by Susan Sands
“Has anyone rented the snow-blowers yet?” Junior asked.
Snow-blowers? Didn’t they realize they were in Alabama? Nick wondered.
“Yep. We’ll have snow again this year one way or another,” the blonde Emma answered.
“When is the tree being delivered?” Miss Maureen asked Junior.
“It’s coming from North Carolina next week,” Junior said.
Sabine explained to Nick, “Tomorrow it all begins. Many of the residents will come and help take down the fall decorations and store them. The Christmas decorating will begin in full force the day after that. It’s a long-standing tradition.”
“Since our family hosts so many of the big events in Ministry here at Evangeline House, we coordinate the holiday events. The Christmas festival, being the largest. There’s a giant tree put up in the square. The whole town takes part in decorating it,” Miss Maureen added to Sabine’s explanation. “Every child makes an ornament.”
Miss Maureen went down the list. “We’ve got a tour of homes, the 5k Jingle Jog, the Christmas pageant, the cookie bake-off and swap, photos with Santa, live television all week on Cammie’s show, the parade, the tree lighting and decorating, caroling, and fireworks.”
“Wow, sounds like a very festive time,” Nick said.
“Oh, it’s way over-the-top, but what can you say? We love Christmas around here. People come from miles around to celebrate the season with us. But we refuse to decorate for one holiday until the one before it is over,” the sister, JoJo, spoke up.
“And Matthew, here, films Cammie’s cooking show live in the square for a whole week. Cammie, isn’t Jessica Greene coming this year as your guest?” Maeve asked. Matt was Emma’s husband. It was all very confusing, but Nick was getting an immersion crash course in the Laroux family tree.
Cammie made a face. “If she shows up. Live television is unpredictable.” She nodded toward Matthew. “Cammie used to be Jessica Green’s assistant on her cooking show until Cammie was unfairly blamed for setting the woman’s hair on fire during an unfortunate crêpe Suzette flambé incident, and Jessica fired her. The woman went on every talk show in North America and made a stink,” Emma said.
“I think I remember that,” Nick said. Even in Atlanta, he’d heard bits and pieces about this vendetta. Southerners loved a feud. It made great headlines on the news.
“Well, the whole thing turned when the truth came out, and now Cammie has her own show, and Jessica is out on her—” Junior began.
“We get it, Junior,” Maeve said. “Anyway, Jessica is now begging Cammie for any airtime she can get.”
Nick nodded. “Sounds like that might draw quite a crowd.”
“People love a dramatic saga,” Cammie said.
“Or a catfight,” Junior said and snickered.
“I’ll lend you a few of my recipes if you need them,” Mrs. Wiggins offered.
“I might hit you up for your shortbread recipe, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Wiggins. It’s widely known around here. In fact, isn’t it time for dessert, y’all?” Cammie asked.
“You bet,” Miss Maureen said. “Let’s clear this food and make room.” Like a well-trained army, the Laroux children, along with Anna, Rose’s pregnant daughter, magically cleared away dinner plates, casserole dishes, and soup tureens, and made the switch to clean dessert plates, silverware, and far more desserts than an army could eat in one sitting.
“Wow, this is amazing,” Nick said, marveling at such efficiency.
“We’ve had plenty of practice serving at events over the years. Pressed into service at a young age, you know,” Ben said, as he placed a large, steaming dish of bread pudding in front of Nick.
Nick sighed in appreciation, turned to his right and caught Rachel’s eye. She appeared a little flustered—face flushed—and just as soon as their gazes met, she raised the camera up to her eye.
By the time Rachel pulled into the drive and unloaded Mrs. Wiggins and her various tins, she was exhausted. The laughter, the over-eating, and the crowd made her want to seek refuge and solace in her tiny, quiet apartment. In her pajamas, and without a bra. But she was acutely aware that within the next hour or so, her blessed bubble of peace and tranquility would likely be shattered by a man moving in next door.
