Yearbook Read online

  On Friday when Mr. Thomas passed out the school paper in English, he said, “I’d like everyone to take a minute to read the Poetry Corner. It’s particularly good this month.” Then, as he always does on paper day, he let us have a few minutes to read before class started.

  I pretended to be reading as I looked around. Not everyone was reading it, but some people were. I felt a more complex feeling than just feeling good—I felt proud and scared and I also felt interested and alive.

  I think I’m going to show the paper to my parents this evening. I think I might ask Mr. Thomas about writing for the newspaper. I wonder if he knew anything would come from what he wrote on my paper. I wonder how he found the time and energy to write on it when he is suffering so much.

  There are lots of questions to answer. One by one.

  Chapter 10

  December

  Anna Beckett

  If my twenty-year-old self could have looked sixty years into the future and seen me now at eighty, I wonder what she would have thought. My husband died young, or what I think of as young—sixty-five. That was fifteen years ago. Five years ago, I moved to Seattle to be near my son, my only child, whose marriage would soon end in divorce. When he moved to Portland, I stayed behind in a retirement home named Azure Bay to be near the grandchildren.

  What would I have thought of myself—an old woman, marooned from her friends and her life and the home that she built with her hands and her heart, watching the rain out the window and hoping for a visit from her family? Wondering how her son ended up alone and why marriages sometimes don’t work? Wondering what happened but not daring to ask?

  When I was younger, though, I didn’t have the gospel. Perhaps that should make more of a difference than I allow it to sometimes. Still, God bless those missionaries who knocked on our door. I think of them often, now that time has slowed down a little for me and I can look back over my life. The important things stand out and draw your eye to them.

  It is much like the Christmas tree in my room, which draws the eye of everyone who visits. My son, sheepish and smiling, brought it on his last visit. Azure Bay doesn’t allow real trees because of the fire hazard, but this one was a blue spruce and looked more real than most.

  “Is it all right?” he asked as he set it up. “I thought a blue spruce would be a good choice for you because it’s unusual. Plus it reminds me of the one we had in our yard when I was a kid.”

  I told him that it was fine, which it was, but I thought to myself that he certainly could have picked a smaller tree. He had had to leave soon after and we hadn’t decorated it, but it was growing on me in spite of myself. It was nice to have a seven-foot-high tree in my room, even without ornaments.

  It was fun to watch the nurses walk in and see it for the first time. “Oh my,” they’d say as they walked in the door, surprised at being confronted by a barrage of plastic needles. “How nice,” they inevitably decided, and though at first I was amused by their reaction, I gradually came to agree with them. It was a nice Christmas tree.

  A week later, I was sitting by my window, thinking, when my grandchildren Ethan and Andrea arrived, lugging a large box full of ornaments that their mother had sent for the tree. I was a little surprised to see Andrea. It had been some time since she visited. Usually, Ethan and Chloe, my youngest granddaughter, visit with their mother. Or their mother comes alone. I greeted them with enthusiasm and watched Andrea take in the tree with a glance.

  “Looks like we’d better get to work,” she said, and started unpacking ornaments with her characteristic brisk efficiency that borders on the abrupt.

  “Where should we start?” Ethan asked me, holding up a filigreed glass ball covered with gold. “I’m not very good at decorating.” His hand hovered near the tree. “It’s kind of hard to put the first ornament on because there’s so many places it can go. Grandma? Where do you want this one?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I felt a brief and temporary wash of homesickness for my old home where I knew exactly where and how to arrange everything. I knew where to place each ornament and every wreath. I knew to wind the pine garland around the banister and to place the fresh, homemade nutmeg eggnog and platters of cookies right on the entry table for anyone who came by to visit. “Andrea, where do you think this one should go?”

  Andrea took the ornament from Ethan and hung it on the tree, decisive as always.

  Ethan handed me an ornate blue glass ball. “This one is beautiful,” I said. “Did your mother send me all her best ornaments?” I still love my daughter-in-law and I know she still loves me. That is something to be grateful for, I told myself, something more important than having garlands on the banisters. I know that Christmas isn’t about the trappings, but sometimes I have to remind myself. Sometimes I want to remind other people too. For example, there was a ridiculous moment the other day when they brought a man dressed up as Santa around to see the residents. “I’m an elderly woman, not a child,” I told them, and shut the door politely but firmly. Growing old with dignity isn’t quite as easy as I’d hoped.

  “Actually, she did,” Ethan grinned. “She didn’t want Chloe to break them, and she thought they’d be safer with you.”

  Ornament by ornament, the tree began to take shape. I put on a CD of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing Christmas music, and I caught myself humming along to it as I watched my grandchildren decorate the tree. I even added some ornaments myself. Andrea found a pomander-type ornament that smelled like nutmeg, which I have always believed to be the perfect Christmas smell. Some of the ornaments from my old tree, the ones I’d given to my daughter-in-law when she first married my son, appeared from the box.

