Cupid's Holiday Trilogy

by Geeta Kakade

  The voice at the other end told her the call was about her ad. The woman introduced herself as Amy Bellinger, a retired school teacher from Sacramento.

  “I need a place that’s quiet and peaceful in the area to do some work,” she told Christy. “I’m researching the effects of pollution on lakes in the area and Silver Lake is a good place to start.”

  “It doesn’t get any quieter and more peaceful than this,” Christy assured Miss Bellinger. “We’re miles away from the heart of town. Cupid Lodge has a private beach. On the other three sides of the house a chain link fence and fir trees provide complete privacy.”

  To Christy’s delight, Miss Bellinger said she would need a room for a week, maybe longer.

  They discussed rates and the schoolteacher told her she planned on arriving the next day before making a final decision. Christy crossed her fingers briefly as she put the telephone down. She had to make sure everything was perfect.

  The sneeze woke him around midnight. He’d come in around one and the lights had been out in Christy’s bedroom downstairs then. The family room couch pulled out to a bed but he’d ignored it preferring a sleeping bag on the floor. Wondering if he had dreamed the sound, O’Keefe opened his eyes and waited. He heard another muffled sneeze.

  He walked into the kitchen. A light burned low over the sink. Christy Hathaway sat at the table piled high with what looked like every brass object from the living and family room. A can of brass polish, a pile of rags and wads of crumpled newspaper told their own tale.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  She jumped. “Why are you here?” she demanded angrily. “Short straw again?”

  He didn’t answer that. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “I couldn’t sleep and then I remembered I’d forgotten to polish the brass.”

  “They could have waited till the morning,” he pointed out. “Bet Moira’s good at polishing.”

  And she wasn’t? Christy stared at the candlesticks she’d been working on. She thought she was doing a good job.

  “I have someone coming over to check the place out tomorrow and I want everything to look nice.”

  She picked up the rag and went back to work. O’Keefe stared at her. The red silk pajamas were definitely not the right attire to polish brass in.

  “I’ll be as quiet as possible.” Their gazes met. Christy looked away quickly. “Go back to bed. I won’t be more than an hour.”

  O’Keefe stared at her, exasperated. She’d gathered an assortment of things. A brass fire screen, a huge urn, a couple of picture frames, two vases and half a dozen candlesticks. He knew about her attention to detail. It would be much longer than an hour before her work was done especially the way she was doing it. And judging from the sneezes she was allergic to the brass polish.

  “I’ll help,” he said gruffly sitting down and reaching for the polish.

  A feather could have knocked her down. O’Keefe actually wanted to help her? Christy wished he wouldn’t. Being around him that disturbed her. Sitting at the table with him made her hands weak, her stomach warm.

  As O’Keefe rubbed polish on a vase his gaze intent on his work she thought of his eyes. They reminded her of strong currents. Pulling, tugging, holding.

  Christy tried to swallow. Strange things were happening to her throat. The late hour, the silence, the tension emanating from O’Keefe, all seemed to intensify her feelings. Frantically she thought of ways to distract her mind. He refused to discuss Jake with her. Maybe the same rule didn’t apply to himself.

  “How long have you lived in Silver Lake City?”

  That was the way to do it. Keep her tone as light as whipping cream, her eyes on her work.

  “Two years.”

  “How did you meet Jake?”

  “In Norah’s Café on Main Street. The place was crowded and he asked if he could sit at my table. We got talking. One thing led to another and he made me an offer. He needed a handyman for Cupid Lodge and I needed a place to live. My landlady had just decided to sell her house to a developer. It seemed like a perfect match.”

  For O’Keefe, it was a long speech. Christy picked up a clean rag to shine the brass urn with.

  “I’m glad he wasn’t alone,” she said slowly.

  She looked up, saw the anger in O’Keefe’s eyes and dropped her gaze.

  “It’s a sop for your conscience isn’t it, to think he wasn’t alone?”

