Better Not Cry, page 6
part #8 of Rebekka Franck Series
23
"Mom, come out here!"
It was Julie. She was calling from the doorway. I wiped my tears away and got up from the bed. I walked out of the bedroom where I had been sitting the rest of the afternoon wondering what to do, worrying that things had completely broken between Sune and me. I wanted to talk to him, but I had no idea how to anymore. It didn't matter what I did or said, it was never good enough. I always ended up hurting him in some way. I thought about my ex, Peter, and how our marriage had ended so terribly and wondered if it had to do with me. Did I drive men nuts? Was I not cut out for relationships? I suddenly missed my dad and all his good advice. He would know what to say to make me feel better. He always did. Except, lately, he hadn't been talking much. Mostly sleeping a lot. He had a nurse working for him, bringing him food and feeding him and taking care of him so he wasn't alone, but still. I felt terrible for leaving him. What if he wasn't there when we got back?
"MO-OM!"
"I'm coming," I said and stepped out into the living room. I smiled to hide I had been crying. "What's going on?"
"Are you okay?"
Of course, she noticed. My daughter always did. No matter how much I tried to cover up that I was in a bad mood or sad, she always knew. She sensed it somehow.
"I'm fine," I said. "What's going on?"
"They're singing carols, Christmas carols, in our driveway."
"I love Christmas carols," I said and followed her outside, thinking this might cheer me up.
Sune was there with Tobias and William. William was in his lap, Tobias leaning on his chair. The choir sang beautifully, even though it was slightly strange to listen to Christmas carols in eighty-six-degree weather while cicadas were singing along in the background.
"O holy night. The stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear Savior's birth."
Tobias was humming along next to me. He always was the musical one in our little family and actually had quite the voice. I had often encouraged him to sing for us, but he didn't want to. The first time I had heard his beautiful voice was once when he was in the shower and I walked past the bathroom, wondering who was in there. I listened for a little while, surprised at the power of this young boy's voice. But later, when I asked him to sing something for me, he refused to. Even in school, his music teacher had tried to get him to sing in the play, but he didn't want to. I had spoken to Sune about it and asked him if he thought we should give the boy vocal lessons, but Sune didn't think so.
"If the boy doesn't want to sing, then he shouldn't."
"But what if he just needs a little push, a little encouragement?"
But Sune had told me to leave it alone. Again, an issue where Sune and I were very different. If I discovered Julie had a talent, I would make sure to nurture it.
"Silent night. Holy night. All is calm, all is bright," they continued.
There were four adults and four children in the choir, but one little girl stood out to me. She was standing behind the other kids, a little to the left side, like she was hiding, like she—like Tobias—didn't like the exposure. But she was by far the best singer of them all. Her voice cut through all of them and made the rest of them fade in comparison. Especially when she, every now and then, closed her eyes and really let it out, not worrying about what everyone else was thinking; that was when she gave me goosebumps, even though it was eighty-six degrees and humid.
That was quite the accomplishment.
They sang Jingle Bells and we sang along, and then ended on Ave Maria, sung solo by the girl in the back. It was truly amazing and so magical it made me forget my troubles for a little while and kept me smiling for the rest of the evening.
24
Kristin was enjoying herself. So far, they had gone to most of the houses around the neighborhood, following their usual route, and all they had left was the nursing home.
Kristin stood in front of the old building, shivering slightly before entering. She never liked to go there since all those old people scared her with their wrinkled skin, toothless mouths, and skinny fingers pointing at her. Their nails were always long and cracked and yellow from smoking, their lips black from drinking coffee.
"Come on, Kristin," her mother said, carrying the cookies in a jar. She grabbed Kristin's hand and pulled her inside.
Even the smell was scary, Kristin thought. The smell of old lady mixed with death. It was the worst part of the tour. The only good thing was that when her mother passed out cookies to the old ladies, Kristin would usually get one also, and then if there were any more left once they got back out to the car, she would get another.
As usual, they walked from door to door at the nursing home. Many of the old people couldn't get out of bed, so the nurses opened all the doors to the rooms and the choir would stand in the hallway and sing. Some of the old folks would shut the door because they didn't want to hear the singing, Kristin's mother had explained.
"Some people get bitter and angry with age. Sometimes they just don't like Christmas."
Kristin didn't understand how anyone could dislike Christmas. What was there to not like? There was good food, pretty decorations, Christmas trees, presents, and then Santa. The merry man in the red suit who handed out presents. Who wouldn't love that?
"Hoo-oly night," she sang as the doors were opened. "The stars are brightly shi-ning."
An old woman peeked her head out the door, her long crooked fingers grabbing onto the wall, a toothless smile growing across her face. Kristin's mother stepped forward, offering her a cookie, and she accepted it. She took a bite, crumbs falling to the linoleum floor, some staying in the facial hair on her chin, wiggling as she chewed. She smiled widely and took another bite, crumbs staying on her black lips, which she was smacking loudly. She grinned at Kristin and Kristin could see the remains of the cookie on her tongue, wet and lumpy from her saliva, looking like dough. The old woman's pig-like eyes grew narrow as she squinted toward the carolers.
