Chapter 5: What Greg Couldn't Say
I read Greg's message three times before putting my phone face down.
Marlene watched me from across the kitchen.
“Bad news?””
“I don't know.””
She wiped her hands on a dish towel.
“That's usually worse.””
I almost smiled.
The hall had begun to empty. Volunteers carried containers to cars. The nurses had gone back to the hospital. Walter had taken Helen's photograph home, but he had left the tablecloth behind.
I folded it carefully.
“I'm going to wash this before I return it.””
Marlene nodded.
“Good.””
I looked at my phone again.
Another message.
*Don't call me. Amber is here.*
My stomach tightened.
I put the phone in my pocket.
“I'm staying here tonight,” I said.
Marlene stared at me.
“Nan, it's Christmas.””
“I know.””
“You have a perfectly good house.””
“I know.””
“Then why are you sleeping in a fire hall?””
I looked toward Leonard's plaque.
“Because if I go home, I'll think too much.””
Marlene understood.
She didn't argue.
The next morning, I woke on a narrow cot in the auxiliary room to the sound of a snowplow scraping the street outside.
For a few seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then I saw the folding chair beside the cot, the borrowed blanket, and my coat hanging from a hook.
Christmas was over.
But the strange feeling remained.
I made coffee.
At eight twelve, my phone rang.
Greg.
I answered immediately.
“Are you safe?””
“Yes.””
“Is Amber with you?””
“No.””
“She went to her mother's.””
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“What happened?””
“I don't know where to start.””
“Start with why you texted me.””
Silence.
Then he said, “I lied to you.””
I closed my eyes.
“About what?””
“The rules.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Greg, I already know you didn't write them.””
“I didn't.””
“But you agreed to them.””
“I agreed to some of them.””
“Which ones?””
“The two hours.””
“And the gifts?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
He exhaled.
“Because Amber said she needed to prove to herself that she could host Christmas without you taking over.””
I flinched.
“I have never taken over her Christmas.””
“I know.””
“Does she?””
“I don't know.””
There was a long silence.
Then Greg said, “Mom, there's more.””
I waited.
“Amber doesn't like the fact that the kids come here without her.””
I frowned.
“They come over when she knows they're coming.””
“That's not what I mean.””
“What do you mean?””
“She thinks you're too important to them.””
I almost laughed.
“I'm their grandmother.””
“She says they talk about you constantly.””
“They're children.””
“I know.””
“Greg…”
“She said Ella asked why Christmas wasn't at your house this year.””
I sat down.
“And that bothered her?””
“She thinks you're creating a competition.””
I looked at the old coffee maker on the counter.
“A competition over what?””
“Me.””
The word sat between us.
I didn't answer.
Greg's voice grew quieter.
“She thinks I'm still a little boy when I'm with you.””
I swallowed.
“And what do you think?””
“I think I'm a grown man who has made some stupid decisions.””
That sounded more like my son.
“What decision are you talking about?””
He hesitated.
Then I heard a car door slam in the background.
“Greg?””
“I have to go.””
“You said there was something Amber hasn't told me.””
“I'll come by this afternoon.””
“What is it?””
“I can't say it over the phone.””
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
At eleven, I drove home.
The snow had stopped, leaving the roads bright beneath a pale winter sun.
My house looked exactly as it always did.
Red wreath.
White porch railing.
Leonard's old shovel beside the garage.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The silence hit me immediately.
For thirty-one years, Christmas morning had filled this house with noise.
Children running.
Pans clanging.
Leonard calling from the kitchen.
Greg shouting that somebody had taken his stocking.
Now the living room still held the tree.
I had not taken anything down.
There were presents beneath it.
One for Ella.
One for Sam.
Two wrapped boxes for Greg and Amber that I had never given them.
I sat on the sofa.
Then I heard tires on the driveway.
Greg.
He came through the door without knocking.
His face looked exhausted.
“Hi, Mom.””
“Hi, honey.””
He took off his coat.
Neither of us sat.
“What did Amber not tell me?””
Greg looked at the floor.
“She doesn't want the kids spending Christmas here next year.””
I blinked.
“Why?””
“She says it confuses them.””
“Confuses them how?””
“She wants us to establish new traditions.””
“That's not a crime.””
“I know.””
“So what is the problem?””
He looked at me.
“The problem is that she wants to cut down your time with them.””
My chest tightened.
“How much?””
“She suggested once a month.””
I stared at him.
“Once a month?””
“And no overnight visits.””
I sat down slowly.
“Why?””
“She says you're too involved.””
“I babysit when you ask.””
“I know.””
“I never criticize her parenting.””
“I know.””
“I don't tell the children what to think.””
“I know, Mom.””
“Then why?””
Greg rubbed both hands over his face.
“Because she thinks they love being here more than they love being at home.””
The words hurt in a way I hadn't expected.
I looked toward the Christmas tree.
“That's not their fault.””
“I know.””
“And it's not mine.””
“I know.””
“Then what are you going to do?””
Greg didn't answer.
That was the answer.
I looked at him.
“Are you going to let her decide?””
His eyes filled.
“I don't know.””
I stood.
“You told me never to make you choose.””
“I remember.””
“I meant it.””
“I know.””
“But that doesn't mean I have to pretend this doesn't hurt.””
He nodded.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
His face changed.
“What?””
He didn't answer.
“Greg?””
He turned the phone toward me.
It was a message from Amber.
*Did you tell her about the house?*
I looked at him.
“What house?””
He locked the screen.
“Nothing.””
“Greg.””
“It's not what you think.””
“What house?””
He sighed.
Then he sat down at the kitchen table.
“Amber wants us to move.””
“Where?””
“About forty miles north.””
I stared at him.
“Why?””
“Better school district.””
“And?””
He looked away.
“And closer to her parents.””
There it was.
The missing piece.
“You'd move the children forty miles away?””
“We haven't decided.””
“You said she wanted once-a-month visits.””
“I know.””
“Greg, that's not about Christmas.””
“No.””
“That's about removing me.””
His silence answered.
I walked to the window.
Outside, snow covered the bird feeder Leonard had built.
I could see Greg's reflection behind me.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was embarrassed.””
“About what?””
“That I couldn't stop it.””
I turned around.
“You haven't lost your voice, Greg.””
“I know.””
“Then use it.””
He looked at me.
“What if I lose my marriage?””
I walked back to the table.
“What if you lose yourself?””
He looked down.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he reached into his coat pocket.
“I brought something.””
He placed a folded piece of paper on the table.
I didn't touch it.
“What is it?””
“Something Amber wrote.””
My heart began beating faster.
“When?””
“Last week.””
“About me?””
“About Christmas.””
I unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was unmistakably Amber's.
At the top were three words:
*Christmas Transition Plan.*
Underneath were bullet points.
Two-hour visit.
No food from Nan.
No gifts over twenty dollars.
No unsupervised time.
No discussion of previous Christmas traditions.
And at the bottom:
*Begin gradual reduction of Nan's involvement with children after January.*
I read that line twice.
Then I looked at Greg.
“She planned this before Christmas.””
“Yes.””
“How long?””
“I don't know.””
I folded the paper.
“What else is there?””
Greg hesitated.
Then his phone buzzed again.
This time he didn't look at it.
He simply stared at me.
“Mom…”
“What?””
“I think Amber knows I showed you.””
The front door handle moved.
Greg went pale.
May you like
Someone was trying to come inside.
Then a key turned in the lock.
