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Authors: Carly Alexander

The Eggnog Chronicles (20 page)

BOOK: The Eggnog Chronicles
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Forest opened the Bible, “This from the book of Isaiah. ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing. For a child is born to us, a son is given us; and upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.' ”
Forest paused at the end of the pew where Joey and Lila were sitting. “How about that, Joey? A Wonder-Counselor and God-Hero. I know my children loved that description. It sounds like a new Saturday morning cartoon on TV, doesn't it?”
Joey nodded happily as people chuckled and his mother hugged him close against her fleece jacket.
“Isaiah's account of this light in a land of gloom and darkness gives us hope,” Forest said. “If our lives are darker than we'd like, we need to leave them open for God's light, open to wonder and surprise.”
I thought of that blazing star, the shooting star I'd wished on. I was open to hope, wasn't I? Hope that N—
no
—Mr. Unmentionable would straighten out his life, once and for all. Hope that we would have a family together.
“And as we wait expectantly for God's surprises and good news, let's consider the trappings with which we surround ourselves—the ribbons and bows and glimmering lights. Now there's nothing wrong with these small enjoyments. Many decorations and customs are symbols that lead us back to our faith—the star atop our tree symbolizing the star that lit the three Wise Men's path to the Christ child. The Nativity Scene outside Slim's Hardware Store. Bitsy's delicious bell-shaped butter cookies that remind us of our own church bell ringing on Christmas morning.” Forest sighed. “I do love those cookies. And the many strings of lights that brighten this season. Nothing wrong with that. But as we enjoy them, let's remember the great light that God cast over a land of gloom. Not only the joyous birth of our Savior, but also God's love for us, the light that chases away our darkness. The key to savoring this season is to remember what it's really about: Love.”
I bit my lower lip, realizing that he wasn't talking about my love for Nate. This was about more than romance. Forest was referring to the support in this community, the cheerful bond among neighbors and friends, the energy that had kept my shop alive and kicking amid yesterday's crunch of deadlines and demanding customers.
“Share God's love with others during this season. Open your home to people who have nowhere to go for Christmas dinner. When the demands of the season press upon you, simplify your shopping and focus on being generous to those in need. Be a ‘Secret Santa.' And while you celebrate the customs of the season, remember that these symbols lead us back here.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “To hearts brimming with God's love. In two years, Aunt Norma isn't going to remember what you gave her for Christmas, but she will remember that you made her feel loved. That's the gift we all want to give this Christmas.”
To feel loved.
It made perfect sense, and I realized, lucky girl that I am, I had all that. I felt shored up by the love of my friends; yesterday had been a supreme demonstration of their support. Lola and Ben, Georgia and Cracker . . . they were there for me when I needed them.
But oddly, one name was missing from that list . . . a name I had promised myself not to utter. Damn him, Mr. Unmentionable.
22
O
nce again, I pushed Mr. Unmentionable to the edge of my thoughts as the service ended and the people of the congregation filed out, shaking hands with Forest.
Outside, just below the steps, someone touched my shoulder and I turned to see Joey's mother zipping her fleece jacket, shuddering against the cold. “I'm Amy Salem,” she said, extending a hand. “I wanted to thank you for the scarf. Joey's so proud of it.”
“My pleasure,” I said, shaking her hand as I looked down at Joey, dancing from foot to foot in the cold. He was wearing that thin sweat jacket again. “I just wish he—” I cut myself off before I could say that the kid should wear a real winter coat. What an idiot I was! The kid lived in a deserted trailer; he probably didn't own a winter coat. “I wish he would come by the shop some weekend,” I said, trying to recover. “We've been giving out eggnog. My friend's secret recipe, and it's delicious.”
“The Christmas Elf?” Amy squinted at me. “That's a cute place. I pass it on my way to work, but I usually pull the weekend shift.”
“You work in Nag's Head?” I asked.
“At the hospital.”
Joey tugged on her sleeve, anxious to get out of the cold. “C'mon, Mom.”
“I'll let you go,” I said. “Nice meeting you, Amy.”
Watching them head across the parking lot, I thought of the times Joey's day care class had visited my shop, of the crafts they'd made. Decorative door handles? Tissue-box covers? Felt Santa bookmarks? Somehow, those crafts seemed useless to a family who couldn't afford coats and scarves.
“Coming to brunch with us?” Georgia asked. “You're surely welcome. Daniel's mom is always happy to have another mouth to feed.”
Checking my watch, I saw that I had nearly two hours before I had to open the shop. “No,” I said, “no, thanks. I have a few errands to do.”
 
 
“Have a holly jolly Christmas,” Burl sang through the store. I swayed merrily as I checked the lining of a coat—a blue, hooded jacket with white and gray stripes. Would it be warm enough? Gortex shell, water resistant. And when the weather warmed up, he could unzip and remove the lining, and wear it in the spring rain. Sliding one arm into the sleeve, I imagined Joey wearing the jacket to school, flipping up the hood, zipping it against the cold. The prospect made me giddy with joy.
