Christmas Karma

By Gerald Everett Jones

From the acclaimed author of 2020 Independent Press Awards Distinguished Favorites Clifford's Spiral and Preacher Finds a Corpse. Christmas Karma is author Gerald Everett Jones's homage to Anne Tyler, whom he regards as his literary mother. It's about the travails of a dysfunctional family around the holidays, narrated by an angel who has a wicked sense of humor. Main character Willa Nawicki is bewildered by a series of curious karmic events that literally ring her doorbell during the frantic season, awakening years-old resentments and stimulating ever-more-intense personal confrontations. These bizarre visitations include a grizzled old man claiming to be her father, who has been missing for some thirty years but now says the title to the family home is in his name - and now he wants the place back. As the angel observes, "The surest way to invoke the laughter of the universe is to make plans, particularly devious ones."

• Language: English
• Publisher: LaPuerta Books and Media
• Release date: Sep 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780985622770

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Willa Nawicki did not think she was a bad mother. Nor did she think she was an ungrateful or inattentive daughter. But she was afraid you would think so. Not necessarily you personally, but anyone who didn’t know her and attended to her story. If you learned just the facts and not the mitigating circumstances, she worried you might judge her harshly. And, although she seriously doubted there could be anything like an afterlife, if it turned out that she would indeed be judged there, she was worried it might not go well for her.

But she’s not telling her story here. I am. And who am I? That’s difficult to explain, but no need to be coy.

I live – rather, I exist – in that next life.

It’s not what people think of as heaven so much as a place in between. Now, I’m no angel (I certainly wasn’t when I lived as you do), but that notion is close enough. You might say, as an adult might explain to a curious child, that I’m Willa’s guardian angel. To someone who takes a more earthly view, I’d say I’m her sage self, a wiser part of her who lives in the future in another dimension but witnesses and participates in the here and now. Here being Pasadena and now being the advent of a Christmas season in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

Oh, and to be clear, just because I describe my situation as in-between, I don’t mean to imply, much less promise, the existence of a heaven. Like you, I haven’t been there, and I have no more information than you do about it. But you might take as evidence, as I do, that the reality of my influence on the Earth-plane is a strong suggestion that there is at least one other dimension besides yours – that is, the one I’m in. I suppose the crucial question is whether there exist other dimensions, which neither of us has yet experienced.

No need to get technical here, but I don’t have much in the way of supernatural powers. However, from my dimension, I can observe events along the flow of time – see through walls, even. I can read thoughts, not just Willa’s, as if they were spoken. I can glimpse more of the future than you are able to guess, but not too much more. And I can mine the past in meticulous detail. However, since I don’t have a body on the physical plane, I can’t take action. I can’t move so much as a saucer under a teacup. The most I can do is advise. And much of the time, my advice is either not heard or is ignored. Quite often, it’s misinterpreted. Then there’s a mess I must try to get a living human like you to help me clean up.

Another way you might think of me – I’m Willa’s karma administrator. Who gave me that job? Hey, enough with the questions. You should get it already that I’m not all-knowing.

And who are you? Honestly, I have no idea. As I write this (more precisely, as I advise the author to write this), I can’t predict who, if anyone, will pick it up and invest the necessary attention span. But I do know, if you continue to read, it’s because you were drawn here at a particular time in your own earthly life, at exactly the point at which something contained in these pages will prove valuable to you – or perhaps, just amusing.

Mind you, I’m not making claims or promises here. I can’t tell you what that engaging tidbit will be. You will be the one to discover it, and it may have value only to you. You might not even know you’ve found it, until sometime later when you find it of use. Someone else might take in the same words, ignore or miss the gist, and put the book down. And to that I say, so much the worse for you if you can’t take a joke.

It was not by coincidence that Willa was having dark thoughts. All the lights in her house were off, the shades were drawn, and the sun was going down. She was dressed for housework, but she hadn’t done any. She was sitting in a chair in her kitchen, next to a basket of clothes she’d intended to fold, sort, and put away. She was staring at the phone in her lap, and every now and then she’d scroll through emails and messages. But she was sure the message she was waiting for wasn’t there, and, what’s more, she wouldn’t want to see it if it were. She had the ringer silenced, and she saw there had been several voicemails from Bobbi over the past few hours. But she wouldn’t know what to say to her daughter unless that other message appeared, which she truly hoped it wouldn’t.

