The Christmas Letters

CHAPTER ONE

The clouds look like mashed potatoes smeared across the early morning sky.

Tanner stands in front of the house, hands in his pockets, staring at the second floor bedroom window. The same window he climbed down on, at the age of fifteen, to go to a party his friends had told him about.

But the cops who brought him back home never cited him for underage drinking nor being out past curfew. They knew his parents were more than capable of doling out a punishment worse than the maximum sentence they could legally prescribe.

Is Uncle Danny awake? Molly asks. She’s the youngest of their three children.

Probably not, Tanner says, picking her up.

What’s he gonna do now that your Mom’s gone? asks his wife Kelsey.

He sighs. Not sure. Probably find some other place to bum around in while he ‘gets his degree.’ Even holding his nine-year-old daughter, he gestures air quotes with each hand. He turns to their sons, Evan and Kevin. Ready, guys?

Ready, they say simultaneously.

What if he isn’t awake? Kelsey asks.

He knew we were coming early, so whether he’s up or not doesn’t concern me.

It should, she says. She holds her hands up. I know, I know, he should’ve known this day would come. That’s why he agreed to be her caregiver. He really didn’t have much of a choice.

Oh, trust me, he had a choice. He mooched off her before, while he kept going to school, but these past four years he’s taken mooching to an all-time high.

They go inside, snapping on the lights.

Oh, my gosh, says Kelsey. Didn’t he bother to do anything after we left yesterday?

Tanner frowns. He sets down Molly, who runs over to the dining room table, still lined with food after yesterday’s funeral. The garbage can overflows with paper plates, plastic silverware, and foam cups.

Well, Kelsey says, I certainly know where to start. Boys, help me with all this food and the garbage. She turns to Tanner. None of this food is any good now. I’m tossing it all.

Go ahead, do what you gotta do, he says, heading towards the basement stairs. I’m gonna wake up Mr. Sleepyhead.

Be nice, she says.

Aren’t I always?

He’s been caring for her day-in and day-out for four long years. She crosses her arms. I know you were close to her and all, but what her and Danny had was probably something special.

Don’t worry, he says, gritting his teeth. I’ll be nice.

* * *

Not only are the dining room and kitchen the same as yesterday, Danny is too. Still dressed in his red polo shirt and tan khakis--like the Jake character from the State Farm commercials--Danny is sprawled out on his bed, the sheets in a ball on the floor.

Even his shoes are on.

Tanner is about to tell his youngest brother to get up when he notices something on top of his dresser.

Well, that certainly explains the weird smell I’ve been noticing lately.

As the Vice President of Sales and Marketing for an electronics contract manufacturing company headquartered in Bloomington, a suburb of the Twin Cities, Tanner doesn’t get much exposure to the ins and outs of the dope world. Oh, sure, he’s watched Breaking Bad and Narcos on Netflix, but that’s dramatic entertainment.

This is hard core reality.

On top of the dresser are piles of used needles, dirty spoons, lighters, and various baggies with white powder or pills inside. If Danny hadn’t been breathing heavy, he would’ve guessed him to be as dead as their Mom.

I wonder if she knew. She had to have smelled this stuff. Then again, with her mind, he could’ve told her it was just one of his high school chemistry experiments and she would’ve believed him. Oh, yeah, I wonder if he finished that degree too.

At thirty, Danny is the baby of the Wilkins family. Tanner is the middle child and Tara is the oldest. Tara is an ear, nose, and throat specialist for a major hospital in St. Louis. She flew in yesterday morning, two hours before the family service, and has a flight scheduled for five thirty this afternoon.

Tanner taps Danny on the shoulder. Wake up.

Danny barely stirs to his older brother’s touch.

Hey, Danny, wake up. Everyone’s here. We need to clean up, remember? Come on, get up.

Still no response.

Daddy? Molly calls out from the top of the stairs. Is Uncle Danny coming?

Tanner charges up to her. The last thing he wants her to see is her uncle like this, so he tells her Danny is sleeping for a bit longer and that they should leave him alone.

Then, just as he is about to turn off the lights and close the door, he breaks into a cold sweat.

We can’t let him have his share of the estate. He’s already pissed his life away, continuously going to school for Lord knows how many degrees and raking up over six figures in student loan debt. If he’s on drugs, he’ll piss all of that money away too. But he’s certainly old enough to make his own choices. I . . . I just don’t feel right about it.

Stay here, he says to Molly. I’ll be right back.

He takes pictures of the drug stash, along with the half-empty liquor bottles--there are three Jack Daniel’s, two Smirnoff, a Crown Royal, and a dozen more he doesn’t recognize. He contemplates sending them to Tara, but holds back.

He hears the front door open and Molly saying hi to Auntie Tara.

CHAPTER TWO

Kelsey opens the bedroom closet. What in the world are we going to do with all these?

Salvation Army, he says, without looking inside. He knows all too well the vast horde of clothes his mother owned. Over the past few years, he’s taken a few here and there, all without her knowledge, to lighten the workload that has now come upon them.

But, Tanner, Tara says, taking out a long mauve dress with frills along the bottom, this looks like new. We could make a fortune if we had an estate sale.

Are you gonna help out? he asks, already knowing the answer. Didn’t think so. If there’s something you want, take it. If it’s too much to pack in your luggage, we can ship it to you. But we’re donating the rest. End of story.

What are these, Daddy? Molly asks. She has a shoebox in her hands. Inside are envelopes full of letters.

My God. I almost forgot about those.

Take a look, he says. Read one.

She sets the box on the bare bed--the thick comforter is folded up in the back of their minivan. She takes one out. She sent this to herself, Daddy. Silly Grandma.

