♦
I follow Janelle into the condo she shares with her brother. She puts in the alarm password and moves through a large, open-plan space that consists of living and dining areas and a kitchen that flows from one room to the other.
“I’ll go pack a bag,” Janelle says, tossing her purse on the couch.
“Okay,” I say vaguely as I stare around the living room in slight shock.
Riggs has what I would stereotype as a typical bachelor pad. Heavy masculine furniture in neutral colors, and not a single piece of artwork on the walls. No photographs showing family. No knickknacks. A San Diego Renegades fleece blanket thrown over the back of the couch. A pair of tennis shoes kicked off haphazardly, one under the coffee table and one wedged under the recliner. An empty glass on the table and sports magazines strewn about.
To a woman who appreciates style and comfort in her surroundings, this living area looks like nothing more than a high-priced hotel room, lacking both character and depth.
None of this surprises me.
What does surprise me is the fact that there is not one single Christmas decoration, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve. You’d never know it from where I stand.
This would not bother me if it were only Riggs living here, but I know Janelle celebrates Christmas. Over the past few days, she’s gushed over all the in-store decorations, and we’ve talked about the fast-approaching holiday. She hummed holiday tunes while she worked, and the second day she came in, she wore a headband with reindeer antlers studded with Christmas ornaments hanging from each point.
I’ve learned enough about Janelle to know that she adores Christmas, that her favorite part is decorating the tree, and her least favorite is wrapping gifts.
While she’s been quiet about the specifics of the family she left behind when she came to live with Riggs, I’ve discovered through our conversations that while her upbringing seemed normal, clearly, their family was not on par with typical middle-class life.
For example, as we talked about Christmas, she told me growing up, there was only enough money to put up a cheap plastic tree and provide for a few gifts. But there wasn’t money for vacations or fancy clothes. She didn’t have to shop at thrift stores for what she needed, but her clothing came from discount stores.
“Of course,” she’d told me as she was running a feather duster over some Christmas figurines on a shelving unit, “when Riggs got drafted, he started sending money to my parents to buy stuff for me.”
That brought a smile to my face. But before I could utter a sigh over it, she added, “Not that the money he sent ever got spent on me.”
The inference was clear. Janelle didn’t benefit from Riggs’s generosity.
Normally, I’d never pry into something that obviously left bitter memories, but Janelle opened the door. I thought perhaps she might want to talk, so I gently poked, just a little.
I knew from Clarke that Riggs recently got custody of his sister, but not the reason why. I’m not sure anyone knows.
I asked an unobtrusive question first. “How come your last name is Adamik and Riggs’s is Nadeau?”
“Same mom, different dads,” she replied without hesitation.
The door was still open as far as I was concerned. “Do you miss your parents?”
“My dad died a few years ago,” she said, her tone a mix of some sadness but mostly disappointment. “I miss my mom sometimes. But not often.”
It was a lot of heavy information in a mere few words. I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t not ask a follow-up.
“Do you have a relationship with her?”
Janelle shook her head. “I call her sometimes. We talk. It’s a bit stilted.”
I had no clue of the circumstances that led to Janelle coming to live with Riggs, but based on what little I’d learned, I was relieved for her. “I’m glad you have your brother.”
Her shoulder lifted slightly, as if she wanted to shrug but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“You aren’t glad you’re here?” I pressed.
“I am,” she assured me. “It’s just… we’re still getting to know each other in a way.”
Janelle went on to explain that when she was five, Riggs left home to live with an uncle up in Minnesota. He finished high school there, went on to college, and then on to professional hockey.
“We didn’t see each other often, but he always called me, and when I got older, he bought me a phone so I could call him whenever I wanted. He did a summer vacation with me every year after turning pro. That was always fun.”
There was a story there, and I had a feeling that what little Janelle shared was only the barest of surface scratches. But I wasn’t going to ask anything more.
Based on what little she’d told me about her life, what shocks me about seeing a home with no evidence that Janelle lives here and no evidence that Christmas is important, is the fact that clearly something was bad back home, and Riggs brought her here for a better life.
So why in the hell can’t the man put up a damn Christmas tree for her?
Is it because she didn’t ask? Is it because he’s a man and can’t understand? Perhaps he doesn’t get she’s a teenager and instead views her more like an adult.
Whatever the reason, it’s an abomination.
Janelle bounds out of the back hallway with a suitcase trailing behind her. “Ready. I’m so excited about doing facials. I don’t know what one is exactly, but I’m here for it.”
We had decided that Janelle would stay with me, as I would feel more comfortable in my own home rather than sleeping at Riggs’s place. But now that I’ve seen Janelle’s home, a new idea forms.
“Change of plans,” I inform her, and she halts with wide eyes. “We’re going to stay here. But first, we’re going shopping for some Christmas decorations.”
For a moment, shadows flicker in her eyes, and I wonder if I’ve misjudged the entire situation. Maybe there are no Christmas decorations because she wants it that way. But as my doubt begins over my good intentions, Janelle’s face brightens and she exclaims, “Seriously? Like, right now?”
I nod, grinning at her infectious excitement. “Right now. Drop your suitcase and let’s go.”
Once we’re in my car, I make three phone calls. My former life as a Livingston has not left me much in the way of joy, but it has left me with very good contacts. The first call is to a florist that I used to decorate our home for social functions. In addition to selling flowers, she has a variety of plants and seasonal décor in her shop. Even though she will be closing soon, when I tell her what I need, she assures me she can handle it and promises to meet me back at the condo with the necessary implements in hand to make the place a winter wonderland.
The second call is to one of two personal shoppers I used while married to Jace. These shoppers were always available to get whatever I might not have time to handle myself. For the right amount of money—which I fortunately still have and am happy to use on something that will bring Janelle joy—I could get practically anything bought and delivered fairly quickly.
I instruct that shopper to find an eight-foot artificial tree with built-in lights and to make sure it’s a good one that looks realistic. My preference would be for a fresh tree and for us to string the lights ourselves, but time is of the essence. It’s early evening and we have to be efficient.