Mistletoe Bay

by Marcia Evanick

  His son who was dating her daughter!

  Maybe Eli wasn’t a cod but a shark.

  Eli threw back his head and laughed.

  Dorothy melted at the husky sound of Eli’s laugh. There was no other way to describe the warm, liquid feeling that had rushed to her stomach. Eli’s laugh could put the heat into one of her hot flashes.

  “What’s so funny?” Jenni stood in the door of the family room and surveyed the room. She was holding a bunch of evergreens and berries. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing, Jenni,” Lucy answered. “Your mother called Eli a cod.”

  “I certainly did not.” She cringed when Eli started to laugh again.

  “Hey, what’s going on up here?” Coop asked. He stood behind Eli on the steps. “We send Eli up for more cookies, and you guys throw a party?”

  “There’s no party.” Dorothy stood up and carried her cup over to the sink. She felt more in control standing in her kitchen behind the counter. “And there will be no more cookies. Dinner will be ready soon, and I don’t want you men to ruin your appetite.”

  “Dorothy, there’s a better chance of that old oil burner producing snowballs than us losing our appetite. We’ve been down in the basement for the past two and a half hours smelling nothing but oil and roasting turkey. We’re ready to eat our boots.” Coop walked into the kitchen and started to wash his hands at the sink. “Please tell us it’s almost ready.”

  Coop was giving her that little-boy pleading look that Tucker had mastered by the age of two. She couldn’t refuse Tucker any more than could she refuse three hungry men. But she could tease. “Is the monster fixed?”

  Eli let out an exaggerated sigh. “The woman’s heartless. Ulysses was sent out to do easier tasks.”

  “It’s that bad?” questioned Jenni, clearly worried.

  “No,” Coop said.

  “Yes,” Eli said.

  All three women looked at each other. “Which is it?” asked Lucy.

  “Both,” answered Fred, Coop’s father, who had climbed the basement steps to join them. Fred was wiping his hands on a rag, but he smiled. “Jenni, the beast in the basement is about to give up the ghost, but I think we lovingly persuaded it to stick around, at least through this winter, possibly spring.”

  Eli started to wash his hands, now that Coop was done. “There’s a couple parts that I would like to replace. I’ll stop by next week, as soon as I can get them, and put them in. It might mean a couple more months, and better fuel efficiency this winter. But you really have to look into replacing it before next fall. Sorry, Jenni, but Maine is one place you don’t want to be in January without a good heater.”

  “I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Fischer. Just let me know what I owe you.” Jenni dumped the small pine clippings and berry branches onto the counter.

  “A slice of that pumpkin pie sitting right there will do just fine.” Eli glanced at the three pies sitting over by the refrigerator as if he hadn’t seen a pie in years.

  “After dinner you can have as many slices as you wish.” Dorothy liked her guests coming to the table hungry. “What’s your favorite pie, Mr. Fischer?”

  “Pumpkin, and call me Eli.” Eli gave her a smile that melted her knees as he dried his hands with a paper towel.

  “Today it’s pumpkin, but what will it be next week?” She had to give him points for being polite. Of course, with that killer smile, Eli Fischer was already off the charts in her book.

  “Apple.” Eli looked hesitant.

  “Just let us know what day you’re coming, and I’ll have a freshly baked apple pie for you to take home.” The poor man couldn’t cook. It was the least she could do. Besides, if he thought her pumpkin pie looked and smelled good, wait until he got a gander at her homemade apple pie. In her younger days she had won quite a few ribbons with her pies, and she had only gotten better with practice.

  Her grandsons gave her a lot of practice.

  “You serious?” Eli looked like he wanted to get down on bended knee to thank her.

  “Mr. Fischer, believe me, Dorothy is always serious when it comes to pie.” Jenni chuckled as she got out a silver platter from the dining room’s china cabinet and started to arrange the pine clippings and red berries.

  “I can vouch for her cookies.” Coop moved away from the sink area so his father would have room to wash up. “Dorothy has a habit of paying people in food—great food.” Coop gave her a teasing wink. “Why do you think I’m always hanging around fixing stuff?”

