As he walked up the front walk he could see the Christmas tree sitting by the living room bay window, glowing in silent testimony to his first task successfully completed. And he’d celebrated his success by reaching for a bottle of Excedrin.
Thank God there was nothing on for tonight. He’d kick back and pull out a DVD, some good guy flick with lots of things blowing up.
He barely had the door open before Amy was bouncing up and down in front of him, eagerly asking, “Did you get it, Daddy?”
He swung her up in his arms and carried her into the living room. “Get what, baby girl?” Now Tyler was running toward him, Laura following behind. Glen rumpled Tyler’s hair and leaned over to kiss his wife.
“The Advent calendar,” Amy said.
Advent calendar, Christmas to-do list. A sinking uh-oh feeling slugged Glen in the gut.
Laura must have caught a flash of panic in his eyes because now she was smirking.
Never let ’em see you sweat. He put on a jovial smile and stalled for time. “Hi, babe.”
“How was your day?” she asked.
Here was his excuse. “Insane. Crazy.”
“Guess we both had one of those days,” Laura said. “It was a zoo at the Chamber.”
Now Amy was tugging on his pant leg. “Where is it, Daddy? This is December first. We get to open the first window.”
December first. What a smart kid. How did she know that?
Take a wild guess. He looked at his wife. Still smirking.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
This was like the domestic version of a football game—the Christmas Bowl—and while he may have just lost some yardage, he would not lose the ball. He thought fast, adjusting his game plan on the fly.
Inspiration came like a gift from the Magi. “You know what?” he said to his daughter.
Amy was jumping up and down again. “What?”
“We’re going to go out and get it tonight, right after dinner.” Back out into the cold.
“Yay,” Amy whooped, and began to skip in a circle around him.
“Yay,” echoed Tyler, following her.
Where the hell was he going to find an Advent calendar? Time for a quarterback sneak. “Hey, hon. Want to come with us?”
“In your dreams,” she said as she turned back toward the kitchen. “I just started a great book. I’m going to curl up on the couch and read.”
Curl up on the couch. Glen thought longingly about his movie plans for the night. Things blowing up. Yeah, right. The only thing that would be blowing up tonight was the relaxing evening at home. But how long could it take to run out and buy an Advent calendar? He should be able to get that done and still get home in time to kick back with a movie.
Not wanting to waste any time in getting his mission completed, they were barely done with dinner when he said, “Okay, team. Let’s go get ourselves a calendar. Get your coats.” The kids dashed off with squeals of excitement and he turned to Laura. “So where do I get one of these things?”
“You should be able to find one at the book store, if they haven’t run out. I always get mine before the first.”
“Oh, thanks. Way to set a guy up for failure. You know, it would have been nice if you told me when you gave me that stadium-size honey-do list.”
She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “I guess I just thought a smart guy like you would have no trouble figuring that out.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Are you being a smart-ass?”
“Moi?” She put a hand to her heart in a Miss Piggy gesture.
Glen pointed a finger at her. “Hey, I can do this.”
“Piece of cake,” she mocked, turning him toward the door and giving him a little shove. “Now, get going. I had a rough day at work today, too, and I want to relax.”
“Okay, fine,” Glen grumbled. At least she only had to work part-time. He had to work full-time and come home to this nonsense.
The cold air hit him like a slap in the face as he walked the kids to the minivan. He told himself it was no big deal. He’d be done in no time. No, make that record time.
Laura popped a fresh stick of gum in her mouth and savored it as she watched the minivan pull away. Poor Glen. He’d put in a busy day at work and now he had to go back out into the cold and complete another one of the tasks that she did every year and he took for granted. Chances are this errand would eat up his whole evening. She smiled. Welcome to my world.
Learning that the bookstore was out of Advent calendars didn’t improve Glen’s mood. Fumble at the fifty-yard line.
“Where are we going now, Daddy?” Amy asked as they left the store.
“We’re going to go to another store.”
“And get an Advent calendar,” Amy added with the same firm belief she showed when talking about Santa.
“Yep,” Glen agreed. The game wasn’t over yet.
He tried a gift card store next. And, lo and behold, it looked like they had an Advent calendar sitting in the window. Ha! Fumble recovery. First down and ten. He hustled the kids inside. The store was packed with chicks, and the smell of twenty different perfumes made him sneeze. Finding the spot empty where only moments before he’d seen the elusive calendar made him grind his molars. The sales clerk looked at him pityingly and informed him that they’d just sold their last calendar. Second down and ten.
He drove to Hollyworld, the nearest thing Holly had to a discount superstore. Housed in an old warehouse on the edge of town, it was now a popular shopping destination for the thrifty and, in Glen’s case, the desperate. If any store would have an Advent calendar, this one would, Glen assured himself. They probably had tons.
At least he hoped they did. He was running out of ideas. If he didn’t succeed here…Don’t even go there, he told himself. You will not disappoint your kids. And you can’t come home an empty-handed loser.
