Paul moseyed out the car and shook John’s hand. “First stop, McD’s. No road trip is complete without junk food.” Paul poked his head in the van. “Who’s hungry for a greasy McGriddle?” The boys cheered and raised their hands. The “girlfriend,”’ a.k.a. Shannon, declined.
Sal repeated the eye-roll and mumbled. “This isn’t gonna work.”
Grace patted Sal’s shoulder. “Give it time,” she said, glancing at the girlfriend, “She’ll fall into the groove soon enough.”
In the next half hour, the caravan crawled through the drive-through and made it to Highway 50 in record time.
Two hours later, Paul pulled onto the winding road leading to the beach house. John followed close behind. Once they parked in the circular driveway, Grace hopped out of the car and joined Sal, who was already gushing over the gorgeous view.
The kids helped unpack both vehicles. When they finished, Paul and John herded them back into the van to begin their search for the perfect tree. Grace led Sal toward the back of the house.
“I’m so glad you talked me into this, Grace. The kids needed a break from the doom and gloom.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better today.” Sal stuffed her hands in her coat pocket. “The pain is tolerable. This is going to be the perfect place to meditate.”
“Come. I’ll show you the house.”
Once inside, she looped her arm through Sal’s and walked her from room to room, explaining the different decors and re-telling what history she remembered of Paul’s grandmother’s travels. When they reached the master bedroom, Sal was drawn to the French doors leading to the balcony. Grace sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes, remembering the times she shared with Paul.
Sal said, “I told John I want to be buried at sea.”
Grace rose and joined her friend. “What did he say?”
“He’ll never face the fact that I’m dying. That’s why I’m telling you.”
“Duly noted.”
“I mean it. No frills. From the bed to the oven. Pour my ashes in the ocean. End of story. That’s all the salt water I need, so save your tears. I’ve been blessed with a good life, a good man, my boys, and you. What more could I ask for?”
“Time.”
“Yes. I pray for that every day.”
“Me, too.” Grace wrapped her arm around Sal’s fragile shoulders. “Let’s go down to the beach. I’ll show you where Paul first kissed me.”
Sal brushed a tear from her eye. “Now you’re talkin’!”
The sun burst into shades of red and gold, splashing color across still waters. Tiny ruffles lined the shore as day said its last goodbye. Grace and Sal strolled in solitude, watching nature take its course.
“Hey,” Paul shouted from the balcony. “We need the tree trimming crew up here. We found a beauty!” Grace blew a kiss. Sal waved.
“When are you going to marry him? He’s a keeper.”
“He hasn’t asked me yet.”
“Do I need to have a chat with him?”
“No, he’ll ask when he’s ready. Besides, with Jess on the loose, I’m not sure it would be a good idea just yet.”
“Don’t let that SOB dictate your life. Enjoy the time you have.”
“You’re right. Who knows when he’ll be caught?” Grace threw a stick to Sneaky, who had made her way down to the beach.
Sal placed her hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Let’s see this ‘beauty’ they’re talking about.” Sneaky trotted behind, carrying the stick between her teeth.
Paul, John, his sons, and the girlfriend stood anxiously awaiting their arrival. Both Sal and Grace gasped when they saw the fifteen-foot pine standing proudly in front of the window.
“Well?” Paul was beaming.
“It’s a beauty all right! We’ll need the Kings basketball team to help with the lights.”
“No worries,” said Paul. “I have a ladder and the best team a guy could ask for.”
Buns came forward and gave Paul a hug. “Thanks, Uncle Paul.”
Paul returned the embrace, lifting the boy inches off the floor.
“I brought my iTouch,” Shannon announced, “I downloaded a bunch of Christmas songs.”
Sal rushed over and gave her a squeeze. “A girl after my own heart. Let’s hear what you got.”
Sal and Shannon selected the tunes to commence the tree-trimming event. Grace led Paul into the kitchen to start dinner. Overflowing with joy, she said, “It’s a beautiful tree. How on earth did you score one that big this close to Christmas?”
“I had it on hold. I was hoping you and I would spend Christmas here.”
“Oh Paul, I—”
“I’m happy things worked out the way they did. I am having a great time. How about you?”
“I feel so blessed having the people I love most with me.”
Paul leaned in for a kiss. “Oh, I forgot to mention—”
“What?”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Paul grasped Grace’s hand. “I have a surprise for you.”
Paul headed for the front door, Grace in tow. When he opened the door, he greeted their new guest with vigor. “Frances! Perfect timing.”
Grace couldn’t believe her eyes. “Mom!”
* * *
Jess grunted. “Holy shit, Simone. Don’t you think these suitcases are a little heavy?”
“Boots weigh a lot.” She winked, pointing to the pile of empty boxes.
“What did you say to the clerk? Forget the boots and bill me for the boxes?”
“I bought the most expensive pair they had. I mentioned I was shipping all of my old boots to the poor back in Argentina and would appreciate a few extra boxes.”
“Nice.” Jess was intrigued. There was much to learn from this woman. She got an ‘A’ for creativity. “Where to next?”
“Thought we’d leave the suitcases at the bus stop and check into the Mark,” Simone said.