  “I didn’t see you complaining.” Dorothy checked the potatoes to see how they were doing. Another fifteen minutes and it would be feast time. “In fact, I distinctly remember you holding on to that box of chocolate chips for all you were worth.”

  She watched as Coop went to stand next to Jenni. “Hey, blame my dad for that one,” Coop said.

  “Me? What do I have to do with it?” Fred Armstrong dried his hands and tossed the paper towel in the trash.

  “Mom stopped baking cookies because of the new diet the doctors put you on.” Coop’s gaze was on Jenni as she left the kitchen.

  Dorothy didn’t like where that gaze had drifted. Jenni was her daughter, maybe not in blood, but in love. “Maybe your mother stopped baking cookies because you ate them all, Coop.” The UPS man seemed to have a hollow leg where food was concerned.

  “I tried a healthy oatmeal raisin recipe, and your father hated it.” Lucy looked embarrassed.

  “After dinner, Lucy, I have some recipes for you. They are for the healthiest cookies you can bake, but they still taste good.” Dorothy winked at Fred. “But you have to promise to eat them in moderation. There is no such thing as a harmless cookie. They will clog your arteries just as fast as a greasy burger.”

  “Are they going to taste like hamster food or tree bark?” Fred kept looking at the pumpkin pies that Eli had been drooling over. “Am I going to be allowed a slice of pie tonight? I only ate two cookies in the basement.”

  Lucy looked like she wanted to say no, so Dorothy smiled at Fred. She didn’t know the restrictions of his diet, but the man appeared in pretty healthy shape to her. “Yes, providing you fill your plate with lots of vegetables and no sweet potatoes. Stuffing yes, gravy no. My turkey will be moist enough that you won’t need to dump gravy all over it.” The man had to eat something, and it was Thanksgiving, after all.

  Fred beamed and Lucy chuckled. “I think I’ve been outvoted,” Lucy said. “No gravy or sweet potatoes, and you can have a slice of pie.” Lucy got up, kissed her husband’s cheek, and placed her cup into the sink. “You’ve been good since February, and you lost over thirty pounds.”

  “Thirty pounds.” Dorothy nodded at Fred. “I’m impressed.” Now that she was living with her grandsons, she tended to eat way too many sweets. Her caboose was now packing a few extra pounds she would love to drop off somewhere.

  “Hey, Lucy lost twenty. She walks with me every day and has to eat what I eat.” Fred wiggled his eyebrows at his wife. “Me getting sick was the best thing to happen to both of us.”

  “I don’t know about that one,” Lucy said.

  “My parents are shrinking right before my eyes,” Coop said as Jenni entered the kitchen carrying a few gourds and pinecones. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

  “Sure, you can ask.” Jenni turned her back and proceeded to add the finishing touches to the centerpiece.

  Everyone in the room laughed but Coop.

  Jenni couldn’t believe how comfortable she felt with everyone crowded around the dinner table. She was used to noise, squabbles, and the occasional spilled milk. Tonight’s dinner was indeed noisy. Everyone seemed to be talking, and there had to be at least five conversations going on at once. The football game had just started, and they had agreed to leave the television on in the other room so the men could listen in for the score. She just hadn’t expected the TV to be blaring.

  A moment of tension had occurred when Eli’s daughters and Felicity had finally come downstairs t
o join them for dinner. Eli had taken one look at Faith, his thirteen-year-old daughter, and very politely, but firmly, told her to go wash her face. Hope, the fifteen-year-old, was allowed to keep on the lip gloss and mascara, but everything else had to go. The girls had gone and done his bidding, but Dorothy had taken Felicity aside and read her the riot act.

  Felicity was still peeved at her mother, but she was behaving herself at the opposite end of the table with Sam’s two sisters. Sam was entertaining Tucker, his sidekick, by trying to balance a spoon on the end of his nose. Neither Tucker nor Sam had mastered that feat.

  The seating arrangements had been determined by the kids and the men, while the women rushed around in the kitchen and got everything on the table. Fred had done the honors, by carving the bird. It was the biggest turkey Jenni had ever seen, and if they were lucky there just might be enough meat left over for a sandwich or two.

