204 Rosewood Lane - Debbie Macomber [56]
Strings of Christmas tree lights were spread out on the living-room floor when Zach woke on Saturday morning.
“Hi, Dad,” Eddie said when Zach looked in, yawning, on his way to the kitchen. His son sat amid the lights, straightening them and draping the long cords along the back of the sofa.
“What are you doing with those?” he asked. Rosie liked having the outside of the house decorated with Christmas lights, but he’d always found it a nuisance. He glanced at the clock and saw it was barely seven. Apparently Rosie was already up.
“Mom got them out,” Eddie explained, and stuck the plug into an outlet. Lights instantly blazed, nearly blinding Zach.
He suspected this was his wife’s less-than-subtle hint that she wanted him to string up the lights this morning. Great, just great. She might’ve mentioned it earlier, but then they weren’t on the best of terms these days. Remaining civil during the Christmas holidays was going to be difficult if Thanksgiving was any indication. Somehow they’d made it through the day without a major blowup—probably because Rosie had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen with her sister, no doubt complaining about him.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked irritably.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Zach checked the time again. “Where is she now?”
“Christmas Bazaar at the high school.”
“What’s she doing there?”
Eddie shrugged. “She didn’t tell me. Can we go to McDonald’s for breakfast? I’m getting tired of Pop-Tarts.”
Zach stared at his son. This nine-year-old kid actually believed the alternative to Pop-Tarts was a meal outside the home. Rosie had gotten so lax in carrying out her responsibilities as a full-time wife and mother that their children didn’t even know that most families ate meals together around a table.
“Dad?”
Eddie’s urgent cry cut into his thoughts. “Look!” He pointed to the television. “That’s what I want for Christmas.”
Zach studied the screen and watched some remote-controlled monster truck propel itself over a huge dirt mound with a deafening roar.
“Mom said I could have it.”
“She did, did she?” Zach would talk to Rosie about that. He wasn’t forking over a couple of hundred bucks for a stupid toy. Wandering into the kitchen, he discovered that the coffee wasn’t on but his wife had taken a moment to jot him a note, which she’d propped up next to the automatic drip pot.
Working until four at the Bazaar. Put up the outside lights, okay? Allison’s at a slumber party and will need a ride home. If you have a chance, would you buy the Christmas tree? See you later.
Rosie
His wife had forgotten to mention she’d be working at the bazaar. That was predictable enough. But he’d hoped that for once they’d have a day together without obligations or demands. It used to be that buying the Christmas tree was a family event; they’d go to the lot together and everyone had a say. Decorating it was fun, with music playing in the background and popcorn popping and hot cider. These days, getting and trimming the tree was an afterthought, a nuisance that had to be fitted into the cracks in Rosie’s overbooked schedule.
“Can we go to McDonald’s for breakfast?” Eddie asked a second time.
Zach didn’t answer him.
“Dad?”
“Sure,” he muttered, noting that there wasn’t any milk in the refrigerator. Not only had Rosie left him with a to-do list, but the house was devoid of groceries.
Zach was furious all morning about his wife’s lack of attentiveness when it came to her family. He remembered what Janice Lamond had told him about the special Saturday she’d planned for her son. She was clearly the type of mother who made her child a priority.
After breakfast at McDonald’s, Zach collected Allison from her friend’s place, and then, with Eddie’s help, tackled putting up the Christmas lights.
“Are we going to buy our tree today?” Eddie asked while Zach stood on the ladder and attached the lights along the roofline of the house. He gazed down on his son, who was looking anxiously up at him.