Holding Her Breath (Indigo) Page 3

  “Did you make this all by yourself?” Whitney squatted down next to the little girl.

  “My brother and me made it.” She looked over at L.J., and both of them burst into giggles. “It’s for your lawyer desk at work. My teacher has one on her desk. You need one, too.”

  Whitney felt a pang of guilt as this made her think about work, but only a small one.

  “Thank you. I’ll put this on my desk as soon as I get back to work.” And Whitney fully intended to put the homemade craft next to the marble, black and gold nameplate that sat on her desk at the office. She hugged Brianna and kissed her cheek. “This is the best present anyone’s ever given me.”

  Brianna smiled shyly and ran over to Aunt Janet. She wrapped her arms around Janet’s legs.

  When it came time for Jo to open presents, she told Whitney hers was too much, but Whitney insisted it wasn’t. It was a simple gold and emerald necklace and earring set. Emerald was her mother’s birth stone. Anyway, nothing was too much for her mother. Jo had given her so much—the love of two parents before, during, and after her second marriage. The love her absent father had never given. Even though Shorty was like the father she’d never had, she knew she and her mother would always share an extremely special bond.

  For Shorty, and for Jo just as much as it was for him, Whitney had gotten a new laptop. Jo always complained that theirs kept freezing up on them, and their desktop computer was pre-historic.

  “A Mac!” Shorty crowed. “I was in the Apple Store the other day looking at this very one.”

  Devon snorted. “Always gotta show us up, huh? I bet that necklace costs what I make in a month,” he muttered to her. “And I don’t even want to think about what that computer cost.” He plucked at one of the low-hanging ornaments on the tree.

  “This isn’t about you. This is about Mom and Shorty and Christmas,” Whitney said.

  “This is about you feeling guilt for running off to the big city and only coming around here once or twice a year.” Devon glared up at her.

  Whitney turned away from him, sensing that he was trying to pick a fight. “Mom, what did Shorty get you?”

  Jo held up a box wrapped in silver paper. She darted a suspicious glance at her husband. “That’s a good question.”

  “Go on. Open it.” Shorty was grinning, looking quite pleased with himself.

  Jo ripped the paper off the box and stared down at it open-mouthed. Then she looked up at Shorty, narrowing her eyes a little. “What is this? What have you done?”

  “Go ahead and open up that box, and you’ll find out.” Shorty looked at Whitney. “This woman has to question everything to death.”

  Jo opened the box, closed it, opened it again, and then handed it to Shorty. She shook her head. “Now you know I don’t know what to do with that.”

  “What did he get you?” Aunt Brenda asked, walking over to them.

  “A doggone smartphone. What in the world would I look like with one of them things?” She snorted. “I barely know what it is.”

  Devon jumped up and went over to them. “Mom, please. You’ll love it if you just give it a chance. I helped pick it out. Look, we even got a pink holder for you.”

  Jo shook her head. “Y’all know better.”

  “But, Mom. It has email, GPS, internet, all that stuff.”

  “Son, what good is that gonna do me? I just started getting comfortable with text messaging.” Jo eyed the box that Shorty kept trying to give back to her with suspicion.

  “It’s just like mine,” Shorty said. “You’ll love it. Here, please take the thing out of the box.” He tried to hand her the phone.

  Jo shook her head. “I can’t fool with no phone smarter than I am. It gets smarter than me, time to leave it alone.”

  Whitney walked over and put an arm around her mom. “They’re really not that bad.”

  Jo snorted. “Huh. So you say.”

  “Really.” She laughed. Then, she attempted to explain the basics of using the phone to her mom.

  After presents were all exchanged, and the smartphone lay lonely on the mantel in the family room, Jo headed back to the kitchen to work on the finishing touches for dinner. She’d prepared all her desserts the night before, and her turkey and ham were coming along nicely. Shorty kept the Christmas music going.