  Somehow, and she wasn’t sure how, she ended up sitting next to Coop. Corey was on his other side, while Chase was on hers. She had tried to switch the boys, but Corey wouldn’t hear it. He wanted to sit next to his rescuer. Coop had been left with the job of helping Corey fill his plate and cut his meat. Coop didn’t seem to mind.

  It felt strange not taking care of the boys. Chase, who was independent by nature, could manage his own plate, while Sam was helping Tucker whenever he needed it. All she had to do was enjoy the meal Dorothy had cooked. Of course, this morning she had done four loads of laundry, straightened up the basement, and scrubbed the powder room from top to bottom because one of the Higgins girls from day care had told Tucker if he shook a soda can real hard and then opened it, it would spray all over the place. Tucker had chosen the small powder room to see if it worked. It could have been worse. It could have been her bedroom or—Lord forbid—Dorothy’s kitchen. At least the powder room walls were washable.

  To top off that lovely relaxing morning, Bojangles had taken today, of all days, to think he was a retriever and had gone out duck hunting—or to be more accurate, seagull chasing. Not only had he gone into the frigid bay water, but he’d proceeded to dry himself off by rolling in the mud. For two cents she would have left the mutt tied to a tree outside, but her heart wouldn’t let her. The whole upstairs bathroom now reeked of wet dog hair and strawberry shampoo, because she couldn’t find the bottle of dog shampoo. She had just gotten out of the shower—for the second time today—when Coop and his family had shown up for dinner.

  Sitting down for dinner was the most relaxing thing she had done all day. So why did she jump every time Coop’s thigh accidently grazed hers? They were all crowded around the table bumping into each other. It wasn’t as if he was trying to do it. So why was it bothering her so much?

  The surprise of the evening was Sam’s father, Eli. She hadn’t really given it any thought but had assumed Eli would be a nice man, struggling to raise three teenagers on his own. She hadn’t expected him to be good-looking, relatively sane, and completely smitten with Dorothy. The man hadn’t stopped flirting with her mother-in-law since he’d arrived, and poor Dorothy didn’t know how to handle it.

  Jenni had never seen Dorothy so flustered.

  “Can you pass the cranberries, Jenni?” Coop nodded toward the dish in front of Chase.

  “Sure.” She passed him the dish and tried not to notice how brown his eyes were. The man was too good-looking for his and her own good. Last night she had awoken from a dream all sweaty and aching. She would have liked to believe Dorothy’s menopause was contagious, but she would only be fooling herself. Coop surely didn’t have any romantic interest in her, and if he did, what in the world could become of it?

  Absolutely nothing. She answered her own question.

  “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom.” Tucker got up and ran from the table after announcing to the world his intentions.

  She didn’t like the smile on his face, or the fact that instead of heading for the powder room, Tucker had headed upstairs. She could hear his feet pounding on the steps. “Tucker’s up to something.” She felt obliged to give some type of warning. There were innocent people at the table, and one had a heart condition.

  Fred and Lucy seemed excited. “Really?” asked Lucy.

  “By his devious smile, oh yeah.” She continued to eat her dinner. She could go upstairs and see what Tucker was up to, but she didn’t want to disappoint Coop’s parents. They seemed to think there would be a show with their dinner. She just hoped that whatever Tucker was up to, it didn’t cause any permanent damage.

  A moment later Tucker’s feet could be heard pounding back down the stairs, and within seconds he sprinted back into the room wearing that same guilty grin. “I’m back!”

  “So I see,” she said. “Did you wash your hands?”

  “Yes.” Tucker held up his dripping-wet hands for all to see.

  “Dry them on your napkin, and finish your dinner.” She watched as Tucker quickly took his seat. He was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt with Spider-Man, his current hero, on the front. She hoped that whatever he had been up to didn’t involve spiders. She hated spiders more than Felicity did. Sometimes she even had to get Dorothy to kill them for her. She hadn’t noticed anything beneath his clothes.

  No fire alarms were going off, and she couldn’t hear the sound of clanging pipes in the walls, so that ruled out water. Fire and flood were off her list of possibilities. Since the table was still groaning under the weight of food, that left off famine. So what were the other plagues?

  There weren’t any locusts this time of year.

