The Christmas Note by Donna VanLiere Read Free Book Online Page B

worked together in that atrocious space. I could hear her mumbling and cursing and see her throwing things out of anger and rejection, and my chest felt so heavy thinking about her growing up with the woman who had lived there. Then there is another part of me who can barely stand to be with her. It’s too much like work. So why in the world am I here? I see two people in the distance near the back of the cemetery grounds and walk on a path through the headstones toward them.
    Melissa’s back is to me, and I watch as the wind picks up her hair and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Wisps of snow seem to fall from the trees and swirl on top of the ground. The undertaker nods and I step next to Melissa; her eyes are dark and tired looking at me.
    “How’d you know?” she asks.
    “Ramona’s landlord knew she was being buried today. He told me before I left the apartment.”
    Clear liquid leaks from her nose and Melissa swipes at it with her hand. “Big turnout, huh?”
    I look inside the hole at the simple box and wonder if the state paid for this plot or how Ramona ended up here.
    “Why are you here?” Melissa asks.
    I pull my scarf tighter around my neck. “I’ve been to a lot of these. Men in my husband’s unit.”
    “Heroes,” she says, wiping the snot away from her nose again. “This is Ramona.”
    I look into the hole. “She was your mom, and everybody should have someone at their side when they bury their mom.”
    *   *   *
     
    I sit behind the wheel of my car and watch as Melissa pulls away from the cemetery. The cold, the open grave, the memories of Kyle and his unit rattle my brain, and sobs from somewhere in my chest overtake me. I cry until my head hurts, my eyes are puffy, and my tissue is in soggy shreds.
    I wipe my face with a napkin from the glove compartment before I step inside Mom’s house. She’s going crazy because she can’t figure out how to fix this new life of ours, and if she sees that I’ve been crying, she’ll worry the rest of the day.
    Gloria is making her morning visit, and I smell freshly baked something or other. “Cinnamon rolls,” she says, putting one oozing with icing on a plate for me. I stare at it and Mom laughs.
    “You must eat that because if you don’t she’ll leave it here for me and my trousers simply cannot take the pressure.”
    I take a bite and Gloria leans in, waiting for my response. I moan and she bangs the table with her hand. “See that, Miriam! We are going to bake a difference this Christmas!”
    Mom rolls her eyes and I take another bite. “What’s that mean?” I ask.
    “Another one of her ideas,” Mom says, filling a cup with coffee for me.
    Gloria waves her hand in Mom’s face to hush her. “Every year the chamber orchestra does a Christmas concert. This year all the funds from the admission tickets are going to Glory’s Place to help the families we work with. And while that’s a wonderful thing, the ticket price is only five dollars. It has always been five dollars and will always be five dollars, and that doesn’t add up to much money at the end of the night. Well, I thought we could raise even more money by offering quality baked goods. You know, some people don’t have time to bake a pie or a cake for Christmas get-togethers.”
    “And others can’t … or don’t want to,” Mom adds, winking at me.
    Gloria waves at her to shush again. “So this year I think we can bake a difference by gathering really nice baked goods and selling them at the concert.” She bangs the table again and Mom jumps, grabbing her head. “No brownies are allowed! Everybody always makes brownies. Cakes, pies, candies, and Christmas cookies only. No chocolate chips!” She spins in her seat and looks around. “For heaven’s sake, Miriam! Where do you keep your paper? I have to write all this down.”
    Mom jumps up and glides in her pink satin robe to the drawer under the coffeepot, and I smile watching her. She’s owned a