As I snuggled up to Jim and the two sleeping canines, I decided it was high time we took a fabulous anniversary trip of our own.
Chapter 2
You have two choices. You can agree with me, or you can be wrong.
“I never thought I’d be jealous of Phyllis and Bill Stevens,” I said to Lucy and Ethel as I poured their breakfast kibble into matching bowls, “but I sure do envy them that trip. Jim and I haven’t been away together—just the two of us—since Jenny was born. And that was twenty-nine years ago.”
I immediately regretted that I’d broadcast Jenny’s age, even though it was only to the two dogs. Some women are sensitive about their age, and lie about it every time they’re asked. Not me, of course. I take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and lie about it all the time, even if nobody asks me.
I figured that, since Lucy and Ethel were also females, they could be counted on to keep Jenny’s age a secret. But just to be sure there was no misunderstanding, I added “People years are not the same as dog years. So do not multiply twenty-nine by seven. In case you were struggling to figure that out.”
Naturally, both dogs ignored me, as they were too busy devouring their morning kibble.
The table was littered with the remains of Jim’s breakfast—a cereal bowl with a few leftover raisins and bran flakes swimming in a pool of milk, an empty coffee cup, and…blueberry muffin crumbs. That darn Jim. He’s supposed to be on a low-fat, low-cholesterol diet since his little heart incident a while back. But every now and then, when I’m not looking, he sneaks in something he’s not supposed to have. Like a blueberry muffin.
Of course, if I hadn’t bought them in the first place, Jim wouldn’t be tempted.
I poured myself a cup of Jim’s extra-special high-test coffee, stretched (carefully, so as not to throw out my back), and reached for today’s newspaper. I’m of the old school, and can’t start my day without reading every single page of our daily paper. No online news reporting for me. At least, not first thing in the morning.
The front door slammed, and Jim strolled into the kitchen with a cheeky grin on his face. “You owe me big-time, Carol,” he said, bending down to give me a quick smooch.
“I do? Why?”
“First of all, I sat through Phyllis and Bill’s travel monologue last night without going to sleep. And second, I found their photo album on the coffee table and returned it to them so you wouldn’t have to. I figured that you’d end up being trapped there for an hour, whereas I could make a speedier getaway. Plus, it’s icy outside, and I know how petrified you are of falling and breaking something. So, you owe me. Big time.” He gave me a loving leer.
“It’s a little early in the day for that, Jim,” I said, blushing. “And I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“You’re no fun,” Jim said. “What happened to spontaneity?”
“I guess I misplaced it,” I said defensively. “I’ll look for it today, I promise. Maybe I’ll find it this afternoon and surprise you.” I gave my husband a kiss on the cheek. “I really appreciate your returning the photo album. How did you manage such a quick getaway?”
“I caught them just as they were headed out to do errands,” Jim said. “Bill was dropping Phyllis off at the grocery store, and then getting the car serviced. So they were in a hurry. My timing was perfect. Phyllis grabbed the photo album and practically pushed me out the door.”
“Well done, Jim,” I said. “Although there may have been something in that particular photo album that Phyllis hoped you didn’t see.”
“Huh? I thought we looked at all their vacation pictures last night. Hundreds of them, in fact.”
“That’s not what I mean, Jim,” I said. “When I picked up the album last night, I accidentally found a very personal note Phyllis had written to Bill tucked inside.” I smiled at the memory. “It was lovely. I guess it’s never too late to have a romantic getaway, no matter how many years a couple’s been married.”
Jim humphed. “I don’t see why a couple has to go away to have a romantic moment. Or two. Or three. What’s wrong with having them at home? Which brings me back to my original topic. In case you’ve forgotten.”
I had to laugh. “I haven’t forgotten, Jim. But it must be so special to spend private time with the person you love most in the world. In a different place. Away from home. It’s called a vacation. Or, maybe, an anniversary celebration.”
