Page 39 of Intermission

“My stomach hurts. And I’ve got a really bad headache.”

I can’t stop the snort that escapes through my nose. I was still awake when Gretchen, smelling like the dumpster behind a smoky bar, stumbled into my bedroom by mistake at two-thirty this morning.

“How long will it take you to be presentable?” Dad glowers overthe top of his paper. “We need to leave in fifteen minutes, or we’ll be stuck sitting in the front row.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m sick. I cannot sit through two hours of off-key Christmas carols while some snot-nosed brat pretends to be the Virgin Mary.”

“Poor Gretchen,” I say. “And here you thought you’d already met your church quota for the season, what with all that time you spent worshipping at the porcelain altar this morning.”

“Shut up, Faith. Seriously, Mom.” Gretchen plops down in a chair. “I really don’t feel well.”

Dad’s eyebrows draw together. “Were you out drinking last night, Gretchen?”

“I was at a Christmas party. We had a few toasts. Nothing big.”

“You’re underage.”

Gretchen waves off Dad’s concerns. “I heard there’s a stomach bug going around. I think maybe I caught it.”

Mom’s lips press together. “Maybe we should stay home.”

“No,” Gretchen is quick to say. “I don’t want to ruin Christmas Eve for you guys. I’ll stay home. You three go.”

Mom moves to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Why don’t you go back upstairs, honey? I’ll bring you a glass of ginger ale and some soda crackers, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom.” But as soon as Mom turns her back, Gretchen gives me a feigned-innocence, eye-batting smile.

“Oh, right.” I roll my eyes. “There’s that mature college girl again.”

“Girls, please. It’s Christmas Eve.” Dad snatches his coffee cup and follows Mom into the kitchen. “So are we going to church tonight or not?” His voice is tense.

“You and Faith can go if you want, I guess.” Mom sounds resigned. Sad, even. “I’d better stay here with Gretchen. Make sure she’s okay.” A new soda bottle hisses open. “You could call your mother. Maybe she’d like to go with you.”

Did I hear that right? Did Mom just suggest we take Grandma Maddie to church in her place? I meet my sister’s eyes. “Whoa. Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Gretchen whispers back. “Whoa.”

We both lean in to better hear what’s going on in the kitchen.

“Gretchen is hung over. She doesn’t need a nursemaid.”

Score one for Dad.

“Thereisa stomach virus going around, and you know how contagious those are. What if she gets dehydrated?”

Score two for Mom.

“Dehydration is just as likely, if not more so, from over-indulgence of alcohol. If she can walk down here, she can get a glass of water and manage two hours without us.”

Yay, Dad!

“And risk spreading a virus to the whole church? That’s not right. She should stay home, but... I don’t want my little girl home alone on Christmas Eve. Especially if she’s under the weather.” Mom pauses. Her voice drops into a sadder pitch. “Families should be together on Christmas. Why should we be in a sanctuary filled with people we barely evenlikewhen someone weloveis at home, not only sick but alone?”

That’s it, then. We have a winner. Mom doesn’t want to go to Christmas Eve service any more than Gretchen does, but she doesn’t want us to go without her either. And she certainly doesn’t want us to pick spending the evening with Grandma Maddie overher.

I glance at my sister, who’s biting her lip, probably wondering the same thing I am: Will Dad pick up on Mom’s cues, or will he call Grandma and guarantee himself—all of us, really—an icy Christmas morning?

But for the quiet glug of soda crossing ice into a glass, the kitchen is silent.