“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she asked.
“Don’t read that!” I set the box down and reached for the letter.
“Too late.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dear Sophie,
I dearly love baking Christmas cookies with my mom and sisters. It’s an annual tradition. But Mom insists on using her old, blackened-from-use cookie sheets, which always make the cookies too dark on the bottom. We’ve bought her new baking sheets but she won’t use them. Help!
Tired of Burned Cookies in Mistletoe, Kentucky
Dear Tired of Burned Cookies,
Bring Mom parchment paper. No more greasing the baking sheet and the cookies slide off perfectly every time.
Sophie
“That’s not mine. It’s none of our business,” I insisted.
Nina stepped away, still holding Horace’s letter in her hand. “Really? Then what are you doing with it?”
“Did you really read it?” Even though Nina was my dearest friend in the world, I felt an obligation to protect Horace. After all, he’d said Edith should never know about it.
She eyed me. “Okay, it probably isn’t yours. You couldn’t have kept this a secret from me.”
“Nina, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone what it says, or, for that matter, that I even have it.”
“You haven’t read it, have you?” She held it in the air, as if taunting me.
“No. And I don’t plan to.”
“Allow me.”
My sweetest Moondoggie,
Despite my pleas, we are moving away. They won’t tell me where for fear you will follow. My life is over. I don’t know how I will manage without you. No one can ever replace you. I shall hold you in my heart and think of you each day. When you gaze at the moon every night, know that I am also looking at it, and for that brief moment, our hearts will meld across the miles.
Yours forever,
Your Brown-Eyed Girl
I shrank against the newel post. No wonder Nina was making such a fuss about it. What was Horace doing with it? “Is there a date on it?”
“Nope.” She checked the envelope. “No address, either. It must have been hand-delivered or left somewhere for Moondoggie.” She giggled. “I should have known it wasn’t yours. You have green eyes. Brown-Eyed Girl drew a broken heart on it.”
“Broken?” I held my hand out for it, and Nina handed it to me. Brown-Eyed Girl had drawn two sides of a heart, separated by a jagged edge. “This is so cute. How old do you think she was? Fifteen or so?”
Nina crossed her arms over her chest. “I assume you know the identity of one of them.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Where did you get it?”
“Very nice. You’re some friend. Trying to trick me into telling you what I know.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Look, someone gave this to me for safekeeping. I never would have read it. I’m serious. It’s really none of our business.”
She wrinkled her nose and flicked the end of her tongue out at me. “But it’s so charmingly schoolgirlish and romantic.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. If and when I can share what very little I know, then I’ll tell you. Okay? You’ll just have to trust me.”
Thankfully, the kettle screamed and the phone rang with the distinctive jingle I had assigned to my parents. I moved the kettle off the burner and answered the phone, folding the letter neatly and storing it in a cookbook for safekeeping.
“Sophie, sweetie,” said Mom, thereby alerting me that she wanted a favor. She never called anyone sweetie unless she was buttering them up. “Do you remember Aunt Louise?”
Of course I did. She knew that, but she had to work up to the favor that was coming. She’d elevated it a notch by mentioning Louise, her best friend in the world from her college days. I poured water over Twinings Christmas Tea into a teapot with a red spout and handle. The middle was supposed to look like an ornament with the words Merry Christmas written in jaunty letters. Cinnamon and cloves instantly perfumed the kitchen. Nina had her head in the freezer, in search of something to nosh on.
“Her daughter, Patty, is on her way to Old Town,” continued Mom.
She paused, and I knew what was coming. Since it was located just outside of Washington, DC, a stay in Old Town Alexandria could run into serious money.
“I told her you would be thrilled to have Patty bunk with you while she straightens out her problems there.”
It was a done deal. I didn’t even have an opportunity to make a bogus excuse and wriggle out of it. “Problems? What kind of problems?”