  Whitney was allowed to boil the potatoes for the mashed potatoes—under supervision, of course—while Jo started the macaroni and cheese. After that, Whitney took a break so she could grab a shower. Hot water was a precious commodity when they had a full house.

  After showering, wrapping and drying her hair, and checking her email to make sure she had nothing urgent from work, Whitney stopped procrastinating. She finally called her grandparents.

  Her grandmother answered the phone. “Hello, Whitney dear. Merry Christmas.” She called for Whitney’s grandfather to pick up a second phone on the line.

  “Merry Christmas, Whitney,” her grandfather said.

  “Merry Christmas, guys.”

  “How is everyone there? I do wish you would have come to Manhattan for a Christmas visit, sweetheart. It has been so long since you’ve done that.”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Whitney said, not responding to the second half of her grandmother’s comment. Whitney had only been to New York a handful of times for Christmas since college. The holidays were always frostier up there, and it had little to do with the temperature. She didn’t like standing amongst her grandparents’ friends as they played the one-up game with each other. It was always about how much money a person had, who they were linked to in society, whose parents had done or owned what.

  Whitney had never cared much for that sort of thing. That didn’t stop them, though. Her grandparents always made sure they mentioned that Whitney worked for one of the largest law firms in the country with several of the most impressive practice groups in the world, including their real estate, tax, intellectual property, and international law groups. Whitney was a member of the intellectual property group.

  “We’re going to Marge’s house tonight,” her grandmother said. “She’s asked your cousin to be her campaign manager. Now what do you think about that?”

  Sometimes it seemed like all her grandparents cared about were connections and appearances. Whitney did as much as she could to keep them happy, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

  “That’s great.” What was a good excuse to get off of the phone that didn’t seem too obvious?

  “Marge’s son still asks about you. All the time.”

  “Good,” she said. “We’re having a feast for Christmas dinner tonight. You should see the spread that Mom made. It’s incredible.”

  “How’s your mother?” Her grandmother asked in a clipped tone. It was clear that she felt obligated to ask the question. Jo didn’t have any warmer feelings for Whitney’s dad’s parents than they had for her.

  “She’s fine,” Whitney said. That was about all they would want to hear, so she left it at that.

  The way Jo put it, the only good thing she’d gotten out of the situation with Whitney’s father was Whitney. Whitney’s grandparents hadn’t wanted anything to do with Jo at first. Jo didn’t like the way they’d insinuated that she’d gotten pregnant on purpose to trap their son. They believed that Jo had ruined their son in the process. However, Whitney’s grandparents had wanted to get to know their grandchild after she was born. Jo was glad that Whitney had a relationship with her paternal grandparents even if Jo could barely stand them. Jo and Whitney’s grandparents were now civil to each other, but that was about it.

  “I’m glad she’s well,” her grandmother said before turning the conversation back to society talk.

  Whitney’s father had dropped out of college and left the country with some of his junkie friends. He and his friends had left for Mexico right before Whitney was born. Whitney or Jo would get a letter from him occasionally, but that was about it. As far as Whitney knew, his parents—her grandparents—never heard from him at al
l. Then again, they had kicked him out of their house and told him to never come back right before he left for Mexico. Their behavior seemed kind of harsh. They set high standards for their children and grandchildren—maybe a little too high—and they didn’t tolerate disappointment.

  But they were still her grandparents, and she knew they loved her. Despite everything, they meant well. In their own, short-sighted and vain way. As much as she resented her grandparents’ judgmental nature, she still wanted to make them proud. That was why she put up with them making her take her father’s spot. And why she put up with some of the outrageous things they said and did.

  Whitney listened to her grandparents subtly put down the Joneses and criticize Jo’s choices a little while longer before she told them she had to go. After that, she helped her mother and Aunt Brenda finish cooking while listening to Aunt Cheryl complain and tell them everything was burnt or bland. Aunt Janet gladly volunteered to keep the kids under control. She’d beat both Whitney and Aunt Brenda to volunteering for the job.

