Chapter Six
Keira didn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon. I could live with that. Happily. What I didn’t want was for her to start talking when we got home. To Mom.
Thankfully, she didn’t rat me out when we got back. This was because Mom was having a teleshrink session with Dr. Phil and wouldn’t have heard the ratting.
Mom’s obsession with Dr. Phil. Now, there was an interesting phenomenon. I watched her staring at the TV while he counseled a couple in crisis and thought of that old saying about shutting the barn door after the horse was already gone. In Mom’s case it was more like shutting the garage door after the Jag had vroomed off.
So instead of tattling, my sister disappeared into the kitchen. Not a bad idea. My salad had long worn off. I wandered in for a sugar fix and opened the Tupperware container in search of a Christmas cookie. I stared in disbelief. Empty, bare, nada, zip. I looked up and saw my sister quickly stuffing the last frosted tree in her mouth.
“You ate the last one,” I accused.
“There’ll be more at the New Year’s Eve party,” she said, shooting crumbs at me. Then she made a so-there face.
I glared at her and pulled a mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “Never mind. I’ll make more.”
She swallowed the last of her cookie. “I helped pay for that ticket, you know.”
“I’ll pay you back your share. With interest.”
Keira frowned and turned to go.
“Come on, Keir. Try to understand,” I pleaded.
“Oh, I already understand,” she said. “I understand more than you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
She shook her head, the picture of disgust, and left me with the empty Tupperware container.
Of course she couldn’t answer me. She had no idea what she was talking about. She was just trying to sound dramatic and mysterious. It was all those plays she’d done in high school. If she wasn’t so invaluable at the coffee shop, she could have become the next Julia Roberts.
I looked to where Mom sat in front of the TV. What was the big deal, anyway? I wasn’t leaving until after Christmas. And I’d told Mom I couldn’t stay more than a week. It wasn’t my fault she hadn’t listened. Nobody in my family listened. Ears were wasted on them.
Of course, I should have let my sister’s pettiness go. But I didn’t. Instead, I fumed as I flattened and cut dough, generating enough heat to bake cookies without the oven.
Dr. Phil finally finished giving Mom her daily dose of relationship advice, and she joined me in the kitchen just as I was taking a batch of Christmas trees from the oven. “More cookies?”
“Keira ate the last of the rolled ones.” I sounded whiny. Well, a little sugar would fix that. I stuck another sugar tree forest in the oven.
Mom didn’t ask if I wanted help. She just got out powdered sugar, butter, and milk and started making frosting. I watched as she dribbled in a couple drops of rose extract. Mom’s secret ingredient for great frosting. I remembered all the times as a kid when we had helped her frost cookies, piling on mountains of sprinkles, sampling so many trees and Santas that we buzzed for hours after.
She smiled at me over her shoulder. “Do you do much baking in New York?”
“No time.”
“You like to bake,” Mom reminded me.
“No, I like to eat what I bake.”
Mom grinned. “You’ve always been big into treats.” She reached out and patted my arm. “Speaking of, it’s a real treat to have you home.”
I almost felt a tiny Keira dancing up and down on my shoulder, screeching, “See? See? You need to stay.”
I gave her a mental swat and sent her flying. I didn’t need to stay. I was already staying through Christmas and that was enough.
“It was really sweet of you to buy the ticket,” I said.
“Your sister and brother chipped in. And Aunt Chloe. We all wanted to see you.”
“Remember, Mom, I told you I couldn’t stay all that long.”
Mom turned her attention back to the frosting bowl. “I know. But we figured it was the holidays, and you wouldn’t be all that busy. Anyway, who knows when you’ll make it home again.”
Probably not for another decade. I was just working up my courage to explain about the important upcoming meeting at Image Makers when Aunt Chloe made her grand entrance.
“I’m here,” she announced, lumbering into the kitchen. She held a bulging bag. “Brought dinner from the deli,” she said, unloading imitation KFC. “Ooh, cookies,” she said and helped herself to one.
