Christmas Bliss

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “The snow was … epic, to say the least. Everything was delayed, but my flight should leave in a couple hours or so,” Weezie reported. “And hopefully, the Atlanta layover won’t take too long. Not sure about Daniel’s. You know he wasn’t supposed to fly home until late tonight, but he’s on standby for an earlier flight. It’s pretty crazy up here. How are things down there?”

  “Weather-wise, we’re good. I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas. Harry stayed out fishing with a charter client last night, the weather is so calm.”

  Weezie lowered her voice. “Any news about Richard? Did you manage to track him down?”

  “Actually, yes. He’s dead, Weezie. He died not long after he got out of prison.”

  “So … that makes you a widow, right? Not a bigamist?”

  “Exactly.”

  She giggled a little, and then stopped herself. “I’m sorry. I know he was your husband. I guess I should have a little more respect for the dead.”

  “Not on my account,” I assured her.

  “How exactly did you figure this out?”

  “Long story. I’ll fill you in when you get home. Your uncle James was a big help. By the way, Harry knows about everything. And he doesn’t care. About any of it. Huge relief.”

  “So glad,” Weezie said. “What about little Squirt? Any news on that front?”

  “Squirt’s good, although Michael Garbutt says the li’l bugger might be here earlier than anticipated. Which is fine by me. I am fed up with being pregnant.”

  “Early?” She yelped. “How early? Not, like, tomorrow early, right?”

  “Relax. Maybe in a couple of weeks, he said. Or not even.”

  “Thank God for that. Listen, BeBe. Can you do me a huge favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Can you run into town and check on the wedding preparations? Maybe drop by the house and see if Cookie and Manny have everything under control, then see what Mama needs help with? She’s got herself worked into a state about all this wedding stuff. She’s been calling me every hour on the hour. I swear, her nervous breakdown is giving me a nervous breakdown.”

  “I was going to call you anyway. I ambushed the tile guy and made him move all the furniture into the nursery, and I’m about to bust a gut to get the curtains hung and the crib made up with all the bedding your mama made. It’s all at your house, right?”

  “You can’t be hanging curtains in your condition,” Weezie said. “Just wait till I get home, and we’ll get it all put together.”

  “You’re getting married tomorrow, remember? Anyway, I’m not gonna hang the curtains. Benny is. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  * * *

  “Uh-oh.” I glanced over at Jethro, who was sitting in the front seat of my car. I wasn’t taking any more chances leaving him home alone with Jeeves. The street in front of Weezie’s row house was lined with delivery trucks, caterer’s trucks, even—yes, I had to blink to be sure, a landscaper’s truck with a pair of ten-foot blooming dogwood trees lashed in the truck bed.

  I backed up and drove down the lane, double-parking in back of the sedate silver Buick I recognized as Marian Foley’s.

  Using my key, I let myself in Weezie’s kitchen door. Where I found Marian Foley perched on top of a kitchen chair, ransacking the upper kitchen cabinets. Lined up against the wall were cases and cases of wine, champagne, and liquor. Every countertop held wooden crates of rental glassware and gold-rimmed dishes. The counters were lined with gleaming pieces of newly polished silver serving pieces.

  “BeBe! Thank goodness. Do you know where Weezie keeps her cake plates? I know she has her meemaw’s plate, which I gave her, but I can’t find anything in this kitchen of hers.”

  Hearing Marian’s voice, Jethro slunk quietly under the kitchen table.

  “Hi, Marian. I think she keeps cake plates in the Welsh cupboard in the dining room. I’ll get it for you, if you like.”

  By the time she clambered down from the ladder, Marian’s face was pink with aggravation, excitement, or stress—or maybe a combination of all three. The shade of her complexion matched the tidy rows of hot pink rollers in her hair, which clashed somewhat with her blue-and-white Frosty the Snowman Christmas cardigan.

  She sized me up and down. “Dear, should you be driving around in your condition?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, making an effort not to grit my teeth. Marian Foley had that effect on me. “I thought I’d just drop by to see how things are coming along with the wedding plans. Weezie said she’ll be home in a few hours. Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?”