  The terse comment stung. Christy’s gaze flew to the flinty one watching her. Words popped out of her mouth before she had time to think. “I didn’t know Jake was alive.”

  The look in O’Keefe’s eyes accused her of lying. Pain swelled her heart to bursting point.

  “I didn’t know Jake was alive,” she repeated.

  O’Keefe flung the rag he was holding down. “Stop lying,” he yelled. “He wrote to you every month.”

  Christy flinched from his anger, but refused to look away. “I didn’t see any of his letters till the day I came here. I was six when Jake left us. A year later, I was told he’d died in an accident.”

  O’Keefe’s eyes narrowed. Could Jake’s wife really have suppressed the truth from their daughter?

  “I know he wrote to you every single month, the last year of his life,” he repeated angrily. “I mailed the letters myself.”

  Christy felt her throat tighten. This conversation hadn’t been a good idea. She scrambled to her feet.

  “I’ll finish this in the morning.” The words came out in a choked voice. “I’m tired.”

  O’Keefe stared after her, his jaw clenched. He couldn’t quite figure it out. The tears in her eyes had thrown him. The vulnerable look on her face wasn’t easy to assume at will. Something told him Jake had handed him more than he could deal with.

  O’Keefe reached for the fire screen. He wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now, so he might as well finish up in here. Boot camp had given him polishing skills to be envied.

  “They’re getting on really well,” said Phillip sarcastically. “At this rate we’ll be here for the next one hundred and seventy five years.”

  “What do you mean?” said Agnes. “He’s only angry because she’s getting under his skin and he can’t ignore her anymore.”

  “I don’t understand why men have to do women’s work these days. Polishing brass indeed. He’s not a woman in disguise is he?”

  “Of course not!” Agnes sounded scandalized.

  “He makes her food, he cleans the floor with that machine and now he’s polishing the brass,” said Phillip.

  “Have you forgotten that after our Mary died I was sick for a month and you cooked for us, washed our clothes and even brushed my hair?” Agnes’ voice was soft and tender.

  “Ah well!” Phillip cleared his throat. “I have something to do.”

  Embarrassment had him heading for the open window.

  Agnes smiled as he left.

  The doorbell rang as Christy finished breakfast, next morning. She headed for the door, but Frank got there first. It was Sunday and he was going to help in the house he’d told Christy.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Christy smiled. He’d been very helpful since her sprain, fetching and carrying, asking her if he could do any chores, even reading to her from one of the library books she’d brought home for him.

  “I’m Amy Bellinger.” The high pitched voice at the door, startled Christy. “I thought I’d get an early start so I left Sacramento at six this morning.”

  Christy felt her palms get damp. Her first guest. She had to make sure everything went right. “Miss Bellinger, come in. Welcome to Cupid Lodge. I’m Christy Hathaway.”

  Miss Bellinger’s upswept hair do, the sharp eyes between the clear glasses, the rigid carriage and the absence of a smile made Christy nervous.

  “How do you do, Miss Hathaway. You look very young.” Miss Bellinger frowned as she looked at Frank. “You didn’t tell me you had a child. I thought you were single.”


  Christy felt Frank stiffen beside her.

  “Frank’s the son of a friend who works here. He’s a quiet boy. He won’t disturb you.”

  Christy couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice. The pile of bills in the roll top desk, told her she couldn’t afford to lose this guest.

  “No boy his age is ever quiet,” snapped Miss Bellinger. “I’m not sure I can stay here after all.”

  Christy felt her heart sink. Nervousness paralyzed her and she didn’t know what to say.

  O’Keefe knew Christy was going to need some back up with her first prospective guest. Her laidback quiet personality wouldn’t cut it. Plus he had to check everyone out.

  “Why don’t you let me show you around and see the room you’ll have, before you make a decision? You’ll find the history of the house fascinating.”

