Read Online Chistmas Ever After by Elyse Douglas - Free Book Online
Authors: Elyse Douglas
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disappeared. He took his son, Jason, our only grandson, with him.”
“How old was Jason?”
“He was 4 years old. The cutest and smartest little child,” J. D. said, proudly. “I guess all grandparents say that, don’t they? He’s six now.”
“Have you stayed in touch with your son?” Jennifer asked.
“He wrote occasionally, to his mother, but then he stopped writing altogether and we lost track of them. Gladys was so worried that she made me hire a private investigator to find them. They were eventually located in Kearney, Nebraska. Alex was working as a waiter in some restaurant.”
The Mayor opened his mouth as if to finish his sentence, but then stopped. “He was a teacher, such a wonderful teacher. Taught history and sometimes literature at the high school. Anyway, we called him, but he didn’t return our calls. We wrote him and begged him to come home or at least stay in contact with us, but he didn’t, and we soon lost track of him again. We located him one other time in California, but again, after we contacted him, he didn’t write or call. Finally, we stopped. Now, we just pray. What else can we do?”
Jennifer looked at the Mayor, saw the sorrow on his face, and noticed the light had left his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mayor. Life is so cruel, and I guess we all feel it more at this time of year, when we’re fed all these sugary, impossible fantasies about peace on earth and love and joy.”
The Mayor gave her a sideways glance, afraid to pull his eyes from the road. When he spoke, his voice was steady, but Jennifer could hear the emotion in it. “We must believe in those things, Jennifer, otherwise we’re just lost. We must try to find them and live them, otherwise what hope do we have?”
“Face it, Mayor, we’re all lost. It’s better to face it—to face the reality—than to believe in fantasies and illusions of peace on earth and goodwill toward men and women. That world just doesn’t exist and never will exist. That’s just not the way reality is.”
J. D. Hartman looked at Jennifer compassionately. “You’ve had a tough blow, Jennifer. Get some rest and you’ll feel better. We missed you at the Christmas party. I wish you’d have come.”
Jennifer sighed. “I couldn’t make it.”
The Mercedes turned into the condominium parking lot. It had nearly been cleared of snow, but there were mountains of it on the periphery and in the corners, piled under the fir trees that skirted the condominium complex. J. D. stopped the car and looked over.
“Well, why don’t you come over Christmas day? Gladys always prepares a wonderful feast and I know she’d want you to join us. Say 6 o’clock?”
Jennifer grasped her handbag and reached for the door latch. “No thanks, Mayor. I won’t be celebrating Christmas this year.”
The Mayor sighed. “It’ll all work out, Jennifer. Things will look better after you’ve had some rest.”
She stared with hollow eyes, as she opened the door and swung out. Before leaving, she turned back toward him. “Do you know a Mrs. Wintergreen, Mayor?”
The Mayor considered her question. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“Frances Wintergreen?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know her?”
“…No.”
“Get some rest, Jennifer,” the Mayor said.
Jennifer didn’t look back at him. She closed the door and traipsed off to her apartment.
Inside, the silence was overwhelming. The walls seemed to close in on her. She felt dazed and defeated. There was no fire in her body. No life or hope. A sorrow came, so deep, that no diver would ever find the bottom, no grave digger would ever reach the coffin it was buried in. She covered her face with her hands, but she couldn’t cry. Nothing would come. The bitterness was too thick, the anger too heavy, like a dark wet blanket. It was all she could do to collapse onto the couch and flop over on her side, lifting her feet, curling up like a baby. Minutes later, she fell into a deep sleep.
When she
“How old was Jason?”
“He was 4 years old. The cutest and smartest little child,” J. D. said, proudly. “I guess all grandparents say that, don’t they? He’s six now.”
“Have you stayed in touch with your son?” Jennifer asked.
“He wrote occasionally, to his mother, but then he stopped writing altogether and we lost track of them. Gladys was so worried that she made me hire a private investigator to find them. They were eventually located in Kearney, Nebraska. Alex was working as a waiter in some restaurant.”
The Mayor opened his mouth as if to finish his sentence, but then stopped. “He was a teacher, such a wonderful teacher. Taught history and sometimes literature at the high school. Anyway, we called him, but he didn’t return our calls. We wrote him and begged him to come home or at least stay in contact with us, but he didn’t, and we soon lost track of him again. We located him one other time in California, but again, after we contacted him, he didn’t write or call. Finally, we stopped. Now, we just pray. What else can we do?”
Jennifer looked at the Mayor, saw the sorrow on his face, and noticed the light had left his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mayor. Life is so cruel, and I guess we all feel it more at this time of year, when we’re fed all these sugary, impossible fantasies about peace on earth and love and joy.”
The Mayor gave her a sideways glance, afraid to pull his eyes from the road. When he spoke, his voice was steady, but Jennifer could hear the emotion in it. “We must believe in those things, Jennifer, otherwise we’re just lost. We must try to find them and live them, otherwise what hope do we have?”
“Face it, Mayor, we’re all lost. It’s better to face it—to face the reality—than to believe in fantasies and illusions of peace on earth and goodwill toward men and women. That world just doesn’t exist and never will exist. That’s just not the way reality is.”
J. D. Hartman looked at Jennifer compassionately. “You’ve had a tough blow, Jennifer. Get some rest and you’ll feel better. We missed you at the Christmas party. I wish you’d have come.”
Jennifer sighed. “I couldn’t make it.”
The Mercedes turned into the condominium parking lot. It had nearly been cleared of snow, but there were mountains of it on the periphery and in the corners, piled under the fir trees that skirted the condominium complex. J. D. stopped the car and looked over.
“Well, why don’t you come over Christmas day? Gladys always prepares a wonderful feast and I know she’d want you to join us. Say 6 o’clock?”
Jennifer grasped her handbag and reached for the door latch. “No thanks, Mayor. I won’t be celebrating Christmas this year.”
The Mayor sighed. “It’ll all work out, Jennifer. Things will look better after you’ve had some rest.”
She stared with hollow eyes, as she opened the door and swung out. Before leaving, she turned back toward him. “Do you know a Mrs. Wintergreen, Mayor?”
The Mayor considered her question. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“Frances Wintergreen?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know her?”
“…No.”
“Get some rest, Jennifer,” the Mayor said.
Jennifer didn’t look back at him. She closed the door and traipsed off to her apartment.
Inside, the silence was overwhelming. The walls seemed to close in on her. She felt dazed and defeated. There was no fire in her body. No life or hope. A sorrow came, so deep, that no diver would ever find the bottom, no grave digger would ever reach the coffin it was buried in. She covered her face with her hands, but she couldn’t cry. Nothing would come. The bitterness was too thick, the anger too heavy, like a dark wet blanket. It was all she could do to collapse onto the couch and flop over on her side, lifting her feet, curling up like a baby. Minutes later, she fell into a deep sleep.
When she
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