  “I doubt it,” Marian said with a sigh. “I’ve finished altering her wedding dress, except for the hem, but Lord knows whether or not it will fit.”

  “I’m about Weezie’s size. We could see how it looks on me,” I offered.

  “I don’t think so. Big as you are, you couldn’t get that dress on over your ankles, let alone the rest of you.”

  “I meant we could hold it up to me to check for the hem-length,” I said, clenching and unclenching my fists.

  “Well, I suppose that could work,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

  The dress, a froth of ivory lace with a flared tulle skirt, was hanging on the pantry door. Marian had me stand on an old wooden Coke crate, with the dress held up against my front, doing a slow turn, while she checked the length.

  “Say, Marian. I saw all those trucks out front of the house when I drove up. What’s going on with all that?” I asked.

  “It’s those Babalu boys,” she said, clucking her disapproval. “I knew Weezie shouldn’t have put them in charge.” She lowered her voice. “You have never seen anything like it.”

  * * *

  For once, I found myself in total agreement with Marian Foley.

  When I pushed through the kitchen door into the dining room, I nearly collided with Cookie Parker, who was bent over a makeshift worktable, cutting what looked like lengths of pale gray silk fabric.

  I looked around the room. Weezie’s expensive vintage wallpaper was now covered with the silver fabric. The ceiling was also tented in the fabric. There were other changes too. Tall plaster columns stood in each corner of the room, topped with gigantic urns filled with cloudbursts of white hydrangeas, orchids, ferns, and lilies. Ropes of ivy dotted with more white and pink flowers swagged out from the urns to the center of the ceiling. The dining room table had been shoved aside, and a workman in a white jumpsuit was hanging the biggest, gaudiest chandelier I had ever seen, in place of Weezie’s perfectly respectable 1920s-era rock crystal chandelier.

  “Oh my.”

  Cookie turned and beamed at me. “I know. Isn’t it spectacular? Won’t she be surprised?”

  “Shocked,” I said, walking through to the parlor. The front door was open, and Manny Alvarez, dressed in another white jumpsuit, was directing two burly men, who were trying to wedge a heavily lacquered white baby grand piano through the entry. I watched as he coached and bullied the men into placing it at a precise angle between the front windows. Which were now draped with more of the silver silk from the dining room.

  Manny stood with his hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. “What do you think?” he asked, turning to me.

  “I’m speechless,” I finally said. “Really. I have no words.”

  “Magical,” he said with a happy sigh. “Just magical.”

  Most of the furniture in the parlor was gone. In the corner opposite the piano, a ceiling-height white-flocked Christmas tree held pride of place. It was draped in ropes of pearls and white lights, and the only ornaments were gigantic live white orchids. The floor had been stripped of its oriental rug. More plaster columns had been placed in front of the fireplace. These were wound with flower-twined ropes of ivy, smilax, and white roses. A white silk tent-looking affair stretched between the columns, and a miniature version of the dining room chandelier hung from the center of it.

  “Is that a chuppah?” I asked, pointing to the tent thingy.


  “It’s a canopy,” he said.

  “That’s good,” I said. “Because neither Weezie nor Daniel are Jewish.”

  “We know that,” Manny said.

  I glanced out the open front door. “Are those giant dogwood trees in the truck out front for the wedding?”

  “Yes,” he said, his tone getting a little tense. “But they’re not Jewish dogwoods. Just ordinary secular pink dogwoods. We’re going to wind tiny white fairy lights around the trunks, and they’re going on either side of the front door.”

  “Sounds magical,” I said, beating a retreat back to the dining room. I managed to dodge Cookie and the electrician, and I fetched the cake plate from the bottom shelf of the Welsh cupboard.

  * * *

  Marian had set up a sewing machine on Weezie’s country pine kitchen table. She was running the dress through it now, straight pins clenched between her teeth. Weezie’s daddy sat on the chair opposite her mama, his head tilted back, his mouth slightly ajar, softly snoring.

