The Promise of Christmas

None of this was making sense to Leslie. “Cal wasn’t a snob,” she said.

“And he knew we weren’t, either,” Clara added. “We’ve always been an accepting bunch.”

“Different, how?” Kip asked from over by the window.

“Abby was African-American.” The shock of Jim’s words shot through Leslie, not because she cared about Abby’s race, but because her brother had always been so careful to behave conventionally. “The kids are biracial.”

“So?” Clara didn’t even blink. “They’re my grandchildren.”

She turned to Leslie then, grinning, tears in her eyes, her face pale. “I’m a grandma,” she said.

“Yes, you are,” Leslie told her, finding a smile for the woman she adored. Clara might not have protected Leslie in all the ways Leslie would’ve liked, but she’d been the best mother she could be. Leslie had never doubted that she was loved. Cared for. Supported.

“YOU SAID WAS.” Kip hadn’t yet found anything to smile about in the news they’d just been given. He needed facts.

And a night with a good woman. He didn’t need a five-year-old child. Didn’t know the first thing about raising children. Could hardly remember having been one himself.

Jim’s raised brow was his only response.

“You said this Abby woman was African-American. I’m assuming she didn’t have a racial transplant.”

He could feel both Sanderson women looking at him, but couldn’t meet their eyes. He could take care of them. But he couldn’t raise a little boy.

“Abby died shortly after Kayla was born.” Jim’s expression softened, his words low. “A gravel truck ran a red light. She died instantly.”

“So who’s watching the children?” Clara seemed to be handling the situation far better than he was. Leslie was completely still.

“A woman named Ada King. She was a friend of Abby’s mother, took Abby in when the mother died of cancer. Abby was only three. She’d been living with Abby since just before Jonathan was born. They owned a condominium in Westerville.”

It was a nice suburb, north of Columbus. Upper middle class.

“Did Cal live there, too?” Leslie sounded as though she couldn’t imagine her brother deserting his own kids.

Kip agreed with her. Cal cared. Maybe too much.

Jim shook his head. “From the little he told me, Abby wouldn’t agree to marry him, and wouldn’t let him live there. She’d had a hard life, needed her independence—and wasn’t willing to face society’s reactions to their union. She also said she wasn’t going to make her children’s lives harder by exposing them to the curious glances inherent in having parents from two different races. But I gather Calhoun spent a lot of time with them anyway. She and the kids were frequent visitors to his home in Gahanna as well.”

The room was warm, comfortable. The light blues in the upholstery and picture frames an easy contrast with the off-white walls. It was a room designed to put people at ease. To Kip it felt like prison. He sat back down.

“How old is Ada King?”

“Sixty-two.”

Still young enough to care for children. Kip nodded.

Clara leaned forward, both arms on the table in front of her. “Have you met her?”

Jim nodded. “She was at the funeral yesterday.”

Kip hadn’t seen a black woman there. “And the children?” Clara asked.

“They were there, too. In the back. Jonathan cried some. Kayla was asleep.”

“Oh, my God.” Leslie jolted beside him, and Kip wished he knew what she was thinking. Wondered if she felt anywhere near as trapped and inadequate as he did by the unexpected “gift” they’d both received.

“The poor little guy,” Leslie said. “First losing his mother, then his father…”

Kip’s entire body stiffened as unexpected, intense emotion grabbed hold of him. He’d just had a flashback, knew something about being a young boy, after all. He knew exactly how it felt, how utterly terrified he’d been when, a few days after his sixth birthday, they’d buried his mother.

“When can we see them?” Leslie and Clara asked almost simultaneously.

“Anytime you’d like, but there’s more that you should know first,” Jim said, his glasses back on his nose as he picked up some papers. “Calhoun left a generous sum of money for Ada, and with the rest he set up a trust for the kids.” He peered at Kip over the top of the wire frames. “Kip, you and Leslie are both named as trustees.”

The rope around Kip’s neck tightened, as he became responsible for more duties he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

Leslie glanced at him, her lips turned up in a tentative smile that failed to hide the panic in her eyes. Seeing her discomfort had an odd effect on him; it quieted his own sense of impending doom. He wasn’t alone here. Together he and Leslie would figure a way out.

“You said a temporary order could be issued immediately,” she said, her gaze back on the attorney. “Does that mean we could have immediate access to the kids?”

“It does.”

“What about Ada King?” The returning strength in Clara’s voice was a relief. “Does she know about us? About the will? Will she be resistant to our visit?”

Jim’s face broke into a grin for the first time since they’d entered the room. “Ada’s known about you all since the first time Abby brought Calhoun home. She knows about the will. Cal discussed it with her before he ever came to see me. After Abby died, Ada was willing to continue caring for the children as long as Calhoun was around to help. But I think that though she’s going to miss those children terribly, she’s relieved to know she won’t be raising them all by herself. I spoke with her the day after Cal’s accident. Kayla’s an active little thing and Ada’s getting old, can’t keep up. And she has a sister in Florida who’s invited Ada to share her retirement condo….”

Kip loosened the top button on the shirt that was sticking to his perspiring skin. Life just didn’t damn well work this way. A man didn’t get up in the morning, and find himself a parent three hours later. Raising children required knowledge he didn’t have. A man didn’t just take an orphan boy home with him and suddenly become equipped to father him.

“Can we have some time to think about this?” Leslie’s question brought a surge of cool relief. “Until tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Jim stood. “I have copies of the will for each of you. For obvious reasons Cal wanted its contents to remain undisclosed until now. Read it over and give me a call when you’re ready.”

Kip accepted his packet and escorted the women out into the cold Ohio day, Jim’s parting words ringing in his mind. Call when he was ready? He’d never be ready.

JONATHAN STOOD in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom, watching as Nana braided Kayla’s hair. Her fingers moved real fast over and under and on top and around, and the hair just went into place. He wasn’t ever going to be able to do that. ’Specially not with his little sister squirming the whole time.

“What’s gonna happen to us?” He kinda felt like throwing up as he waited for Nana’s answer. But he had to find out, didn’t he? If he was the only man now…

“I don’t know, child.”

He could see himself in the mirror. His face, which was just a boy face, was there. And his hair was boy hair, too, and Nana cut it a lot, so the red color that was like Daddy’s didn’t really show. His skin was always the same though he prayed till he fell asleep that he’d wake up with light skin like Kayla’s, instead of dark like Nana’s and Mama’s. The older kids at school weren’t going to call her zebra and skunk and white chocolate and swiss roll and salt and pepper and a bunch of other things he didn’t know what they meant.

“It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?”

“What’s that, boy?”

“Why they don’t wanna know me and Kayla? Because I’m black and they don’t want no half ’n half.”

Jonathan jumped back from the door when Nana dropped her comb and whirled at him. “Don’t you never say nothin’ like that again, boy, you hear me? Not ever.”