforters, and smiles from people who love you despite your lopsided personality and crooked moods. Gloria and Miriam make me feel like I’m home. “I’ll talk to Jodi when I get to work in a few minutes.”
Gloria lifts her fists into the air as if she just won a race. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
She nods, looking at me. “For thirty-nine years you never knew you had family out there. Now everything has changed just like that,” she says, snapping her fingers.
* * *
The wind is sharp as I walk the few blocks to the law office, but I don’t feel it against my face. My mind is crackling with what will happen in the days ahead. Somewhere there is a woman in this world who is my sister and a man who is my brother. I shake my head, still not believing that Ramona lived with that secret her entire life. My siblings could be wasting their days like Ramona did, living from bottle to bottle or they could be like Gretchen and Gloria and Miriam. I know how my luck runs, and I hold little hope that my siblings won’t be like Ramona.
When I walk into the office I notice that Jodi isn’t in her office, and I wave at Susan at the front desk as I walk to the room at the back, where I work. I sit at the computer and type in the name Kay Hart. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping to find Ramona’s sister still alive so she can tell me if I have a sister. A two-year-old obituary for a Gene Riggins in San Antonio pops up and I read through it, spotting Kay’s name, “survived by his wife, Kay Hart Riggins.” I have no idea if it’s her. I never knew she was married, and Ramona never said anything. I do a search of the white pages in San Antonio for Gene Riggins and find a number. My cell phone is in my backpack, and I reach for it but realize that if Kay has caller ID she’ll recognize my name. I decide to use the office phone and dial the number. It rings, but I can barely hear it over the sound my heart is making in my ears.
“Hello.” Sweat sits on my lip. Is that Kay’s voice? “Hello?”
I’m hoping that Ramona shared secrets with her sister and that Kay can tell me whether Louanne, whoever Louanne is, is my sister.
“Hello,” she says again, sounding like Ramona.
I try to find my voice. Kay could be the key to letting the tiger out of its cage.
Eight
Sometimes a neighbor whom we have disliked a lifetime for his arrogance and conceit lets fall a single commonplace remark that shows us another side, another man, really; a man uncertain, and puzzled, and in the dark like ourselves.
— W ILLA C ATHER
GRETCHEN
I like distractions. Some people can’t handle them. If something distracts them from their already planned day, it drives them bonkers. Not me. I like busyness because it keeps my mind from slipping here or there. Gloria’s Bake a Difference project and helping Melissa find her siblings are great mind occupiers for me. Since Mom and Melissa met on Monday, I decided to strike while that iron was hot and invited them to come over Friday afternoon to start baking. Mom insisted we come to her house since she has the bigger kitchen. I spent Tuesday and Wednesday looking for a job and recipes online and found great ones for turtle candies, German chocolate cake, hummingbird cake, chocolate raspberry cake, and caramel candy. (I didn’t find any job postings.) I don’t know which ones we’ll end up making, but all the recipes were supposed to freeze well and Mom said we could store whatever we made in her freezer until the bake sale.
I haven’t seen Melissa this week. She’s worked late the last three days at the law office, but at
Similar Books
