A Christmas to Remember (7 page)

“I love hearing that past tense,” Lucy admitted. “Actually, I still work there. My husband and I run the Clam Box in Cape Light. I’m a waitress there…when I can’t avoid it.”

“You’re married?” He glanced at her left hand, and Lucy realized she had taken off her rings to wash up and had forgotten to put them on again.

It made her feel odd to think Jack Zabriskie had even noticed. For one thing, he was light years younger.

“Charlie and I have been married…oh, almost twenty years now. We have two boys. Are you married?” she asked quickly.

“My wife and I are separated. We’ll probably get a divorce.”

Lucy wished she hadn’t asked. “That’s too bad.”

“These things happen.” He shrugged and glanced at his watch. “I’d better go.”

“Me, too.” Lucy stood up and gathered up her trash. She had lost track of time talking with Jack. She didn’t want to return late from her break and give Margaret Sherman another reason to be annoyed with her.

Jack had to stop at the radiology department before returning to the floor, so Lucy went back on her own. She felt anxious heading back to the scene of her disgrace, but Jack’s words had helped. He was right. She wasn’t going to be Super Nurse in one day. She had to expect a few mishaps.

Nursing was what she had always wanted to do, and she wouldn’t let a silly accident discourage her.

“L
UCY
,
IS THAT YOU
? W
HAT TOOK YOU SO LONG
? Y
OU SAID YOU
would be home by six-thirty.”

Lucy heard Charlie call out to her from the kitchen before she was even halfway through the door. She dumped her book bag near the front door and shrugged out of her jacket as she walked to the back of the house.

The boys sat at the kitchen table frowning over their homework. Charlie stood at the stove. At least he could fix a meal. But since he worked over a hot stove all day, he claimed it wasn’t his place to cook at home, too. She could tell he was annoyed now by the rigid set of his shoulders.

“Hi, boys.” Lucy kissed each of her sons on the cheek. C.J., the oldest, didn’t even look up from the thick textbook he was reading. He wore headphones hooked to a CD player, listening to music while he studied. Or supposedly studied.

Lucy pulled one of the earpieces out. “No music while you’re doing homework. You know the rules.”

He made a face but took the headphones off and put them aside. “Bummer.”

Lucy knew that was all she would get out of him for now. At thirteen, C.J. was at a stage where he only replied in one-word answers.

Jamie was two years younger. He, at least, was still at a communicative stage and clearly missed her while she was out of the house.

“I got a ninety-five on my math test, Mom. Look.” He held up the sheet proudly.

“Wow, that’s great, honey. I’m so proud of you.” Lucy squeezed his shoulder. “Charlie, did you see Jamie’s test?”

“Yeah, I saw it. Pretty good.” Charlie glanced over from the stove. “C.J. has a report due tomorrow. American History. As usual, he’s barely started. You’ll probably have to write it for him.”

C.J. wasn’t the best student but he tried hard. Charlie never gave him any credit, though. Criticism didn’t help. It only made C.J. feel worse and do worse. But Charlie didn’t seem to understand that.

Lucy caught her older son’s eye. He looked as if he expected her to be angry at him, too.

“Don’t worry, we’ll write it together. How long does it have to be?”

“Three pages, typed.”

Lucy forced a smile. She had a pile of her own schoolwork to do tonight. This extra assignment was definitely going to set her back. But her family came first. Her son needed her. She wasn’t going to let him down.

“That’s not much. We’ll start right after dinner.”

She quickly washed her hands and pulled an apron over her nursing outfit. “Can I help you, Charlie?”

“Just set the table, everything’s ready here. I’ve got to get back to the diner. Jimmy came in at three to cover for me, and he doesn’t want to close up, too.”

“At three? What happened to my mother?”

“Your mother got stuck late at her job. So I had to pick up the boys at school. Again.”

“Something must have come up.”

“Yeah. That’s what she always says.”

Lucy knew it wasn’t her mother’s fault. She had a day-care job watching small children. The woman who employed her was a teacher, but she wasn’t always able to come home right after the school day ended. Lucy knew her mother wanted to help with the boys, but she couldn’t just walk out on her own job.

