their town as “the country.” Makes us sound so quaint.
I bent down to shake his hand and changed the subject. “Well, it’s nice to have you here. On Christmas Eve, we have a carol sing with hot chocolate and cookies on the Green. That’s the park in the center of downtown,” I added, realizing they might not be familiar with the term. “And if you’re looking for a place to attend Christmas services, New Bern Community Church is right on the Green too.”
“Great! I was just telling James that we needed to find a church first thing.”
His enthusiasm piqued my interest. Most men don’t put finding a church high on their list of priorities when they move to a new town. My gaze shifted automatically, searching out his left hand, but I couldn’t tell if he was wearing a ring.
What was I doing? When was I going to get over the habit of looking at every man I met as a potential mate? Even if this man was single, his hair was too dark and his forehead too high. Not my type. And he was probably too short. And anyway, I was through with all that. And even if I hadn’t been—which I was, I absolutely and forever was—Paul Collier’s response to my next question would have settled the matter.
“So, you’ve moved here for a new job?”
“I’m a lawyer. I’m starting at Baxter, Ferris, and Long after Christmas.”
A lawyer. Of course, he was. It was a sign, a clear sign that I was supposed to learn to be content as a single woman and stay away from men. Especially lawyers.
I let go of his hand and took a step back from the blue heap; he couldn’t be a very successful lawyer if he was driving such a pile of junk. “Well … good luck. Have a good Christmas.”
“Thanks. Same to you, miss. Or is it missus?”
He was awfully direct, another quality that doesn’t go over well in New England.
“Margot,” I replied, leaving his question unanswered. “Margot Matthews.”
“Nice to meet you, Margot. Merry Christmas.”
He put the car back into gear, revved the engine, made a three-point turn in a nearby driveway, and drove off, leaving my ears ringing. Or so I thought, until I realized that the buzzing was coming from my phone.
“Sorry, Evelyn. I accidentally dropped the phone.”
“What happened? It sounded like an airplane was about to land on top of you.”
“Just a car driving by. Listen, I don’t think I can finish the rest of my shift ….”
“Something you ate at lunch?”
“Sort of,” I replied. “Will you be all right without me?”
“Sure. I mean … if you’re sick, you’re sick. Do you think you’ll feel better if you just lie down for an hour? Maybe you could come in later.”
Evelyn is not just my boss; she’s also my friend. She doesn’t have a deceitful bone in her body, but something about the tone of her voice made me suspicious.
“Evelyn, you’re not planning a surprise party at the quilt shop, are you?”
I told her, I told all my friends, that I don’t want to celebrate this birthday. Why should I? There is nothing about being forty and still single that’s worth celebrating.
“No. We’re not planning a party at the shop. Take the afternoon. But you’ve got that meeting at church tonight, don’t forget. Abigail called to see if you’d pick her up.”
The meeting. I was so upset that it had completely slipped my mind.
I sighed. “Tell her I’ll pick her up around six fifteen.”
In the background, I could hear the jingle of the door bells as more customers entered the shop. I felt a twinge of guilt. I almost told her that I’d changed my mind and was coming in after all, but before I could, Evelyn said, “I’ve got to run. But feel better, okay? I know you’re not happy about this birthday, but whether you know it or not, you’ve got a lot to celebrate. So, happy birthday, Margot. And many more to come.”
“Thanks, Evelyn.”
2
Margot
I built a fire in the fireplace and stood watching the flames dance before settling myself on the sofa to work on my sister’s Christmas quilt. Quilting, I have found, is great when you want to think something through—or not think at all. Today, I was looking to do the latter. For a while, it worked.
I sat there for a good half an hour, hand-stitching the quilt binding, watching television and telling myself that it could be worse, that my life could be as messed up as the people on the reality show reruns—trapped in a house, or on an island, or in a French château with a bunch of people who you didn’t know that well but who, somehow, knew way too much about your personal weaknesses and weren’t afraid to talk about them.
When I picked up the phone and my parents started to sing “Happy Birthday” into the line, I remembered that being part of a family is pretty much the same thing.
“I’m fine. Really. Everything is fine.”
“Margot,” Dad said in his rumbling bass, “don’t use that tone with your mother.”
I forced myself to smile, hoping this would make me sound more cheerful than I felt. “I wasn’t using a tone, Daddy. I was answering Mom’s question. I’m fine.”
My mother sighed. “You’ve been so secretive lately, Margot.”
Dad let out an impatient snort. “It’s almost as bad as trying to talk to Mari.”
At the mention of my sister’s name, Mom, in a voice that was half-hopeful and half-afraid to hope, asked, “Is she still planning on coming for Christmas?”
“She’s looking forward to it.”
Looking forward to it was probably stretching the truth, but last time I talked to my sister she had asked for suggestions on what to get the folks for Christmas. That indicated a kind of anticipation on her part, didn’t it?
“She’ll probably come up with some last-minute excuse,” Dad grumbled.
In the background, I could hear a jingle of metal. When Dad is agitated, he fiddles with the change in his pockets. I had a mental image of him pacing from one side of the kitchen to the other, the phone cord tethering him to the wall like a dog on a leash. Dad is a man of action; long phone conversations make him antsy.
“Wonder what it’ll be this time? Her car broke down? Her boss won’t let her off work? Her therapist says the tension might upset Olivia? As if spending a day with us would scar our granddaughter for life. Remember when she pulled that one, honey?”
A sniffle and a ragged intake of breath came from the Buffalo end of the line.
“Oh, come on now, Lil. Don’t cry. Did you hear that? Margot, why do you bring these things up? You’re upsetting
