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Evidence Not Seen

By Carlene Havel

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December, 1979
“This is the last of the Christmas decorations,” Jeffrey Galloway announced, as he stacked boxes on the floor of his mother’s living room. “Let me fold up the attic stairs and put your car in the garage. Then I’ll put the tree together.”
“Thank you.” Opening a carton, Rosemary began to unpack strings of lights. She turned each tangled strand over several times before setting it aside. Biting her lip, she shook her head and sighed. “Imagine. Next year, your father will be here to trim the tree with us. I believe nineteen eighty is going to be a great year for the Galloway family.” Her hands caressed the lights as she gathered them into a jumbled pile. “They could have released him years ago. But he never got a break. They wouldn’t even let him go a few weeks early, in time to be home in time for Christmas this year.”
Jeff put an arm around his mother and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It won’t be much longer now.”
“Every year, I’ve prayed for compassion from the parole board, but it’s never happened.” Rosemary stared out the front window of her living room. “But, on January twenty-fifth his sentence is up, every last day of it finished. Over with at last.”
“Perhaps Aunt Ruby will quit campaigning for you to divorce him.” Keys rattled as Jeff took them from a wall hook.
“Yes,” Rosemary answered. “Everyone who said John was never coming home can go chew on a sour pickle. Your Aunt Ruby included.”
“Do you ever think maybe she’s onto something?”
“Of course not!” Rosemary’s eyes swung to her son’s face. “How could you say such a thing?”
Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. “That was an attempt at humor, Mom. Apparently ineffective. Truth is, I hardly know my father.”
“That’s not his fault. I hope you realize that.”
Jeff nodded. “I’m not placing blame, simply stating a fact. He’s been gone a long time.”
“That’s for sure,” Rosemary said. “They parole thugs and murderers and put them back on the streets, but they’ve made John serve his entire sentence.” She sighed. “Maybe I should have moved closer to the prison farm when you were a child, where we could have visited him more often. If you knew him better, you would understand what a good man he is. I thought about doing that so many times.”
“What stopped you?”
“There was no guarantee they wouldn’t transfer him somewhere else. Besides, this is his home.” Rosemary glanced around her, left and right. “Your grandfather built this house. John grew up here.” She folded her hands and looked away once more. “He dreams of coming home, living here again. After all he’s lost, I couldn’t bring myself to take that away from him, too. And on top of everything else,” she added after a brief silence, “I can’t stand for anyone to say we were run out of town. John Galloway is the finest man I’ve ever known, and I won’t have the local gossips whisper he’s afraid to face them.” Rosemary rested a hand on her forehead. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, thanks,” Jeff answered, caressing her shoulder. “I’m required to put in an appearance at Mr. Wilcox’s annual holiday reception this evening. It’s a command performance, you know.”
“I think it’s nice Mr. Wilcox gives a party every Christmas.” Rosemary began to remove newspaper balls from a cardboard box, gently placing each wad on the dining table.
Hurrying through the chilly garage, Jeff folded the spring-loaded attic steps into the ceiling. We have to talk about this situation, he thought as he pulled his mother’s auto into its customary space. Mom has sidestepped any in-depth discussion of Dad’s crime my whole life.
Coming in the side door, he rubbed his hands together. “It’s getting cold.” He hung up his jacket and returned his mother’s keys.
Rosemary continued to unwrap an assortment of Christmas decorations. “Of course it’s cold. It’s December.”
Within a few minutes, Jeff had the four-foot aluminum tree assembled. He stood back to admire his work, but the view was unsatisfactory. “Mom, why don’t I get you a new tree? This one sags to one side no matter what I do. It must be as old as I am.”
“It looks fine to me,” Rosemary replied, without so much as a glance toward the Christmas tree. She held up a tiny teddy bear. “Here, you can put the Charlie decoration on first.”
“Good old Charlie.” Jeff smiled, turning the faded ornament over several times. He fastened the metal hook to a branch near the top. “I may as well start straightening out the lights.”
Rosemary stuffed the used newsprint into a plastic bag. “Good idea. Are you picking up Stephanie for the reception, or is she meeting you there?”
“I’m going by myself. Steph is still in Washington.”
“Oh?” She placed a red glass ball on the tree. “I thought you told me she was coming home the day after Thanksgiving.”
“She changed her mind. She has a job interview lined up next week.”
“In Washington, D.C.?” Rosemary stood with a gold snowflake suspended from her hand. “Is she planning to move there?”
“She won’t have a choice if she gets the job.” Jeff kept his eyes on the knotted string of multi-colored lights. Let’s talk about something else. “Why don’t you throw these lights away and I’ll buy some new ones? It’s going to take forever to figure out which one of the bulbs is burned out.”
“The lights will be all right. You’re not planning to move to Washington, too, are you?” The gold snowflake still dangled from Rosemary’s hand.
“No, I’m staying put.” Settling on the floor, Jeff plugged in the string of lights. When nothing happened, he unplugged them and replaced a bulb.
Rosemary hung the snowflake on the tree and sank to the sofa. “Is this going to be a long distance romance?”
With a sigh, Jeff repeated the bulb replacement process with no success. “No, our romance—if you can call it that—has run its course. Stephanie has political aspirations. If she doesn’t get this job, she’ll line up another one.” Deciding the best way to avoid questions he didn’t want to answer was to change the subject, Jeff asked, “Are you concerned about living here with Dad?”
“What do you mean? We’ve been married for almost thirty-five years.”
Finally, the lights sprang to life. “Aha!” Jeff crowed. He stood and laced the string of glistening bulbs through the skinny metal branches of the Christmas tree. “Mom, you and Dad have hardly seen each other for most of my life.”
Rosemary shrugged and unwrapped another snowflake. “You live in town now, and I don’t see you every day like I did when you were growing up. You’re still my son. You even remembered I decorate the Saturday before Christmas.”
“Different situation,” Jeff said, with a glance at his watch. “John Galloway isn’t the same man you married at twenty-two years old.”
“Everything will be fine. We must believe that.”

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