her throat behind me.
I turned to see Mabyn Booth with Shirley riding on her hip.
“Well . . .” I said. “Umm . . . Merry Christmas.” I was going to brazen this one out—I just wasn’t sure how. I knew I would not mention the punch bowl.
“You waited until the last minute, too, didn’t you?”
“There’s always something I need on Christmas Eve. What are you here for?”
“Shirley’s had a little cold. I’m picking up a prescription.” She smiled. “Plus tape, three more Christmas cards, ribbon, a small present for the little girl down the street because Shirley pulled her hair yesterday, and hard liquor. Oh, if they really had it, to help me get through Fern’s holiday dinner tonight.”
Shirley started to fuss, and Mabyn shushed her. Shirley fell silent.
Since I’d never seen Shirley take direction, I was impressed. “I’m buying a last-minute gift.”
“Someone you’re ambivalent about?” Mabyn nodded to the copy of Psycho in my hand.
I popped it back on the shelf, then I laughed because clearly, I’d been caught. “Ginger.”
“Oh, of course. If you’re deciding between that and the CD, I’d go with the movie.”
I had to probe. “You probably have some idea why I’m having a small lapse in Christmas spirit.”
“I had a bird’s-eye view of the entire incident in your dining room. To my mind your sister—what’s her name?”
“Sid.”
“Sid struck a blow for scorned women everywhere.”
I went limp. “I think you were the only one who saw it.”
“And you’re wondering if I’ve told everyone my version, aren’t you?”
“Crossed my mind.”
“Not to worry. I have a few relatives I’ve wanted to shove a time or two myself. If Fern tells me how to raise my daughter one more time, I’m going punch bowl shopping myself.”
Shirley fussed again and Mabyn switched her to the other hip, rummaged in her purse for a small stuffed toy, and handed it to her. Shirley quieted immediately.
Gratitude loosened my tongue. “This isn’t any of my business, but Shirley seems to do fine when you’re alone with her.”
Mabyn brightened. “You think?”
“I’m really impressed. When she’s at church or whenever Fern’s around—” I stopped myself. This was not an appropriate conversation.
“No, now you have to go on, Aggie.”
“Well . . . Shirley’s probably a little confused about who’s in charge. And kids love to pit grown-ups against each other. They figure it out quickly, or at least mine did.”
“I know you’re right, but I’m terrified of Fern. Howard is, too. We should never have left Cincinnati. Fern’s criticism is like sandpaper wearing us down. I used to be in public relations and advertising. I ate bullies for breakfast. But Fern?”
“She really loves Shirley.” I paused, considering my next words. “That can work to your advantage.”
“How?”
“Well, tugs-of-war aren’t good for children.” I really didn’t want to put ideas in her head or say more, but I hoped she understood what I hadn’t said.
“So if Fern realizes the conflict is hurting Shirley, she might stop?”
“With a little nudge.” I held up my hands, the wrapping paper still firmly clamped under my arm, just in case. “But you have to find your own way on this.”
“You haven’t said anything I didn’t know already.” She smiled. “But it does help that you think I’m doing okay with my daughter.”
“Better than okay. Don’t let anybody shake your confidence. You have a lot of years ahead as her mom.”
“I’ll think about this.”
“Thanks for keeping my secret.”
“And thanks for the advice.”
I wanted to tell Mabyn this wasn’t really advice, that I was just making an observation or two, and that most of all, I was not telling her to declare out-and-out war on her in-laws—who give generously to the church and are always looking for an excuse to clear out the parsonage.
But Mabyn and Shirley were swept away in the sea of
I turned to see Mabyn Booth with Shirley riding on her hip.
“Well . . .” I said. “Umm . . . Merry Christmas.” I was going to brazen this one out—I just wasn’t sure how. I knew I would not mention the punch bowl.
“You waited until the last minute, too, didn’t you?”
“There’s always something I need on Christmas Eve. What are you here for?”
“Shirley’s had a little cold. I’m picking up a prescription.” She smiled. “Plus tape, three more Christmas cards, ribbon, a small present for the little girl down the street because Shirley pulled her hair yesterday, and hard liquor. Oh, if they really had it, to help me get through Fern’s holiday dinner tonight.”
Shirley started to fuss, and Mabyn shushed her. Shirley fell silent.
Since I’d never seen Shirley take direction, I was impressed. “I’m buying a last-minute gift.”
“Someone you’re ambivalent about?” Mabyn nodded to the copy of Psycho in my hand.
I popped it back on the shelf, then I laughed because clearly, I’d been caught. “Ginger.”
“Oh, of course. If you’re deciding between that and the CD, I’d go with the movie.”
I had to probe. “You probably have some idea why I’m having a small lapse in Christmas spirit.”
“I had a bird’s-eye view of the entire incident in your dining room. To my mind your sister—what’s her name?”
“Sid.”
“Sid struck a blow for scorned women everywhere.”
I went limp. “I think you were the only one who saw it.”
“And you’re wondering if I’ve told everyone my version, aren’t you?”
“Crossed my mind.”
“Not to worry. I have a few relatives I’ve wanted to shove a time or two myself. If Fern tells me how to raise my daughter one more time, I’m going punch bowl shopping myself.”
Shirley fussed again and Mabyn switched her to the other hip, rummaged in her purse for a small stuffed toy, and handed it to her. Shirley quieted immediately.
Gratitude loosened my tongue. “This isn’t any of my business, but Shirley seems to do fine when you’re alone with her.”
Mabyn brightened. “You think?”
“I’m really impressed. When she’s at church or whenever Fern’s around—” I stopped myself. This was not an appropriate conversation.
“No, now you have to go on, Aggie.”
“Well . . . Shirley’s probably a little confused about who’s in charge. And kids love to pit grown-ups against each other. They figure it out quickly, or at least mine did.”
“I know you’re right, but I’m terrified of Fern. Howard is, too. We should never have left Cincinnati. Fern’s criticism is like sandpaper wearing us down. I used to be in public relations and advertising. I ate bullies for breakfast. But Fern?”
“She really loves Shirley.” I paused, considering my next words. “That can work to your advantage.”
“How?”
“Well, tugs-of-war aren’t good for children.” I really didn’t want to put ideas in her head or say more, but I hoped she understood what I hadn’t said.
“So if Fern realizes the conflict is hurting Shirley, she might stop?”
“With a little nudge.” I held up my hands, the wrapping paper still firmly clamped under my arm, just in case. “But you have to find your own way on this.”
“You haven’t said anything I didn’t know already.” She smiled. “But it does help that you think I’m doing okay with my daughter.”
“Better than okay. Don’t let anybody shake your confidence. You have a lot of years ahead as her mom.”
“I’ll think about this.”
“Thanks for keeping my secret.”
“And thanks for the advice.”
I wanted to tell Mabyn this wasn’t really advice, that I was just making an observation or two, and that most of all, I was not telling her to declare out-and-out war on her in-laws—who give generously to the church and are always looking for an excuse to clear out the parsonage.
But Mabyn and Shirley were swept away in the sea of
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