by Scott, D. D.
Amanda ignored her grandpa, and as she felt Dane come to stand beside her, one hand on her shoulder, she focused on her grandma. “I don’t know how much longer he’ll be here, but he can hear you, Grandma. Is there anything you want to tell him?”
Grandma squinted into the space around Amanda. “George, can you hear me? Give me a sign.”
“I’m here, baby,” Grandpa crooned.
Amanda choked. “You call her baby?”
“Oh George, it’s really you,” Grandma sobbed, one hand covering her mouth so her words came out mumbled. “I love you, my dearest darling. I was so lonely for so long. And then Morty made me love him and he filled the empty spot in my heart. Will you forgive me for betraying you, my love?”
When there was only silence, Amanda peered over her shoulder and saw Grandpa wiping tears off his cheeks. She squeezed her grandma’s hands and whispered, “He’s a little choked up right now, Grandma, but he’ll love whoever you love, if it makes you happy.”
Grandpa mumbled something under his breath about fricking Morty. Amanda cupped a hand around one ear and said, “What was that, Gramps? Oh, you want me to tell Grandma that if Morty makes her happy, you’re happy for her?” She turned to her grandma, laughter bubbling up her throat and tears in her eyes. “Did you hear that, Grandma? He loves Morty, too.”
Within the hour, they received word that Morty’s condition had stabilized. It had been a bad case of indigestion brought on by stress from the wedding and the hospital personnel promised to release him in plenty of time for the wedding.
By mid-afternoon the next day, Amanda stood at the back of the Cranberry Cove Community Hall with her grandma. The elderly woman wore a beautiful taffeta beige gown that swirled around her legs every time she moved. She looked like an elegant ballroom dancer from the fifties.
The perfect bride, except for the black marble urn in her arms.
Grandma shifted the urn into her other arm and turned her back on the outer door. “Where is your dad? If he’s not here soon, you’ll have to walk me down the aisle or Morty will think I’ve become a runaway bride.”
Amanda checked the clock on the wall. “We still have another five minutes.”
“I hate to keep him waiting. After last night, he must be so tired. I wonder if he’ll want to delay the honeymoon until he catches up on his sleep?”
“He’s a man, Grandma. I’m sure he’ll want to, you know, make you his.” Amanda almost choked on the words, until she thought of her parents, still in love, still finding new ways to love each other. She held out her hands. “Why don’t you give me the urn before the ceremony begins?”
Grandpa appeared beside her, a glower on his face. “What are you doing, bumpkin?”
Grandma peered down at the dress, then handed the urn to Amanda. “You’re right. Besides, I promised Morty. No more ghosts in our marriage.”
Amanda took the urn from Grandma and set it down on the bookcase in the corner.
Grandpa crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. “Does this mean she’s kicking me out of the bedroom, too? Good thing because I don’t want to see Morty’s wrinkled old butt like you saw your dad’s.”
The Community Hall door swung open and Amanda’s parents rushed in, breathless and mussed, still doing up buttons and zippers. Amanda exchanged a look with her grandma and they both burst out laughing.
Her mom walked by and raised her chin. “Don’t laugh. This is what happens when you marry your best friend.”
Ohhhh, now there was a theory Amanda really wanted to test.
The wedding went off without a hitch and there wasn’t a dry eye in the Community Hall. Friends of the newly married couple gathered around afterward to congratulate them, while Amanda stood off to the side, a permanent smile on her face, Grandpa’s urn back in her arms.
A movement beside her caught her attention. She turned and there stood her grandpa, dressed in his Sunday best, tall and handsome and strong. Grandma had loved him for over half a century and she’d been happy. She’d raised a family, built a good life in the community, and now she had a second chance to love again.
“Well, what do you think, bumpkin? Will the old bastard make her happy?”
She smiled up at her grandpa, the urge to hug him before he moved on overwhelming. “You made her happy.”
“That I did.”
