Caroline drove down on Christmas Eve after making her last deliveries. They had arranged the dining table so they could see not only the living room fire but the Christmas tree. Though they sat down to a supper of Mariol?s good shrimp gumbo, a fresh salad, and Caroline?s pecan pie, Sammie was quiet and unresponsive. Only later, when she was given no choice but to share her bed with Grandma, had she snuggled down against Caroline.
Sammie was equally quiet Christmas morning, was slow getting up and dressing. Upstairs, even Mariol?s baked eggs and cheese grits failed to cheer her. She was far away with her daddy and Lee, the night still dark on the desert, the low moon brightening the pale sand.
Mariol had laid a fire on the hearth, its flames reflecting rainbows among the bright decorations. Sammie tried to be cheerful. She looked up into the tree, touched a few boxes, and smiled at the adults, but she was only pretending. The joy they had hoped would blossom this morning was a thin parody. They could only be there for her, love her, could only try to ease her worry.
When she opened her presents, the Little House books Becky had bought for her, and the new winter coat in a soft, cozy red that was Sammie?s favorite color, she pretended excitement. She tried the coat on and twirled around, smiling. She read the first pages of the first book, but her preoccupation and distress filled the room. Caroline had brought her a new bike, as Sammie had outgrown her small one. Anne and Mariol had chosen a small, carved chest from Anne?s attic that had been in the family since Anne was a child, and had filled it with new drawing pads, crayons, colored pencils, and a watercolor set. Sammie tore off the wrappings, pretending excitement. She straddled the bike with its red ribbon tied to the handlebars.But her spirit walked the lonely roads, slept cold on the rumbling trains. It was not until later that morning when all the gifts had been unwrapped that suddenly Sammie brightened.
Mariol was putting another log on the fire. The living room was a comfortable shambles of torn Christmas paper, scattered boxes and ribbon. As Mariol rose from the hearth, turning toward the tree, she went hushed and still.
At the base of the tree among tangles of paper the lower branches were moving, branches shifted and sprang back, though there was nothing there to disturb them. A shiny red bell began to swing but nothing had touched it. A golden ball twirled, the tinsel shivered, another branch bowed down as if with a heavy weight.
Mariol didn?t move, no one moved or spoke. Becky and Caroline remained intently watching as Sammie slipped toward the tree, reaching.
Anne, not moving from her chair, reached out involuntarily, just as Sammie was reaching; something within her was sharply stirred.
They watched Sammie kneel, holding out her arms, cuddling some invisible presence. The sleeve and collar of Sammie?s robe were pulled and stretched as if something unseen scrambled up, to push against her face.
?Christmas ghost,? Anne said softly.
They could see only joy in Sammie, bright pleasure as she stroked her invisible visitor. They watched for a long time, the four women silent and unmoving, Sammie hardly aware of them.
When she did look up, her face colored, she didn?t know how to explain what was happening, she didn?t want to explain.
Mariol said,?There were stories in my family, Cajun stories that ghosts will return on Christmas to be with their family, to share in the joy of the day. Ghosts of children usually, though often of family pets.? Mariol looked over at Anne, and they shared a comfortable smile. When Mariol turned away, Anne rose too; soon they all four left the room, left Sammie and her friend to themselves. Only then did the ghost cat make himself seen.
Dropping heavily into Sammie?s lap he reached a paw to her cheek. She held him tight and they sat for a long time beneath the bright tree, Sammie stroking, Misto snuggling and purring. And Sammie knew, wherever Daddy and Lee were, that this Christmas morning, for this moment, they were safe, they were all right.
TAKING THE THREE hundred dollars from his pocket, Lee handed it to Morgan. They were walking the dusty road, headed into Blythe.?If the feds spot me,? Lee said, ?you beat it out of there fast. Hop a ride to L.A. and go on with the plan. Find a lawyer you think you can trust, get settled with him, then turn yourself in to T.I. the way we laid it out.? He knew it would be easier for Morgan if they stayed together. LeeknewL.A. a bit, he could find his way around the city. If they made it out of Blythe together, maybe their luck would hold.
It was a long walk into Blythe, they?d left well before the sun was up, eating cold Spam and stale crackers as they strode along. By the time they entered town the sun was up, there was traffic on the street, the stores were opening. Lee pulled his hat brim low and scanned the street for anyone he knew, for Jake Ellson?s red truck or for Jake himself. When they neared the new bank, Morgan waited in a shop across the street, keeping watch for the law, for a cop or anyone in a suit who looked like a federal agent. The new bank, built after Lee had left Blythe, stood on the cleared site of the old, burned bank, next to the post office he had robbed. Entering the high-ceilinged lobby, Lee tailed onto the shortest line.
They had, before approaching the bank, turned down a side street where they could see several trucks parked behind the shops loaded with crated vegetables, and two refrigerator trucks.?Drivers are stoking up on breakfast,? Lee had said, ?before they head out.? Within ten minutes they had lined up a ride to L.A. Now, in line, he stood tense, ready to move out fast if Morgan slipped in to alert him. Sure as hell, the feds had talked with Lee?s PO and knew about his savings account.
Jake Ellson, his friend and boss, would have told them nothing. But his PO would be more than cooperative. Lee could see no back or side door leading out of the lobby, only the front, glass entry. As the man ahead of him finished and turned away counting a handful of bills, the heavy-jowled clerk watched Lee impatiently.?Next??
Lee pushed his bankbook across the counter.?Like to draw out my savings, close my account.?
The clerk looked Lee over, then thumbed open the savings book.?It?s been almost a year since the last entry.?
?Something wrong with that??
?No. Just that most folks have more activity in their accounts.?
?I?ve been traveling. Alaska. I?m in kind of a hurry, the wife?s waiting.?
The clerk started to say something more but changed his mind.?Excuse me for a moment.? When he left his window, disappearing into the back, Lee was ready to bolt, to get the hell out of there.
But his quick departure could blow it, if there was nothing wrong. He didn?t need a suspicious bank clerk nosing around. Waiting for the man to return, Lee began to fidget, glancing out the front window. When the clerk didn?t return, the patrons behind Lee pressed closer, annoyed at the delay. Beyond the big windows, a slowing movement caught Lee?s eye, and a police car slid into view, stopping at the curb. Lee forced himself to stay steady, but he was ready to move as one of the two officers got out.
When the officer headed away, down the street, Lee relaxed. The clerk was gone a long time. Some of the men behind Lee moved to another line. He watched the absent cop return carrying a paper bag and two paper cups sealed with paper lids. The cops were pulling away when the clerk did return.
?Sorry for the delay, Mr. Fontana. We?ve had a bookkeeping change, and what with the move and all .†.†. It took me a while to find your account and figure up the interest. The total is eight hundred and forty-two dollars. How would you like it??