"Ding dong, merrily on high, In heaven the bells are ringing," she sang, taking her eyes off the old woman, letting them settle on a man who was standing in the opening of his door, leaning on a cane, jacket on and a hat on his head like he was about to go somewhere. He looked like he was mad at them, maybe at the entire world, as he lifted his finger and pretended to be directing them, or maybe he was just moving his pointer finger to the rhythm of the song.
Another old woman entered from her room and started to sing along, her voice so loud and shrill it hurt Kristin's ears.
Kristin had to close her eyes to better focus, when she heard something coming from behind her and turned to look. She didn't see anything there, just a door that was ajar. But she was certain she had heard the sound of sleigh bells coming from behind it.
25
"Dashing through the snow."
Kristin was singing louder than ever to drown out the sound of bells ringing behind her. She kept looking over her shoulder, wondering who was there, who was behind the door jingling those bells.
"Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse o-o-pen sleigh."
The jingling grew louder and louder until it was almost deafening to Kristin. She couldn't believe that none of the others in the choir were bothered by the loud jingling and turned around once again to look at the door. It was still ajar, but now there was something there. Someone was peeking out through the opening. It was no more than a crack and all she could see was a set of eyes. But, oh, what eyes they were. Glowing red like two Christmas globes in the light from a Christmas tree.
Santa?
TINKLE. TINKLE. TINKLE.
It almost sounded like he was talking to her through the sound of bells. She could see more of his face as she approached the door slowly, walking away from the choir. She could not only see his eyes, she could see the beard too, and the hat, the crimson red hat.
It is him. It is Santa!
Kristin couldn't control her eagerness. She walked to the door, listening only to the sound of the tinkling bells, wondering if Santa had come to give her presents or maybe even cookies. If there was one thing the two of them had in common, it was their love of cookies.
"Oh, Jingle bells, jingle bells. Jingle a-ll the w-ay," the choir sang.
Kristin stopped and looked back at her mother, who was deeply immersed in the song she was singing, smiling and nodding at the old people, handing them cookies, letting them dig into the jar with their long skinny fingers and dirty nails. Kristin only hoped they wouldn't touch them all.
"Psst," Santa said from behind the door.
Kristin turned to look, but Santa was not there anymore. She couldn't see his eyes, but as she looked at it, the door swung open and Kristin approached it, happily.
"Santa?" she whispered and stood in the doorway.
"The horse was lean and lank. Misfortune seemed his lot," the choir sang behind her, but Kristin was no longer listening.
"Santa? Are you in here?"
She took a step inside the room and scanned it in her search for the big-bellied man in his crimson suit. But there was no light in the room, and she couldn't see anything.
"Santa?"
The door slammed shut behind her. Kristin gasped and turned to look. Then she grabbed the handle to open it, turned it first one way, then the other, but it was locked. Desperately, she knocked on the door. She could still hear them singing on the other side.
"Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle all the wa-a-ay…"
"Mom? Mom? MOM?"
But they didn't hear her, not her yelling or her knocking. Kristin heard movement behind her and turned to look in the sparse light coming in from under the door.
There he was. In all his might. His red eyes glowed in the darkness and lit up the room. He was holding his belly as he laughed, showing his pointy teeth behind the white beard, letting out that rumbling deep laugh Kristin used to cherish so much.
"Ho-ho-HO."
"S-Santa?"
He reached out his hand. There was something in it. Kristin stood on her tippy toes, then smiled, albeit cautiously, when she saw what it was.
"A cookie?"
"You want it?" he said.
She looked at the cookie in his gloved hand. It was the biggest cookie she had ever seen. It had big chocolate pieces in it the size of rocks. She looked up at him again, at his red glowing eyes and pointy teeth, then swallowed.
She nodded. "Can I?"
"Yeeesss," he said.
A sadness came over her face. "But…my mom says I can't have cookies because I’m trying to lose weight. To fit into my dress for my aunt's wedding this spring."
"Ho-Ho-Ho," Santa said like he found it amusing. "She's right, you know. If you're too fat, you might get stuck in the chimney. Can't have that happening, now can we?"
"I guess one little cookie can't harm me," Kristin said reaching out for it, thinking Santa seemed nice enough, even though he scared her a little at first.
Santa pulled the cookie away, then laughed loudly when he saw her disappointed face.
"Gotcha, didn't I?"
Kristin chuckled, slightly uncomfortable. She reached once again for the cookie and this time he let her have it. She grabbed the cookie between her fingers and pulled it toward her mouth, opening it widely. Santa was staring at her, eagerly watching her every move. Kristin could no longer hear the choir singing or the bells jingling as she plunged her teeth into the soft cookie and let the chocolate melt on her tongue. She closed her eyes and chewed, slowly letting the taste and pleasure spread throughout her body. It was the best cookie she had ever tasted. But why wouldn't it be? It was, after all, from Santa himself and if anyone knew about cookies, it had to be him.
Santa giggled and Kristin opened her eyes again, then smiled. "Thanks, Santa."
She turned to leave.
Santa grabbed her arm.
