by Nancy Naigle
The problem with that was that being able to see the voting status could influence the popular vote, introducing bias. Something she was careful about in her market research.
There would be some people who would vote for the underdog, just because they wouldn’t want their feelings hurt. Honorable, especially with the amount of work that went into these edible creations.
There’d also be the majority voters. No, she needed to ensure the popular vote was based on the most appealing display.
How best to accomplish that?
She snapped her fingers.
“Got it!” She grabbed the magnetic shopping list notepad from the refrigerator and jotted down a step-by-step process flow.
She swept her pen in a swirly flourish under the last line.
The best part was that after she went outside and fed all the animals, when she read back through the plan, it still worked. And on top of that, it was one that she could put into motion and manage with little effort. Plus, she already had everything she needed to tweak the plan right here. Yes, a good plan all the way around.
“Good morning.” Molly’s voice rang out, followed by the front door slamming shut.
“In here,” Joy called from the kitchen.
Molly came in and placed her empty lunch bag on the kitchen table.
“Happy Friday!”
“No school tomorrow,” Molly said, and she didn’t look too happy about it.
“I thought we’d do something different today,” Joy said, taking her coffee over to the counter where she’d already laid out everything that would go into Molly’s lunch. “How about we make your lunch together today?”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’m going to teach you,” Joy said. Somewhere in her dream-filled night, she must’ve dreamed of Mom, because making lunch together used to be something she and her mother always did. She’d loved spending that extra time making her sandwich side by side with Mom every day. So rather than do it for Molly, as she had for over a week now, she thought they’d switch things up.
Molly dragged the kitchen stool over to the counter and stepped on top of it. “Can I still have peanut butter and jelly? That’s my favorite.”
“Absolutely. I just thought it would be fun to do it together. Kind of like making cookies. That was fun, right?”
“Yes. Lots of fun.”
Joy laid the bread out on the counter. “You want to spread the peanut butter or the jelly?”
Molly bunched her lips, eyeing both. “Jelly!” She wrapped both hands around the fat generic grape jelly jar and pulled it toward her.
“Then I’ll do the peanut butter.”
They both smeared the toppings on their slice; then Joy reached over with her peanut butter knife and swept a smiley face onto Molly’s jelly bread.
Molly clapped her hands and giggled. “I love smileys!”
“Our secret.” Joy stacked the slices, then proceeded to cut the crusts and then the sandwich into the fours that Molly liked.
Joy placed a plastic bag of baby carrots and a cookie in the bottom of the lunch bag, then folded two napkins on top and added the sandwich.
“Thank you,” Molly said. “I like doing stuff with you. I wish you could come to my Christmas pageant.”
“Are you selling tickets?” The least she could do was support the cause. It had to be a better one than what Margie’s kids were raising money for.
“No. We can invite two people. My mom can’t go, though. And Aunt Ruby can’t come either. I thought maybe you’d come.”
“What about your dad? Any other family? I bet they’d love to see you in the Christmas pageant.”
“We don’t talk to my daddy anymore,” Molly said quietly. Joy’s chest tightened. She knew that feeling all too well.
Molly’s eyes were wide, pleading. “Can you come? Please?” The little girl tugged Joy’s heartstrings.
“When is it?”
“Next Tuesday at nine.”
“That’s late.”
Molly laughed. “Nine in the morning, you silly. We don’t go to school at night. Our grade is in the morning. The older kids do their program in the afternoon.”
Her heart sank. “I wish I could go, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go back to D.C. for work, and I won’t be back by then.”
Molly’s bottom lip pouted, and she looked as if someone had just walked by and maliciously popped her favorite helium balloon. Probably one with a smiley face.
“I’m sorry, Molly. I know you’ll be wonderful in the pageant. Tell me about it. Is it a play?”
“No. It’s music. I’m playing the bells. We’ve been practicing a lot. And I’m singing ‘Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ too.”
“Do you know all the words?”
“By heart,” Molly said.
“I love that song. Rudolph is my very favorite reindeer.”
“I love them all.”
Joy carried the lunch bag out to the living room and put it with Molly’s notebook by the door. They’d found a routine and a comfortable friendship. Who would have thought she’d make friends with a seven-year-old? “We still have about fifteen minutes until the bus comes.”
The little girl’s eyes lit up. She rose onto her toes, those little freckles that speckled her nose appearing to dance as she grinned wide. “Ruby said she used to braid your hair just like mine when you were a little girl. Do you know how to do braids?”
Joy smiled at the memory of sitting on her aunt’s bed. Ruby would pull that tight bristled brush through Joy’s hair one hundred times. “So it will shine like the sun,” she’d say. Then she’d braid two long pigtails. Ruby made the tightest braids. They always lasted all day long. It was still one of her fondest memories. That and playing jewelry box. She’d sit and fondle the jewelry from the many drawers, some even like secret compartments, carefully arranging them as if they were the queen’s jewels.
Joy reached for the little girl’s hand. “Come sit over here.” To think she might make that kind of memory for someone. For Molly. Joy gloried in that brief moment. “We can use some of the red rickrack I found to tie the ends.”