  Christy looked blankly at O’Keefe. When had he come up behind her? His voice was as smooth as cream. The smile he gave Miss Bellinger could have charmed a tight lid off a jar. That wasn’t all. He wore a polo shirt and a clean pair of jeans. “Frank and his mother live behind the garage. You’ll be upstairs at the opposite end of the house.”

  “I’ll look at the room, as I’m here,” Miss Bellinger said grudgingly, “but I cannot abide any noise.”

  Christy watched them go upstairs feeling weak with relief.

  “The lady doesn’t like me.”

  Christy’s heart went out to the boy. Disliking someone without a reason was hard even for an adult to accept. For a child it was hurtful.

  Putting a hand on Frank’s shoulder, Christy said, “Don’t worry about Miss Bellinger. I like you.”

  He shrugged her hand off, turned and ran away. Christy knew she was faced with a difficult choice if Miss Bellinger insisted on leaving. She couldn’t turn Frank and his mother away. If she didn’t, she might lose her first paying guest. Worry had her grabbing a dust rag and wiping the immaculate mantelpiece.

  It was half an hour before Miss Bellinger completed the tour of the house and garden and came in to the kitchen where Christy was writing out a list of things that still had to be done. It was better than pacing up and down wiping imaginary flecks of dust off the furniture.

  Mrs. Bellinger turned to her and said, “ I like the room and I’ll try it for a week but if it’s noisy I’m leaving and will expect a full refund.”

  Christy stared dumbstruck.

  Miss Bellinger sat down at the kitchen table to write a check.

  “I told Miss Bellinger about both the security and the non-refundable cleaning deposit,” said O’Keefe. The former is refundable if nothing is broken or damaged, the cleaning deposit isn’t even if she stays for just one night.”

  What security and cleaning deposit thought Christy blankly? She hadn’t figured that into her accounts.

  Miss Bellinger signed her check with a flourish and then stood up.

  “Well it was nice meeting you. I’ll return tomorrow. In the meantime...,” she hesitated.

  “Yes?”, said Christy.

  “I do have some of my things in the car. I brought them just in case the place worked out. Would you mind if I left them here today?”

  “Of course not,” said Christy.

  “We’ll put them in your room and lock the door, till you return,” added O’Keefe. “Let me help you bring in the stuff. Normally we charge a fee for storing luggage but this time we’ll waive it for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Christy stared at O’Keefe. He had Miss Bellinger eating out of his hand and he was coming up with ways to make more money by the minute.

  They both walked out and Christy looked at the check. More groceries, utilities and a salary for Toby were covered.

  The sound of the door closing made her go into the foyer.

  “That went well,” he said.

  “Thanks to you.” Christy said. “I didn’t want to lose her.”

  “Jake told me money was the least of your problems,” he said. “Why are you so worried about it?”

  He wasn’t going to let her think she could fool him with those big blue eyes.

  Christy stared at him in silence for a minute and then said, “I lost my last job a week before I came here. I don’t have enough left over to pay the utility bills for this month.”

  Experience had taught him women liked to make out as if they were the heroines of every situation in their lives. It was an act that wouldn’t take him in. The stunning red and white silk dress she had on must have cost more than all the bills for this month.

  “Don’t you get some kind of allowance out of the family fortune? Or do you spend it all on clothes?”

  Jake had mentioned old man Hathaway had more money than he could spend in one lifetime.

  “I stopped taking my allowance a long time ago.” There had been too many strings attached to it. “The clothes I’m wearing are gifts from my mother. I couldn’t bring my own clothes down as I was visiting Mother when I found the letter from the lawyer. The friend I share a flat with will send me my things as soon as I can send her some money to mail them.”

  “Why would anyone turn down an allowance?”

  Christy was tired of O’Keefe’s judge and jury act.

  “Because I wanted to be independent,” she said, ice in her voice. “Money can be like a string that jerks a puppet around and I’m no puppet. Now, even if you don’t have anything to do, O’Keefe, I do.”

