Chapter Four: Christmas in the South

"Little Lotte!" Raoul exclaimed, recognizing her in an instant. "I was hoping that you'd be here."

Christine just stood there, her mouth slightly agape. How many years had it been? Nine, ten? And here he was, a page out of the past, smiling that sweet smile at her with those blue, blue eyes and calling her by her childhood nickname.

"I…hi," she said stupidly, then dropped her eyes to the ground and blushed. "I mean, it's nice to see you. How have you been?"

"That's a pretty tall question to ask someone after nine years, Lotte," he said laughingly. "But overall, pretty good."

"That's good."

"And you?" he pressed, taking a step closer to her as V wandered into the kitchen muttering about pineapples. "I heard that your father passed away. I'm sorry I wasn't able to come to the funeral. And I'm…I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she mumbled, wanting to talk about anything else but this with him. "It was a small funeral, just, you know, family…"

He sensed the tension in the air and quickly changed the subject. "And how has school been?"

Christine eased her way onto the plastic covered couch and Raoul followed suit. "Fine, I guess. Good. I'm doing alright. I'm a business and theater major."

He smiled. "Theater I can see, but business? That doesn't seem right for you, Lotte, you always had your head too far up in the clouds."

She blushed again, then berated herself for acting so silly in front of an old friend. "Well, I…it's what my father wanted for me. In case theater didn't work out."

"Ah."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked.

"What do you have?"

"…Tap water."

"Sure." He smiled at her, a little shyly. "That sounds great."

Sighing with slight relief, Christine made her way into the kitchen and searched for clean glasses, which she filled with lukewarm water from the tap. She felt so strange and awkward around Raoul. When they were kids they used to do everything together whenever she visited her aunt in the summertime: swim, fish, tag, wrestle. He had been so cute with his button nose, skinny legs and soft, vague French accent, but now he sat in the dilapidated living room, all grown up, handsome and, as he always was, obviously wealthy. And here she was: timid, nervous, dressed in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt and clutching warm tap water in her crazy aunt's faded old house.

Swallowing hard, she walked back into the living room and handed Raoul his glass. "It's warm," she apologized.

"Oh…well, I like it like that," he said, and gulped some down. She smiled slightly.

"So what are you doing now? Have you graduated?"

"Kind of…" He scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed. "I crammed my studies into three years so I could start helping my brother with the business. I thought it was the right thing to do, you know, 'be a man' and go out into the world to make money."

"And?"

"Well I'm doing it, but it's boring as hell." He laughed. "I hate it actually; it's all accounts and figures. I miss the freedom of college. I was insanely busy but the worst that would ever happen if I messed up would be a bad grade on an exam, you know?"

"It's still a lot of pressure," she said quietly.

"But hey, this is what I really wanted to talk to you about," Raoul said, placing his half-full glass on the table and leaning forward. "My brother and I are moving into new headquarters for a couple of months, maybe more. We're opening a new office—well, I should say Philippe is and I'm following him—but the point is that it's Philadelphia. That's where you go to school, isn't it?"

Christine nodded, surprised.

"Well, then, we should get together after Christmas vacation," he said, looking at her fondly. "If you want to."

"Sure, that would be great."

"And maybe we could do lunch or something before then. I have two more weeks of 'quality family time' in Louisiana left; you'd be saving me by getting me out of the house. So what do you think? Lunch? Sometime?"

Christine felt herself nodding, but her brain felt detached from her body. "Sure, I would love to."

Raoul beamed.

He left a few minutes later, all too soon for Christine, who felt lighthearted and young for the first time in months. As he walked away she watched him from the window, a slight smile on her face, before V called her into the kitchen and she was pulled back into the starkness of reality.

The first thing she did was go to the store. Christine piled her cart high with everything she could possibly imagine V to want, including toiletries, and paid out of her own pocket.

Then she set to cleaning the house. She threw open the windows and scrubbed the cabinets and floor, feeling like Cinderella as she washed and hummed under her breath. Then, when the house was livable and all the food was stacked neatly its proper places, she pulled open a decrepit cardboard box of Christmas decorations and filled the house with them, stringing lights around the windows and standing on tiptoe to hang mistletoe.

"What a beautiful job you've done!" V exclaimed as she shuffled into the kitchen to inspect Christine's handiwork. "Why, I don't even recognize the place!"

Christine wiped her forehead and smiled. "This house needed a little cheer, didn't it, V?"

"Oh yes."

Christine brushed her hands on the front of her jeans and took a deep breath. "V, I've been thinking…I think that you need to go see a doctor. I'm worried about you. I think that you need some medication, or something."

"Well, I did have medication."