I was pushing my luck here, and I knew it. But, what the heck. In for a penny, in for a pound, as my late mother used to say.
“Anniversary celebration?” Jim repeated. “We always celebrate our anniversary. I take you out to dinner. What more do you want?”
I was getting a little miffed. Maybe because I was still feeling defensive that I hadn’t immediately responded positively to Jim’s earlier romantic suggestion. “Going to a boring chain restaurant with a coupon from the newspaper is not my idea of a romantic anniversary celebration,” I snapped.
“We only did that once,” Jim said. “And you said the food was great. Besides, the coupon was going to expire.”
That did it.
“For your information, dear,” I said, “most people choose their restaurants because they love the food. And the really high-end restaurants, like Maria’s Trattoria, never offer coupons.” I figured I’d throw Maria’s into the mix, because Jim knew my three best friends and I had lunch there on a regular basis to support our pal, retired schoolteacher and chef extraordinaire, Maria Lesco. And the fact that Maria’s served the yummiest pasta in town was an added bonus. Especially to my waistline.
“Okay, Carol, for our next anniversary, how about if we go to Maria’s for dinner?” Jim asked. “You’ll remind me, right?”
I congratulated myself silently that I was making some progress in the anniversary celebrations department. If I could convince Jim to dine sans coupon on a special occasion, that was a major victory.
Not that I was going to be satisfied with that, in case you were wondering. No way. Our next wedding anniversary was going to be celebrated in some exotic place, possibly on a luxurious cruise ship, where a variety of handsome crewmembers vied to fulfill our (my) every desire. Within the bounds of decorum, of course. Remember, I did go to Catholic school.
And since our anniversary was in April, and it was only January, I had a few months to plot my campaign. And lose the ten pounds I planned to re-gain during this vacation.
Chapter 3
I’d rather wine than whine.
Sometimes, I’m subtle. More often, I’m not. Especially when I want something. And I wanted this anniversary celebration trip more than I’d ever wanted anything in my entire life.
Okay, that’s a lie. I wanted grandchildren more than anything in my entire life. But that was an area that I had absolutely no control over.
How does that prayer go? Give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Or something like that.
Nobody would ever describe me as serene. Even when I’m asleep, I toss and turn all over the bed. At least, that’s what Jim says. Between his snoring and my tossing and turning, it’s a wonder either of us gets any sleep at all. Which may account for his frequent grumpiness, and the increasing size of the bags under my eyes, which are now large enough to accommodate a week’s worth of clothes.
Of course, this brings me right back to my hoped-for anniversary celebration trip. (I bet some of you thought I’d never get there.) And my burning desire to make sure it happened before my passport expired.
Oh, wait. I didn’t mean to tell you that. Well, since the pup’s out of the bag—we don’t have cats anymore—here’s the other reason why I’m so determined to take an anniversary trip this spring. My passport expires this June and I have no foreign stamp on it. Zippo. Nada. The closest I’ve ever come to visiting a foreign land was when the Fairport Merchants Association—of which Jim is a die-hard member—had an international food festival to benef
it a local non-profit organization. No passport was required for entry. Merely $50 a person, which Jim took as a tax write-off. Naturally.
Nine and a half years ago, when my current photo was taken, I looked a heck of a lot better than I do now. And I got a real kick out of whipping out my passport whenever I was asked for identification. Not that I was asked for identification that often. Taking the train into NYC on Metro North doesn’t require a photo i.d.
But now, well, the thought of having a new passport photo taken for trips to faraway places that would probably never happen seemed like a complete waste of money. And Jim doesn’t like me to waste money.
The fact that a new photo of me would be horrible has absolutely nothing to do with it. I am not a vain person. I believe it was the late, great Erma Bombeck who was once quoted as saying, “When you start to look like your passport photo, it’s time to go home.” I say, if you look as bad as your passport photo, you’d better stay home! Since I now looked ten times worse in person these days than my current passport photo showed, I figured that Erma was really telling me I’d better visit exotic ports while the going (and the photo) was good.