Her mom stopped beside her and put her arms around her shoulders. “Are you talking to your grandpa again?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Well.” Dora leaned forward and looked past her. Not seeing anything — of course — she tsked and returned her attention back to her daughter. “Wasn’t it a beautiful ceremony?”
“It really truly was. Even Gramps thought so.”
“Did not,” he muttered beside her. “Morty looked like a love struck fool. If Elvira wants to get any sleep tonight, she’s going to have to lock herself in the bathroom.”
Her mom patted her on the shoulder. “I don’t want you to think I’m interfering in your life, but your aversion to Valentine’s Day doesn’t extend to Dane, does it?”
She kissed Amanda on the cheek, then leaned back and rubbed at the lipstick she’d left behind. Her gaze went past Amanda and when it lit up, Amanda followed her gaze to her dad.
“I want what you and Dad have.”
“Then go find it, honey. He’s your best friend. I understand he even loves your grinchly attitude toward Valentine’s Day.”
Amanda watched her mom glide over to her dad, and as he swept her into his arms and out on to the dance floor, she felt the tight band around her heart ease. She turned in a circle, searching the room, past faces she’d known since birth, until she found the one face she wanted to wake up to for the rest of her life.
Dane.
She headed across the room and when she reached him, he looked down at the urn in her arms and grimaced. “So now that we’re related, does this mean I get my turn with Grandpa, too?”
“Just temporarily.” She handed the urn to him. “You wouldn’t mind if he came and lived with us for a while, would you?”
He juggled the urn onto one arm, a frown gathering between his brows. “What happened to the plot your grandma bought for him?”
“I don’t think he’s ready for it.” She captured his free hand with one of hers, gathered her long skirt up into her other hand, and knelt down on one knee. “Will you, Dane Weatherby, be my Valentine?”
He gave a tug on her hand and pulled her up against his chest, his green eyes dancing with laughter and something else. Something she hoped to spend the rest of her life discovering. “What? Has the Valentine Grinch vacated the building?”
“Just for today. I thought it was time to find some love of my own.”
He bent his neck, until his mouth touched hers. “Does this mean you’re coming home with me tonight and every night after?”
“Kiss me, my love, and find out for yourself.”
ABOUT SHEILA SEABROOK
What happens when a mild-mannered, number-crunching, read-a-holic hears voices in her head? She attempts to take control of the situation and ends up taking dictation instead. My journey into happily-ever-after tales has lead me to write emotional stories filled with smart, sassy heroines, hot heroes who make them laugh, and a wild assortment of family members guaranteed to try to steal the show.
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://www.sheilaseabrook.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/sheilaseabrook
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SheilaMSeabrook
INDEPENDENCE DAY
By Diane Vallere
I had high hopes for this year’s Valentine’s Day. I had a new lease on life after finally dumping The One Who Shall Not Be Named last March. Post-breakup I lost five pounds, gained self-confidence, pushed thoughts of a relationship to the far recesses of my mind and moved on. Seven months later I met Jay.
The stars aligned for me, at last.
The only problem w
as, Jay lived in Hollywood and I lived in Dallas. Sure, cell phones made it easier. But there was something about those weekends together, when the airfare was cheap and the work schedule permitted, that were magic. And after years of dismissing Valentine’s Day as a silly holiday born out of a secret collaboration between the teddy bear, chocolate, and greeting card industries, I wanted to be a part of it. Red heart-shaped box of chocolates and all.
Jay met me at the airport with a dozen pink roses and some bad news.
“Annie, remember the job I went for last week? Painting murals in a house in the Hollywood Hills?”
“Sure. Did you hear anything yet?”
“I did.” He reached a hand around the back of my neck and massaged me with his fingertips. The warmth felt good after sitting in a chilly airplane for two hours. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. “I start tomorrow.”