The boys cleared their books off the table, Lucy set out the dishes and utensils, and Charlie served some chili he had brought home from the diner, his usual fallback. Lucy was getting sick of it, but she didn’t dare complain. Fortunately, the boys would eat anything.

“Did you get any calls about the job today?” she asked as they began to eat. Charlie had been running an ad in the
Cape Light Messenger
for waitressing help, to fill in for Lucy’s absence. The sooner he had more help in the diner, the better his mood would be.

“I got a few. Nobody with the right experience.”

“Maybe you could train someone. Start them off when it’s slow. I could help.”

“When are you going to help? You’re hardly there as it is. I’m darned if I do hire someone and darned if I don’t. I’m not looking forward to shelling out that extra paycheck every week. We’re skating on thin ice as it is, Lucy.”

According to Charlie, they were always on the brink of financial disaster. Lucy had begun to doubt these dire reports, though. Her husband seemed to find resources when he needed them to buy a new piece of kitchen equipment, or even a new truck last year. Of course, she was never privy to the financial side of the business. Charlie laughed off her inquiries, claiming she wouldn’t understand.

“It’s just temporary,” she reminded him. “As soon as I finish the training and get my degree, it will be much easier for us.”

“If we make it till then,” he mumbled.

“Of course we’ll make it. Don’t be so negative.” Lucy took another bite of chili. The boys were quiet tonight, she noticed. She didn’t like to talk about the family finances in front of them. Kids didn’t need those worries.

“I hope you’re right, Lucy. This whole family has made an awful lot of sacrifices. I hope it’s worth it.”

Charlie didn’t say more about it, and Lucy was thankful he let the matter drop.

She had wanted to tell them all about her first day at the hospital, but no one asked her about it. Then again, if she ever admitted today’s mishap to Charlie, he would pounce on it as another sign that she wasn’t cut out for nursing and should just give it up.

She didn’t need that. She wasn’t going to tell him about having coffee with Jack Zabriskie either. Charlie would just get the wrong idea.

“Well, I should get going.” Charlie pushed back from the table and got up. “I’ll be home at the usual time.”

“I’ll be here.” Lucy watched him grab his jacket off one of the pegs near the back door and head out into the night.

Lucy carried the dishes to the sink. The kitchen looked like a cyclone, even though Charlie hadn’t really cooked. The dishes from breakfast were still piled in the sink, and the dishwasher needed emptying.

“I don’t have any clothes to wear for tomorrow, Mom,” Jamie said. “Can you wash my basketball uniform, too?”

“Just bring it all down. I’ll get to it.”

“Me, too. I need some clean jeans and underwear.” C.J. set a stack of books for his report on the table. Quite a big pile of books, Lucy noticed with dismay.

She filled the sink with soapy water and started washing the pots. “What’s your topic, C.J.?”

“The Louisiana Purchase. You have to write out a speech, like, if you were in the Congress and trying to talk for it, or against it.”

“That’s interesting.” Lucy dug into the burned bottom of the chili pot with a soap pad.

“Right, Mom. It’s so interesting, I’m going to fall asleep.”

Lucy laughed at him. “Let’s save some of those wise remarks for the essay. You crack those books and take notes, the way I showed you the last time. I’ll help you get organized and do a first draft.”

“First draft?” he groaned. “Can’t we just write the stupid thing?”

“Just take the notes. I’m not going to write it for you, you know.”

C.J. made a face but started working.

Jamie came into the kitchen with a notice for her to sign about a field trip. The fifth grade was going to a science museum in Boston. Jamie had been talking about it all year.

“Just put it on the table, honey. I’ll sign it when my hands are dry.”

“Can you be a chaperone? Mrs. Effron says they need a lot of parents, and you didn’t come on any school trips this year, Mom.”

Lucy could tell he really wanted her to go with his class on their trip, but she couldn’t see how she would manage it. “Let me check the date. I’ll try to come if I can, honey.”

He gave her a look, and she knew that she had disappointed him once again. His expression brightened a few moments later, though. “Hey, Mom, I think I know what I want for Christmas.”

“Really? What is it?”

