Christmas on Candy Cane Lane Page 7
“You’re afraid of heights. You need help. And what if you’d broken your neck? What if the kids were inside?”
“I’d have called 9-1-1.”
“Got your cell phone on you?”
Actually, no. She’d left it in the house.
She was trying to decide how to answer when he said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He picked up the ladder and swung it effortlessly back in place, then retrieved the string of lights and started climbing. He had the best butt in Icicle Falls. Maybe even in the whole state of Washington.
She turned away with a scowl. Never mind his butt! “Fine,” she said. “I’m going inside.”
“Good idea,” he agreed.
She went inside and made herself an eggnog latte, then sat down at the kitchen table to fume. She wasn’t sure which hurt more, her back or her pride.
An hour later, he was done and knocking on the door that led to the garage. It still seemed weird, Rob knocking on doors rather than just coming into the house.
“Need anything else done?” he asked, poking his head around the door.
Looking at him still made her treacherous heart flip over. He was tall and lean, with deep-set brown eyes and brown hair. He wasn’t movie-star handsome but he was cute and fun-loving and he was hers. Correction: he had been hers, once upon a time. Before Peter Pan syndrome had struck.
“No,” she said, and realized she sounded surly. “Thanks,” she added. And then, to be fair, told him, “You probably did save me from breaking something.”
He smiled at that. “Yeah, because you would’ve climbed right back up that ladder again.”
He said it kindly, and the way he was looking at her reminded her of the good old days when they were happy. She found herself smiling back, just a little.
“I don’t mind helping you with stuff. Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean...” Here he stumbled to a stop.
“Mean what?”
He shrugged. “That I can’t come over when you need me.”
“Need you for what?” Changing lightbulbs, fixing a leaky sink? Sex? No, no. Don’t go there. “I don’t even know how to take a statement like that,” she said, frowning. They were divorced. There was no more honey-do list for him. It was all hers now—twice the work needing to be done in the same amount of time. Not his problem. He’d skipped off to never-never land.
“Take it however you want it.”
“With a grain of salt,” she said.
Now he was frowning. “Fine. I’m out of here.”
“Oh, wow, echoes of Christmas Past. You said the same thing last year.”
No reply. Hunched into his coat, he slouched out the door and through the garage.
At the back of her mind Elvis started singing one of her parents’ favorite songs, “Blue Christmas.” Only Elvis had new lyrics. I’ll have a fine Christmas without you. I won’t even be thinking about you. I’ll be doin’ all right on Christmas night. Yes, I’ll have a very fine Christmas. “So there!” she added as the closing garage door echoed with a metal clang.
She sat down at the kitchen table and stared at her half-finished latte. She’d meant to offer Rob one. Good thing she hadn’t. He didn’t deserve one. He didn’t deserve anything but a lump of coal up his butt. His cute butt.
“Stop already,” she scolded herself, and went off to soak in a tub full of Epsom salts.
Why had he come back early? Oh, who cares?
“You got the lights up,” Mutti said when she and Dad and two sugar-buzzed kids returned to the house.
“You did that all by yourself, kitten?” her dad asked, a worried expression on his face. “I told you I’d come do it for you.”
“I know. But I didn’t want you to have to.” The last thing she needed was her father falling off that darned ladder. If someone was going to break his neck, let it be Rob.
“It looks wonderful,” Mutti said.
Ivy merely thanked her, deciding it was best not to share that Rob had been over. It would only raise her mother’s hopes that they might get back together. Mutti had always liked Rob.
“Just because he flatters your cooking,” Ivy had said bitterly after he split.
“And because he fit so well with our family,” Mutti had added.
“Yeah, he fit so well he left.”
“I think he’s a little lost. He’ll find his way back,” Mutti had predicted.
“As if I’d take him back? The chances of that happening are about as good as Santa going on strike.”
Rob had hurt her too badly. Once he walked out the door, that was it, and she’d told him as much. She’d told herself the same thing when they’d met with the lawyers and he seemed almost regretful. She’d said it again the day they stood before the judge, him the guilty love criminal, her wishing him a lifetime in solitary with no sex. Nope, that tree had left the Christmas tree lot. They were done, and she was going to have a perfectly good Christmas without him.
She repeated it to her sister that night after the kids were in bed.
“Hey, people make mistakes,” Deirdre said, and Ivy knew she was thinking about the creep who’d dumped her.
“True, but I’m not going to make the mistake of taking him back. Anyway, he’s not interested.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why he came over and hung your Christmas lights,” Deirdre said, diving into the popcorn bowl.
“Don’t you go telling Mom.”
Deirdre shook her head. “And she believed you when you said you’d hung ’em?”
“Why not?”
“You’ve never hung Christmas lights in your life. And you’re afraid of heights.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Are we going to watch this movie or what?”
Deirdre made a face, but she started the movie and they watched as Orphan Annie sang about the sun coming out tomorrow.
Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, life would go on. And later, after her sister had left, Ivy found herself picking up the copy of Muriel Sterling’s latest book, which she’d had kicking around, and taking it to bed. She propped it on her knees and read the title. Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas.