My kitchen door flew open. My ex-husband, Mars, short for Marshall, burst in with our hound mix, Daisy. His significant other, Natasha, charged in after him, shouting, “Just say no, Sophie!”
Mars glared at her. “No fair, Nat. Let Sophie decide.”
Daisy romped to me, her tail spinning with joy. Still holding the phone, I bent to hug her.
“Is that Mars?” asked Mom. “Let me say hi to my favorite son-in-law.”
And there it was. The motherly twist of the knife in my back. I didn’t bother correcting her by pointing out that he was no longer her son-in-law.
“Just a second. When is Patty coming? I have a date in a couple of days.”
“A date! With that cute lawyer?”
I could imagine Mom salivating. “Yes.”
“Don’t worry about Patty. I don’t know when she’ll be there. Let me talk to Mars.”
I handed the phone to him. “It’s Mom.”
Natasha immediately said, “I want to say hello, too!”
Nina asked, “She doesn’t want to talk with me?”
I preheated the oven and told Nina where she could find mushroom-and-leek turnovers in the freezer. I had made them in advance so I would have something on hand in a pinch. This wasn’t the sort of event I’d had in mind, but I could always make more.
Natasha demanded the phone from Mars.
Natasha and I had grown up together and competed at everything except the beauty pageants she loved. My mother once had the nerve to say Natasha had made me a better person by always pushing me to try harder.
After my divorce from Mars, he and Natasha set up housekeeping together and bought a home on my block. It made sharing custody of Daisy easier, but it also meant they were still part of my life.
It had been pointed out to me by friends and family alike that there must have been some hanky-panky between Mars and Natasha prior to the divorce. Some blamed Natasha for breaking up my marriage. I didn’t know if she had or not. Some days I thought she might have.
But mostly I had moved on. Although there were moments when I wondered if everything was truly over between Mars and me. For some reason, I pushed those thoughts away and didn’t want to face them head-on. Because I was afraid to open that door and find out what was behind it?
For several years I had dated Wolf Fleishman, a local homicide investigator. When that broke off, I met Alex German, the drop-dead-handsome attorney I hoped to get to know better.
Mars and Natasha promised Mom they would entertain Patty so I wouldn’t have to cancel my date.
I poured tea for the two of them, smiling at the Spode mugs with candy-cane handles. They heralded the official arrival of the season for me.
Mars, a political advisor, wore jeans and a funky multicolored sweater that Natasha must have foisted upon him. It wasn’t his taste. “I see we came to the right place. I’m starved. Any word about Horace yet?”
“What a tragedy. I can’t imagine he’ll survive.” Natasha was one of those people who never had a hair out of place or a jagged nail. I couldn’t remember seeing her without makeup. Her robin’s-egg blue sweater must have been an angora blend. I would have looked like a chubby blue bird, but she was tal
l and slender and carried it off beautifully with matching wool trousers. The silver beading on the sweater set off her almost black hair.
“I’m just sick about it. Horace is such a nice man.” I placed the turnovers on a tray covered with a sheet of parchment paper and slid them into the oven. “I don’t know who to call. I’m guessing neither of you is close to Edith?” I didn’t think she was close to anyone.
“I’ve never had any problems with her,” said Natasha. “Oh! You mean you want someone to call her and inquire about Horace. No thanks, I don’t need my head snapped off.”
Mars opened the doggy cookie jar on the counter and slipped a treat to Daisy. “Sophie, I need a favor.”
“Don’t do it, Sophie!” Natasha hissed like an angry cat.
Aha. Now we were getting to the reason for their visit.
“Don’t do what?”
“Have you heard about the Christmas Decorating Contest?” asked Mars.
The First Ever Annual Christmas Decorating Contest had spurred great debate. Old Town was known for its colonial elegance. Many residents argued that the tradition of a candle in every window should be promoted instead of modern decorations. If they weren’t arguing about that, they were discussing whether first ever annual was an oxymoron. Someone in charge had wisely decreed that the three judges should remain anonymous to eliminate any possibility of bribery or inducement.