As it turned out, Hollyworld had one. Just one. Keeping his eye on the goal, Glen dodged crying kids and stressed-out parents, wheeling his shopping cart toward it at breakneck speed. If he didn’t get that calendar there would be two more crying kids and one more stressed parent on this aisle.
He was almost to the prize when suddenly a woman blocked him with a cart piled high with clothes, potato chips, and wrapping paper, and snagged it.
Glen had played football. He understood the importance of mental toughness. Never give up. Never give in.
“Hey, how bad do you need that?” he asked her.
She looked at him like he’d just asked where she kept the key to her front door.
“I’ll buy it from you,” he offered, digging for his wallet.
“I haven’t even bought it yet,” she protested.
“I’ll give you five bucks if you let me have it.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“I mean it.” Glen nodded down at his two children. Both kids were looking up at him with big, blue, trusting eyes. He couldn’t disappoint them. “I promised my kids.”
“Sorry. I promised mine, too,” she said, and started to wheel away.
“Ten bucks,” he said, following her. “I’ll give you ten bucks.”
“Sorry,” she said, and picked up her pace.
“Twenty!” He was racing after her now, Amy running to keep up and Tyler in the cart crying, “Whee!”
“Go away,” she called over her shoulder.
A pot-bellied security guard appeared out of nowhere. “Is there a problem, sir?”
The woman hurried off, like a deer escaping the hunter’s gun. “That woman took the last Advent calendar,” Glen tattled.
The guy shrugged. “It happens.”
“I promised my kids.” Glen knew he sounded desperate. But this guy was older. He probably had kids, maybe even grandkids. He’d understand.
“It looks like you’ll have to go somewhere else,” the guy said.
“Hey, they don’t have any more in the back somewhere, do they? Can somebody find out for me?”
“F
ella. You think they ain’t gonna put out all the calendars they got? They’re out. Those things go fast. Usually people buy them before the first, you know.”
“So I hear,” Glen said grumpily. Third down and ten.
Now Amy was beginning to look worried. “Are we going to get an Advent calendar, Daddy?”
“You bet we are,” he said. “Just not at this store. In fact, we probably won’t shop at this store ever again,” he added, for the benefit of the uncooperative security guard.
“Suit yourself,” the guy said as he turned and walked away. “It’s not like they need the business.”
Glen glared at his retreating back. Okay, shake it off. Maybe he could still find that woman. Catch her in the parking lot. She’d part with the calendar if the price was right.
He caught sight of her just leaving the checkout. “Come on, guys,” he said, hauling Tyler out of the cart.
Amy was now squatting in front of a display of wild-colored nail polish. “Look Daddy. Nail polish. Can we get some?”
“Not now,” Glen said, taking her arm. “We’ve got to get our calendar. And it’s getting away.”
He tried to make a dash, Tyler in one arm and Amy holding his hand, but quickly realized that his daughter wasn’t going to be able to keep up. He tucked her under his arm like a football and ran for all he was worth, dodging shoppers like a quarterback escaping a blitz.
But it did no good. By the time they hit the parking lot, there was no sign of the woman in the crowd of cars and shoppers. It was dark and beginning to sleet. Glen felt ready to punch something, but the kids were with him, so he settled for a growl and a few choice words muttered under his breath.
“When are we going to get our calendar?” Amy asked.
Never, because this was Christmas purgatory. “Soon,” Glen lied. Now it was fourth down and ten at the fifty-yard line and he didn’t know whether to attempt a field goal, punt, or kill himself.
Two hours later he finally found the coveted calendar at their neighborhood drugstore. It was way past Tyler’s bedtime, and even Amy was getting whiny. Glen couldn’t say he blamed her. He felt damned whiny himself. But at least he’d scored an Advent calendar. Touchdown, at long last.
They got back home and hung their prize with much ceremony. Glen felt warm all over, looking at his daughter’s glowing face. This was one small thing on a big list, but it had made the kids happy, and that made him feel like a real superhero. He smiled as he watched Amy reach up and open the first window. He’d been missing out on a real Hallmark high leaving Laura to do this kind of thing without him.
“There it is,” he said proudly. “December first.”
“Where’s the candy?” Amy asked.
“Candy?”
“It’s s’posed to have candy in it.” Her lower lip started trembling and the Hallmark high began to melt into a bad trip.
“Oh. Well, this one has this cool picture,” Glen said, pointing.
Amy began to sniff—little sobby sniffs that heralded a tear storm.
Oh, no, not that. Glen knelt in front of her. “I tell you what. I’ll get you some special candies tomorrow and every day you can open the calendar and have one.”
She was still looking at him with sad eyes, but she sniffed again and nodded.
“Now, go find Mommy and tell her you’re ready for bed.” He’d done his part for the night. Laura could put ’em to bed.
“But I want a candy,” Amy protested.
Obviously, they had a lack of communication here. “Daddy still has to get the candy,” Glen explained.
“I want candy,” Tyler whined, and Amy began to sniff again.
“Okay, tell you what. Tomorrow you can both have two candies. How’s that? Two honkin’ big candies,” he added, stretching his arms wide for effect.
