Chapter Thirty-five
A month and a half later, December arrived, and all the charming Victorian homes in my neighborhood boasted outdoor lights and festive wreathes on doors. Christmas music played in the shopping malls, and there was a joyful bustle to life that only existed during the holiday season.
Giant snowflakes fell gently from the sky as I walked home from school in my down-filled overcoat, wearing my favorite red woolen scarf and mittens, carrying my leather satchel full of end-of-term tests to mark. As I rounded the corner of my street, I spotted Barbara’s SUV parked in my driveway.
Pausing on the sidewalk, I felt a pang of apprehension because I hadn’t heard a word from her since I’d sent the silver baby cup and spoon and informed her of my decision to hand Wes’s trust fund over to Angie. I still felt guilty about not involving Barbara and George in the decision, and I worried that she might be angry about that.
Starting off again and turning into my driveway, I noted that the vehicle was empty. I could only presume that Bev had invited Barbara inside.
When I entered the house, I found them seated in the living room next to the Christmas tree, with the silver tray and formal tea set arranged on the coffee table. Bev had set out a plate of store-bought cookies, while Louise lay in her playpen in the corner of the room, making baby noises. Leo slept quietly in the foyer.
As always, Barbara was impeccably dressed in an expensive black pant suit and heels, with a heavy gold chain and gold button earrings, her red hair swept into the usual elegant twist.
Bev looked up when she saw me, and I sensed her relief at my arrival. She immediately set down her teacup and greeted me.
“Hey, look who came by. Barbara and I have just been sitting here, chatting about the American election.”
I set down my satchel and approached Barbara, who rose from her chair to hug me.
“It’s so nice to see you,” I said. “Merry Christmas. Let me hang up my coat.”
While I unzipped it and moved to the front closet, I was aware of Bev gathering up the tea tray. When I returned to the living room, she was rising from the sofa to carry it to the kitchen. She shrugged as she passed by, as if to say she had no idea what, specifically, Barbara had come about.
I joined my mother-in-law in the living room and we made small talk for a few minutes, catching up on the usual things—in particular how much we both missed Wes and how especially difficult it was to be without him during the holidays.
Bev returned to collect Louise and explained that it was time for her feeding. A moment later, Barbara and I were left alone.
I cleared my throat as we sat in awkward silence. Then I decided to approach the uncomfortable subject of why she was here.
“I assume you got my letter,” I said.
“Yes, Claire, I did.” Her cheeks were flushed, her expression intense, and I worried that she intended to reprimand me. Instead, she raised a tight fist to her lips and began to cry.
I quickly reached for the box of tissues on the end table beside me and crossed the room to offer it to her. She accepted it, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
“I apologize,” she said as she made an effort to collect herself.
“No need, Barbara. It’s been a difficult time.” I returned to the sofa and sat down again.
She took a moment, then she began to explain herself, without ever meeting my gaze. “At first when I read your letter, I was very angry with you, because I despised that woman who took our son away. I hated her with every breath in my body, because if it weren’t for her, Wes would still be alive today and he would never have left us or sunk so low as to betray his marriage vows to you.” She paused and took a breath. “I didn’t want her to benefit from money that came from us, indirectly, and George was just as angry as I was. He was talking about hiring lawyers to try and get it back from her, but of course we knew that would be impossible.”
She pulled out another tissue and blew her nose, then eventually continued. “I didn’t open the gift box you sent. I knew what was inside it, but I just couldn’t face it. I knew that if I looked at it, I would be taken back to that moment when I first held Wes in my arms—he was such a precious little darling—and it would rip my heart to shreds all over again.”
She laid her open palm on her chest and spoke passionately. “The pain is so deep, Claire, I cannot even describe it to you.”
My stomach muscles clenched as I fought to hold back tears, because no mother should ever have to endure the death of her child.
For a moment, we sat in silence. Barbara’s elbow was perched on the armrest of the chair, her chin resting on her knuckles. Then she took another breath and continued.
“So I put the gift box away where I couldn’t see it, at the back of my closet, and I tried not to think about it. But then…” She cupped her hands together on her lap. “I woke up one night at four in the morning, dreaming that Wes was in his crib in the nursery, crying for me. I was half asleep and I actually got out of bed and hurried down the hall to his old room. I was sleep walking, I suppose, and when I realized where I was, and that he wasn’t with us anymore, my heart began to pound. I was so confused and distraught… It was as if I had traveled back in time and he was a baby again, but when I turned on the light, it wasn’t his nursery. It was just my sewing room. But the dream was so real. I was sure I heard him crying for me, and the heartache and longing I felt was so intense, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I wanted him back so badly…”
She turned her eyes to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room near the front window. She stared at it for a long time while I said nothing.
She continued. “So I went to my closet and found your Christmas box, took it downstairs so that I wouldn’t wake George, and I opened it. When I saw the cup and spoon, I thought about Wes’s unborn child, and it was as if a light came on inside me. I couldn’t believe how foolish I was being, letting my anger at that woman eclipse the fact that he had left us with a grandchild—a child who would never know his father.”
She cried again for a moment, and I stood up to pull a tissue out of the box for myself, for I was quite emotional by this point.
Barbara regarded me steadily. “I know how badly you were hurt by what he did to you, Claire, but when you said in your letter that you were working toward forgiving Angie, I felt ashamed. You are a very special woman—feeling love for your enemy instead of hate, and putting your pride and jealousy aside in order to do what was right. You made me see that I needed to do that, too. And so did George. So we have taken your words to heart, and we’re going to Toronto to meet the mother of our grandchild, and we fully intend to open our hearts to her and welcome her into our family.”
I bowed my head and wept into the tissue.
“I hope that doesn’t make you feel that we are choosing her over you,” Barbara said. “You are the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt or betray.”
“Of course not,” I replied. “She’s the mother of your grandchild. It’s the right thing, and I would never resent you for that. I’m happy, Barbara. We’ve all been through a terrible year, but it’s time for something good to come from it.”
Barbara smiled at me with love. “No one deserves happiness more than you do, Claire. Wes was a lucky man when he married you, and he was a fool to let you go.”
We stood up and shed a few more tears as we hugged each other in front of the Christmas tree.
When I said goodbye to her at the door a few minutes later and watched her drive down the street, through fresh falling snow, past all the houses lit up with colorful Christmas lights, I felt an inner peace I had never known before. Not like this. And I hoped that when Barbara and George visited Angie in Toronto, she would accept the love they offered, and that they, too, could find some measure of peace this holiday season.
I turned to go back inside, closed the door behind me, and went to call Scott.