Christine started. "What? What do you mean?"

"Here, look." V stood on tiptoe to grab something small off of the top of the refrigerator. "This was my last one."

Christine took the empty container and studied the label. The long title meant nothing to her, but the date on it was relatively recent. She glanced up.

"What do you mean, 'your last one'? What happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I think that they told me that my insurance wouldn't cover it anymore, and I just don't have enough money to pay for it myself."

Christine felt her skin grow cold. "And you just stopped taking it?"

"Well, I had none left. I wish I did though." She stared at the bottle, her brows knit thoughtfully together. "I felt so much better when I did."

Later that day, Christine called the doctor whose name she found on V's list of important numbers. The secretary put her on hold, and strains of soft classical music wafted tinnily out of the phone. She bit her lip as she waited, trying to decide what to do. How could she fix this? She didn't have enough money to pay for the medication herself, but V needed it and Christine couldn't just go back up to Pennsylvania and leave her here alone.

She jerked out of her reverie as the doctor picked up. "Hello, this is Doctor Stanford. This is Christine Danes? Elizabeth Valerius' niece?"

"Yes." Christine hated that her voice was shaking. "I'm worried about her. I heard that she's not receiving medication anymore?"

"Yes, under the revised terms of her insurance the medication was no longer covered. We were trying to help her find a new plan."

Christine wrinkled her brow in confusion. "What do you mean, 'we were trying to find a new plan'? Are you not anymore?"

There was a pause. "I'm sorry; I thought you were aware of the situation. Miss Danes, everything involving your aunt, including doctor's visits, medication, and if need be, a nursing home, has been paid for, just a few days ago."

"Excuse me? What do you mean? Who's paying for it?"

"It's an anonymous donation."

"Anonymous? Do you know how much money all of this will cost? How could someone just decide to pay for her? How would someone even know what she needs, what is wrong with her? I don't understand."

"I don't have those answers, Miss Danes. All I can tell you is that you don't have to worry about your aunt anymore."

"Thank you. Do you have any information at all about this benefactor?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Well, okay. Thanks again. Goodbye."

Slowly she hung up the phone, feeling numb. The strange events of the past few months began to weigh on her, filling the pit of her stomach with an unnamable emotion. Who was paying for this? Why would someone want to help? How did they even know about V? The questions spun around and around in her head.

"Is everything alright, dear?"

Christine glanced up at her Aunt, whose smiling eyes were vague, and let out a sigh. "Everything's okay, V. From now on, I think everything's going to be okay."

The next days went by peacefully and quickly. The only disappointment was the day Raoul called to say that he couldn't see her until after the holidays as his brother was keeping him swamped with work despite the Christmas season. But he insisted on seeing her right after Christmas, and sounded so genuine that she smiled and felt only a little sad.

Christmas day dawned cloudy and still, and as Christine and a healthier, medicated Valerius exchanged their few presents Christine felt calm and happy. She had one present not from V tucked under the tree, wrapped brightly with loops and swirls, from Raoul: a shining bracelet that glittered when the light hit it.

She blushed as she placed it on her wrist and admired it in the dim light. She didn't even want to think about what it cost, or what it implied from a man she hadn't seen for nine years. She just wanted to feel special and happy on Christmas and enjoy her gift.

V called out to her. "I think I see one more gift there, towards the back. We can't forget something."

Christine smiled as she got on her hands and knees to retrieve the darkly wrapped package. "Another? V, you shouldn't have."

"I didn't. That's not from me. Actually I don't know how it got there. I must have put it in with the others and forgotten about it."

Christine glanced up at V and then back down at the gift, the tiny, winding snake of unease moving painfully in her stomach. "If it's not from you, then who is it from?"

"Well, we won't know until you open it."

Christine studied the plain wrapping silently. On the bottom of the thin package her name was neatly typed. Carefully she tugged at the paper.

Inside was a manila envelope, and when she opened it sheets of paper slid into her lap.

'More music!'

It was another song, just as hauntingly beautiful as the first, and she knew instinctively that it was composed by the same person. She mentally played the first few bars: it was a minor chord, soft and devastatingly sad, but God, so heartbreakingly beautiful. Slowly Christine gathered the sheets and placed them on the floor before returning to inspect the envelope.

As she did one more piece of paper fell out, small and familiar with its knotted, handmade texture. She bit her lip, feeling her stomach tighten, and saw that her hand was shaking as she read the words in that same clumsy red handwriting.

'Since you enjoyed the last one so much.'

Christine let the paper fall from her hand as she clasped her palms to her mouth to stifle a gasp, her suspicions confirmed and her mind bewildered.

And the thread of nervousness grew.