That seemed to be okay. “All right,” said Amy with a smile.
“Okay. Give me five.”
Both kids giggled and slapped his open palm.
“Now, how about a kiss?”
Amy obliged and he hugged her. He hugged Tyler next and sent him off after his sister. Then he let out a sigh and went in search of more Excedrin. Lord. How did his wife go through this every year?
Bob woke up on Friday morning with the uncomfortable feeling that something unpleasant was hanging over his head. The bonbons.
He moaned and rolled over in bed, pulling the covers tightly around him. What had he been thinking when he let Joy dare him into making candy?
He’d been thinking of his daughter, of course. She’d have been hurt if he’d said he didn’t want to do this.
And then there was Joy. If he’d refused to be a sport he would have found himself labeled as the world’s biggest villain. Would have? Who was he kidding? It seemed like he was always doing something to tick his wife off these days. It had to be those hormonally induced mood swings, because sometimes she seemed to be mad at him for simply breathing. How long did menopause last, anyway? Well, it wouldn’t be over by tonight, so he might as well get up and get to the store to find the ingredients.
Joy was already gone. She’d said something the day before about errands and meeting someone for lunch, which had been fine with him. He never minded when she left him to go do things. He always figured that the more she went out with her friends, the less she’d want to import a crowd into their house.
For years they’d argued and negotiated the size of her guest list every time she felt the need for a party. It always wound up fewer people than she wanted and more than he liked. Lots more. Just once he’d like to have the number of guests in his house that he felt comfortable with.
The happy realization dawned on him that since Joy was on strike this Christmas he didn’t have to have any party. The thought cheered him, and he was smiling when he entered the kitchen in search of morning coffee.
Next to the coffeemaker sat the bonbon recipe and a short note. “Happy shopping. See you later.”
Shopping for ingredients to make something he could just go to the store and buy—what a waste of time! Bob downed a bowl of Joy’s homemade granola, then showered and made his trek to the store.
Shopping basket in hand, he studied the ingredients listed on the recipe and realized his wife knew a foreign language, one he had never had to learn. What on earth was “pwd. sug”? “Choc chips” was easy to figure, so he got those. He couldn’t find the brand specified on the recipe, but chocolate chips were chocolate chips so he just grabbed a couple of bags and dropped them into the basket. “Marg.” Marg? He stood a moment, scowling at the list. “Swt. condensed milk.” The only milk Bob knew about came in cartons or jugs. And that was the kind of thing he was used to getting sent to the store for: milk, eggs, lettuce. When it came to baking, Joy’s specialty, she preferred to handle those necessities herself. But now here he was being Joy, handling it all, and all without having the necessary information downloaded into his brain. It could take him hours to figure out the shorthand on this recipe card. He needed to find a translator.
He heard the sound of an approaching grocery cart and looked up hopefully. Another man, probably no help there. His fellow shopper came down the aisle and Bob turned to study the raisins, keeping his shopping basket in front of him so the other guy couldn’t see into it. Somehow, chocolate chips didn’t seem like a manly sort of thing to be carrying around, and Bob felt a little like he’d been caught browsing in the feminine protection aisle.
“S’cuze me,” said the other guy as he leaned past Bob and took a box of raisins off the shelf.
Bob felt his face heating. He nodded and turned, hiding his chocolate chips.
The man wheeled off down the aisle, and Bob looked again at the Greek on the recipe card, willing his brain to understand it.
And then deliverance rounded the corner, a middle-aged woman pushing a half-full shopping cart. Bob flagged her down.
“My wife sent me to the store to get some items for her candy recipe, but I’m not sure what some of the things on h
er list mean,” Bob confessed, feeling like an idiot. It was awkward to have to ask a stranger for help, like stopping and asking for directions in the days before GPS. He had to remind himself he’d feel like a bigger idiot if he failed in his quest for candy makings.
“Could you help me?” He held out the recipe card.
“Sure,” she said, smiling sympathetically at him. “What exactly don’t you understand?”
He pointed to the undecipherable shorthand. “I’m not sure what this ‘pwd. sug.’ is.”
“Oh, that’s powdered sugar. Let’s see, you need three boxes.” She pulled three blue and white boxes off the shelf and dropped them into his basket.
“And ‘swt. condensed milk’?” he asked.
“Sweetened condensed milk. Over here.” He trailed her down the aisle and watched while she scooped a little can off the shelf. “And do you have the paraffin wax at home?” she asked.
He had no idea. And why that was even included in this list of ingredients was way beyond him. They were making candy, not candles. What on earth did they need wax for?
His translator found that, too, and added it to his basket. “Now you just need your flavorings and you’re about done.”
“What about this ‘marg.’?”
“That’s probably margarine.”
“Oh.” Bob nodded.
“And the extracts you want are right down there,” she added, pointing to the end of the aisle.
“Great,” he said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, then wheeled away down the aisle, leaving Bob feeling like he’d just been rescued by the female counterpart to the Lone Ranger. Who was that masked woman?
A Small Town Christmas Page 34