hristmas GiftAmy Johnson had never felt less like celebrating Christmas in her whole life. Her body, mind and spirit were weary. The thought of the long drive up to Muskoka late in the afternoon of Christmas Eve when traffic would be at its worst, made her wish she hadn't promised to join her husband and daughter at the cottage for the holidays.
She heard the phone ringing from outside the house. Amy struggled with her keys and opened the back door. It slammed against the wall. Amy grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
"I’ve got your Christmas present,” Geoffrey said. “I'll be there in half an hour.”
Dirty puddles from Amy’s boots pooled on the kitchen floor and she wrinkled her nose. Later, when the water dried on the linoleum, the resulting salt stains would be there to remind her of her hurried life.
"I can't deal with this now, Geoffrey,” she said, “can’t it wait till after Christmas? I’ve got to get going. Michael and Joan have left for the cottage already.”
"Just as well! I don’t want to bump into them when I come to give my best girl a little holiday cheer.”
"There’s no time, Geoffrey! Give me your Christmas present on Tuesday when I get back to the office.”
"Sweetheart, no way this gift can be given at the office.”
"I’ll see you Tuesday, Geoffrey. Merry Christmas.”
She sighed. She had a pretty good idea of what his gift would be and she wouldn’t mind getting it. She’d like to see him but she had to be firm with herself.
Amy should have known that he wouldn’t be deterred so easily. Perhaps she had known for after her perfumed bath, she put on her white negligee instead of her red terry robe.
Annoyed as she was to hear the doorbell ring, and convinced that it would be one of the neighbours with a Christmas card, she was just the slightest bit hopeful that it might be Geoffrey. Amy put on her can’t talk, I’m in a dreadful hurry face, but her heart raced in anticipation and when she opened the door she was pleased that it was him.
"What will people say if they see you in that get-up?” Geoffrey said. “Better ask me in and shut the door before you catch your death of cold.”
Amy stood aside to let him in.
"I thought we’d decided to exchange presents in the office on Tuesday.”
"That’s what you decided, my dear, not me,” Geoffrey said.
He took off his coat, threw it over the back of a chair and gathered her into his arms. His kiss was hard, insistent. Amy pulled away. Her lips felt bruised and she touched her fingers to them, half expecting to find blood.
"Don’t think I could give you that present in the office,” Geoffrey said, “all those windows and no blinds? No way.”
"I’ll get your present,” Amy said, “it’s just a little gift.”
She went to the master bedroom and reached up to the closet shelf where she had hidden the token remembrance. She gasped as Geoffrey came up behind her and took her by the shoulders, spinning her round toward him. He slipped her negligee off her shoulders. It slithered down her body and she felt its soft satin coolness circle her ankles. She stood naked and vulnerable before him.
Amy shivered.
"My hands are cold, sorry,” Geoffrey said.
"Yes.”
But it was anticipation that made her tremble, not his icy hands. His jacket was rough against her breasts and the familiar aroma of his after-shave exploded in her nostrils.
"No, Geoffrey.”
Amy pushed him away, but her voice sounded unconvincing even to her own ears and he picked her up and laid her on the bed. Then, like flashing lights at a railway crossing warning of an oncoming train, images of making love to Michael in this very bed burst across her memory and triggered her conscience. Amy struggled to the edge of the bed, reached down for her negligee and covered herself with its flimsiness. She folded her arms across her chest.
"You don’t want my Christmas present?”
She looked at him, weakened for an instant, and then took a firm stand.
"I’ve got to go,” she said, “Michael and Joan are expecting me. And it’s going to take a lot longer than usual with this storm coming in.”
"Then call them and tell them that the weather’s making it impossible for you to get there,” he said. “We can spend Christmas here, together. You can open your present more than once.”
Amy was overcome with unexpected embarrassment.
"I have to go,” she said, “and what’s more, you have to go.”
After he’d gone, Amy’s mind was in a whirl. Geoffrey always did that to her. She tried to curb her thoughts of him and concentrate on packing the things she needed for her few days vacation.
Amy turned the keys in the ignition and glanced at the fuel gauge.
"Damn, I’ll have to get gas,” she said.
She pulled into the corner gas station, turned off the engine and got out of the car. The flags whipped straight out from their poles and Amy hunched into her coat collar for protection from the cold stinging rain. She read the directions on the gas pump, as she did every time she filled up, and held the nozzle in a tight grip. By the time she felt the familiar jerk that indicated the tank was full, her hand was numb and stiff.
"Merry Christmas,” the attendant said.
Amy put her receipt in her wallet.
"Merry Christmas.”
She pulled out into the heavy traffic on Black Creek Drive and turned up the car heater full blast. She took off her mitt and blew into her hand in an attempt to stop the tingling of her fingers. It was at times like these that she longed for the days when Michael had done so many small things for her to make her life easier.
Looking after the car for herself had been Amy’s first step towards her independence and she remembered the day they’d had the fight about it. Michael was the old-fashioned type, wanting to take charge of her, taking care of her he called it.