I sighed inwardly. Now that Aunt Chloe was here any chance of getting my fill of frosted trees was officially gone. Like my chance of breaking the news of my early departure to Mom.
I guess I could have told both her and Aunt Chloe right then and there in the kitchen that I would not be here come New Year’s, but they were both smiling, looking so pleased; with life, with me, with the cookies. It seemed a shame to spoil such a happy, not to mention normal, moment. I opened the deli bag and took out a chicken leg to munch, then tried not to feel like a cannibal as I bit into one of my own kind. Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“It’s way too quiet in here,” Aunt Chloe decided. “We need some Christmas music.” She flipped on the stereo in the living room to the local station and the voice of Burl Ives started to wish us a holly jolly Christmas. She turned around and held out both hands. I half expected her to take a bow. “There. How’s that?”
“It beats The Little Drummer Boy,’ ” Mom said as she slathered green frosting on a tree. “Barely.”
We had just finished frosting the cookies when Keira returned. I was sure her nose had led her. The kitchen smelled like a bakery early in the morning.
“Well, we’re all here,” said Aunt Chloe around a mouthful of chicken. “I guess we can eat.” As if we hadn’t been for the last ten minutes.
We settled down at the kitchen table with Aunt Chloe’s take out offering. I tried to enjoy the food, but dread that Keira would announce my early departure did bad things for my appetite.
“How did the house-hunting go?” Mom asked her.
A distraction. Thank God.
My sister set down her chicken. “I found the most amazing house.” She bobbed her open hands up and down in a stop-and-listen-to-this-incredible-news motion. “It’s in Fairhaven, and it is fabulous.” She grabbed her purse from the counter, took out her cell phone, and brought up the pictures she’d taken.
“Wow,” said Aunt Chloe. “Is that the new housing development?”
Keira nodded.
“You’ll have to mortgage your firstborn to get into it,” Mom predicted. “Oh, my. Look at that living room.”
“It is a little pricey,” Keira admitted, “but Gabe thinks we can swing it.”
“Gabe isn’t the one who has to live with the house payments,” Mom said.
Keira frowned. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, of course. I just don’t want to see you get in over your head. Nothing strains a marriage more than financial problems.”
“Don’t worry,” Keira assured her. “Anyway, I’ll do without something else if I have to. Food, clothes, furniture … I don’t care. I must have this house.”
I flashed on an image of a starved and naked Keira, sitting on the floor of her unfurnished new house, and moved my plate away. In the background, some woman sang “Santa, Baby.”
“We’ll bring you care packages of Christmas cookies,” Aunt Chloe promised. She pushed away from the table and headed for the counter where the newly-frosted batch sat, defenseless.
The doorbell rang. “That’s probably Spencer,” Keira said, and hurried out of the room.
“I hope they know what they’re doing,” Mom said.
“Don’t worry,” said Aunt Chloe. “As long as women need pelvic exams your daughter will have a roof over her head.”
Keira returned, towing Spencer behind her. “Spencer, this is Andie.”
Spencer was a hunk. If you crossed a young Johnny Depp with Brad Pitt in his prime you would have Spencer. Johnny Pitt. With money. Johnny Pitt Trump.
“I’m glad to finally meet you,” he said. He took my hand and I let him shake it around a little bit.
“Same here,” I said.
Spencer was giving me a brotherly smile now. “I feel like I already know you. Keira talks about you all the time.”
Keira frowned. “Oh, I do not.”
I could just imagine what she’d have to say to him about me tonight.
“So, you’re in advertising,” he said.
I nodded.
Keira had had enough of sharing the spotlight. “Gabe said he’d show us the house before the concert, which means we should go right now.” She tried to turn Spencer around to leave, but with his gaze fastened on the table, he was hard to turn.
“Have you eaten yet, Spencer?” Mom asked.
“Actually, no.”
