The Christmas Secret by Donna VanLiere Page A

tired,” he said, shoving the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “That’s why I brought it in. Look!” He pointed to a corner of the living room where he had dragged our tiny four-foot tree from the deck shed. I sighed. “Mom, everyone has Christmas lights up. Even the Bat Lady has a tree in her front window. Can we decorate it?”
    I was defeated. He opened his mouth to say more but I cut him off. “Try doing some homework while I make dinner and then you can decorate some of it.” He dashed down the hallway and I walked to the end table by the sofa to make room for the tree.
    â€œMom, do you think Santa will bring me fairy wings so I can fly?” Haley asked.
    She was stalling. “I don’t know, babe. You need to start your homework.”
    â€œI hate homework,” she said, blowing out crumbs as she talked.
    â€œAll you have to do is practice writing a letter,” I said. “What is it today?
S
?”
    She folded her arms. “No. It’s
r
and I hate
r
. It’s too hard and nothing good starts with
r
.”
    I cleared the lamp and a picture from the table and set them on the floor. “Lots of good things start with
r
. Rain.”
    â€œI don’t like rain,” she said, finishing the cookie. “It gets me wet.”
    I spread the tablecloth over the end table and set the tree on top of it. It was a sad and pitiful little thing. “How about rabbit?”
    â€œI like rabbits,” she said, tearing open the bag of cookies.
    I took the bag from her and put it on the sofa. “Then think of rabbits as you practice your
r
’s.” She started to whine as I pulled and plumped each branch on the tree. “Don’t start whining, Haley. It never gets you anywhere. Go practice your
r
’s. You could have had them done by now.” Her shoulders deflated and she huffed away.
    â€œMom!” Zach yelled from his room. “I need help with this.”
    I sighed. Each evening was the same as I was torn in a dozen directions at once—dinner, cleaning, homework, laundry, bills, and tonight, decorating the Christmas tree. Iheard my name at least fifty times a night. I pulled a jar of spaghetti sauce from a cabinet and opened it. “Can it wait until after dinner?”
    â€œYou told me to do homework now.”
    â€œHold on,” I said, pouring the sauce into a pan. I began to fill another pan with water when someone knocked on the door. I turned the water off and walked out of the kitchen. I could see through the window at the top of the door that it was my landlord. I was late with December’s rent.
    â€œHi, Ed,” I said, opening the door. “I’m sorry I’m late with my check. I can get rent to you by the end of the week.”
    His face was blank and I knew something was wrong. “Christine, I’m sorry,” he said. I felt my heart sink and knew what was coming. “I’ve always been willing to work with you but you’ve only paid partial payments for the last four months.”
    I stepped outside so the kids couldn’t hear. “I know but I always catch up. You know I do.”
    He looked down at the sidewalk and pushed a pinecone out of the way with his foot. “At first you did and I worked with you as best I could. I’ve raised the rent on the other units eight months ago but kept yours the same. I know it’s tough to pay bills on your own but I have to pay the mortgage on these units and I just don’t see how you can catchup now.” He handed me a letter. “I’ll need you to be out by the end of January.” I couldn’t find enough air in my lungs to push out a word. “I’m sorry.”
    I watched him drive away and my legs felt heavy on the stairs. I had no idea how to pick them up and walk back into the house. For a fleeting moment I thought of calling my mother but let the thought pass. She wasn’t in the position to dole out