The Christmas Note by Donna VanLiere

“What?”
    “Is Louanne my sister? Is she Ramona’s daughter?”
    “Louanne is Jake and Adele’s girl.”
    I’m not convinced. “Jake was one of Ramona’s men, right?”
    She laughs. “No! They worked together at the factory and Ramona tried every which way to get to him, but that man was married for keeps. Drove your mom nuts.”
    “How do you know nothing happened? Why do Louanne and I look so much alike?”
    “I don’t know! It’s just one of them weird things when strangers look alike.”
    I’m getting angry, disappointed, or frustrated; I can’t tell. “You know Ramona had two other kids, right?”
    “No, I never knew that. How do you know?”
    “She left a note, telling me. I thought maybe Louanne was my sister because you said something years ago and Ramona got angry.”
    “Bit my head off. I remember. She always was short-tempered. Wouldn’t talk to me for a year or more after that.”
    “Maybe she thought you found her out. Louanne could be my sister.”
    “No.” Her voice is soft. “It was a stupid thing of me to say. I was just teasing Ramona because I knew how much she wanted to get at Jake, and I thought it was so strange that Louanne and you looked so much alike, but she’s not your sister.”
    “She could be. She—”
    Kay cuts me off. “Jake and Adele moved to Florida when Louanne was ten. He never even met Ramona until Louanne was twelve or so and he started working at the factory.”
    Air is squeezed out of my lungs and I hold the phone limp in my hand, hoping for something to say. In a desperate way, I was hoping Louanne would be the end of my search.
    “I stay in touch with Jake and Adele,” Kay says. “I’ve seen pictures of Louanne over the years and now you don’t look anything alike. Isn’t that funny?” I don’t respond. “I’m sorry about your mom. There’ll never be another Ramona.”
    “Let’s hope,” I say.
    “Will you let me know if you find your siblings?”
    I tell her I will and hang up, worn-out from it all.
    *   *   *
     
    Josh is clocking in at Wilson’s as I’m getting off work. He’s so different from the other teenagers Wilson’s has hired every year around this time. He shows up several minutes before his scheduled time, and if he owns a cell phone, I’ve never seen it. One teenage girl texted as she sorted the mail until Mr. Wilson saw her one afternoon. Her mail room career ended that day. She was crushed.
    “Hi, Melissa,” he says, hanging his coat.
    “You’re in time for the shipment,” I say, grabbing the shipping manifest.
    “My grandma’s better, so I won’t be bolting out of here one day after all.” I’m ready to go but can tell he wants to tell me more so I wait. “She got out of the hospital, and my mom flew to New Mexico to bring her and Gramps to stay with us for a while.”
    I open the door so he doesn’t draw this conversation out. “That’s great. What was wrong with her?”
    “She had a mild heart attack. She blames all the German food she’s eaten all her life.” He sees that I’m ready to go and reaches for the shipment manifest. “See you around.”
    There’s something about the way his jaw clenches or his face turns solemn as he sets to work that is oddly familiar and I stop, looking at him. “Have a good one,” I say, letting the door close behind me. Something has always bugged me about Josh, but I can’t figure it out. In the end, he’ll put in his four weeks of holiday work and will have been just another kid who earned “i-something” money at Wilson’s.
    I take the stairs up to the break room to clock out and grab my coat and backpack out of my locker when a man stops me on the landing. “Excuse me,” he says. “I’m trying to find something for my wife without her knowing it.” He’s holding a navy blue sweater in one hand and a yellow one in the other. “She’s right over there with her mother.” He lifts one of the sweaters toward two women in the jewelry department.