My eyes popped open. “Tomorrow? Valentine’s —?” I stopped. Jay was an artist and finding work hadn’t been as easy as he hoped. Painting murals in a private residence in the Hollywood Hills was a pretty good gig. I pushed selfish thoughts of romance out of my mind and congratulated him.
“I’m sorry. I can’t pass this up.”
“Of course you can’t. I wouldn’t ask you to. We’ll celebrate tomorrow night when you’re done.”
The next morning we headed out together. The plan was for me to tool around Hollywood to kill time while Jay put in his hours, then for us to reconnect and begin our day. Armed with a book, a wallet, a cell phone, a lip gloss, and a notebook, I assured Jay my ability to fritter away time was unparalleled. (That has not always been viewed as a strength but considering the circumstances, I said it with pride. Finally one of my quirks would come in handy.)
We arrived in Hollywood early and went to Jack-In-The-Box for breakfast. After we ate, he drove to the corner of Argyle and Hollywood and pulled up in a vacant space by the Frolic Room. He said things like, “I’m really sorry I have to start work today,” “I have no idea how long this will last,” and “I get no cell phone reception on the mountain.” I nodded each time, taking it all in.
“You’re going to be okay?” he asked.
“I’m a modern, independent woman. Of course I’m going to be okay. Besides, I have a book and a notebook,” I said, holding the book in one hand and tapping my handbag with the other. “I can read and I can write. What else do I need?”
“Remember, if all else fails, go to Amoeba.” The largest independent record store in the country, Amoeba sat across the street from the Jack-In-The-Box where we had breakfast, and to a time fritterer like me, it was heaven.
“The Amoeba plan. Right.”
He pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it to me. “In case of emergencies.”
“I’m prepared for emergencies.”
“Then go buy yourself something pretty.” He leaned over and kissed me, the correct punctuation mark for cheesy lines from days gone by. He tucked the twenty into my bra, his finger tips grazing the top of my breast, and I flushed. Timing sucked, but I was already looking forward to our Valentine’s Day night.
If you think about it, this was the perfect opportunity to showcase what a fabulous catch I was. Understanding. Patient. Adaptable. Not high maintenance. I was a keeper.
After Jay dropped me off and drove away, I strolled around Hollywood Boulevard, gradually expanding my loop to include a few streets up and down the block. I stopped off at a dance-supply store (legwarmers: fifty percent off) Capitol Records (looked too confusing to enter but Duran Duran’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame was out front), then back to Hollywood Boulevard.
I wandered into Iguana Vintage where I did a systematic study of pink crinolines, then walked farther down the street to admire candy colored wigs in the window of a costume shop. Finally I landed at a used bookstore and took my good old time, because how often have I actually been able to spend all of the time I wanted in a used bookstore without someone asking if I was ready to leave?
I picked up Nabokov Lectures on don Quixote for me (I’ve always been drawn to windmills) and Hi-Fis and Hi-Balls, a small pictorial documentary of the fifties bachelor, for Jay. As I continued around the store, I found more and more books I liked for me and a few my parents might enjoy. I called my Dad and asked if there were any books he or Mom were on the hunt for. He said no. It was 11:54.
I discovered the Cinema section, picked up Hollywood Horror, also for Jay. I chatted with the owner while he rang up my purchases.
That’s when I discovered I had lost my wallet.
I dug through the items in my handbag. Notebook, pen, cell phone, lip-gloss, book, yes.
Wallet, no.
I looked around the interior of the small store. “I lost my wallet,” I said. “It’s green. Do you see it?”
The owner’s expression changed. “You can’t pay?”
“Not right now. Can you hold the books?”
“I don’t hold merchandise for people who can’t pay.” He wasn’t making eye contact with me, he was making eye contact with my left breast.
That’s when I remembered the twenty.
I reached into my bra and pulled out the bill. “Put the Nabokov back. I’ll take the other two.”
He took the money, handed me the books and eleven dollars in change, and I left.