  By dinnertime, Whitney’s nerves were frayed from her aunt picking at her all day about finding a man, not spending enough on her Christmas present, and everything else she could think of.

  Then Cheryl started in on Aunt Brenda. “Where’d you say your so-called husband is?”

  Aunt Brenda pasted on a smile and her eyes flashed only a little. Whitney caught it only because she’d been looking for it. “Glen is spending a few hours with his ex-wife and his daughter. He’ll be back after dinner.”

  Cheryl snorted. “He left you here? On Christmas Day? To be with his ex-wife?”

  “He and Margaret are still good friends. Just like Jo and Quinton are.”

  “You better watch it.”

  “I think it’s good that they can still be friends,” Brenda said, her pleasant tone just as fake as her smile. “Some people let old wounds heal.”

  Aunt Cheryl raised her eyebrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jo stepped in. “Dinner is almost ready. Who’s going to help me get all this food on the table?”

  “Let’s do it,” Whitney said, reaching for a casserole dish.

  “Some people,” Aunt Cheryl said. She muttered the rest of whatever she had to say under her breath.

  Whitney looked over at Aunt Brenda, and they rolled their eyes.

  When Whitney walked past Aunt Cheryl, her aunt said, “Girl, you pick up some weight? You never gone catch a man if you don’t watch how heavy you get. Can’t keep eating Jo’s cooking all day. I don’t care how good it is.”

  Whitney laughed off the comment before continuing to the dining room with the casserole dish. She made a mental note to take an extra helping of everything on the table.

  * * *

  After Christmas dinner, they all went to the family room to sit and talk and have pie. Whitney was going to need something stronger than eggnog if Aunt Cheryl didn’t go home soon.

  Uncle Glen was back from visiting with his ex-wife and daughter. He’d told Whitney all about his little girl’s reactions to her presents.

  “How’s Christmas been here so far?” Glen asked.

  Both Whitney and Brenda looked at Cheryl and then back at him.

  He laughed and put his arms around Brenda, hugging her close. “She seems to be behaving herself better than she did last year.”

  “That doesn’t take much,” Aunt Brenda said. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his pale, bald head. “Yeah, well, you gotta take what you can get when it comes to her.”

  “True,” Whitney said. They laughed.

  Glen squeezed Brenda tightly. Whitney smiled across the room at Jo and Shorty standing in front of the fireplace with their arms wrapped around each other. Even if it took three tries, Jo said he was worth every try. That seemed to be true. They just seemed to fit, as if they should have always been together. The room was filled with love. For the most part.

  Aunt Cheryl had put on a Barry White Christmas CD and the soothing sounds of White’s baritone filled the air.

  “That’s right. Nobody knows what good Christmas music is around here. Especially him.” She nodded in the direction of Uncle Glen. “This the wrong Barry for you, Glen? You want us to put on some Barry Manilow? Do he even have a Christmas album?” She chuckled at her own bad joke. She was the only one laughing, though.

  “I like Barry Manilow. He has some great music,” Jo said.

  “I bet you do,” Aunt Cheryl sneered.

  “Are you trying to ruin everybody’s Christmas?” Jo said, tensing. “You can’t even take one night off from being rotten and nasty, can you?”

  “You know what I have to say about you and your mouth, Jo.” Aunt Cheryl sat back against her chair.

  “Hey, c’mon everybody. What happened to the Christmas cheer?” Glen forced a laugh.

  “I think we all know the answer to that,” Brenda said while staring down Cheryl.

  “Well, we need to get it back. How about some Christmas carols?” he said. He looked around the room.

  “Know any good ones about Scrooge?” Jo asked.

  Aunt Cheryl made a nasty crack about Glen’s singing voice.

