A Christmas Wish Read Free Page A

excitement of the long trip and of Janey meeting my parents finally taking its toll, it was decided we had best get Janey to bed. I retrieved the suitcases from the car and attempted to get Janey settled into her room. She’d gotten her second wind apparently, so busy was she looking at the old photographs my parents had hung on the walls.
    â€œIs that you, Brian?” Janey asked, pointing to a geeky teen posing for his high school graduation picture. I was seventeen. I looked twelve. When I told her it was, she laughed. “You look different now—better.” As I thanked her, she pointed to the other two similarly styled portraits that hung above mine, one of a dark-haired, handsome young man, the other a young woman with eyes that dominated the frame. Again, high school graduation pictures. “Who are they?” she asked.
    â€œWell, one is Rebecca; she’s my sister.”
    â€œShe’s pretty. And who’s the other guy? He doesn’t look so . . .”
    â€œGeeky? Like me?”
    â€œYeah,” she said, with an impish smile.
    Before answering her question, I stared at the photograph that was up for discussion, thought of the memories his rugged good looks inspired. For a second I looked around for the trophies and awards, the ribbons and framed citations that adorned his walls, and then remembered this was no longer his room. Not even the house he’d grown up in, any of us, actually. Suddenly I was surprised that the photos had been placed on the walls here, not packed away like other memories. I wondered how my parents had felt packing up the old house, saying good-bye to a room that had remained fixed in time. Then I answered.
    â€œThat’s my brother, Philip.”
    Our conversation was quickly interrupted as my mother came brushing through the doorway. She cleared her throat knowingly. Photographs were not something she wished to discuss. When she saw what little progress I’d made in getting Janey to sleep, she summarily tossed me out.
    â€œHonestly, what do you know about caring for little girls, Brian?”
    My mother liked to ask questions, but she seldom waited for answers. Tonight was one of those occasions, despite the fact I could have answered her with easy confidence. Because I knew a lot. Janey had helped me in figuring out the curious mind of a growing child, oh she had helped me plenty. But I let my mother enjoy her fussing over Janey, said my good nights, receiving back a huge hug from Janey and a polite smile from my mother, and finally retreated to the other guest room. And as I fought to find sleep that night, I hoped that tomorrow and in the coming weeks I would be able to reciprocate the feelings behind Janey’s warm hug. She was in a strange house, meeting strange people, and even though they were my relatives, being here couldn’t have been the easiest thing. And it was only the beginning of the holiday season. How much she would need me nearly scared me. How much I would need her terrified me.

C HAPTER 2
    We would be eight people for a four o’clock dinner, my mother informed us when we woke, and I didn’t relish the idea of just hanging around the house all day, watching her cook and my father read. Eight-year-old girls need far more stimulation. So did I. We were also asked by my mother in her not-so-unsubtle way to “not be underfoot.” Bundling up for the unseasonably cold November day, Janey and I escaped the house and spent a good portion of the morning touring the nearby historic district of Philadelphia, including the Liberty Bell and Constitution Hall, though most of the sites were understandably closed down for the holiday. Still, it gave us an opportunity to escape while preparations were made.
    â€œWho’s coming to dinner?” Janey asked me at one point.
    It was a good question. I hadn’t asked and my mother hadn’t offered.
    â€œGuess we’ll have to wait and find out.”
    Janey