“Pretty! You really know how? Like Ruby?”
“Sure do. I learned from the best.”
“Ruby is the best.”
“Yes, she is.” Joy turned Molly’s back to her and ran her fingers through her hair. “Want one down the back?”
“Can you do one like yours? On the side?”
Joy raised her hand and touched her own braid. It had been a half-baked attempt to tame her hair this morning. “Sure. Your hair is long enough.” She pulled Molly’s hair over her left shoulder and then swept her fingers through the child’s long tendrils, tightening each section of the braid as she worked her way down to the end. Joy took the short length of red rickrack and tied it in a double knot to help keep it from slipping. “I don’t have a hair band. I hope it will stay without a rubber band.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Molly jumped down and ran over to a mirror near the door, tippy-toeing to see herself. “It’s so pretty. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We’re like twins.” Molly climbed up on the couch and sat quietly.
She was so well behaved. It still amazed Joy how different Molly was from the sugar-high kids she’d been researching this past year, and even more so from Margie’s two.
“We still have a little bit of time. Why don’t you practice your song for me?”
“I have to stand.” Molly slid off the couch and stood in the middle of the room. “That’s how we practice.” She looked side to side and then slid over about three steps to her left. “I stand over here.”
Joy stifled a laugh at the invisible classroom of kids. It must be wonderful to have the imagination of a child.
Molly bobbed her head as if imagining a one-two-three countdown, and then her voice filled the room. “Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer…” Her little hands flung to the top of
her head like antlers. And then to her nose.
Joy pulled the pillow from beside her and held it to her heart. She really may never have seen anything this darned cute in her whole life. And just how did that little girl sing that big?
Molly’s voice carried loud and strong enough that Joy imagined the animals were probably outside, queueing up to the fence line. Not for food this time, but a front-row seat to the performance. With each animated moment, Joy felt a ping of delight. Her eyes stung as Molly belted out the final “His-tor-eeeeee.”
Joy leapt to her feet and gave the little girl a standing ovation. “That was perfect. Lovely. Bravo!”
Molly curtsied. “You liked it?”
“I really liked it.” Joy held open her arms. Molly walked right into them. “That was fabulous.”
Molly clung to Joy’s neck, and then the sound of the diesel engine of the bus vibrated through the house.
“Time to go, sugar.”
Molly dropped her arms and ran to the table next to the door to gather her things. Joy helped her with her coat and then opened the front door.
“You have an awesome day, Molly.”
“See you Monday!”
Joy’s phone rang as she watched Molly run for the bus. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” Renee said. “Hope your day is going better than mine. Everyone is about as festive as the Grinch around here.”
“What’s going on? Are those sirens I hear?”
“Sorry, yeah, I’m walking down to Starbucks for a fix.”
“Oh, you had me scared there. I thought there was a fire or someone finally broke down and went nuts. You know everyone is so burned out by this time of year.”
“There’s something going on. People are starting to get worried since there still hasn’t been word about the promotions. And now there’s a rumor we won’t even get Christmas bonuses.”
“That rumor goes around every year. Just ignore it. Things will be fine. I think some people just like to stir up drama.”
“Someone said this morning that they heard we’re losing one of our big accounts. But I haven’t heard any details.”
“In the scheme of things, does it even matter? Clients come and go. We are always picking up new ones.”
“You’re not even worried? Did I dial the right number? Is this Joy Holbrook?”
“Funny. Yes, it’s me.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t be better.” And she wasn’t worried, and it was strangely satisfying not to be worried about the promotion or what might or might not be happening at the office.
“You sound different. Melancholy. Is everything okay with Ruby?”
“She’s doing great. Giving that rehab center a run for its money. And me too. I made the mistake of giving her a cell phone, and she’s texting me constantly. It’s kind of funny.”
“Everything okay with the guy?”
“Ben? Stop. I told you there’s nothing to that.”
“I’m just asking. Something’s up.”
“No. I’m fine. Molly just left. She performed her Christmas pageant song for me in the living room a minute ago. She was so cute. I don’t think I’m melancholy so much as I am … relaxed?”
“Relaxed? You?”
“I know. I can hardly believe it, but I’m actually kind of enjoying being here. And Molly singing ‘Rudolph’ has me in a pretty good mood.”
“That’s great. Oh, gosh. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an elementary school performance of the first Christmas. I swear I bawled like a baby when Hanna was a sheep in the manger scene one year. She didn’t even have a speaking part. It was ridiculously adorable, though.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You really love being a mom, don’t you?”
“More than anything. Are you softening on me? You’ve never liked kids.”
“Technically, I just haven’t liked Margie’s kids. Okay, and a few during focus groups, but those are the bratty ones. Taking care of Molly has been kind of eye-opening.”
Renee laughed. “They’re all bratty at one time or another. It’s just easier to take when they’re your own.”
“I guess that would be true.” She thought about how Ruby must appear to other people. A crazy handful, but she loved her aunt for all her faults and shenanigans. “Everything else going okay with you?”
