Was that sunshine bad luck? she wonders now, as she slips alone through the massive wooden doors into the church.
The congregation is standing, still singing the opening hymn. She hurries down the aisle toward the pew she and Kevin and the kids shared for years. But when she reaches it, she finds that it’s already occupied.
This isn’t the first Goldilocks moment she’s had lately, and it’s certainly the most benign.
Still, it stings to see that new family has taken over the pew: three adorable children and another baby on the way, a pretty mommy in a maternity dress, and a handsome daddy who efficiently slides his daughters over to make room for Noreen to sit on the end.
She forces a grateful smile, trying not to betray her resentment.
It’s not their fault. They didn’t do anything wrong.
Then again, neither did Noreen. She did nothing wrong, made superhuman efforts, in fact, to do everything right—-everything, dammit!—-and look how things have turned out for her.
Ire begins to simmer like lava, threatening to erupt in a bloodcurdling scream. Fighting it back, she reaches for a missal and opens it, blindly looking for today’s readings.
“What page is it?” the younger of the little girls beside her asks loudly, talking to her older sister as they flip through their own missals.
“Shh!”
“But what page?”
“Here,” the big sister whispers, “give it to me.”
“No! I can do it myself!” the little one protests, turning the pages so determinedly that she tears one, only to be quietly reprimanded by her sister and her parents.
That’s me and Rowan forty--odd years ago.
Except these two girls, one blond and one brunette, look nothing alike, while Noreen and Rowan could have passed for twins. Identical on the outside, but oil and water within.
She thinks about her sister’s phone call yesterday. In her message, she said something about liking the Christmas card. Was she being genuine? Or was it a veiled jibe?
No, she can’t possibly know the truth just by looking at a card. Anyway, everything really was fine back when the photo was snapped. That was last summer, before Sean left for his semester in Europe, before things fell apart.
It was Noreen’s deliberate decision to mail out the cards as though nothing had happened, and one she has yet to regret, even now.
Remorse simply isn’t her style.
Then again, neither is avoidance. Isn’t that what she’s done where her sister is concerned?
I have to call her back.
What if she wants to spend Christmas together?
Chances are, she doesn’t. Their approach to the holiday doesn’t mesh much better than anything else about their lives. Rowan’s family is so laid back and disorganized that the last time they shared a holiday, Noreen wound up serving Christmas brunch after sundown.
Her nephews and niece were as taken aback to discover that the Chapmans hadn’t decorated their own tree as her own kids were to find out that their cousins had—-and enjoyed it.
“But ours is like the ‘before’ version of the Charlie Brown Christmas tree compared to yours,” Rowan told Noreen with a grin. “Want to trade?”
“I’m sure it’s beautiful.”
“It’s not. It’s scrawny and the trunk is so crooked it fell over twice and we lost all of the fragile ornaments.”
“Oh no.”
“That’s what you get when you let the kids pick it out. But they made some new decorations after it fell. Remember how Mom used to have us make them when we were kids?” she added fondly. “We used cookie cutters to make the shapes out of cookie dough.”
“It was just flour, salt, and water.”
“No wonder it didn’t taste very good.” She laughed. “Yours were always perfect, and you helped the boys so theirs were, too. Mine were a mess.”
“Only because you wouldn’t let me help you.”