Rachel was a special kind of introvert; she loved spending time with people, but needed to retreat to her own corner to refuel with alone time and quiet afterward. That’s why photography made perfect sense as a career. She shot weddings, parties, and other events, interacted with clients, and then hurried back to her solitary space to edit her work.
She figured the good doctor would be at the hospital most of the time, so hopefully, his becoming her next-door neighbor wouldn’t cramp her style much. It’s not like they were dating or anything. Heck, they weren’t even friends, and only barely acquainted. But something about his entering her territory and invading her space rankled. Rachel had just gotten her bearings around here. She was booked with shoots through the first of the year, so she had job security for the foreseeable future. She was content for the first time in a long time, and was finally beginning to relax a tiny bit in her surroundings. Change wasn’t something she welcomed right now. This new neighbor meant she would have to put on a bra, dang it.
But she still changed into her comfy, loose, cotton pajamas, which were decidedly decent by any standards. She pulled her hair up into a messy bun with a clip and flipped on the TV for background noise, and football. Rachel curled up on her sofa, connected the cord from her camera to the laptop, and transferred the many photos from today’s gathering. This was the kind of editing she most enjoyed—photos of people she loved all together. She’d caught them unguarded and relaxed. They were laughing and talking. Their love for each other was evident in every shot.
She grinned at a picture of her tiny niece, having just stuffed chocolate cake in her mouth, giving Ben an open-mouthed kiss. Ben’s expression of surprise having been given two-gifts-in-one cracked her up. This was a Christmas gift no-brainer.
A knock on the door startled her from her screen. “Coming,” she called. She exhaled. That was why she dreaded a new neighbor.
“Hi, neighbor,” Nick said, and noticed Rachel had changed to night wear. “Long day?” It was barely seven-thirty at night, and though it was chilly outside, and dark, it seemed early for bed.
“I changed the moment I got home. Pajamas are my mainstay.”
He held his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I wouldn’t want you to change on my account. Just passing through.”
“Can I help you?” She raised a very well-shaped eyebrow.
“Do you have a hammer? I’m low on essentials since I left home with pretty much nothing to come here.”
She looked like she might shut the door in his face. “I have a hammer. Is there anything else you need?” So you don’t bother me again. Nick got the implied message.
“Just a hammer—for now.”
She stepped back, opening the door for him to enter. As he followed her inside, Nick was enveloped by the warm, cozy atmosphere of her place. He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what made it seem so welcoming. The décor, maybe; her sense of style was eclectic, a mix of items both old and new in muted colors with tons of framed photos scattered around. The place smelled of roses, a delicate version of roses. The same scent surrounded Rachel. He’d first noticed it the night they’d met at the hospital. It was fleeting, and light.
“Here’s my tool kit. Just in case you end up in need of, say, a screwdriver or an extra nail or two.” She was holding a metal tackle box-sized tool kit by its handle.
“Great. I might need a screwdriver,” he said and looked around. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Thanks. I spend a lot of time here, being self-employed. I need to like my surroundings.”
“Well, the house is fantastic. I feel fortunate to have found this place. I hope you don’t mind my barging into your sanctuary,” he said, and couldn’t help but
get stuck when a long pass was thrown on the screen. He held his breath to see if it was caught for a touchdown.
She noticed. “Are you a fan?”
“Not a Cowboy’s fan, but a football fan. We talked about it at dinner when you left to get your camera in the kitchen. I hear you’re an Aints fan.” Saints fans had been heckled for years with this dropping of the S.
“Watch it buster, or you can forget about borrowing my hammer.” Her eyes sparkled dangerously. “So, I’m guessing you’re one of those pathetic squawking dirty bird fans.”
“Guilty. We rise up.” He used the Atlanta Falcons slogan from the year before when they made it to the Super Bowl, but lost at the very end in a real heart-breaker.
She shook her head as if that was the saddest thing she’d ever heard.