At Willa’s feet, Rufus, the family’s aging black-Lab mix, was snoring and blubbering softly. One more reason not to get on the phone – an old dog needs his sleep.

While Willa was staring at her phone in her darkened house, the first of her drop-in Christmas visitors was hurtling toward her. Bobbi was driving her battered Nissan Sentra at near-freeway speed on surface streets. It wasn’t that she was in a panic or even in a hurry. She always drove that way, with Euro-techno up full blast in her earbuds, the car stereo system having shorted out years ago, before Bobbi even owned the car.

Bobbi wasn’t eager to see her mother. But she was trying to make an effort, a renewed effort, to at least check in every now and then. Earlier that day, when she was still at work, she’d phoned a few times. She hoped getting a return call would be enough contact for the time being, but no such luck. After the third try, it was clear to her that a drive-by would be necessary. She intended to keep it light and quick, just a touch-base, and perhaps after so doing she might be off the hook until Christmas. Perhaps not even then, if Willa and Norm planned to be out of town. She kind of hoped they would be. Who needed a big sit-down? It would be uncomfortable, and the things that had to be left unsaid weighed more heavily on all of them than if someone had just blurted them out. Maybe, if her parents went away and they all could skip the whole holiday-dinner thing, she could hint to Buzz to take her someplace. He’d have his kids, but probably they’d be spending some, if not most, of Christmas break with their mother. Bobbi wouldn’t want to keep him from seeing them, but wouldn’t it only be fair if she and her boyfriend could get a couple of days away to themselves? She wasn’t sure where it was going with him, or if their hookup would ever go any further than it had already, but staring at each other in the store day after day wasn’t exactly quality time, let alone intimacy. Buzz wasn’t the expressive type, but she didn’t mind that about him. In fact, she preferred him that way. She was her own person, after all, and she didn’t need to be possessed or even cared for all that much. She just wanted somebody in her life, somebody male and considerably bigger than her petite self, somebody who wanted to be with her more often than not. Somebody who could listen and not judge. Somebody who could form words and have an opinion, but who could just as easily issue no more than a grunt when it would suffice. So far, Buzz was a fit, or close enough.

The daylight was fading on the tree-lined street of her childhood home when Bobbi pulled up to the house. It was the house in which she’d grown from rug-rat to teen, one of those Craftsman-style bungalows so typical of a bygone era of Pasadena mainstream middleclass family life. By now, the neighborhood had long since gentrified up into the million-plus aristo price range. New owners were junior hedge-fund managers and soap actresses who had season contracts and kids but couldn’t quite afford private schools and who’d therefore relocated for an at-least-decent public school system. The city wouldn’t let you tear down and build a new mansion on these small, single-parcel lots, but if you kept some of the old structure, added on, and reworked the façade, you could end up with upscale digs that looked like a miniature Italian villa or Mexican hacienda, with maybe five thousand square feet, a wet bar, and a mini-theater. (And if you were really conservative, you could do Maine clapboard. But most of those folks wouldn’t have the bar or the screening room, maybe not even a working TV.)

Bobbi pulled up behind her mother’s vintage Volvo station wagon. She climbed out of her car, slamming the door. She pocketed her earbuds as she surveyed the house. She noticed right away there were no lights on, not even at Gram’s bedroom window. Norm’s Taurus was nowhere to be seen, so maybe they were all out to dinner?

From across the street and behind her, she heard a chuckle. She turned around to see two skinny guys in their late teens. No missing them. They were wearing white dress shirts, narrow black ties, and black wash pants. One of them was carrying a portfolio. She guessed they were Mormons.

They were sharing some joke, and she was sure it was at her expense. She guessed they were mocking her beat-up car.

She gestured toward the car to them, as if she were peddling it on a used-car lot. Okay, she called out. I get in an accident, who’s the loser? Think about it.

It’s not for us to judge, one called back, still laughing. His name was Gabe.

The other one, Peter, added cheerily, Joys of the season! And drive safely!

And then she noticed they were twins. She was wondering at the latter punk’s sincerity, which was confirmed to be sarcasm when Gabe yelled, As safely as you can in that crate!