Christmas! Was Christmas coming already? Lucy felt an unhappy jolt. She wasn’t ready for Christmas, financially or emotionally. She felt so overburdened right now, Christmas would push her right over the edge.

“Rollies. They’re these really cool shoes. They have wheels on
the bottom and you sort of roll around. A kid in school has them, and—”

“A kid wore those to school? The principal allows that?”

“Well, he wasn’t supposed to. He had to take them off and put on his regular shoes. I wouldn’t wear them to school. I just want them, though.”

“Rollies. Okay, write it down on a list or something for me,” Lucy said. “Now go inside and let your brother study. Don’t forget to take a shower. You need to be in bed by nine.”

“I know.” Jamie headed for the TV. He was a good kid. Never gave her any trouble. A good student, too. He would get his Rollies. Lucy just hoped they didn’t cost a fortune.

She felt bad about not going on the field trip and vowed that she would try to make it up to him somehow.

She could only spread herself so thin, and tonight it looked like she needed to be on top of C.J. He had been staring at the same page for the last half hour.

She sat down next to her older son and pulled his textbook over so that they were sharing it. “Let’s see what have here,” she said.

It was going to be a long night.

Cape Light, August 1955

J
UST AS SHE WOULD HAVE PREDICTED
, O
LIVER DROVE A
shiny red convertible, a sports car made in Britain. He drove fast, too, which Lillian would have also predicted.

They weren’t able to talk much on the ride to town along the winding beach road. Oliver would glance over at her and try to point out some landmark he thought interesting, shouting at her through the wind. By the time Lillian understood what he was talking about, they had flown by it and were miles down the road.

She was blown to bits, her hasty hairdo dispersed in all directions. She imagined she looked a perfect wreck, but she told herself she didn’t care.

The worse I look, the better. Maybe he’ll decide he doesn’t like me as much as he thought.

Oliver parked in front of a diner. The sign out front read
THE CLAM BOX
and there was a “Grand Opening” banner slung across the doorway.

Lillian was surprised at the choice. She had expected him to take her to a fancier place—lunch at the yacht club, perhaps, or a real restaurant.

He turned to her with a grin, and she wondered if her reaction was obvious.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, and frankly, it isn’t. A buddy of mine—Otto Bates—just opened the place. I thought we could give him some business. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. This will be fine.” Lunch at a diner would be faster than at a restaurant with more elaborate service. Their date would be over in no time. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

They walked up to the entrance and Oliver held the door open for her, dipping his head to avoid hitting the banner. It was thoughtful of him to give his friend some business. Maybe he wasn’t as self-centered as she suspected.

A man behind the counter called out to him cheerfully. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hello, Otto. How’s business?”

“Booming. Business is booming. Did you come by to try some of my world-famous clam rolls?”

Oliver grinned. “Are they world-famous already? You only opened last week.”

Otto Bates laughed and Lillian did, too.

“Take any table you like. I’ll be right out with menus.”

Oliver led Lillian to a table by the window, where they had a clear view of Cape Light’s Main Street. “So, what do you think of my hometown? It must seem very provincial to a girl like you.”

Lillian gazed out the window. “I guess it is a small town, but I
don’t mind it. My parents brought our family up here every summer when I was growing up. I’ve always liked Cape Light.”

“Really? I would take you more for summers on the Vineyard or Nantucket.”

“My father liked to visit with his brother in Newburyport. That’s Charlotte’s father, my uncle Joshua,” Lillian explained. “He also found it very…economical.”

Oliver understood her implication; she could tell by the twinkle in his eye. “Well, economical or not, it’s a pleasant place in the summertime, an undiscovered place. I’ll take it over the Vineyard or Nantucket anytime.”

“But you live here year round, don’t you? Charlotte said your family owns a factory or something?”

Lillian could have bit her tongue. Now he knew she had been asking about him. Not that Charlotte had needed any coaxing. Her cousin had given her an earful last night after the dance, eager to tell Lillian more than she ever wanted to know about the town’s most infamous native son.

“My father owns a cannery, the largest in the area. And there are some other interests as well. We stopped canning for a while during the war and did some manufacturing for the defense department—bullet casings.”