“So, I was saying that I hope my moving here won’t be an issue for you. I know it’s sudden.”
She gave him a somewhat pained smile. “Of course your moving in won’t be a problem for me. But I’m pretty private and a bit of a homebody, truth be told.”
Message received. “Well, I’ll do my best not to get on your nerves, except on game day. My coming here was a pretty big blip on my radar and I’m still trying to get used to the idea that I’m taking a break from my life to do this.”
“I get it. I moved to be near family after living my entire life in New Orleans. It was—an adjustment.”
“I thought I detected a little bit of an accent between you, your sister and mom.”
“We up-towners aren’t so blessed with the strong accents as those in some other parts of the city.” She seemed a tiny bit defensive.
“No offense intended. I like it.” He grinned. “Thanks for the tools. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.” He stepped outside, feeling like the ambience had just been sucked away.
“You can leave them outside the door when you’re finished. No rush.” She shut the door behind him.
As he opened the door to his own apartment, he caught himself smiling. Rachel Prudhomme was a prickly woman. It amused him that she fought her irritation with his intrusion into her solace. Clearly she’d been taught to be a lady and use good manners, despite wanting to call through the door for him to go away. And despite his being a Falcon’s fan.
And he was getting a kick out of annoying her for some reason. That wasn’t usually his thing, so it made him pause. He’d avoided conflict with women like the plague for awhile now, since he and Monica split a few months ago, and while that made him sad, he’d been enjoying his own blessed peace and silence. So, he should appreciate and empathize with his new neighbor instead of feeling the inexplicable need to pester her.
He was still smiling though. Maybe the next month or two wouldn’t be so bad. He’d consider it a break from the hassle of his normal life. If yesterday’s patient load was any indication of how things were to be here, his stress level would be significantly lower at work, and being away from his mother would be its own vacation. Speaking of his mother, he’d been avoiding listening to the voicemail he’d received earlier. It was Thanksgiving, after all, and he would call her after he got things squared away in his new place.
He’d brought a set of sheets, pillows, and his grooming items, and of course, clothing. The things he would normally take with him on an extended stay. Not that he’d been anywhere away from work for more than a weekend in a very long time. Nick figured he would get whatever else he needed once he got here.
The television was tiny, but Mrs. Wiggins mentioned the cable was connected. He hoped it was, because being single and alone in a new place seemed awfully quiet right now, plus, he wanted to catch the game that was on. He liked football, and Rachel had a large, lovely flat screen next door, and right now he was feeling a fair amount of screen envy. He envisioned his fifty-two-inch ultra HD at his townhome back in Atlanta and sighed. Just a couple months.
The apartment was old, but it was charming. The living room windows were large and ran the length of the room. They overlooked Ministry’s historic Main Street. The heavy shades were pulled up, and could be let down at night. Long, heavy patterned curtain panels hung at each end of the windows were held back by heavy iron hooks. The sofa and large club chair were slipcovered in a textured beige cotton with large colorful striped and floral throw pillows. There was even a sisal throw rug that pulled everything together.
Everything blended without the feeling of matchi-ness. It was quaint for a furnished apartment. In Nick’s experience, an already furnished place meant a hodgepodge of stained leftovers from former tenants. Not that he’d ever lived in a nasty place, but he’d had lots of friends during college and medical school who hadn’t been as fortunate. He hoped the bed wasn’t as old as the television. Sleep was an important commodity and worth a decent mattress, even for a month or two.
Nick’s phone rang then, and he saw it was his mother’s number. The urge to ignore the call was strong, but it was Thanksgiving, and he was thankful, after all.
“Hey Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, dear. I’m assuming you’ve worked another holiday because I haven’t heard from you.”
Was this a rhetorical statement? Or, did she require an answer?
Before he had a chance to reply, she asked, “Well, did you work, or have you avoided your mother?”
Shit. “I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner by a family here in Ministry, so no, I was off today. I did start work yesterday though.”