Like most men I know, Jim responds best to a well-organized, carefully researched, coherently presented plan of action. While I react emotionally to situations, Jim reacts logically. The old “men are from Mars and women are from Venus” thing.
There are a few exceptions to the Mars-Venus relationship, though. Jim is a real softie when it comes to the dogs. And even more of a softie when it comes to our daughter, Jenny. Don’t get me wrong. Jim loves our son, Mike, as much as I do. And he’s very proud of how Mike has made such a success of his Miami watering hole, Cosmo’s.
But there’s something about the father/daughter relationship that defies logic. Jim’s been super-protective of Jenny since the day she was born. And subjected most of her beaus to endless third degrees, even when she reached adulthood. Unfortunately, his radar didn’t pick up on the most toxic relationship she was involved in. That was left to me (with big-time help from Lucy and Ethel) to figure out. But he gets a pass for that because Jenny was living in California while most of that was going on.
I was sure that if Jenny had married anyone else, Jim would have found a gazillion reasons to dislike her husband. But fortunately, she had the good sense (with a little guidance from me) to marry Mark Anderson, who’d been like another son to Jim and me ever since our kids’ grade school days. Jim really liked Mark. And respected him. And the fact that Mark was now a detective on the Fairport police force was the cherry on top of the sundae, from my point of view.
Mark and I had a terrific relationship. Better than most mothers-in-law had with their sons-in-law, not that I’m bragging, mind you. Except for the few times I found myself accidentally involved in one of Mark’s police investigations, and Mark didn’t appreciate my help as much as I thought he should.
Oh, well. Can’t have everything.
I couldn’t believe that Jenny and Mark had just celebrated their first wedding anniversary. Where did the time go? I knew they didn’t have a big party to celebrate their first official year together. Money is always tight for newlyweds.
But didn’t they deserve to have a party? After all, their December wedding on Nantucket was an intimate family affair. Hmm. It was only January. Maybe it wasn’t too late to celebrate.
In a split second, I had one of my very brilliant ideas. Jim and I would treat the kids to a trip. Yes, that was it. A cruise, maybe, or a vacation on some exotic island—a belated first anniversary celebration. And if the trip also included Mom and Dad, well…why not? A double date, so to speak. Especially since Jim and I had scrimped (my interpretation) on holiday presents for the family this past Christmas.
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you whose idea that was, and this time, to avoid an argument, I went along with him. Besides, part of me agreed that celebrating the holidays wasn’t nearly as much fun now that the kids are grown up. Not that I would admit that, of course.
If the way to some men’s hearts is through their stomachs, the way to my man’s heart was definitely through our daughter. I congratulated myself on my brilliant strategy. Now, all I had to do was convince everyone else.
Chapter 4
If my dog doesn’t like you, I probably won’t like you, either.
“You can’t be serious, Carol,” my friend Claire said. “Why in the world do you think Jenny and Mark would want to go with you and Jim on a joint anniversary celebration trip? That’s an over the top idea, even for you.”
Before I could come up with an appropriate comeback, my BFF Nancy sprang to my defense. “Carol and Jim are very close to Jenny and Mark. It’s only natural that Carol wants to do things as a family.”
Claire snorted. “Not all things.” But she was smiling when she said it.
“Well, I think it’s a sweet idea,” said Mary Alice, the third member of our close-knit circle. “Assuming Jenny and Mark agree, of course. And Jim.”
“Yes,” said Claire, “what about Jim? Is he in favor of this idea? I bet you haven’t even told him yet. Am I right?”
I started to squirm in my chair. That’s the trouble with having friends from pre-puberty days. My group knows me too well.
“I thought we were having a farewell lunch at The Admiral’s Table to send Claire off to Florida until the spring,” Mary Alice said, turning the conversation into another direction. I flashed her a grateful smile.