  We had a bad moment where we broke one of the newer ornaments, a beautiful one made of faceted glass. It acted like a prism and threw rainbows across the room. I was sure that it would be impossible to replace, but Ethan said he was fairly sure that had come from a glass store in the Bellevue Square mall. His mother had been excited to find it there on sale last year.

  “Why don’t we go and find one before she comes to visit and notices that one is missing?” I asked hopefully. “We could go over to the mall and pick it up.”

  To my surprise and excitement, Ethan agreed. “We can do that. I have to get Michaela a Christmas present, anyway.”

  “Why don’t you call your mother and let her know about our plans while I get ready?” I said. “It won’t take me but a minute. You’re coming too, aren’t you, Andrea?”

  She thought for a moment. “There’s some shopping I haven’t done yet.” I supposed that was an answer in the affirmative.

  I hurried—well, as much as I could hurry—to my closet. I found an outfit that I hoped wouldn’t be embarrassing: black pants, a white blouse, and a red cardigan sweater with matching red garnet earrings. They were my favorite earrings, brought by my husband from Italy, but they’ve been harder for me to put on lately.

  I went to the bathroom sink to freshen up and make sure the outfit looked nice. I was combing my hair but froze when I saw my reflection in the mirror.

  My smile was so hopeful and happy and my face was so old. I felt pathetic. I was acting as though I were going on a date. And the kids probably didn’t even want me to go with them. They were probably just being kind. I felt very small and was tempted to climb back into my rocking chair and tell them that I had changed my mind after all.

  “Grandma!” Ethan knocked on the door. “We’re ready! Where are your keys? I’ll go get your car.” I opened the door and handed him the keys from my purse. He took off. I don’t drive much anymore so the grandkids are often the ones who chauffeur me around. It is another way things have changed.

  “Let’s go wait in front for him,” said Andrea. We walked slowly together down the hall and out the front door. “You look pretty,” she said. “I remember that sweater. I wanted to get one that color, but I never could match it. It’s such a perfect shade of red.” It was the kindest, most personal thing I’d heard her say
in a long time.

  Do grandchildren know how much power they have? They can make us feel wonderful or terrible, depending on what they say and do, without even thinking. I suppose it is only fair. I’m sure I had the same power over them when they were small. We are all vulnerable at different times in our lives.

  We climbed in the car together, Ethan and me in the front and Andrea in the back. I saw Andrea send Ethan a glance in the rearview mirror as we pulled away from the curb. Consequently, I think Ethan drove much more carefully than he usually does. He also parked very carefully, without swinging suddenly into a parking spot the way I’ve seen him do before. It was thoughtful of him but unnecessary. I still enjoy a good burst of speed and a bit of excitement on occasion.

  The moment we stepped into the mall, though, I knew I’d made a mistake. It was chaos, and chaos of the very worst kind: too many people moving too quickly and talking too loudly. People everywhere were doing their last-minute Christmas shopping. There were screaming children and frustrated mothers. There were men looking for the perfect gift for their wives. There were men looking for any gift for their wives. And most of all there were teenagers.

  I stopped in my tracks in the doorway of the big department store. Traffic flowed around me—a little old lady in the middle of the real world.

  I felt Andrea link her arm through mine. “Don’t want to lose you,” she said.

  Ethan emerged on my other side. “I think the shop where Mom found that ornament is right over here.”

  I took a deep breath and it seemed as though everything would be fine after all. I reminded myself that I had delivered speeches to crowds bigger than this one. We swam through the crowd to the glass shop.

  Once we’d purchased a replacement ornament, we went to a toy store so Andrea could find something for Chloe. “The more pink it is and the more plastic involved, the more she’ll like it,” Andrea said, finding something that did indeed meet those requirements.

  Next was the search for something for Ethan’s girlfriend. It was quite an endeavor. I’d forgotten how tiring shopping can be. I was giving all the grandchildren money this year, which seemed a bit impersonal but their mother said it was what they’d want.

  At one of the stores selling athletic equipment, Ethan saw a young man working at the counter that he seemed to know. He and Ethan nodded at each other. “Are you two friends?” I asked Ethan as he hunted for a present for his girlfriend. I didn’t think he would find anything here. Why was he buying her clothes? All these clothes looked to my eyes to be athletic and unfeminine. He held up a gray hooded sweatshirt. Could he really be serious?

  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “He’s in our ward and on the track team. He’s a really funny guy. I think he has a crush on Andrea.”

  “That’s what you think,” Andrea said. “Let’s get out of here. I’m sure we can find Michaela something else.”

  Ethan hung the sweatshirt back up and we wandered out of the store. Andrea pointedly did not look at the boy behind the counter as we left, even though he tried to catch her eye and smile at her. Boys are always trying to catch Andrea’s eye. She is stunning.

  “Would you two like some lunch?” I asked. “My treat, of course.”

  “Sure,” Ethan said. I knew I could count on his desire for free food to overcome any fears he had about being seen with his grandmother. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Do they still have that little place at the end of the mall? The one where you can sit down and there are plants and music and those comfortable booths?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but it’s kind of expensive, Grandma. We could get a hot dog or something if you’d rather.”

