The Christmas Promise(27)

“I’m so sorry, Gloria. I had no idea,” she said. I used a napkin to wipe my face and wadded it up in my hand. “And you’ve had no word from him…ever?”

“Nothing. We don’t know anything, but keep praying that something will get through to him.”

“But what if your prayers aren’t helping?” she asked.

I snapped my head up. “Of course they are!”

“But what if they aren’t?”

“What if they are?”

Her voice was soft. “But Matthew hasn’t come home.”

“It has to be his choice,” I said. “We’re not God’s pawns. We’re free to do whatever we want.” We were both quiet.

I disappeared into the living room and took an envelope from the branches of the Christmas tree, showing it to Miriam. “Twenty or so years ago we went to one of Andrew’s basketball games. They were playing a team from some little town in Georgia, a real depressed area, and the boys on the team were playing in jeans and shorts and anything they could get their hands on. You could tell they just didn’t believe in themselves and they played pitifully that night. At one time Walt said, ‘I wish I could buy those boys some uniforms.’ I didn’t say anything but I figured out where I could buy some uniforms, and at Christmas I put an envelope in the branches of the tree for Walt. It was his Christmas present and it read, ‘A gift of uniforms has been given to the Fighting Eagles in your name.’ I even included a picture of the team wearing their brand-new uniforms. Every year Walt and I tried to outdo each other with those envelopes in the branches.” I tapped the envelope in my palm. “This is the last one I put on the tree for him. It’s a promise that I’d never stop looking for Matthew.”

“Is that why you asked Erin to stay here? Is that why you rummage through bags of dirty clothes and clean filthy refrigerators?” I ran the envelope back and forth in my hand and felt tears rimming my eyes. She leaned onto the table, looking at me. “Gloria, do you blame yourself for his leaving?” I didn’t answer.

I stared down at the aged envelope and ran my finger across it. “My father used to say, ‘Find what breaks your heart and get busy.’ Just thinking that Matthew was out on the street broke my heart, and every time I looked at street people I’d feel it all over again and knew I had to do something to help. I’ve always prayed that someone, somewhere would do the same for Matt.”

“He has no idea you moved here?”

I crossed into the living room and placed the envelope back among the branches. “No,” I said. “But our relatives are still in our old town. He could find me through them.” I sat at the kitchen table and folded my hands under my chin. “I was so lonely in Georgia. All our kids were gone. My husband was gone, and it was that silence, that deafening silence of widowhood, that just about drove me crazy. Walt had a recliner, an ugly green plaid one that we’d had for years, and he sat in it for as long as he could. After he died I sat in that chair all the time, wanting to be close to him. I don’t think I got out of it the first eight months after he died. But then Stephanie called and said she was having a baby, so I got out of it. Then I got out of it the next day and the next and I thought, ‘What am I doing here?’ I kept thinking that Matthew would just come waltzing through the door, but that wasn’t going to happen and I knew it. So I either sold off or gave to the kids most of our things, hauled the recliner off to Goodwill, and moved up here to be close to my first grandchild. Life is stronger than death, and I knew I needed to kick death in the choppers and get back to living again. Grandchildren have a way of bringing us to our senses.”

She picked up her cup and held it in front of her. “And you keep the porch light on for Matthew,” she said. I nodded. “Well, don’t I feel foolish?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I don’t know anything, it seems. But if Lynn were still here he’d know. He always knew about people.”

“You know now,” I said.

“I have not been very kind, Gloria.”

“I have not been very kind, either, and I’m sorry for that. I even told people that your British accent was as real as the color of your hair.” She laughed and propped her elbows on the table. “It seems I can help a stranger in the street but I can’t help the stranger beside me.” I leaned back in my chair. “I took too much pride in my ability to read character.” I stopped. “In my inability, I should say.” I was anxious to change the subject. “Would you like to get married again?”