“Where exactly is your condo, Claire?” Mary Alice asked. “I don’t know much about the state of Florida. Are you anywhere near Orlando? I think that’s where Disneyland is.”
Claire laughed. “Disneyland is in California, Mary Alice. Walt Disney World is in central Florida. The condo we rent is on the Gulf coast, near Fort Myers.”
Our in-house Realtor immediately pounced. “I never knew you and Larry rented a condo,” Nancy said. “I thought you owned it. Why don’t you buy one? After all, you’ve been going to Florida for a few years, and real estate prices are still pretty reasonable there. I bet I could help you find something. I’m sure Dream Homes Realty has a reciprocity agreement with a Florida real estate company.” She pulled out her Smartphone to send a text.
“Down, girl,” Claire said, grabbing the phone away from Nancy. “This is exactly why I never mentioned that we’ve been renting. I knew you’d react just like this. And we don’t want to buy anything. We don’t want the responsibility of owning a second place at our time of life. And we don’t need to build up equity, either. Renting is the way to go for us. So, back off, Nancy.”
Although it was a nice change to have Claire aiming her sharp tongue in someone else’s direction for a change, I did feel sorry for Nancy, who looked slightly shell-shocked at Claire’s attitude.
“Well,” she huffed, prying her phone from Claire’s grip and returning it to her Kate Spade purse, “I think I’ve just been insulted. Are you implying that I am pushy, Claire? I’ll have you know that I am one of the most successful Realtors in Fairport. Clients come to me from all over because they know I’m not only good at my job, I’m also very sensitive to each person’s needs. At no time have I ever been accused of being pushy by anyone.”
Nancy stood up and looked directly at Claire. “Unlike some other people at this table I could mention, but won’t.” Satisfied that her shot had hit home, she turned to Mary Alice. “I’d appreciate your ordering lunch for me. Something light, like a Caesar salad. No croutons or anchovies. And black coffee. I need some fresh air. I’ll be outside for a few minutes.”
Then, as an afterthought, Nancy said, “Remember, I’m the member of The Admiral’s Table. Whatever you order goes on my tab. Some people here don’t reimburse me as quickly as others, and I’m not made of money.” With that, she grabbed her black suede jacket and marched out the door.
An uncomfortable silence followed.
I looked down at the menu and studied it like I was cramming for a final exam. I shrink from confrontation—th
e only thing about me that’s shrinking these days. Unfortunately. I wasn’t going to speak first. Although I wanted to give Claire a good smack for being, well…Claire.
Finally, I heard Mary Alice’s voice. “I guess it’s my turn now, Claire,” she said. “Since you’ve already managed to insult your other two best friends, go ahead. Give me your best shot. I can take it.”
I snuck a look at Claire over the top of my menu. Her face was beet red, and she looked like—wait a minute. Were those tears in her eyes?
“I’m sorry,” Claire said in a whisper. Then, louder, “I’m really sorry for what I said to you, Carol. I know how close your family is. I was way out of line.”
I wasn’t sure I was hearing correctly. Was Claire apologizing for being opinionated and critical? Nah. I must have misheard. So I didn’t respond. Instead, I concentrated on the menu, which was rapidly losing its appeal.
“Mary Alice, you know I’d never say anything to hurt your feelings,” Claire insisted.
Mary Alice shrugged. “If you say so, Claire. But after what you said to Nancy, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical.”
Claire shifted in her chair. “I was way out of line with her, too.”
I found my voice. “Well, if she ever comes back to the table, be sure to tell her that.”
“I sure hope she comes back,” Mary Alice said. “If she doesn’t, what’ll we do about the lunch bill? I don’t want to have to wash dishes in the kitchen to pay it off.”
“Maybe they’d give us matching aprons,” I said. “Or rubber gloves with the Admiral’s Table logo. We could keep them as souvenirs.”
Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6) Page 2