“Just like that?”
“Tomorrow night we’ll see Lion King at the Orpheum Theater.”
“Now I’m beginning to feel like a tourist,” Jess complained.
“Blending in, Sheppard. That’s what I do.”
The bellman came to the door. He loaded the suitcases on the cart. Jess handed him a fifty. “Happy Holidays.” The bellman nodded and tipped his hat. Jess and Simone followed him down to the atrium where a taxi was waiting outside.
The bellman and the taxi driver hoisted the luggage into the trunk. Simone did the tipping this time. The bellman looked at the hundred-dollar bill and smiled.
“Where to?” asked the driver, starting the meter and pulling into traffic.
“The airport,” Simone answered.
“But I thought—” Jess couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Changed my mind.” She pulled the fur collar closer to her throat. “Drop us at arrivals.”
When they reached airport arrivals, the taxi driver removed the luggage from the trunk and set them on the curb. He accepted a large tip and drove away.
“This way.” Simone strutted away like a panther while Jess struggled with the bags. They entered a side door where a crowd of people waited for loved ones. “Put the luggage over there.” She tilted her head to the left. Jess submerged himself into the crowd of passengers retrieving luggage. He set the suitcases on the carousel and worked his way back toward the men’s room. When he came out, he headed for the door. Simone hailed a cab.
“Did I get roped into leaving a girl’s dismembered body in an airport?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Sheppard.” Simone stepped off the curb. The cab came to a screeching halt. “I believe I’m in the mood for crab quiche and a nice bottle of Screaming Eagle.”
“You may have to settle for a Lychee Martini at the Mark. Screaming Eagle is a bit out of their league.” Suddenly, Jess’s expression turned deadly when he turned to face Simone. He placed his hand on her knee and squeezed. His voice remained soft and affectionate, “A
nd darling, don’t ever do that to me again.”
* * *
John hoisted Sal onto his shoulder. The boys, the girlfriend, Paul, Grace, and Frances cheered as Sal leaned forward and placed the angel on top of the tree. John let her down gently and kissed her when she reached the ground. Buns snuck between them to join in on a hug.
Grace couldn’t remember spending a holiday surrounded by more love and warmth. Inside, her heart overflowed with gratitude and joy.
“Clam chowder,” Paul announced. “My grandmother’s recipe.”
Frances tugged on Grace’s sleeve and asked, “You won’t throw this one back will you?”
“Mom!” Grace’s cheeks flushed a healthy pink.
Paul wrapped his arm around both women. “It’s a tradition
in this household that the women are served first. Sal, Shannon, would you please join these lovely ladies in line?”
Once the soup was dished out, everyone gathered in the family room, where fruit and cheese trays were arranged on tables. The crackling fire warmed the room while the sound of the surf soothed the senses. Everywhere Grace looked, she saw a smile and a look of contentment. This is the definition of happy. She never saw her mother so animated.
“I’m glad you could join us, Mom.”
It was Paul’s idea. He called me last night and said, if I had the time, he had the plane. Well, I couldn’t refuse a proposition like that now, could I?” Grace snuggled closer to Paul. Life was perfect for that moment.
* * *
Jess and Simone relaxed at the Sky Bar, dining on crab quiche and house salads. Simone was on her third Lychee Martini. Jess sipped beer.
“Who is she?” Simone asked.
“Excuse me?”
“The woman you’re brooding over, who is she?”
“Not my style.”
“There you go again, Sheppard, treating me like an idiot.”
“Not my intention.”
“You can’t fool me. I know heartsick when I see it. Who is she? Should I scratch her eyes out? Gut her like a fish. Name it. We’re friends.”
“I don’t need you fighting my battles. She is just a friend. I was just wondering what she was doing for the holidays.”
“Why don’t you call her? Have her join us. Would I like her?” The curve of Simone’s lips gave Jess the creeps. Simone went from gorgeous to gargoyle in a flash when she had something evil up her sleeve. Most often, Jess found that endearing, but not when it came to Grace. Grace is off limits.
“I thought maybe we could work off a few of these calories on the dance floor,” Jess said.
Simone’s eyes glistened like sapphires in the candlelight. “Lots of single women out tonight. Have you noticed?”
Jess’s knee bounced up and down. He wondered what Simone would say if she knew about him—knew what he was capable of. The thought made him hard. He touched her hand. “Behave yourself.”
* * *
Sal, John, and the boys retired to one end of the house. Fran settled in one of the rooms on the lower level, leaving Grace and Paul to the master bedroom and their privacy.
“Tired?” Paul massaged Grace’s shoulders.
“It’s been a long day.”
“How about a walk? he asked. I packed a Thermos with hot chocolate. We can go down to the beach.”
“You’re spoiling me.”
“I intend to do more.”
Grace pivoted into his arms and held him tight. “I love you,” she whispered.
“You can show me how much later when we return.”
“We’ve gone from tell to show?” She pressed against him. He found her lips and nibbled their tender flesh before sliding his tongue inside her mouth. Her tongue responded, and soon they were embroiled in passion.
“Change your mind about the walk?” she teased.