  It was ridiculous to be breathing so hard, to feel the dampness of her palms. She limped into her room and shut the door. O’Keefe had painted a picture of her before she got here and he was unwilling to let that image go no matter what. To prove him wrong wasn’t her job but to admit to herself it didn’t hurt was quite another.

  Changing from her dress into jeans and a shirt, she decided to go and see Moira. The latter had stayed out of sight and it was time to plan the day.

  O’Keefe felt ashamed about his accusations. He’d seen the pain flash into her eyes and the sudden wobble of her chin. Her words stuck with him as he set up his fishing lines and then took up his usual lolling stance with his hat pulled over his eyes, his sun glasses hiding the fact he was keeping watch on the front of the house.

  There were more boats on the lake today as the area prepared for the weekend so it was also a time for more vigilance.

  Christy found Moira in the garden with Toby.

  “Frank!” Moira called for her son as soon as she saw Christy approach.

  The boy came down from the tree house and went and stood by his mother, his smile gone.

  “Frank has something to tell you.” Moira said sternly.

  The boy’s face went bright red and he said, "I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” said Christy.

  “It was cos of me that you hurt yourself. Mr. O’Keefe told me to nail the boards in. He nailed them half way and told me I could hammer them all the way in. I must have forgot one. I’m very sorry.”

  He lifted his head and looked her in the eye.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Christy said quietly.

  Moira’s face was red too and she looked at Christy, fear in her eyes.

  “We all make mistakes,” Christy said quietly to her. “Learning from them is what’s important.” Frank nodded solemnly and she turned to Moira. “Can we go back to the kitchen and go over the menu for the week. I’ll go shopping after that. Miss Bellinger’s coming tomorrow and I want to stock up.”

  “If you give me the list, I’ll go shopping after my work here is done,” said Toby. “You still want to be careful with that foot. O’Keefe’s coming with me into town and if he can’t bring the stuff back I can drop it off.”

  Moira picked up the basket of carrots Toby handed her as he said, “That’s the last lot we’ll get this year but there’s a farmer’s market and I know a man who has a stall there who’ll trade me vegetables for a basket of potatoes and we have a lot of those, if that’s okay with you, ma’am.”

  Christy nodded. The barter
system worked in her favor. “Thank you Toby. I have some money for yours and Moira’s wages now. I can pay you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take mine at the end of the month ma’am,” he reminded her again.

  “Thanks Toby.”

  “All I need is for a few things for Frank ma’am. If I could just have fifty dollars I don’t need any more money.” Moira said quickly as they walked back to the house.

  She and Moira worked on the menus including the use of as much fresh food and fish as they could. Miss Bellinger would undoubtedly let them know her preferences if she intended to stay on.

  Christy was surprised when the doorbell rang at one. Looking through the peephole, she saw a couple on the doorstep.

  “Yes?” she said, opening the door.

  The pair looked like visitors to the area, armed with hats, camera and a map. The man wore a Hawaiian shirt, the woman a sundress.

  “We were in the Village and a Mrs. Burton mentioned you had vacancies. We love the look of your house. Do you have a room for 3 nights?”

  “I have a one week minimum,” said Christy, “but as we aren’t expecting anyone till tomorrow a room is available for three nights. Come in.”

  She stood aside to let them walk past her, clenching her hands at her side so she didn’t reach them, hug them and yell, “There are four rooms available!”.

  An hour later she looked at the second check in her hand for that day. The Huttons would be back at six that night. They’d left their luggage and were happy with their room, the house everything. Christy was so relieved she could cry with joy. At least everyone wasn’t like Miss Bellinger.

  O’Keefe walked into the kitchen as she was made her final grocery list for Toby.

  His arrival with a couple of fish made her look at him. He was back to his old clothes and fishing hat.

  “Thanks for the fish. I have another couple who are coming for three days.”

  “Oh?” he said casually.

  “They just left,” Christy couldn’t stop smiling. “They’re from Phoenix and Mrs. Burton told them about Cupid Lodge. They’ll be back at six. I have to let Moira know.”