  “No, no,” I said hastily. “What else would I want to spend my money on besides my grandchildren?’

  I was relieved when we slid into the booths and I could rest my feet. I was having a remarkable time being out with my grandchildren in their brightly colored world but, like any tourist, I was overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and needed a rest.

  The restaurant had round glass vases like bubbles on the table with evergreen branches and cranberries in them. They made the table smell festive and wonderful. I breathed in deeply. I caught Andrea looking at me with a worried glance. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or touched that she was looking out for me. Andrea, who had burst into tears at the sight of Pluto at Disneyland and who had sobbed into my shirt and clung to me, was worried about me! Things have changed.

  Lunch was delicious. It felt a bit decadent to eat something that didn’t come from Azure Bay. We had a good time talking about our past trips to Disneyland. Ethan ate so much so quickly. I forget how teenage boys are. I could tell he was frustrated that he still hadn’t found something for Michaela.

  After the plates had been cleared, Ethan said, “I’m going to go look for a CD for her. Is that okay? I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  Andrea stayed with me. We decided to share a piece of strawberry cheesecake for dessert. I was grateful for the added reprieve of a few extra minutes. We’d only been out for about two hours, but my bones felt fragile and I had had to walk more slowly than I wanted.

  “So,” I said, “what was wrong with the young man in the store? He seemed to want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, Grandma, it’s not really a big deal,” she said.

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” Andrea acts like she’s tough as nails, but I know that part of her is still the trusting, happy, little girl who found the world to be a wonderful place. The divorce, and everything connected to it, have made her afraid to be that person.

  “He helped me out once and it’s been awkward ever since. I feel like I should thank him but I don’t really know how. That’s all.” She scooped her long auburn hair out of the way of her straw and took a drink.

  The waitress slid the cheesecake and two plates, two forks, and a knife in front of us. Andrea reached for them. “I’ll split this up,” she said. I watched as she scored the cheesecake with her knife exactly down the middle before she cut it. She even bisected the strawberry on the top precisely in the center.

  “You could write him a thank-you note,” I offered. The look Andrea gave me as she passed me my plate made me feel instantly both ancient and chagrined. “I guess that’s an archaic idea. I’m so old that I still think of things that way. But there are few things as pleasant as knowing that you’ve done something good for someone else, note or not. If he knows he helped you out, then he shouldn’t need a note.”

  Andrea turned and looked at me with the full intensity of her gaze. She reminds me so very much of her father when she does that. “Actually, I don’t know that he does. I never really thanked him or acted grateful.”

  Her directness startled me. “Oh,” I said. “You know, there was a very kind nurse in the hospital who taught me how to care for a baby after your father was born. My mother had died and I didn’t know anything about babies. That nurse helped me with nursing and with baby care every step of the way. But I never truly thanked her. She wasn’t there when we checked out of the hospital and I never went back or sent a note. I should have. I think I didn’t want to do it because I felt so vulnerable and she had seen me in that position.”

  “That’s probably why I haven’t, either.” Andrea looked fierce. “I hate feeling vulnerable.”

  “We all do, but I think you and I hate it more than most,” I said, laughing. “That’s one of the reasons I never went on a mission with your grandfather. He always wanted to go and I always put him off with excuses about wanting to be near our family. It was true. I wanted very much to be near my grandchildren. But one of the real reasons, and one I didn’t even acknowledge to myself until years later, was that I was scared. I was scared to put myself and my beliefs on the line and go through the pain of rejection. I didn’t want to admit to your grandfather that I was scared, because he’d always called me his ‘tough cookie.’ I should have told him. He would have helped me through and we would have been stro
nger because of it. It’s one of the things I regret most.” I pulled out a handkerchief and blotted at my eyes, a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Andrea. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I haven’t told anyone before. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

  Andrea gripped my hand. “I don’t think less of you. You know I have doubts about the Church. Sometimes it’s good to know that other people have weaknesses too.” She looked at me quizzically. “You know it’s true, though, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “I do, Andrea. I put the Lord’s promise in Moroni to the test when the missionaries knocked on my door years ago. I do know. But I have been selfish in not sharing my testimony as often as I should.”

  “Maybe I should read the Book of Mormon again. It’s been a long time. That promise in Moroni has always seemed a little like a sales pitch to me, though. You know, ‘If you believe, then you’ll get your answer that it’s true.’ Do you really think that promise works?”

  “If you have a pure heart, and pray with real intent, then yes. It’s much more than a sales pitch, Andrea.” I looked closely at her. “We are a lot alike, Andrea. We both have to study and research and analyze everything. I think that’s very important in life. I know that it will help you gain a knowledge of the Church because I know you won’t believe something you haven’t bothered to study and ponder. But I also know that there comes a time when you have to allow faith to take your study and prayer and turn it into a testimony. That was a hard step for me because it meant letting something happen that was out of my control.”