“We can fix that,” Keira said. She grabbed the bag with the leftover chicken. “Come on. You can eat in the car.”
He looked horrified.
“I’ll feed you,” she said, and started pushing him. “See you guys there,” she called over her shoulder.
Mom shook her head as they exited. “Poor Spencer. He has no idea what he’s getting into.”
If he doesn’t, his brains have been sucked out by aliens, I thought.
“Well, we’d better get this mess cleaned up and get ready to go,” Mom said. She picked up her plate and Keira’s and stood.
“I’ll put the cookies away,” Aunt Chloe offered.
Good thing she hadn’t been specific about where she was putting them, I thought as Mom and I loaded the dishwasher. My aunt had a system: one cookie for the container, one for her. I felt like a troll watching someone make off with his treasure. Never mind, you’ve had enough, I told myself firmly.
And by the time next Wednesday came, I’d have had enough of my family too. I knew that as surely as I knew Aunt Chloe was going to wolf down at least four more frosted Christmas trees before we could get her out the door for the concert.
We got to the auditorium and found good seats right in the middle. Mom dug some tissue out of her purse, pulled off a couple of pieces, and stuffed them in her ear. “There, I’m ready,” she said to Aunt Chloe.
Aunt Chloe shook her head. “You’ve gotten old.”
“So have you,” Mom retorted. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Keira and Spencer joined us.
“So how was the house?” Mom asked him.
“He loves it,” Keira answered.
“What?” Mom took the tissue out of one ear.
“He loves it,” Keira repeated.
“Yeah, but it’s out of our price range,” Spencer added.
“Gabe can make a lower offer,” Keira said.
“I don’t think there’s an offer low enough that we can afford,” Spencer said. “I’m afraid ..
Keira cut him off. “Hey, they’re starting.” She let out a whistle and started clapping.
Oh, Spencer, I thought. Be afraid. Be very afraid. My sister is going to blow your piggy bank to smithereens.
Ben’s band was halfway through their first song when I caught sight of Dad slipping into a row at the back and felt my throat suddenly tighten. We should all have been sitting together as a family for this, and the fact that we weren’t made me mad.
I know. People get divorced all the time. But how many log in thirty-some years and build a false sense of security in their family before they do it? What kind of a dirty trick is that to pull on your grown children? My parents probably had scarred us for life.
Not all of us, I decided as I watched Keira hit the mosh pit and get instantly surrounded by zit-faced fourteen-year-old boys. She was engaged, happy, and in control of her life.
I was in control of my life too, I consoled myself, except for when I had to leave it to come home.
The band really ramped up and, next to me, Aunt Chloe started getting into the concert, calling things like, “Go, Ben!” and “Yow!”
I tuned her out and watched my brother with growing admiration. You’d never have known he’d almost severed his foot from his leg the night before. He was great on the guitar. Better than Phil Keaggy or Eddie Van Halen. He burned up the stage, and all the thirteen-year-old girls in the audience (actually, most of the audience was thirteen-year-old girls) went crazy when he played his screaming riffs.
Me, I was going crazy for the bass player. His hair was blond as a California beach bum’s, and he had a gorgeous, chiseled chin that could have qualified for space on Mount Rushmore. He was singing with that pained expression musicians get when they’re really into the music. I couldn’t understand the words, but I’m sure whatever he and my brother were singing together was profound. A man who was both profound and cute. He had the whole package. Was the package tied up with a girlfriend?
After the concert I ambled down to congratulate my brother. Yes, and to meet the bass player. Since I was hip deep in thirteen-year-olds, I resigned myself to a long wait.
But Ben spotted me and called me over, and the girls eyed me jealously. He hauled me up on the stage, then slung an arm over my shoulder and pointed me at his bass player, who had been talking to a crowd of tweenies.
“James, this is my hotshot New York sister, Andie. Sis, James Fender.”
James was still wearing his bass, fingering the frets. He smiled at me and dimples popped out on his cheeks. “Hi.”