  She continued to eat, but she was getting nervous. Tucker was into instant gratification. He wasn’t one to prolong the mystery. She watched as everyone kept glancing around the room, waiting for that shoe to drop or the ceiling to cave in. The only sound she could hear was the television broadcasting the game. From where she was sitting, she had a glimpse of the kitchen. Tucker hadn’t been in there. She had heard him go up and down the stairs.

  What were the chances her son really did have to use the bathroom?

  Fifteen-year-old Hope Fischer dropped her fork and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Jenni’s first concern was for Fred, Coop’s father who was sitting right next to the girl. The man seemed to be taking in stride the fact that he probably had just had his eardrums shattered. Hope appeared frozen in her chair with her hand still halfway to her mouth.

  Eli and Coop both jumped up out of their chairs, while Sam lifted the tablecloth and looked under the table.

  “Fred!” shouted Sam. “Stop that!”

  Everyone at the table stared at Coop’s father, who looked flabbergasted at being accused.

  Lucy glared at her husband. “Fred, what did you do?” she demanded.

  Fred held up his hands, “I’m not doing anything. I didn’t touch her.”

  Bojangles, who had been asleep on the couch, came tearing into the room, barking his fool head off, and made a dash for under the table.

  The tablecloth started to move.

  Chase and Tucker both screamed “No!” at the same time and dived under the table. Corey laughed, shook his head, and dug into his mashed potatoes. Felicity, Hope, and Faith all put their feet up onto their chairs.

  Fred and Lucy looked like they were still trying to figure it out. Jenni shrugged, said, “Iguana,” and then grabbed on to the tablecloth. Felicity and Dorothy already knew the drill. Her niece instructed Sam’s sister on how to hold on to the tablecloth so it wouldn’t be pulled off the table, taking their dinner with it.

  “Not my good china,” moaned Dorothy, holding on to the table for dear life.

  Lucy and Fred immediately grabbed on to their end of the table.

  Coop was fast on his feet when Corey’s chair was almost tipped over. Chase was yelling at the dog, Tucker was yelling at the iguana, and Bojangles was knocking into chairs and stepping on everyone’s toes.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous.” Coop frowned at the table as the wine in a couple glasses started
to splash out. He went under the table.

  Eli chuckled at the scene and winked at Dorothy. “Remember me fondly,” he said before dropping to his knees and disappearing under the table.

  In the distance she could hear a crowd roar.

  “Who scored?” shouted Coop from somewhere under the table.

  Sam got up and left the room. Lucy looked at Fred, who appeared to be contemplating joining the guys. “Don’t you dare. There’s enough under there.”

  Lucy looked at Jenni. “Does Fred bite?”

  “Only when I’m hungry,” growled Fred. “Who names an iguana Fred, anyway?”

  “A six-year-old boy who thought he looked like a dinosaur, and named him after Fred Flintstone.” Jenni felt someone grab her ankle. By the size of the hand, it wasn’t one of the boys.

  “Jenni, don’t move that foot.” Coop’s hand tightened around her as he yelled beneath the table. “I want kids one day.”

  Lucy and Dorothy both raised their brows and stared at her. She felt a blush sweeping up her cheeks and couldn’t prevent it. Her foot was seeing more action than she had in years. Life wasn’t fair.

  Felicity and Hope giggled. Faith looked confused, and Corey didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

  “Coop, you don’t want to know the messy details of it all,” called Sam as he entered the room and looked under the table.

  Coop muttered something that caused both Chase and Tucker to giggle like girls.

  “Mom, don’t move!” shouted Coop.

  Lucy’s eyes got real big and she seemed to be holding her breath. “Fred’s in my lap,” whispered Lucy, hardly moving her lips.

  “Smart boy,” chuckled Fred.

  “He has claws,” Lucy said through clenched teeth as her eyes crossed.

  “Eli, grab Fred,” said Coop. “Chase and Tucker, keep that mutt still.”

  Bojangles now was doing his fun, happy bark—the one he did when he played with the boys. Something or someone knocked into Faith’s chair, which caused the girl to scream. If Jenni could release the table and cloth without fear that it all would end up in her lap or on the floor, she would open the back door and the dog would come running. She couldn’t chance it, but she had to give Faith credit. She had never heard anyone scream quite that high before.