The boys both waved, as if to signal the good-natured intent of their joke, and toddled off. She didn’t see any point in engaging them further. She thought it was a curious way for Mormons to behave. Weren’t they supposed to be no-nonsense, out gathering in the sheaves before the holy storm of fire and brimstone comes raining down, or whatever they’re telling people the scenario will be during the End Times?

As she turned back toward the house, Baby Leroy was sauntering toward her, coming from the direction of his house next door. He was all of five and a chubby tyke, but because of his cherubic looks he’d have a hard time living down the infantile nickname as he grew older. So she felt sorry for this little guy, for whom she used to babysit when he was in his crib. He had his finger shoved up his nose and seemed to be ambling about with no particular purpose.

Leroy, stop doing that this minute, Bobby said, pulling at his arm. What are you doing out here?

Nothing was all he said, reporting the simple truth as he sheepishly removed a wet finger from his nasal cavity.

She wasn’t about to engage him, either. She had no responsibility other than being an adult who should be concerned to see a young person wandering around unaccompanied after dark.

Have you had your dinner yet?

Nope, he said.

Then you better be getting home, don’t you think?

I guess, he said and turned to walk back.

It occurred to her that Leroy’s mother Lucille might not be home from work yet. She should have asked him, because sometimes he got sent over for Willa to look after. There wasn’t any problem getting him to do it, because he never tired of playing with the dog. But, if he were locked out, she figured, he’d be back soon enough.

Maybe she should go over later and check. But first things first. She wouldn’t be staying long.

On the porch, Bobbi found two newspapers, still in their wrappers – The Los Angeles Times and Norm’s Wall Street Journal. Perhaps they were away on a trip and forgot to cancel?

Bobbi picked up the papers and rapped lightly on one of the glass panes of the front door. At the same time, she fished for her keys in the pocket of her jeans. By now she was pretty sure there would be no one home. She would put the papers on the kitchen table. She’d take Rufus out into the yard if they’d left him at home expecting to be back soon. (If they’d planned to stay away longer, they’d have boarded him.) Then she’d make sure he had fresh water and she’d leave. A clean getaway, and she could call later and take credit for doing them a favor, acting responsibly. It was very important these days, since her last episode, for Bobbi to find ways to keep showing them she had it together now.

Bobbi tried to see into the living room, but it was all shadows and she couldn’t see much more than a few feet past the doorway. Beside her on the porch was a potted Saguaro cactus nearly as tall as she was. In the spirit of the season, it was crowned with a little Santa hat, which made the thorny fellow look all the more forlorn because there were no other decorations in sight.

No sooner had Bobbi gotten her key in the lock than Rufus came up to the glass, pressed his wet snout against it, then let out a deep, sonorous Roof! (His name, which Bobbi had given him when she was no bigger than Leroy, was descriptive, if not particularly original.)

And no sooner had Bobbi started to push the door open than it was pulled from her grasp. There stood Willa, who’d glided over silently, right behind the dog.

Just dropped by? Willa asked, with no particular enthusiasm. For a moment, she stood her ground, as if Bobbi were a salesman to be addressed through the gap in the open door.

Reviews for Christmas Karma

[gothykmama · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Christmas Karma

By Gerald Everett Jones

Narrated by Aundrea Mitchell

This was an odd story, due only in part to a glitch that mis-ordered the chapters and some unusual pronunciations by the narrator (mack-a-bray for macabre, as an example).

It was full of unexpected twists and turns...maybe a bit too much. It was simultaneously amusing and sad to watch these characters bumble through the holiday season and the odd set of circumstances they found themselves in.

If you'd like to check this one out for yourself, I'd recommend going with the print/Kindle version.

"This audiobook was provided by the author, narrator, or publisher at no cost in exchange for an unbiased review courtesy of Audiobook Blast."

[linda.marsheells · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Oh what an eclectic, quirky cast of characters - who oddly enough fit together! Jones did an incredible job of creating and then throwing together this extended 'family' of kooks. Well, wait. You initally think that's what the lot of them are, but as the author peels back the layers the human-ness is revealed, the heart, the hope and yearning of each person emerges. He does it with humor, and realism, and curiosity will keep you turning the pages. Light-hearted with meaning.