  “I see you’ve got the dress almost finished,” I said. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “As a matter of fact, you could carry in my groom’s cake. It’s in a big white box in the backseat of my car. But be careful and don’t tilt it, or the top layer might come off.”

  I couldn’t resist the temptation. I tipped back the lid of the box. The cake looked perfectly innocuous to me. Three layers high, baked in squares and covered in glossy chocolate icing.

  “Here you go,” I said, setting the box on the kitchen counter. “I took a peek. It looks gorgeous.”

  “I had to do something special. Because of Daniel being a chef and all. This is a new recipe I found on Pinterest.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes. They have wonderful recipes on Pinterest. You should try it some time. This cake has had over a hundred pins.”

  “It must be good then.”

  “It’s supposed to be very moist. It’s made with six eggs, cocoa powder, all different kinds of dried fruits, and then, of course, the secret ingredient.”

  “Which is?”

  “Baby food!” Marian whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Two big jars of Gerber’s pureed beets.”

  “Divine,” I said, forcing a weak smile.

  Later, after I’d retrieved the window treatments and crib bedding, and started the drive back to Tybee, I had to pull off the side of the road. The vision of a chocolate cake with pureed beets and dried fruits would probably haunt me forever.

  Chapter 29

  I placed the last of the picture books on the nursery’s painted wooden shelf. The Dr. Seuss books I’d loved as a child had pride of place: The Cat in the Hat, Horton Hears a Who, One Fish Two Fish. Harry had contributed his own favorite books, most of which featured dogs or horses. And I’d bought a few new books too. My favorites were Mo Willem’s Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus and Anna Dewdney’s Llama Llama Red Pajama.

  When I was done with the bookshelves, I hung the matted and framed 1930s-era nursery rhyme prints Weezie’d given me, and fluffed and refluffed the crib bedding. By then, my lower back was starting to throb again. I sank down into the wicker rocker and draped Grandmama’s baby quilt over my lap. Just a quick catnap, I promised myself. After all, it was four in the afternoon, and I’d been working hard all day.

  Two hours later, I awoke to a perfectly still house. Benny the tile man and the electrician had packed up their tools and departed. It was dark outside, and from the window, I could see the flashing “No Vacancy” sign in front of the Breeze Inn. While I was sleeping, a hard rain had blown up out of nowhere, and the palm trees in the parking lot were thrashing back and forth in the stiff wind. By the time I made it over to the Breeze, I was soaked.

  I changed into dry clothes and went to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of tea. My cell phone was right where I’d left it, on the kitchen counter. I’d missed a call from Harry at 4:30. But he’d left a voice mail.

  “Hi, Babe. We’re headed in from the snapper banks. Fishing was so good, we got a little later start than we’d expected. So don’t wait supper for me. Go to bed, and I’ll see you around eight.”

  Supper? I was still feeling a little queasy, but I forced myself to nibble on some saltines and eat a banana; then I settled myself on the sofa to wait for Harry’s return. It was getting late and I was tired, but I couldn’t wait to show him all I’d accomplished over at the house.

  I clicked on the television, but nothing kept my interest. With the remote, I flipped idly through the channels. The wind had picked up more, and it whistled and moaned through the trees outside, making both the dogs uneasy. Jeeves planted himself on my feet and wouldn’t budge, while Jethro did just the opposite, walking back and forth across the living room, to the kitchen, then back to the front door of the apartment. His ears pricked up every time a car parked.

  When my phone rang at 7:30, I grabbed for it, dislodging Jeeves who yelped in protest.

  “Hey,” Weezie said. “Just wanted to let you know I just landed in Savannah.”

  “Great,” I said, staring out the window at the parking lot, hoping to see Harry pull in. I saw headlights, but then saw a car back out and continue down the road.

  “You okay?” Weezie asked.

  “Fine. A little tired. I might have overdone it with the nursery today. I’m waiting on Harry to get home so I can show him everything before I collapse in bed.”

  “He’s still at work? On a Saturday?”