“That’s what I’m going to do,” she vowed.
We expect so much of the holidays, wrote Muriel.
Everything needs to be perfect: the decorations, the cookies, the big meal and our interactions with the people in our lives. Sometimes, though, things don’t go as planned. Decorations get broken, cookies get burned, people disappoint us.
“You can say that again,” Ivy muttered.
But perfect isn’t about how things turn out. It’s more about our attitude. What makes the holidays perfect is what we bring to them. Bring an attitude of joy and appreciation to the season, do things with those you love, and I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful holiday.
Okay, good attitude. She could do that. She checked out some of the recipes and tips for activities with family and friends. If she did all this, she’d be guaranteed a great Christmas. No husband required.
With that pleasant thought, she set aside the book and snuggled under the covers. Bring on the dancing sugarplums. Ivy Bohn was going to make the holidays fabulous.
Chapter Five
Our relationships are especially important this time of year.
—Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas
After church the Donaldson family stopped by Safeway and picked up some essential items—the ingredients for fudge and the latest Pixar movie. Inspired (or maybe threatened) by Afton’s mom, Maddy had declared that this would be family day. After lunch she and Jordan would make fudge while Alan was outside decorating, and that evening they’d all watch the mov
ie. And eat popcorn, she decided, swinging by the snack aisle.
“Let’s get caramel corn,” Jordan said, picking up a box.
“Okay.” If her baby wanted caramel corn, then that was what she’d have. This day was going to be perfect.
Back home, Maddy made her daughter’s favorite lunch—grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.
“Can I have another sandwich?” Jordan asked.
“Sure. How about you, hon?” she asked Alan.
He pushed away from the table. “I think this’ll do me. Anyway, I want to get the Werners’ lights hung before the temperature drops any more.”
Maddy tried not to feel guilty for having volunteered him to do Mr. Werner’s house. By the time the crotchety old man had gotten to the hardware store, he’d decided to take her up on her offer. Better to have the seller of faulty candy canes out there freezing his ass off than him, he’d kindly informed Alan.
Alan had come home from work in a grumpy mood, so Maddy refrained from pointing out how many candy canes and other holiday decorations they sold this time of year. And she certainly wasn’t going to do so today, either. Maybe in January...or February. Or March, long after the decorations had all been taken down.
Alan went out, and she got busy at the stove. She and Jordan would have a lovely day, followed by some important family together time this evening. Meanwhile, Candy Cane Lane would come to life. By tonight the lights would be up on all the houses, and the first carloads of families would start driving through to experience the magic. As good as anything Disney could produce, if you asked Maddy.
She put the grilled cheese sandwich on her daughter’s plate. Jordan was busy texting, but she managed to say, “Thanks.” Learning to multitask at a young age.
“Who are you texting?” Maddy asked, more to make conversation and show interest in her daughter’s life than because she needed to know.
“Afton. She and her mom are baking cookies today.”
Of course. Afton’s mom probably needed the carbs after all her exercise on the skating rink.
“I told her we’re making fudge.”
Maddy smiled. The bragging tone in her daughter’s voice said it all. Fudge trumped cookies. Yes, fudge had been a good idea. “We’ll start as soon as you’re done with your sandwich.” The kitchen phone rang and she picked it up.
“Maddy,” croaked Shirley Shank. “I’ve come down with the worst cold.”
“Oh, no,” Maddy said. “Were you able to do Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, it didn’t hit until yesterday. But I feel awful today. My throat’s sore and I’m sure I’ve got a fever. I just can’t do candy cane patrol tonight.”
Shirley was scheduled to pass out candy canes that night. “Oh,” Maddy said as reality sank in.
“You’ve got to find someone else.”
“No problem. I’m sure we can find a Mrs. Santa somewhere.”
“Thanks, Maddy. I’m really sorry about this. I’ll leave the costume by the front door for Harold to give to whoever takes over. Tell her I’ll take her turn later in the month.”
“Will do.”
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked, her fingers still flying over her cell phone.
“Oh, nothing. Mrs. Shank is sick and we need another Mrs. Santa Claus to hand out candy canes.”
“Not you, though. Right? I mean, we’re watching a movie and having popcorn tonight.”
“Of course not me. I’ll find someone to take her place,” Maddy said, and went to her list of Mrs. Clauses.
No one answered at Geraldine Chan’s. They’d gone to Seattle for the weekend and probably weren’t back yet. Maddy left a message in case she returned home in time and was in the mood for some fresh air.
Next she tried Gabriella Moreno. Thank heaven, Gabby answered. “Gabby, I’m glad I caught you at home.”
“Only for a minute,” Gabby said. “I’m almost out the door.”
Crud. Strike two. “Oh?”
“My sister’s in labor. I’m on my way over to watch the kids.”
Well, babies were more important than candy canes.
“Was there something you needed?”
“No, no, nothing urgent. Give your sister my love.”
“I’ll do that,” Gabby said, and was gone.