“It wasn’t those tacky cousins on your father’s side, was it? I mean, they have plenty of money, but no class at all. Small-towners.”
Nick closed his eyes. He could imagine his mother’s mouth tighten in disapproval of his father’s people. Mom grew up in the city, and Dad had more of an acceptable rural gentry upbringing. How the two of them were still living together, Nick couldn’t imagine. He hoped to never marry unless he found someone who accepted him for who he was, and not what he could financially contribute to a marriage.
“No, it was the Laroux family. They own the event-planning business in town. I saw one of them yesterday in the emergency room for something minor, and they invited me for dinner.” He smiled at the memory. It had been so nice of Sabine.
“They invited a random stranger to their family dinner? How odd. Rednecks are so hokey. I guess you had a fine time whooping it up with people who weren’t your own blood.”
He recognized her attempt at humor by using Southern colloquial phrasing, and affecting a country hick accent as well. But he caught the whiff of jealousy that he’d spent time on Thanksgiving with someone other than her. It hit Nick as very offensive, since he considered the Laroux family quite respectable and not at all “a bunch of rednecks.” They were small-town Southerners to be sure, but to assume everyone here was toothless and spit tobacco in the streets was haughty, even for his mother.
“Mom, you know there are plenty of people that even you would find acceptable company here, the Larouxs being among them.” He tried not to lecture, but she kind of deserved it.
“Well, excuse me. The last I heard, you were grumbling about going down to a, how did you put it, backwoods, podunk, town in Alabama?”
She had him there. That was exactly how he’d anticipated this place would be. “You’re right. I was expecting the worst. Fortunately, I’ve met some nice people and it’s not so bad. At least, it’s not bad so far. I shouldn’t have judged the town or its people, either way. I was pissed that this move was out of my control.”
“Language, Nicholas.” He could feel her disapproval across the miles.
“Well, I was.” He hated when she corrected his word choice like he was still ten years old.
“Your brother was here earlier with Stacey. She’s very pretty, but I don’t know if she’s quite the kind of person we want in our family. I wish he’d stayed with Debbie. Now, she was quality. Have you heard from Monica?”
He ignored that last question.
“People aren’t graded on a scale like
apples, Mom. And if Chuck didn’t love Debbie, why would you want him to stay with her?”
“Sometimes love isn’t the best reason to get married. The most solid marriages are based on mutual interests and common goals. Love fades, passion dies. Be smart and go for something that lasts.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Like you and Dad?”
“Exactly. Now, I need to make sure your father isn’t sneaking another scotch, so I’ll let you go. I expect to hear from you regularly while you’re—away.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
Nick flipped on the ancient television that sat inside an antique armoire, and he was relieved to see there was basic cable connected to a rather aged box sitting beside the TV as well. The picture wasn’t what he was used to, but for now, it kept the silence at bay. Well, not exactly silence. He could hear the muffled sounds of Rachel’s television through their shared wall. It was mildly comforting to know there was someone on the other side.
He’d not experienced this unpleasant sensation in a long time. It was hard to put a name to it—was it loneliness? In a world filled with people, he was sitting in a new place, surrounded by things that weren’t his, alone, on Thanksgiving. He guessed he might be just a little lonely. It was rather humbling.
Chapter Six
“Rachel, are you sure this is a sexy pose?” Judith Jameson asked as she hiked her leg up on a stump. She and her sister, Jamie, had called last minute to book a sitting to surprise their husbands. They’d come up with the idea of a slightly sexy/naughty series of photos on a lark.
“Um, maybe lower your leg just a bit, I’m a little worried about your balancing on that log in those heels, Judith.” It was all Rachel could do to keep a straight face. They were both dressed in bright red velvet Mrs. Claus outfits that the lady herself likely wouldn’t have approved of.
“Good Lord, Judith, you don’t need another broken leg,” Jamie called to her sister.
That had Judith lowering her leg immediately. “Fine. How’s this?” She struck a less risky but still sultry pose.