A very clear image of an embarrassing number of holiday lights neatly stored in boxes in my basement flashed into my head. Of course. He wanted the lights! “I presume you want to borrow my Christmas lights?”
Mars shook his head from side to side. He wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I want to borrow your house. But now that you mention the lights, I could use them, too.”
I choked on my tea. I hadn’t expected that. By all rights, it should have been Mars’s house. We had inherited it from his Aunt Faye, whose portrait hung over my kitchen fireplace. I had bought out his share fair and square in the divorce. It set me back financially but I loved the almost two-hundred-year-old house—uneven floors and all.
“Natasha won’t let me decorate our house,” Mars explained, cocking his head sideways and giving me the same look Daisy used when she wanted a treat.
“Mars, please. I don’t understand why you can’t be reasonable about this.” Natasha turned on her pouty face, but she must have overused it because it didn’t appear to affect Mars. Her lips drew into a thin line. “Honestly, Mars, I’m not letting you go whole hog with our house. Do you know how fast that would make the newspaper?” She lifted her hands in the air as though picturing a headline. “Domestic Diva’s Cheesy Christmas.”
Mars snorted. “My holiday decor might improve your reputation.”
She clutched her throat like she was gagging. “Oh, pul–ease! You’re like Clark Griswold. No restraint whatsoever!”
“Funny you should mention that,” Mars cackled. “There’s a Clark Griswold award!”
Offering a prize in a Clark Griswold category begged for outrageous lighting effects, like the Clark Griswold character had put up on his house in the movie Christmas Vacation. I debated silently. Was Mars just yanking Natasha’s chain a little bit? There were prizes for the best traditional house, the best colonial decorations, and a kids’ favorite category, in addition to prizes for the best decked out businesses. Mars didn’t have to go bananas in Clark Griswold style. The prizes were fun and sensible—a plaque, a yard sign designating the house as a winner, and dinner for four at one of the participating restaurants.
“So how about it, Sophie? Loan me the house to decorate? I used to do it when we were married.”
I nodded for Natasha’s edification. “He did.”
I try to be a nice person. Really, I do. But the way I saw it, my house would be decorated to the hilt by Mars, and it would aggravate Natasha no end. Win-win all the way around. A surge of wicked Scroogishness overcame me. It was typical of Natasha to think she was the only one who could pull it off. “You’re on. As long as you pay my electric bill.”
“Oh, Sophie!” Natasha shuddered. “The neighborhood will be so tacky!”
“It’s all in good fun, Natasha. Lighten up,” said Mars. He slapped a hand in the air and waited for me to high-five him.
I smacked his hand before taking the turnovers out of the oven.
Natasha glared at me, but I was long past being swayed by her. It was my year to host my family for Christmas, and I had planned to go all out anyway. It would be fun to have a house covered in lights!
Natasha choked on her tea and coughed. “It’s appalling.”
Nina laughed. “Everybody wants to win. Bernie, Luis, Baxter, all the neighbors.”
When it came to Christmas, I was a traditionalist. But sometimes it was fun to go overboard. Besides, I’d seen Natasha’s version of Christmas décor, and it was usually a little offbeat. She wasn’t in any position to complain.
“Can I use the lights in the basement?” asked Mars. “I could wrap them around the trees on the street.”
“Sure. Help yourself. A lot of them are little fairy lights, though.”
“C’mon, Daisy. Let’s have a look.”
As soon as they disappeared into the basement, Natasha said, “I wish you wouldn’t encourage him. That contest is a nightmare. I think the women on this block should protest and put an end to the whole thing.”
Nina grinned. “Not a chance. I wish my husband weren’t off to San Diego tonight. I’d love to join in. Maybe I can hire someone to string lights for me. That would still count, wouldn’t it?”