“The Wetherton’s project has gone without a hitch. You’re a star. Everyone knows it.”
“We’re a good team. What about you? Ready for the holidays? Your shopping done?”
Renee paused. “Yes. We’re pretty much ready. The girls are excited.”
“That’s good. Things are shaping up here. Can’t wait to see you at the gala.”
“I had to tell you about the latest gossip, or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to call.”
“Thanks. And you never need an excuse.” She glanced at her watch. “Renee, I’ve got to run. I have to stop by the hospital and give the Extreme Gingerbread Bake-off plan to Ben, then go see Ruby at rehab.”
“Gingerbread? Baking? You don’t know a thing about bak—”
“Don’t ask. I’ll fill you in when I see you, but I promise I’m not in the competition, just helping plan the judging.”
“Well, thank goodness, because you were starting to make me worry. Call me soon.”
Joy dropped her phone in the top of her purse, pulled on her coat, and wrapped her infinity scarf around her neck.
After picking up a few things from the market, she walked down the block to the bakery. Each of the window displays was as nice as the next one. As magical as New York City shop windows, in a whimsical, down-home kind of way.
Angels, snowmen, reindeer, and ornaments the size of a VW Bug filled the storefronts. Every light pole had been wrapped with pine garland and red ribbon. Giant trios of LED snowflakes hung from every one of the streetlamps. At night, this street probably sparkled like a night sky full of stars.
Maybe she’d stop by tonight and make a wish on one.
In the bakery window, a snowy village made of edible treats included Christmas trees made of stacked cookies with colorful sparkles next to Santa’s workshop and the barn where he kept his reindeer. Warm sugary smells tempted her taste buds as soon as Joy pushed the door open.
She stood in front of the glass case. Filled to the brim with every holiday treat imaginable, it was almost too many to choose from.
“What can I get you today?” a young dark-haired woman in a bright pink apron asked.
Joy hugged her coat tight. “I’m not sure. Everything looks so good. Do you have a specialty?”
“The tarts are amazing. The crust of the key lime tarts is made of graham and pistachios. A family recipe handed down from my mom’s mom. They are my absolute favorite, but most people get an assortment box.”
“An assortment sounds perfect. I’m taking them to Dixon County Rehabilitation Center.”
“A dozen?”
“Make it two dozen.”
“Family member in there?”
“My aunt.”
“I know she’ll be glad to see you. My granddaddy was in there last summer. Hip replacement. It’s a long ride.”
The girl boxed up a couple of each kind of cookie into a big candy-striped box and then stretched a length of tulle around the box, tying it in a big fluffy bow. Then she put two extra treats in a wax bag. “Here you go. All set. I tossed in a couple on the house … so you can snack on the drive. Merry Christmas.”
Joy cradled the big box in her arms as she left the bakery, shifting it to one arm as she unlocked her car.
An arm cloaked in brown suede swept the box from her arms.
She turned, ready for a fight.
“Whoa, there. Your hands are full.” Ben held the box between them.
With a half step back that nearly tossed her into one of the lampposts, she huffed, “Ben? You scared me.”
“Sorry. I see
m to do that a lot.”
She regretted that comment she’d made before about him being bad luck in a good suit. That was just mean, and she hoped he’d forgotten it. With her hands free, she clicked the unlock button on her key fob. “Thank you.”
“This is a lot of treats. Where you headed?”
“To see Ruby in rehab. I’m glad I ran into you, though. I was going to stop by and see you later. I worked out the judging of the Extreme Gingerbread Bake-off.”
“I have a free morning, how about I ride with you? We can talk on the drive.”
“You’re not too busy?” Stupid. He’s going to think I don’t want him to come along, and I do. I really do. “I mean, it’s just that it’s almost an hour drive. It’ll eat up the better part of your day.”
“I have the day off. Taking some time before the holidays. I was across the street when I saw your car.”
“I’d love to have your company. Jump in.” Her stomach whirled like the spin cycle on a washer, and she hoped she could think clearly enough not to say something stupid.
He opened the passenger door and folded himself into the front seat. His knees were darn near his chin.
“Sorry. There are buttons on the side there somewhere. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone as tall as you in my car.”
“Clearly.” He finally got his hands on the buttons and positioned the seat as far back as it’d go. “That’s better.”
“Buckle up,” she said, then floored the gas pedal in her little red Prius, tossing him back against the seat.
“I appreciate you volunteering to help with the gingerbread bake-off. The voting is a key element,” he said.
“Is it still volunteering if I bartered for your help on Ruby’s decorations?”
“Absolutely.”
“Cool. Well, Ashley really had more done than you’d thought, but I did make a few tweaks to remove the bias from the voting process.”
“Occupational hazard,” he teased.
“Yes. For sure.” She laughed. “In a good way. So we’ll use the coins like Ashley had planned, but I’m having the acrylic boxes covered in shiny holiday wrapping paper so no one’s vote will be influenced by the other votes.”
Ben cocked his head slowly. “We’ve never even thought of that. But you’re right. I can see how that would happen in a town where everyone knows everyone.”