“Mom, I’m done with my sandwich. Can we make fudge now?” Jordan asked as Maddy went on to the next name on the list.
The phone at the Williamses’ was already ringing. Maddy held up a finger. “Just a minute. Hi, Diane. How was your Thanksgiving?”
Jordan sighed dramatically.
“Plate in the dishwasher,” Maddy mouthed.
The plate went in the dishwasher and Jordan plopped down at the kitchen table, frowning and texting, probably complaining to Afton about the fudge production delay.
“Very nice,” Diane said. “But I can’t tell you how exhausted I am. We had all the kids here plus the five grandkids. I’m in my jammies, and I’m not moving.”
This didn’t bode well. “I guess I can’t convince you to sub for Shirley, then? She was on for candy cane patrol tonight.”
“What’s wrong with Shirley?”
“She’s sick.”
“Oh, poor thing. I’ll take her some turkey soup tomorrow.”
Never mind Shirley, Maddy thought. What about the candy canes?
“Maddy, you know I’d do it in a heartbeat. I love passing out candy canes.”
“And you make such a good Mrs. Santa,” Maddy said, hoping to flatter her out of her jammies and into the Mrs. Santa wig.
“But not tonight.”
Maddy accepted defeat. “I understand.”
“Mom,” whined Jordan.
“In a minute,” Maddy said as she punched in another number.
Jordan shoved away her chair and flounced out of the kitchen.
“I’ll just be another minute,” Maddy called after her.
“I wish I could,” said Louise Willis when Maddy asked her, “but we’re having some friends over tonight. Trying to finish off those leftovers.”
“Maybe your friends would like to help pass out candy canes,” Maddy said. It was rude to push, but she was beginning to feel the teensiest bit desperate.
“Would you make your friends stand out in the cold and pass out candy canes?”
Yes. If someone was in desperate need.
“If there’s no Mrs. Santa Claus for one night, it won’t be the end of the world,” Louise said.
But people had come to expect it. All those children would be disappointed. “I’ll find someone,” Maddy said. “Have fun.”
“Thanks. And sorry I can’t do it.”
Sorry? Maddy highly doubted that. Louise hated wearing the Mrs. Santa Claus wig and specs and padding herself out. Getting her to take even one night was a challenge.
Twenty minutes later, Maddy was out of options. There was no help for it; she’d have to play Mrs. Claus tonight. Fortunately, she had candy canes left from last year, as well as her very own cute outfit—a red wool jacket that went over a red skirt and a striped red apron. She had an old-fashioned cap, and the wig and specs, of course. She made a pretty cute Mrs. Claus, if she did say so herself. Still, she wished she didn’t have to play that role tonight, not when she’d planned to spend the evening with her family.
Ah, well. There was fudge to make. “Jordan,” she called, “it’s fudge time.” No answer. She walked into the living room and found it empty, which meant her daughter was in her room, probably sulking. She went upstairs and knocked on the door. Loudly, since Jordan had her music blasting.
“What?”
Maddy opened the door. “We’re ready to make fudge,” she said cheerfully.
“Never mind. I don’t want to now.”
“You spend all your time on the phone,” Jordan complained.
Maddy noticed the cell phone on the bed in front of her daughter but decided now was not the time to talk about pots calling kettles black. “Let’s go make fudge.”
Jordan made a face and hurled herself from the bed as if she’d just been ordered to clean toilets. But once they were in the kitchen, assembling ingredients, she forgot about punishing her mother. Soon the kitchen was filled with the aroma of melting chocolate.
Jordan actually absorbed some sweetness after licking the spoon. “This is fun,” she said, smiling at Maddy.
“Yes, it is.” And this was the sweet daughter she knew and loved.
Alan came in later, his face red from the mountain air, and found Maddy in the kitchen putting together a meat loaf. “It’s freezing out there,” he announced.
“You look frozen to the bone. Let me make you a latte.”
“Sounds good,” he said, rubbing his hands. He peered into the mixing bowl filled with hamburger, eggs, onion and bread crumbs. “Whatcha making?”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Meat loaf.” Meat loaf and mashed baked potatoes accompanied by green-bean casserole and pumpkin pie—all his favorites. Her daughter loved meat loaf, too, and Maddy had figured it would be a nice change from turkey leftovers. The meal had been meant to cap their day of family togetherness. Now it felt more like a bribe.
“All right! Is the fudge ready?”
“Yep. Help yourself.”
He did, cutting himself a gargantuan piece. Maddy had hoped to take some to Mrs. Walters, but she had a feeling that by the time her husband and daughter were done, there’d be no fudge left. Well, she’d have to make more. She needed to get started on Christmas cookies, too. That was another thing she could do with Jordan. Maybe they could bake gumdrop cookies tomorrow night, follow up on the good fudge feelings. Muriel Sterling had a recipe in her new book that looked yummy. They should make some spritz Christmas trees, too. Then Jordan could bring a little plate to Mrs. Walters. The poor dear couldn’t stand for very long anymore and Maddy knew she missed being able to bake.