I tried to retrace my steps, but had a hard time remembering all of the places I’d gone — when I wasn’t worried about things like identity theft, money, and fraud. I returned to each of the stores where I’d frittered away my morning, and with each “No” I received in answer to my question about a lost wallet, my chest tightened as if I’d freebased a pound of bacon. Amid internal voices of panic (What are you going to do now?) and name calling (What kind of dummy loses their wallet on Hollywood Boulevard?), the voice of reason piped up (You probably left it in Jay’s car).
Yes, I thought. That is logical. That is possible. That must be what happened. I dropped it in Jay’s car.
I stopped on Thomas Edison’s star on the Walk of Fame and texted my sister (we have this thing about light bulbs – don’t ask). I discovered carrying around a batch of books was more of a pain than I’d considered. I walked to the Kodak Theater to sit and read.
For decades I’d known it only as the Academy Awards theater, and if I was going to sit around somewhere, it might as well be in front of the Academy Awards theater, surrounded by giant gold Oscar statues. Unfortunately two things made the hike futile: weirdoes in costumes and no place to sit. I went to Grauman’s Egyptian Theater instead and set up camp in their courtyard.
But first I should arrange my ride home from the airport tomorrow, a minor point that hadn’t been resolved and was starting to worry me. I called a friend, asked for my favor and she declined (she had a facial scheduled). We chatted briefly and hung up.
That’s when I discovered my battery was only half-full.
Let’s recap:
I’m alone in Hollywood
I have no wallet
I’m down to eleven dollars and the coins at the bottom of my handbag
It’s two o’clock
My cell phone battery is slowly running out of juice
Jay can only reach me by cell phone
Arranging a ride from the airport could be dealt with later because I could not afford for my cell phone to die. My cell phone was my lifeline. Good thing I committed Jay’s number to memory when we first started dating. I could call him from a landline/payphone/stranger/weirdo in costume’s cell if I had to.
Sometime after two it started to get chilly. I ordered a small tea from Lickety Split and huddled in a seat by the heat lamps outside of their shop. Thank God I brought that book with me, because Jay hadn’t called yet, which made me think he couldn’t get away to call, which made me think he was going to be working at the house in the Hollywood Hills pretty late.
Somewhere around 3:30 I finished my tea (I nursed it) and thought maybe I should eat something. Still no word from Jay, probably e
ating at the job. I walked to Two Guys from Italy and bought a slice of pizza. I was mildly concerned about money at this point and, while a glass of cheap Chianti might have calmed my nerves, I didn’t want to risk the expenditure. My slice cost me $2.39. After carrying the pizza and water to my table I checked my cell for a call or text.
That’s when I discovered my cell phone was blank.
WTF? By an optimist’s perspective, the battery had been half-full! How could it have gone dead? What was I going to do? Calm down, Annie. Think. Take a bite of pizza, then turn on the phone.
I did and it came back on with one bar (a quarter full? Is it appropriate to still be optimistic at this point?) but at least there was a display.
Let’s recap again:
Already wandered up and down Hollywood Boulevard
Ate one slice of pizza
Down to seven dollars and change
Conserving phone battery
Getting cold, as sun is going down
No word from Jay, who is on a mountain where he gets no cell phone reception
Logic told me it was time to use the Amoeba plan. Big, indoor music store. I wouldn’t be outside where it was cold. I should get there while it was still sunny-ish. I would potentially have a lot to do, which was good because it appeared as though I was running out of ways to kill time.
I arrived at Amoeba about 4:30. The store was loud so I checked the screen of my phone every fifteen minutes or so, willing Jay to call. I had no idea how long his workday would run but the quarter-full battery situation (let’s just face facts and call it almost empty, shall we?) forced me to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. And since I knew once the sun goes down it doesn’t go back up for awhile, I planned to stay at Amoeba for quite some time. I headed for the one dollar albums. Remember, conserving money? This was the best frittering-time-not-money-plan-I had all day.