Looking over my basketful of goodies, I laughed. Who knew Big K-Mart could be so much fun? I hadn't been in here since my hair dryer broke, but when I'd thought of playing Secret Santa to Joey's family, I knew this was the perfect place. It's probably the biggest merchandiser here in Nag's Head, and they were open on Sunday, even in the off-season.
Yes, it would be perfect for Joey, but what size? I held up a five, wondering if the sleeves would be too long. “What do you think of this for a five-year-old?” I asked one of the nearby clerks.
She nodded. “If he's a normal size. But we'll give you a gift receipt in case he wants to exchange it.”
I thanked her, then sidled over to the mittens and hats to find a good match for the jacket. Already I'd found a white quilted jacket with a fake fur collar for Amy. For Lila, a red down coat with a sharp velvet trim that reminded me of the soldiers in the Nutcracker.
As I sorted through fleece scarves and knitted caps, I thought of the useless hats and gloves I'd bought for Mr. Unmentionable over the years. Coach gloves in buttery leather. Monogrammed caps from designer catalogues. Fine quality merchandise that had been tossed into the trunk of his car or the back of the closet because Mr. Unmentionable didn't accessorize. Shame on me for wasting my money.
But not this year. This year, I was buying coats and hats and gloves that would be worn and appreciated. As I lined my goodies up on the counter, a tall stack of remote-control trucks caught my eye.
Toys. Could I buy the kids toys, too?
Ooh . . .
Better wait and see how the coats were received. I planned to wrap them this week and drop them off with Reverend Herman; let him pass them on anonymously.
“Good morning,” the checkout clerk said, adjusting her Santa cap. Her name tag read: Doris. “And how are you today?”
“I'm great, Doris. Fantastic. Better than I've been in a long, long time,” I said, running my hand over the velvet trim of Lila's coat.
“Well, I am glad to hear that,” Doris said as she began to scan my purchases. “Looks like you're planning to keep a few people warm this winter.” She held up Amy's coat and folded it gently.
“I hope so,” I said. “I really hope so.”
 
 
After the spike of weekend traffic in The Christmas Elf, Monday and Tuesday were the lull after the storm, quiet mornings of Ben and Cracker rocking by the fire while I assembled custom-ordered wreaths and restocked shelves for the afternoon shoppers. With the shipping deadline approaching, I spent most of my days and nights in the shop, which was fine by me since Mr. Unmentionable hadn't returned on schedule or even called to explain why.
Hmph. I was annoyed but not worried, knowing his level of self-absorption had been high lately. And honestly, I was too immersed in my work and my friends to miss him much.
I was frosting fake berries with white glitter when Cracker jumped up from the rocker and turned off the CD player.
“Excuse me, but it's that time of the day. Dr. Phil's on, and I need to find out all the things I'm doing wrong in my life.”
I stepped back as he reached under the counter for the portable TV and propped it on the shelf. “Dr. Phil.” I rolled my eyes. “My sister loves him, too. Probably because he's the only man in the world with the guts to stand up to her and tell her to get real.”
Cracker clapped his hands together when the announcer revealed that today's show would cover “Life Strategies for Choosing a Mate.”
Ben tilted his head thoughtfully. “Sounds serious.”
“Jimminy Cricket!” Cracker exclaimed. “This will be advice all three of us can use.”
“Right,” I said, all the while thinking what I really needed was some tips on how to restrain one's self from killing one's mate after he's been gone for five days without a phone call. As I frosted the berries, Dr. Phil talked about having high expectations for a mate. He wasn't into the chick magazine “checklist” of requirements in a male. However, he did agree that we all have certain requirements, which Dr. Phil considered “deal breakers.”
As I set the wreath aside to dry, I wondered what my deal breakers were. I flopped down on my stool and started straightening out sections of garland, unable to think of a single requirement. Was I that easy? A total pushover?
“All I want is to get married,” claimed a young woman in the studio. “Really. It's my only deal breaker, but he won't give me that. I thought he was waiting until my birthday to propose, but it came and went without a ring. I don't know what's wrong with him, Dr. Phil.”
“What's wrong?” Dr. Phil's arms shot out in horror. “He smells your desperation!”
Just then the phone rang. “The Christmas Elf,” I answered.
“Have I got a loser for you.” My sister Jane was not big on formality over the phone. Introductions like, “Hi, how are you?” were a waste of time for Jane. “You gotta see this buffalo on Dr. Phil. Serious failure to commit. Made me think of you and Nate.”
“So nice of you to call,” I teased.
“Really, turn on the TV. You've got to see this big lug.”