Kelsey and Tara are deep in the closet, removing armloads of dresses, blouses, and slacks. Tanner goes through her dresser--now thinking he got the short end by having to deal with his Mom’s underwear and bras.

Daddy, when did Grandma go to . . . Kenya and help build schools? asks Molly.

Tara stares over at him. Are those what I think they are? she asks, striding across the room towards them.

Yup. Her Christmas letters, he says.

Molly looks up at them. You mean, like what we send?

Not quite, Tanner says. Grandma got tired of all the bragging our friends and relatives were doing in their Christmas letters, what their kids were doing in sports, what awards they were winning, and all of the exotic places they were traveling to. She decided to do something different. She wrote letters about what we were going to do the next year. She always said, ‘It doesn’t matter what you did in the past. It matters what you do in the future.’

Take this school in Kenya, Tara says. Keep in mind, Grandma and Grandpa didn’t always have it so nice, like this. They worked hard to be able to do things. Grandpa worked as a cop for the city of Minneapolis and Grandma was a real estate agent.

What’s that?

She sold houses, he says. Anyway, Grandma and Grandpa read about the lack of education in places like Africa and thought they could help out. They found an organization who built schools, so they sent them a little money. They never flew to Kenya that year, and many of her Christmas letters had things they wouldn’t be able to do for quite some time. But that didn’t matter. She still wrote them down. Then, years later, they were able to do so. Financially speaking. The house was paid for and they had saved a lot. This was after Grandpa retired as a cop and helped her to sell real estate. They really started doing well then. But Grandma always said it was because of her Christmas letters.

Her Christmas letters became famous among friends and family, Tara says to Molly.

How so?

First of all, everyone wanted to know what your Dad and I and Danny were doing, but she always wrote about what we were going to do, not what we did. She even wrote once that we were going to Walt Disney World over Christmas the next year, and we were going to help out another family of five who was having medical problems. Everyone was astonished that she could make such a bold, specific prediction. But, as it happened, we met such a family of five in church. The father had a brain tumor and then they discovered their oldest daughter had leukemia. The doctors gave them permission to go on a family vacation to a fun, warm place, and Grandma and Grandpa paid for it all.

Molly dumps the letters onto the bed. Wow! Grandma and Grandpa were awesome!

As she sits to read the letters, Tara says to Tanner, God, I almost forgot about them. I can’t believe it.

She hadn’t been able to send any for the past seven or eight years. She wanted to, but it frustrated her that she couldn’t.

Their mother, Gladys, suffered through Alzheimer’s during the last stage of her life. Four years ago, after she nearly burned down the house for the second time, they had a tough choice: either put her in a nursing home or have an in-home caregiver. Danny then stepped right up and filled the role of the latter.

Their father, Ed, died right at the early stage of her dementia. The doctor said it was from natural causes, but they knew the stress of having to deal with Gladys’s failing memory greatly wore on him. Despite him dealing with a multitude of stressful situations as a cop, when it became personal, the wear and tear showed. It reminded them of pictures taken of United States Presidents at the beginning and end of their tenure. Their hair typically went from their natural state to a heavy gray or even white, and lines etched their faces from the constant stress.

Ed was no different. His hair grayed within six months and his eyes were droopy from lack of sleep.

Can we do this, Daddy? asks Molly.

Do what, sweetie?

Write Christmas letters like Grandma did. Can we, can we, please? Her wide smile warms his heart.

He reciprocates with a similar smile. She throws her arms around his neck.

Heavy footsteps ascend the stairs.

Dad, Evan says. Uncle Danny’s up.

CHAPTER THREE

Tanner grabs the remote from the side table. He turns off the TV.

Hey, I was watching that, says Danny.

Not today you’re not, Tanner says. He points towards the kitchen and dining room. We’re here to clean, remember?

Danny stares at the TV, slouching into the couch a little more.

Tanner snaps his fingers in front of his face. Come on, let’s get up and do this.

What for?

We have to get this place ready to sell and Tara has to get to the airport in about eight hours.

What do you mean? asks Danny, bloodshot eyes wide. He staggers up, bracing himself against the arm of the couch. Selling what?

Tanner glances back to see if anyone’s nearby, then says, You know darn well what I mean. We’ve discussed this before. Now that Mom’s passed, we have to sell the house. We can’t keep it.

Well, what the heck am I gonna do?

Find someplace else to live. Like you did before. Too bad none of our apartments are open.

But . . . but that’s not fair. You need to give me like thirty days notice.

What’s not fair, Tanner says, struggling to keep his voice low, is you not helping out. What’s not fair is you not cleaning up after everyone left last night when you said you would.

What do you mean? Danny asks. The food’s still okay. I put the potato salad and stuff in the fridge.

Tanner shakes his head. The food is exactly where we left it last night. We should’ve just ignored you and helped anyway.

Danny pushes past him, towards the kitchen. He then stops, staggers a little, and turns to face Tanner. Did you say we’re selling this?

We have to.

How much do you think we’ll get?

No idea, Tanner says. Since it was paid for and they had no debts, aside from any hospital bills, I’d say this house is worth three or four hundred grand.

Danny’s eyes grow wider than before.

Maybe more, Tanner says, instantly regretting it. As executor of the estate, he has no choice but to give Danny his fair share as stated in the will.

Unless I can prove having that much money is dangerous for him to possess. I’m not sure what he’s into downstairs.

But, first, Tanner says, "we need to clean. I have a moving van coming here soon, which is taking everything we don’t want to the Salvation Army. If there’s anything