That was only the beginning. She looked for work and found a secretarial job in a pharmaceutical company. Amy didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Michael. On her first day of work, Amy bounced through the front door with her new-found energy and left her cramped home environment behind her on the doorstep.
The five years leading up to this decision had been a nightmare. First the shock of finding that Joan, their only daughter, had leukemia; then the long hospital stay; and then when they were at last able to take her home, Amy had the whole responsibility of Joan’s round-the-clock nursing care.
Michael went to work every day and left the stress and worry behind. The constant pressure had been on her. So when Joan went into remission two years ago, Amy needed to get out of the house and have her own life. Michael couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand.
After the first few weeks of verbal battles, there had been a silent truce between them. The silences were filled with what? Resentment? Hostility? What was it that lay between them, making it impossible for them to get the old love back into their lives? When she got the promotion to sales rep. Amy was delighted, but it had brought renewed open fighting at home. Amy didn’t understand Michael’s attitude. Why couldn’t she have the same kind of freedom that he had? Why was he always trying to rule her life? Things were different with Geoffrey Keyton.
But, after her promotion when Geoffrey became her boss, he insisted that she report to him daily; and when she was out of town he expected her to call him every evening from her hotel room. At first, she liked the attention this blonde, blue-eyed fellow gave her. It was obvious that he found her attractive, but sometimes she wished he would let her get on with her job.
"Is this really necessary now, Geoffrey?” she said, “I’ve been doing this job for six months; I think I can handle it on my own.”
"Do things my way, Amy,” he said. “I’ve been in this business a lot longer than you; consultation’s the key.”
One evening at the office, their consultation lasted longer than usual. Everyone else had gone home.
"I’d better be going,” Amy said, “it’s getting late. Your wife will be wondering where you are, too.”
Geoffrey stood up and looked deep into her eyes.
"There’s no wife, Amy. I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”
Amy tried to pull away from his kiss but he was a lot stronger than she was. In any case, the excitement and danger of the intimacy thrilled her and urged her on. She relaxed her shoulders and leaned her body into his.
"Amy, I need you so much.”
"I need you too.”
At that moment, the phone rang, its shrillness interrupting the mood. Amy sprang away from him as if the caller could see into the room by the very act of phoning.
Geoffrey swore and picked up the phone.
"Yes,” he said.
Geoffrey handed the receiver to Amy without a word.
"I’m on my way, Michael,” Amy said. “I’m sorry, I got held up.
After that, things had gone from poor to downright terrible at home, and she found herself ready to respond to Geoffrey’s advances.
Amy drove, now, on automatic pilot while she thought of all these things. The traffic wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be and her daydreams accompanied her all the way up Highway 400 and 11, like the reading of a Harlequin Romance on the CD player. She turned onto the narrow Grenville Road, not far from her destination, when the car hit a patch of black ice. Amy was unprepared; she put her foot down hard on the brake pedal. The car went out of control and careened into a snow bank.
* * *Amy woke to hear someone groaning. Joan must be sick, she thought. After a few minutes, she came out of her daze and realised that the groaning was hers.
"What’s happening? Where am I?”
Amy forced herself to think, and she put the pieces together with the speed of a six-year-old assembling an adult jigsaw puzzle. She was on her way to the cottage to be with Michael and Joan for the Christmas holiday. The last thing she remembered was driving along in the rain; now there was a blizzard surrounding her car as if she was in a snow globe. When had it started snowing?
She wished that steady, take-charge Michael was here now to look after her.
Amy, move your limbs.
Michael’s commanding voice sounded in her head as if he was right there with her. She tried to move her arms and legs.
"Okay, Michael,” it somehow comforted her to speak out loud, “I’m not paralysed. Now what?”
The engine was still running. Amy shifted into reverse. She revved the engine, and snow sprayed into the air around her whirring tires. Useless! She was on a deserted road and stuck in a snow bank. She might never see her family again. She might die right here, alone.
For the last several weeks, she’d been thinking about leaving her husband to start a new life with Geoffrey. Were these thoughts just a pleasant diversion from her troubles at home? Or did she really want that? It seemed like a fantasy now, something to fill her lonely hours and justify her betrayal of her marriage.
You’ve got to keep warm. Reach for the afghan. You did put it in the car didn’t you? I always told you to do that.
"Yes, Michael. I did, just like you always told me.”
Thank God she’d grabbed the blanket as she’d left the house.
Amy sat thinking warm thoughts about Michael and Joan at the cottage. The logs would be burning in the fireplace. The Christmas tree would be decorated. Michael and Joan would have done it together. Would they have put the angel on the top yet? That had always been Amy’s job. Would they have done it without her, thinking that she wasn’t coming?
What a fool she’d been these last few months. Michael and Joan used to be her world. Why had she been so ready to throw all that away? She had wanted her freedom and had hit out at her family as if they were the cause of her bondage. She could see, now, that it wasn’t true. Sometimes, it takes a tragedy to bring you to your senses.