  “No, he’s still out fishing. Remember, it’s his last charter on the Jitterbug.”

  “Right. But isn’t it late to be out fishing?”

  “He left me a message saying he’d be home around eight,” I said, trying not to sound concerned.

  “Okay. So—was everything all right at my house?”

  “Hmm. Well, your mother finished altering your dress.”

  “Good.”

  “And she shared the secret ingredient for her groom’s cake.”

  “Oh Lord. It can’t be as bad as the maple syrup in the fruitcake.”

  “It’s certainly healthier. Two jars of Gerber’s pureed beets, to be exact.”

  Weezie made a rude gagging noise.

  “I know.”

  “Did you check on Manny and Cookie? Had they started decorating the house?”

  “Ohhh yes,” I said. “It’s quite a vision.”

  “Good vision or bad vision?” Weezie asked. “Gimme a hint.”

  “Manny thinks it’s divine; Cookie said it was magical.”

  “And what did you think? Come on, be honest. I’ll be home in twenty minutes. I need to know what to expect.”

  “Hmm. It’s sort of hard to describe. I guess I’d say it was sorta … Auntie Mame on acid.”

  * * *

  By nine o’clock, there was still no word from Harry. I tried calling his phone, but got no answer. The wind howled, and as I stood at the window, I could see flashes of lightning from off in the distance.

  Stay calm, I told myself. No reason to panic. But I didn’t feel calm. The dogs sensed my tension. Jethro stood at the door whining to go out, and Jeeves cowered under the coffee table.

  * * *

  By midnight I was flat-out terrified. I’d been watching the weather channel, which reported the same intense weather front that had dumped snow on New York was now wreaking havoc farther south. Seas of three to five feet, gale-force winds out of the northwest. Small-craft warnings.

  I tried calling the marina to see if anybody had seen or heard from Harry. Half a dozen other charter boats ran out of Lazaretto Creek Marina, and all the captains knew each other and frequently communicated via their marine band radios. But the phone rang and rang, finally picking up and delivering a recorded message saying that the marina would be closed over the Christmas holidays.

  My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I looked up the number for the Savannah Coast Guard.

  The dispatcher’s voice was crisp and efficient. “Coast Guard
Station, Savannah. Is this an emergency?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, trying to hold back my panic. “My partner, Harry Sorrentino, captain of the Jitterbug, was due back from a fishing trip hours ago. He’s not answering his phone, and with this weather, I’m afraid something might have happened.”

  “Okay, ma’am. Tell me the specifics. What time did Captain Sorrentino leave, and where did he leave out of? Do you happen to know his exact destination? Were there other parties onboard?”

  I told her what I knew, gave her the Jitterbug’s description and serial number and every other pertinent piece of information I could think of.

  “We haven’t had any distress calls from that area this evening,” she said. “I’ll speak to my commander and call you right back.”

  “Will you send somebody to look?” I asked, fighting back tears. “He’s an experienced captain. He wouldn’t stay out in this weather unless something was wrong. Please hurry.”

  * * *

  After the longest forty-five minutes I’d ever experienced, the dispatcher called back.

  “Okay, ma’am. We’re dispatching a helicopter to fly over that area, and we’ll send out a boat crew also. Do you happen to know if Captain Sorrentino has flares or a GPS onboard that he might activate?”

  “Flares—yes! I know he always keeps up with all his safety equipment. He has a radio, of course, but wouldn’t he have tried to reach me with that?”

  “I can’t say, ma’am,” she replied. “Just stand by, and we’ll let you know something as soon as we can.”

  Chapter 30

  Weezie

  The Beverly Hills–style lit-up trees outside my Charlton Street front door were visible from two blocks away. If this was their idea of elegant and understated, I could only imagine what awaited inside.

  I unlocked the front door and dropped my bags on the marble entry hall floor. The house was darkened, except for the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree in the parlor. I heaved a sigh of relief. Just some nice, simple white lights. Maybe BeBe had been exaggerating when she described the décor earlier.