“You guys were good,” I said.
“Just good?” Mr. Fish Without Legs was angling for a better compliment.
“Okay, you were great.”
“You play music too?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Ben got all the musical talent in the family.”
James nodded. “Well, you got the looks.”
James Fender was a very astute man.
“And the brains, from what Ben tells me,” he added.
I tried to look modest.
“I suppose you’re busy seeing all your friends,” he ventured.
I shrugged. “Not that busy.”
“Got time for dinner?”
“Great job, man,” I heard a familiar voice behind me saying.
Oh, no. Not Gabe. Not now.
No time for coy replies. “When?” I said.
“Tomorrow?” he suggested.
My brother is the only man I know who can multitask. He stopped in mid-conversation with Gabe to insert, “She can’t tomorrow. Mom’s got us going to get the Christmas tree.”
“Day after tomorrow” I said quickly. If anyone had family bonding plans for me, too bad. I should at least be allowed one night off for good behavior.
“Great,” said James. “How about I pick you up?”
“You know where I live.”
“Around seven?”
“Sure.”
Behind me, Aunt Chloe’s voice boomed. “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Paul Revere? Only with blond hair.”
My aunt was comparing the bass player in my brother’s band to a guy from the Revolutionary War? Great. I could already see my date getting canceled on grounds of insanity. James stared at her blankly.
“You know,” she prompted. “Paul Revere and the Raiders. The band. He was a hunk.”
Near-recognition dawned in his eyes, and he nodded politely.
“Have you met my niece?” she asked.
He smiled at me. “Just did.”
“She’s only in town for a little while.”
“Thank you for sharing that,” I said, trying to keep it light. I made an attempt to move her away.
Aunt Chloe planted her feet. “I wouldn’t wait too long to call her. You don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Or an ex-wife?” My whole face felt like a stove burner on high. “We’d better let him get back to signing CDs,” I said quickly. I put my shoulder into it and turned her around. Then I started us march
ing the opposite direction, shooting an apologetic look over my shoulder as we went.
James Fender was wearing one of those quizzical smiles you always read about characters in books wearing. I’m sure it got even more quizzical when I marched right into someone.
I started to apologize, then realized who I’d bumped into.
Gabe nodded the direction I’d just come. “I see you have time in your schedule for making new friends. Maybe you could fit in dinner with an old one.”
“Well, I’ll just leave you two,” said Aunt Chloe, Mistress of Subtle. She gave me a pat on the shoulder, then practically skipped off.
I was zinging again. I neutralized it by looking over to where James stood, still strapped into his bass and scribbling on CDs. “My schedule’s going to be full.”
Who was I kidding? Aunt Chloe’s romantic assistance had probably scared off James. Heck, she’d scared me. I’m trapped in a sitcom, I thought miserably.
No, not trapped. I would be going back to New York. And soon. First thing tomorrow I was calling the airline.
Chapter Seven
Gabe didn’t take my rejection too hard. Maybe that was because he wasn’t taking the hint. “Oh, well. I’ll be over at your place off and on,” he said. “So I’ll see you around.”
“What do you mean you’ll be over?” Since when was Gabe Knightly a fixture at the Hartwell house? “For what?”
He shrugged. “This and that. Might have to take Keira house hunting some more if she can’t convince Spencer to make an offer on that one place she wants.”
That would put Gabe in our front room a grand total of five minutes. I could stay in my room.
“Your mom has me over for dinner sometimes,” he added. I stared at him, sure I’d misheard. The founder of Man Haters, Inc. was feeding the man who had betrayed both her daughters? If it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t want to go on national television with my entire family, I would have written Dr. Phil. Dear Dr. Phil, My mom’s a great fan of yours. Maybe she’ll listen to you.
“Did Keira ever tell you why we broke up?” Gabe asked suddenly.
“No. Why did you break up?”
“Why don’t you ask her sometime?”
A Carol Christmas Page 7