She had bound herself by self-righteous duty. She thought she was giving them love, but she’d denied them that for some time. Love enables you to be free. She’d read that somewhere. Will they be able to forgive me, to love me again? Will they have the opportunity? Or is this the end for me, for us?
What about Geoffrey in all this, where does he fit in? Just a few short hours ago, she wanted to stay in the city and spend an uninterrupted Christmas with him. He was part of the whole package of her so-called freedom. She didn’t love him and he didn’t love her either. They’d been using each other.
It was all falling into place. Too bad she hadn’t taken time to think about the situation sooner; she’d been too busy enjoying her freedom.
Amy closed her eyes. She was tired and there was nothing to see except falling white flakes in the blackness. She had no idea of how much time had gone by since the accident but it must have been a while. The tingling she’d experienced in her hand after she filled the gas tank was nothing to the icy coldness going through her veins now. Amy let go of her surroundings and surrendered her body to sleep.
An hour or two of restless sleep later, a light appeared in the sky encompassing her and the car. Amy had read about the light and the tunnel that was part of the experience of dying and she yielded to its radiance, giving herself up to the angel who was guiding her to God. She said a brief prayer, asking God for forgiveness for her past and that he would take her directly to heaven. She closed her eyes again and relaxed into the Christmas light.
A loud banging interrupted her transportation.
Oh my God, it’s a policeman. It’s the local cop, Percy Wilcox. She wasn’t dead. She was being rescued.
He shovelled the snow from the car door but couldn’t open it despite all his effort. Now that Amy knew she was alive, her calmness abandoned her and panic took over. She began to cry.
"Help. Help. Please help me.”
Officer Wilcox gave a final mighty heave and the door gave way throwing him on to the snow behind him. He got up like a new-born foal struggling to get its footing. He moved to help her out of the car.
"It’s Mrs. Johnson isn’t it? Come along,” he said, “we’ve got to get you out of here. You chose a bad night to drive up. Your husband’ll be worrying about you, that’s for sure. How long have you been off the road like this?”
He talked on, not waiting for an answer, and she was too numb and stunned to give one. He gave her some coffee from his thermos and took a sip of it himself. The cruiser soon warmed up, erasing Jack Frost’s icy doodles from the windshield and slowing her body’s shivering to an occasional shudder.
"You’ve still got the same cottage haven’t you, Mrs. Johnson?” he asked. “Haven’t moved from that glorious lake front, have you?” “We’re still in the same place,” Amy said.
Everything seemed to be in slow motion and she found it difficult to speak.
"You just relax, then. I know where you’re at and it won’t take us long to get there.”
Amy closed her eyes. What kind of a reception would she get? Would Michael be glad to see her? Or would this be the last straw for him?
As they drove up the snow-covered driveway, Amy saw the anxious faces peering through the window. The curtain dropped back in its place and a few seconds later the front door opened.
Amy was close behind the big bulk of Officer Wilcox as they approached the cottage and she heard the anxiety in Michael’s voice. “What happened, Officer?”
The policeman stood aside and revealed Amy’s presence.
"You’ve got one very lucky lady here, sir,” he said. “If it’d been much longer before I came across the car, this story might not have had a happy ending.”
"Thank you, officer—will you come in?” Michael said.
"Gotta get going,” he said, “Merry Christmas."
Michael shut the door and Amy was enveloped in the warmth of the cottage. They looked at one another for a moment, each trying to read the other’s thoughts. She took off her coat and tried to hang it on a peg. The coat fell to the floor. Amy left it there; she didn’t have the energy to struggle with it. She didn’t know what to do next; she didn’t know what to say. She was like a stranger in her own land. She stood in the silence, her whole body tense, waiting for some clue to her family’s reception.
"Welcome home,” Michael said.
He took her by the hand and led her into the living room where a wood fire crackled its greeting. She looked over at the tree, decorated with the familiar ornaments, and glanced at the top. It was fresh and green and bare.
Joan slipped the Christmas angel into her mother’s hand.
"Go on, mom,” Joan said, “that’s your job.”
Amy walked to the tree. Her legs were less rubbery now; she was gaining strength in the love of her family. The tree’s fresh cut aroma encircled her and she reached up to place the angel at its pinnacle. The angel leaned to one side at a jaunty angle. They all laughed and the tension broke.
Joan gave her mother a hug.
"Merry Christmas, mom,” she said. “I’m off to bed, now. I’ll leave you and dad to talk and I’ll see you in the morning.”
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you.”
Amy turned to Michael, strong, dependable Michael. His eyes held so many questions.
"I love you, Michael,” Amy said.
His arms enfolded her. How could she have thought that this was bondage? His love was freedom. Amy relaxed into his arms, they could talk tomorrow. For now, she would just enjoy being where she belonged, home for Christmas.
© Judith Lawrence