“That sounds both patriotic and profitable.”

“It was profitable.” Oliver shrugged. “Some people resent the fact that my family profited from the war. Did Charlotte tell you that?”

Lillian was surprised at his honesty but found it refreshing. “As a matter of fact, she did.”

“I thought she might. What else did she tell you about my family?”

Lillian hesitated. He was daring her. She didn’t know if she
should go much further, but what did she have to lose? So what if she insulted him? She didn’t care if he liked her or not, so what did it matter?

“She said your grandfather ran gin boats down from Canada during Prohibition. She told me that was how your family made all their money.”

“Most of our money, not all of it,” Oliver said. “But there you have it—the complete Warwick family history in a nutshell. I’m the grandson of a bona fide bootlegger. Are you shocked?”

“I’m not sure yet what to think,” she said slowly. “I will say your background’s more colorful than most people I meet. Was your grandfather ever caught?”

“Never. He was a clever man, very daring. I’m sure if anyone ever tried to arrest him, he talked his way out of it. He could charm a dog off a meat wagon.”

Just like you
, Lillian nearly said aloud.

Oliver stared at the entrance, and she turned quickly to see a man entering the diner. He called a greeting to Oliver and walked toward their table. “I thought that it was you, Warwick. I waved from the window but you didn’t see me.”

“Of course, I didn’t see you. Who would notice your ugly mug when I have a beautiful young woman sitting right in front of me?” Oliver glanced at Lillian. “You’ll have to excuse me for talking like that to this fellow, Lillian. We grew up together.”

“One of us grew up,” Oliver’s friend added. “The other will remain Cape Light’s own Peter Pan…with a trust fund.”

“Very funny. He’s a great wit,” Oliver said, looking annoyed at the comment.

Lillian couldn’t help smiling at the joke.

“I don’t know how you get all the gorgeous ones, Oliver.” He bent his head toward Lillian. “How do you do? I’m Ezra Elliot.”
He extended his hand politely and Lillian shook it. “Doctor Elliot, actually.”

“Doctor Elliot?” Oliver stared at his friend. “So you’re a real doctor now? How did that happen?”

“The usual way, only longer. But I made it.” He glanced at Lillian. “I had just started med school when I was drafted, sent to Korea. But I made it back in one piece and started all over again.”

“That’s very admirable,” Lillian said sincerely. She admired all the young men and women who had served their country. So many had lost their lives or come home wounded beyond repair.

“So what’s the plan, Ezra? Coming back home to set up a practice?”

“No plans for that right now. I’m at Children’s Hospital in Boston,” Ezra explained. “I like practicing in the city. I might come back here someday when I’m old and gray and ready to settle down.”

“Lillian lives in Boston. She works at the Museum of Fine Arts.” Oliver sounded as if he were bragging about her, Lillian thought, though he hardly had the right.

“That’s an interesting place to work. What do you do there?” Ezra asked, leaning toward her.

“I’m an assistant curator in the Egyptian department.”

“Did you study art history or archaeology?”

“A little of both,” she answered, impressed that he knew it took a knowledge of many fields to master that era.

“Lillian’s a very unusual woman,” Oliver cut in. “And I saw her first. Remember that.” Oliver’s warning was delivered in a jesting tone, but Lillian noticed his expression was serious.

“In this case I might be likely to forget,” Ezra retorted. He smiled at Lillian in a way that made her blush. “You would be better off with me, Lillian. Oliver has a scandalous reputation.”

“Oh, don’t believe him. He’s just joking.” Oliver’s tone was airy and casual, but a muscle in his jaw tightened and Lillian knew Ezra had hit a nerve.

“Yes, of course,” Ezra said agreeably. “Oliver and I like to joke around with each other. A pleasure meeting you. Enjoy your lunch.”

Ezra smiled again at Lillian then slapped Oliver on the shoulder, and the two men made vague promises to meet soon.

Lillian and Oliver both watched from the window as Ezra left the diner and headed on his way down Main Street. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Oliver or as handsome, Lillian noticed. But he was clever and intellectual, more the type of man she was used to socializing with.