“Already got it on,” I admitted, “though I'm not too impressed with the girlfriend. Don't you find her a little whiny and desperate?”
“And who's calling the kettle black?”
I felt stung. “I am not whiny,” I whined, turning away from Cracker and Ben.
“Are too, are too. A million times, are too,” Jane said, bringing me back to days when the kid who said it most won.
“If I whine, it's because I'm a pushover. I'm way too easy,” I admitted.
“Little Ricki, when you're waiting on a guy like Nate, you don't have a lot of choice. I've always told you, Nate has commitment issues.”
“He's committed, all right, just to the wrong woman at the moment. Ouch!” A wire from the garland stuck me under one thumbnail. “But all that's changing, and fast. He might be divorced by Christmas.”
“Ach! That's worse than getting coal in your stocking. Worse than Christmas in the tropics. Worse than having to eat fruitcake and—”
“Okay, okay, I get the point.”
“Listen to Dr. Phil, Little Ricki. That man is never going to give you what you want . . . what you need. It's time for you to move on. Poop or—”
“I hate that expression,” I interrupted her. “And Dr. Phil never said that.” I shot a look at the TV screen. “At least, not today.”
“I'm using tough love, honey. I'm worried about you wasting your life while Nate strings you along.”
“Don't you worry about me,” I said as I looped the end of the garland wire around the wreath ring. “How are you feeling? What's the latest on your thyroid?”
“Or my lack, thereof,” Jane said irreverently. I was glad she was able to joke about the disease that had rocked her life just a year ago. “Nothing new. My thyrogen levels are excellent. My last radioactive scan was squeaky clean. I'm totally cured, which gives me tons of time to obsess over you, bubby. Exactly when are you coming to town? Not that I don't love you dearly, but since I've got my own beau this year my social calendar is filling up rapidly. Emma's, too. In fact, her new guy is ditching his family in Oregon to spend Christmas here in New York.”
“Sounds serious,” I said. “And how is Marty? Have you moved into his apartment?”
“Well, not really moved. We do spend most nights together, but right now I think we're both happy with the status quo.”
“I was just wondering. Whenever I call you're not home.”
“Have you been trying to reach me?” Her big sister instinct kicked in. “I knew it. Did you and Nate break up? Are you okay?”
“Nate took off for Rhode Island on Friday and I haven't heard from him since.”
Jane grunted. “So he ran back to her? After all this time? What a bastard.”
“Actually, he went back to finalize the divorce, sign some papers. And see his kids.”
“And no phone calls? What's that about?”
I shot a look at Ben and Cracker, who were commenting on one of Dr. Phil's guests. “He's mad at me because I didn't go along, but I couldn't drop everything here.”
“Of course you couldn't. You shouldn't!”
“This is my busy season.”
“Oh, please, does he need you to dry his tears and guide his signature on the page? Really, he's asking too much,” Jane said.
Although I had blocked Mr. Unmentionable from most of my thoughts, I felt a new sense of empowerment as I soaked up Jane's righteous indignation. Really! It was one thing to support the man, quite another to escort him to divorce court.
“Are you okay?” Jane went on. “Christ! That is so like Nate. Hit and run. He wounds you, then runs from the scene of the crime.”
Wounded? With the phone pressed to my shoulder I snipped the loose end of wire from the wreath and held it back for assessment. The teal and emerald leaves curled around the frosted white berries in a cool combination—cool colors, soothing textures. It reflected my mood today: cool and content. Hardly wounded.
“I'm really okay about this,” I told Jane. “Better than you'd think.”
“I can barely believe that. I mean, you sound okay, but if I were you I'd be next in line for a personal consult with Dr. Phil.”
“No, I can handle this,” I said, not completely sure of the outcome, but confident that things between Mr. Unmentionable and me would turn out fine. “I've come to see it's just one small part of the big picture, and there's so much to do here.”
“I know you must be crazed with the Christmas rush.”
“It's been busy,” I admitted. “But not too hectic to prioritize.” I'd found time to call Forest Herman and tell him about my shopping trip for Joey's family. He seemed pleased by my Secret Santa plan, and I asked him if he knew about the family's housing circumstances. He told me that he'd recently been apprised of the situation and was looking into a way for the church community to assist, but in the meantime, my Secret Santa idea was a good one, and he promised to approach Joey's mom.
At the moment, the coats were hung on doors around the house, polar soldiers that greeted me each night, but I promised to wrap and deliver them by Sunday. I had spoken to Georgia about the family's trailer home, and she had learned through Daniel that their cottage had been destroyed in the last hurricane. The property was still there, but Daniel wasn't sure about the prospect of rebuilding, didn't know if they'd had insurance. This had brought the regulars in the shop to a discussion of hurricane damage—which in the Outer Banks is always good for hours worth of amazing tales.
BOOK: The Eggnog Chronicles
7.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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