Natasha’s eyebrows rose. “I have you on the list of houses the neighborhood will decorate during the block party. It would free up a lot of our time if you hired someone. I’m furious with Gwen, though. I’ve had the block party planned since last summer, and now she has the nerve to schedule her cookie swap before the block party.”
Like it mattered? I threw a red retro-style tablecloth over the kitchen table. Tiny Christmas trees dotted the fabric. Around the edge, the scalloped white border was printed with Christmas trees bearing old-fashioned red candles. I placed the turnovers on a white platter and set it on the table. I added small white hors d’oeuvre dishes, forks, and white napkins.
We heard Daisy’s paws and Mars’s feet coming up the stairs.
“Flying reindeer!” Mars was giddy with excitement. “Everyone loves reindeer. Maybe I can find some with moving lights so they look like they’re taking off!”
“Mars! Talk about uncultured. You’re as bad as Gwen Babineaux.” She turned her attention to Nina and me. “Did you see that ridiculous pack of lies Gwen sent as a Christmas letter?”
Nina snorted. “That was the point. There are five lies in it.”
Natasha sighed. “Well, I can tell you which one is the lie about Gwen. Decorated the White House, my foot! Like they would let just anyone do that.”
“Actually, they do.” I sat down at the table, and they took seats, too.
“What?” The tea in Natasha’s mug swayed precariously. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They invite people from all over America to come to decorate each year.”
“Why haven’t I been invited?” Natasha held up her hand when I offered to serve her. “None for me, thanks.”
“Probably because you never applied.”
She frowned at Mars. “Did you know about this?”
“Yes, Natasha,” he said sarcastically, “I spend a lot of time worrying about how they’re going to decorate the White House for Christmas.”
“I still think it’s a lie. Just the way Gwen lies about her age. That business about little Katrina being an art prodigy and selling paintings? She’s six! And there’s no way Bethany has surpassed the capabilities of her school. That girl couldn’t figure out how to light a candle.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure
about that,” said Mars. “She leaves plenty of cigarette butts in our alley. She’s lighting them with something.”
“Obviously Gwen’s lie is about having an affair with a neighbor.” Nina cut into her turnover and took a bite.
Natasha nearly choked on her tea. “I wouldn’t put that past her. Who do you suppose it is? I’m thinking Horace.”
“Natasha!” I protested. “That’s the lie. What married woman would say that in a Christmas letter if it were true?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Gwen’s quite the flirt,” said Mars.
Natasha set down her mug with a thump. “Well, I suppose I’d better take a stroll by the Scroggins house. Looks like we might have two widows to decorate for this year.” She set down her empty mug and left in haste.
Mars flipped his hand impatiently behind her back. “Bah humbug to you, too. The real reason she won’t let me decorate our house is because everything has to reflect her and her taste. It was more fun when you and I did it together. I miss that.”
Nina raised an eyebrow and glued her eyes on me, but said nothing.
Truth be told, I missed it, too. “You don’t mind if I buy pine roping and wreaths, do you?”
“Not at all.” Mars fetched paper. In between bites, he made a rough sketch of the house, showing us what he had in mind. “I’ll help you with the pine and hang the wreaths for you.”
Nina glanced at her watch. “Better go. I have to take my husband to the airport. Call me if you hear anything about Horace.”
Mars left with her, eager to work out his sketch in greater detail on his computer. It was his week to have Daisy. She bounded out with him.
“Looks like it’s just us, Mochie.” I spent the evening decorating the interior of my house.
In each guest bedroom, I placed a teeny Christmas tree with lights. In the small bedroom where my niece would sleep, I had begun a tradition of arranging a street of five North Pole houses on the dresser. They were on a timer so she would see them when she went up to bed at night. Even though she was a teenager now, I knew she still got a kick out of them. The little buildings were lovingly detailed, from the reindeer stables with some open stall doors, to the elves’ favorite after-work gathering hole.
Diva Wraps It Up, The Page 3