Finding Christmas. Gail Martin Gaymer
at her comment.
“I hadn’t really thought about that before,” she said.
Benjamin held his fork suspended in the air and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Greg was closer than a brother. It hurt.” He lowered the fork and set it on his plate. “But nothing like what you went through, Joanne. I felt lost on how to respond to you. I’d never known the kind of emptiness you had to deal with.”
“I thought you’d come home for another visit after the funeral. I was disappointed.” Disappointment had been her mainstay, she realized. Not only Benjamin, but her whole family had let her down.
He glanced away without speaking, looked back at her, taking a sip of water as he regarded her over the glass. “I wanted to. I wanted to be here more than I can ever explain, but…”
His voice faded, and she tried to read his expression. “But?”
“It didn’t seem right. You were a new widow, and I was a—”
“Friend. I considered you my friend, too, not just Greg’s.”
“You know you are, Joanne. You can’t think differently.”
“But I thought friends were supposed to be there when you needed them.” She heard the bitterness in her words and wished she could take them back, but she’d been hurt by so many people and hadn’t expected him to be one of them. “Benjamin, I’m sorry. Forget what I said. I’m having a pity-party here.”
“No apology necessary. You’re right. I let my own fears stop me.”
Fears? She didn’t know what to say.
“I was afraid people would talk.”
“Talk? I don’t understand.”
“About you and me. I worried about gossip—that Greg had been gone only a few weeks and his best friend was already hitting on his wife.”
She felt a flush crawl up her neckline. Hitting on his wife? She would never have thought that, and no one else would have, either. “You were nothing but a wonderful friend, Benjamin. Mandy loved you. Greg loved you and so did I.” She caught his look. “So do I,” she corrected. “I haven’t changed. You were always there for us. You even baby-sat Mandy once. Remember?”
A crooked grin brightened his face. “How could I forget? It was my first experience changing diapers.”
Joanne laughed, her body relaxing with the lighthearted feeling. “I didn’t know that.”
He set the glass back on the table. “I’m sorry about the past, Joanne. I’m here now, and maybe I can make it up to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, my dear friend.” This time she slid her hand over his. “I was just telling you my feelings. You’re here now, and I feel better knowing that. It’s been lonely. I miss them both so much.”
“I missed all of you.”
He turned his attention to his dinner while Joanne clung to his comment. Being missed felt good. Her family lived out of state, and while they’d been attentive for a short while, their lives had gone on, and they had healed, while Joanne still worked at it. She’d struggled with the resentment until she hardened her heart to them, just as her family seemed to have done to her.
She tore off a crusty hunk of bread and nibbled on the corner as she watched Benjamin devour the rare steak. The red juice ran onto his plate, making her think of her own life juices that had drained away for so long until she’d started to heal.
Her work had saved her. At Solutions, she delved into other people’s problems. It was easier than dealing with her own issues. She could hand over a well-tuned plan to a customer for developing a new company policy or rejuvenating a sluggish business and feel good about what she’d accomplished. She’d started to feel at least halfway alive again—until she heard Mandy’s cry in her head.
After Benjamin finished his dinner and Joanne maneuvered her food to appear as if she’d eaten, he suggested they leave. They spoke little on the ride home, and when they pulled into her driveway, Joanne didn’t want to part company.
“This is the best I’ve felt in a couple of weeks. Come in for coffee?”
He sat without moving, then turned off the ignition. “Sure. Why not?”
Benjamin followed her inside to the kitchen and slipped his jacket over the back of a chair. “So tell me what else is going on in your life. No dating…so what keeps you busy besides work?”
The question surprised her, and she edged around to face him, holding the canister of coffee. “Not much, but I’m doing okay. Really.” She returned to her task and spooned grounds into the basket, poured in the water and hit the brewing button. When she turned back, he stood behind her, so close she stopped breathing.
“You can’t fool me,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.
“I—I…” She didn’t want to talk about all the old feelings, and she tried to sum it up in a few words. “It’s hard being a widow, that’s all.”
“I’m sure it is. Life changed for you.”
His searching gaze made her uncomfortable.
“What about your family?” he asked. “Do you see them?”
Her stomach tightened. “No, not really. I went home for Christmas last year but it wasn’t the same. We’ve drifted. They all have their lives.” She stopped herself from saying self-centered lives. “I just don’t relate to them. They seem to avoid most topics as if they’re afraid to remind me I’ve lost a husband and child.”
His hands tightened against her shoulders and his palms warmed her skin through her sweater.
“People can’t handle others’ pain, Joanne. I guess you just have to forgive them.”
She tensed with his comment. Forgiving was something she couldn’t bring herself to do, and it wasn’t only about her parents. Joanne truly felt alone but she’d finally accepted it. She had her work and, lately, her church. Now Benjamin had come back into her life—a real friend. That was all she needed.
“I’m sure the voice bothers you.”
“I’m just jumpy. I’m not sleeping well, afraid I’ll hear the crying again. I can’t explain it, Benjamin. It’s a feeling. It’s hushed, but I sense it, and I don’t understand it.”
“It’s the anniversary, I suppose.”
He backed away and leaned against the counter.
“I know,” she said, watching the coffee drain into the pot. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out two cups, set them on the counter and, when the decaf had brewed, lifted the pot. As she poured, the telephone’s peal startled her. Hot coffee splashed onto her hand and over the counter, searing her skin, and she let out a cry.
“Careful,” Benjamin said, hurrying to her side.
She scooted past him and turned on the cold water, then shoved her hand beneath the tap while the ringing continued.
“Want me to get it?” Benjamin asked, glancing at the phone but seeming more concerned by her burn.
“Please.” She studied her throbbing red skin, as the cool water washed over it, and listened to Benjamin’s voice as he answered the telephone.
“It’s a woman from your office,” he said, holding the receiver out to her. “Do you want to call her back?”
“No. I’ll take it.” She grasped the phone, already guessing what the caller wanted. She listened, then said, “I’ll remember, Nita. Thanks.” Joanne glanced Benjamin’s way and felt an embarrassed grin grow on her face. “No, you didn’t interrupt anything. An old friend is visiting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She