He held onto it so firmly, she couldn't move. Kristin tried to pull away, but Santa seized it, his face changing into something so terrible, Kristin couldn't even utter a word to explain it or scream out loud.
As he threw her out the window of the third-floor of the building, she could hear the choir singing Joy to the World.
Just before her face was smeared onto the pavement beneath, she couldn't help wondering who would sing her solo since she wasn't going to be there.
26
She didn't hear the thud as the body hit the ground outside because she was singing at the top of her lungs.
"Repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding j-o-y."
Patricia Walker was holding out the cookie jar to an old lady who was standing in her doorway while singing along loudly. She smiled at the woman as she took her cookie, then walked back, handing out one more cookie to each of their spectators. Many of the old folks had smiles on their faces, some were even singing along, joyfully, and that made it all worth it to Patricia. That was why she did it year after year. To spread the joy of Christmas around town.
She saved two cookies for her daughter and put a lid on the jar as they approached the end of the song.
"And wonders of his love, and wonders of his love, and w-o-o-onders of his love."
The song ended and all the inhabitants of the nursing home clapped their hands and cheered. Patricia nodded and smiled, enjoying the applause. They had reached the last part of the show, the part she enjoyed the most. Kristin's solo. As a mother, she was naturally extremely proud of her daughter and she wished that Kristin enjoyed it more. She used to love singing in front of people, but ever since she had gained all the weight, and since that kid had commented on it during last year's caroling, pointing fingers at her while yelling all those ugly things, since then it had been harder to get her to perform in front of a crowd. And this year, she had insisted on hiding herself in the back behind the other kids, much to Patricia's sadness. She wanted her daughter to be proud of herself, of who she was, and especially of how well she sang.
"Now, we have one last song," she said. "The highlight of the show, at least for me personally. This is a solo performed by my own daughter, Kristin, singing Ave Maria. Kristin, take it away."
The crowd clapped, Patricia turned around to look for her daughter, but she wasn't there.
"Kristin?"
The choir stepped aside, but her spot was empty. Panic erupted inside of Patricia.
Easy now. Calm down. She probably just needed to go to the bathroom. She'll be right back.
"Kristin?"
Her voice was breaking, even though she tried hard to hide it. "Have any of you seen Kristin?" she asked the other members of the choir, which mostly consisted of friends and neighbors. They answered by shaking their heads.
"She was just here," Tracy, whom Patricia had known since high school, answered. "A minute ago."
The rest of them nodded in agreement. They were right, she couldn't have gone very far away; she had to still be at the nursing home. Somewhere. But where? Patricia started looking in the bathroom down the hall, but Kristin wasn't there.
"Kristin? Kristin? KRISTIN?"
No one had seen her. Patricia rushed through the hallway, yelling her name, opening all the doors and looking inside the old people's rooms, asking for her. Still, no one had seen her. Not that she trusted the old people's memory much or believed they would even remember if they had seen her, but even though she searched their rooms, she didn't find her.
Finally, she decided to walk outside to see if Kristin might have gone back to the car or maybe stood out on the stairwell to get some fresh air. Kristin had never liked singing at the nursing home much. Maybe it got to be too much for her this time.
Patricia ran through the lobby and opened the glass doors, pushing them forcefully open, calling her daughter's name.
"KRISTI-I-IN!"
The rest of the choir was right behind her and when she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, as soon as she saw the blood, they stopped too.
After that day, none of them ever sang a Christmas carol again.
27
"I can't believe it."
"What is it, Mommy?"
We were eating breakfast at the beach house. I was reading the local news on my iPad. Initially, I was actually looking for the opening hours to Kennedy Space Center since I wanted to take the kids there today, when I stumbled upon Florida Today and the article.
I put the iPad down and looked at Sune. "You remember the choir from last night?"
He hadn't spoken to me all morning, or even much the evening before other than small grunts and grumbles, so I don't know why I believed he would do so now. But he did. We had agreed to not let the kids feel anything and not let our fighting ruin their Christmas, so maybe that was why.
"Yes," he said. "What's with them?"
"One of the kids died last night."
"One of them died?" Julie said, speaking with a gasp of fascination.
"She jumped out the window on the third floor of a nursing home," I said. "While they were there caroling for old people. Can you believe it?"
Sune shrugged. He gave me a look. "Maybe it isn't something we should talk about at breakfast. You know, with the kids listening and all. Just a suggestion."
But it was too late. Julie was already gobbling it all down, wanting to know more.
"What happened?"
"Suicide. They say she killed herself," I said.
Sune made a grimace for me to stop. I shrugged, signaling it was too late for that now.
"Wow. Who was it?"
I showed her the school picture of the girl from the article.
"I remember her," she said. "She was the one who could really sing, wasn't she?"
I nodded. "Yes. It's a shame. She was really good. And she was only eight years old. Can you imagine?" I felt a pinch in my stomach thinking about the mother. Surviving your own children had to be the worst fate for a mother to have to overcome. Especially to suicide. You'd have to wonder for the rest of your life, wouldn't you? Could I have done anything to stop her? Why didn't I see it coming?