  After that they sat around talking tensely about Christmas, trying to ignore Aunt Cheryl’s barbs for a while. When the doorbell rang, Whitney jumped up and beat everyone else to answer it, glad for the distraction; Aunt Cheryl was managing to kill all the Christmas cheer slowly but surely.

  Whitney pulled open the door to see Quinton standing there with his girlfriend, Dawn. He wore a battered leather jacket and she a shabby parka. She was bone thin and could never keep still. If only Quinton would leave Dawn at home. It didn’t seem right for her to be there, especially since there was a lot of suspicion she’d been the reason he’d left Jo.

  Quinton was Devon’s father. He and Jo had tried to remain friends and had succeeded for the most part.

  “Whitney! It’s good to see you.” Quinton threw his arms around her.

  “You, too, Quinton,” she said. He was okay on a surface level, but that was it. He’d never been reliable. At least he hadn’t been for Whitney’s mother.

  “Everybody in the family room?” Quinton stepped into the house. He took his girlfriend by the hand and led her in that direction.

  “Yeah.” Whitney closed the door and followed them.

  “Hey, Jones family. My, ain’t it good to see you? Jo, you looking good, girl.” Quinton interrupted all conversation, bringing everybody’s attention to him.

  There were scattered hellos and smiles around the room.

  “Quinton, Dawn, it’s good to see you two,” Jo said.

  “Something sure smells good. You made your usual feast, huh?” Quinton rubbed his stomach.

  Jo smiled. “Y’all eat yet?”

  “Not really.”

  Of course they hadn’t. Dawn didn’t cook, and Quinton sure wasn’t going to. Quinton should have to pay for a plate. That would be a good start on the back child support he owed Jo. Jo had a good heart. Sometimes, too good. Jo said the key to a good life was learning how to let things go. But there was a difference between letting things go and letting people walk all over you.

  Jo started across the floor. “I’ll make up a couple of plates for y’all.” She paused and turned to Whitney. “Honey, can you come help me?”

  “Sure, Mom.” Whitney followed her mother into the kitchen. She went over to the counter to pull out a couple of the paper plates they’d used earlier to make Christmas dinner dishes easier on themselves. She put two of the white plates with holly leaf borders down on the counter.

  Her mother rushed up to her, grabbing her elbow. “I forgot to get them a present. It must have slipped my mind. I double-checked my closet.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing under the tree. What am I going to do now?” Jo’s eyes were wide with worry.

  Whitney tapped the paper plates against the counter. “They didn’t get you anything. Don’t worry about
it.”

  “You know me. I have to worry about it.” Jo took the plates from her. “I always get everybody something even if it’s just a little trinket. I need you to run out and get a gift for them.”

  Whitney wasn’t going to object to escaping the house for a while, and she wanted to help her stressed-out mom. There was only one problem. “Where am I going to find a present this late at night on Christmas?”

  “The 7-11. I don’t know what, but they’ve got to have something in there. I don’t care what it is. Bring me anything. Anything halfway decent. And drop it in a gift bag. Don’t come back in here with a white plastic bag from 7-11.” Jo tried to drop a twenty in Whitney’s hand.

  Whitney shook her head and pulled her hand away. “I got it, Mom.”

  “Take this money, child.”

  “No,” she said. “This way, it can be from all of us.” She folded her mom’s fingers around the twenty. “I won’t come back without something. I promise.”

  “I know you won’t.” Jo patted her hand. “I can always count on you, baby.”

  Whitney walked to the hall closet to get her winter coat, wondering what in the world she would find at 7-11 that would make any kind of suitable Christmas present. It was a good thing she was the tenacious type.

  * * *

  Whitney was about to step onto the curb by the 7-11 when a man ran into her. Well, stumbled into her was more like it.

  “Hey, watch it…” Whitney’s voice trailed off when she caught sight of the most startling ice blue eyes she’d ever seen. Her breath was literally taken away from her when he put his hands out, spreading his fingers against the shoulders of her jacket—whether it was to steady himself or her, she wasn’t sure.