“You really shouldn’t believe what Ezra said about me,” Oliver told her. “He’s just jealous. He would love to meet a girl like you, beautiful and accomplished and intelligent.”

Lillian snapped open her menu and glanced at the list of dishes. “Everyone in town is warning me about you,” she pointed out. “Are they all jealous?”

Oliver laughed and picked up his own menu. “People like to talk about me and my family. You’ll have to get used to that once we’re married. You seem very level-headed. I think you’ll do fine.”

Lillian dropped her menu and stared at him an instant then looked away, trying to hide her reaction.

Married, indeed
. They hadn’t even ordered lunch yet.

These outrageous pronouncements seemed to be part of Oliver’s flirting technique. He didn’t mean anything by it, she was sure. The man didn’t have a serious bone in his body.

Otto approached the table, order pad in hand. “Sorry for the wait, folks.”

“Now here’s a man who’ll stand up for my character.” Oliver
turned to Otto. “Will you kindly tell this young woman that she can trust me?”

Otto looked surprised. “Trust him? I trust him with my life.” He leaned closer to Lillian, making her feel suddenly uncomfortable. “Didn’t you know this man won the Purple Heart?” He nodded, his expression serious. “That’s right. He saved my life and the lives of about half dozen other soldiers in our unit.”

“I didn’t even know he served,” Lillian said. Somehow the girls on the beach hadn’t mentioned that chapter of Oliver’s life, nor had Charlotte.

“He served all right. We were on patrol and—”

Oliver rested a hand on his friend’s beefy forearm. “Otto, please. Lillian doesn’t want to hear boring old war stories.”

“No, go on, Otto,” Lillian insisted. “You were on patrol, you said?”

Otto nodded. “That’s right. Night patrol, south of France. Me and Oliver had just come over. We were boys, only eighteen…”

Oliver stared down at the table, impatient for his army buddy to finish—or lost in painful thoughts of the past? Lillian couldn’t be sure.

“We were ambushed and a few men fell. Oliver crawled on his belly, got to the gunner up on a hill and somehow knocked him out. He took over the gun and covered us, so we could get to safety. Then he went down and helped the wounded men back to camp. I was one of them.”

Otto rested a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but you couldn’t find a better man than this one, right here, miss. That’s my opinion, anyways.”

Lillian nodded, moved by the story and by Otto’s heartfelt testimony. Oliver didn’t seem the heroic type. He was too glib and irreverent, for one thing. Then again, you never know who will rise
to the moment in a crisis. And he had saved her life today; she couldn’t discount that.

“You never mentioned that you were in the army,” Lillian said.

Oliver shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about the war. I would rather pretend it never happened.” He glanced at his menu. “Are you ready to order?”

“I suppose so,” Lillian said, surprised by the swift change of topic. She ordered a cup of chowder and a clam roll, Oliver ordered the same, and Otto took the menus and headed for the kitchen.

Lillian wanted to ask more about Oliver’s time in the service, but it was clear he didn’t want to pursue that topic. She had met other men who felt the same way. Usually, they were the ones who had seen the most bloodshed and destruction.

The food came out quickly. Oliver carried the conversation, asking her opinion on popular books and movies. Lillian could tell he wasn’t a great reader but was trying hard to make the right impression on her.

He was surprised—and pleased—to learn she was a baseball fan. “Lillian, you just get better and better,” he told her with a charming smile. “I’ll come to Boston and we’ll see the Red Sox.”

Lillian didn’t answer. She didn’t want to encourage him. She had no intention of seeing him after this lunch date that she had only agreed to because he saved her from drowning.

When they finished lunch and stepped outside, Oliver suggested a walk down to the harbor. It seemed like a good idea to her. She needed to stretch her legs after their filling lunch, and she wasn’t in any rush to take another windy ride in the little red convertible.

They walked down Main Street, headed for the village green. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it had been earlier on the beach. A light
breeze blew off the harbor, ruffling the leafy treetops and the sails of boats tethered to the town dock.

“What did you think of the Clam Box, Lillian? Do you think he’ll stay in business?”

“I thought the chowder pasty and the clams too chewy, and I don’t think that place will last very long…though he’s certainly a very nice man.”