“Nope. Warming up. It’s cold out there.”
“In that case, I’d better change into something more appropriate.” She slipped her top over her head, tempting him with her bare skin.
“We’re never going to make it to the beach if you keep that up.” Tossing her a sweatshirt didn’t eliminate the twinkle from her eyes. She pulled the heavy garment over her head and fluffed her hair.
“Last one down to the beach is a rotten egg.” She scrambled into a pair of boots and took off running.
Paul didn’t mind giving her the lead. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a small, black box. He grabbed the thermos from the kitchen on his way out the door.
He heard a shrill of laughter and the slapping sound of a wave. When he arrived, Grace was standing at the water’s edge, soaked to her knees. She doubled over, giggling.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” she said. “It was such a little wave!” The wind blew her hair away from her face. The moon lit her features.
He had never seen her look more beautiful. He ran to her, set the thermos in the sand, and got down on one knee.
“What are you doing?”
“Asking you to marry me,” he said, presenting the black box. “I never thought I was capable of loving another person the way I love you. I never imagined being as happy as I am with you. And if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life giving back to you what you have given me. Will you be my wife?
Her jaw dropped. Suddenly the world turned serious. “Paul,…I—” she stammered. The crashing surf, like cymbals, accompanied her heartstrings. Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly, and then again, “Yes,” telling the world.
Paul slipped the ring on her finger, scooped her up, and carried her to higher ground where he poured two cups of hot chocolate. “To us,” he said, clinking her cup.
“To us.”
* * *
Jess sat at the bar, watching Simone dance with a real estate investor from Portland. Although she slithered around his body, dipping and swaying to the beat of the music, her eye was on the woman dancing alongside her. The other woman was intoxicated and ready for fun. The man she was dancing with seemed aroused as well. Before long, Simone danced between them, leaving her investor acquaintance to dance by himself. When he realized Simone was more interested in the couple than she was in him, he left the dance floor. He bellied up to the bar, his face screwed in agitation.
“Fuckin’ women. One minute they’re getting you all hot and bothered, the next minute, they’re bustin’ your balls.”
“Yeah, I hear you, man.” Jess took a sip of Scotch. “She’s a pistol, that one.”
“I thought for sure I would get laid tonight. Never figured I’d lose out to some broad. What’s this world coming to?”
“Yeah, tough competition.”
The man sneered. “She’s probably lousy in bed anyway.”
Jess returned his attention to his Scotch. He wasn’t in the mood to defend Simone’s attributes or partake in a bar brawl. He had his new nose to protect, not to mention thousands of dollars in dental veneers. He pulled out his phone, tempted to call Grace.
“Someone sitting here?” A tall brunette set her purse on the bar, staking her claim next to Jess. The investor from Portland pouted.
“I’m sure my girlfriend won’t mind.” Jess moved Simone’s things closer to him. “That’s her out there, the Charlize Theron look-alike, dancing with the Heather Locklear and Chi-Chi Rodriguez clones. And you must be Catherine Zita Jones.”
“Ah, a sense of humor. You must be a lawyer.”
“And you must be psychic.”
“Really? I guessed right?”
“No, I’m joking. Darren Sheppard, writer, producer.”
“Fancy Pickett. Writer, Publisher. Have I seen your work?”
“Do you like foreign films?”
“Not really,” she answered. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. What do you write?”
“Murder mysteries mostly, although I have published a few self-help books.”
“So tell me one of the zaniest murder plots you’ve come up with.”
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“If I tell you that, I’d have to kill you.” She held her poker face. “I like poisons.”
“Poisons? Interesting,” Jess said, “but what satisfaction does the murderer get out of killing someone in such a passive manner? Where’s the thrill?”
“The thrill comes from getting away with the crime,” she said.
“I see. Well, that makes sense. But with new technology, isn’t poison easier to detect?”
“Yes, it is. One must be very creative.”
Jess leaned closer. “I’m intrigued.”
“Perhaps you should read some of my books, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Maybe I will, miss…Is it miss?”
“Yes, but please, call me Fancy.”
“I’m sure the number one question you are asked by your fans is where your ideas come from, but being that I’m not familiar with your work, can you please enlighten me?”
“The characters in my books are people who have decided another person—or persons—serve no purpose on the planet. Revenge isn’t motive enough for me. I like to delve into the psychological make-up of my characters.”
Jess listened. Fancy talked. The bartender announced, “Last call.” Jess put Fancy on hold and ordered another Scotch. When he looked around, the dance floor was empty. Simone was snuggled between “ChiChi” and “Heather” in a booth across the room. When he caught her eye, she winked. Jess directed his attention back to the writer.
When she finished going through her repertoire of pros and cons in the publishing world, she asked, “What about you, Darren? How do your victims die?”
“Oh, I enjoy Jack-the-Ripper style: strangulation, disembowelment—that sort of thing.”
“No, seriously. What motivates the killer in you?”
“Whores.”
He left it at that.
* * *
John was the first one up the next morning. Sal pulled the covers closer to her chin, yawned, and rolled over. John tiptoed out of the bedroom in search of coffee.
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