Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  “We should be sitting down to eat at four.”

  With that I take off to the kitchen to start my preparations. It’s been a practice in my family ever since I was a little girl to make a double Thanksgiving feast, one for us and one for the Catholic Church’s soup kitchen. We’ve continued this tradition into our adulthood. Whatever part of the meal we’re responsible for; we double it and meet the rest of the family to help serve our fellow man. We try not to restrict out charitable contributions to just the holidays but there’s no better time to share the wealth than on a day of gratitude.

  Kevin brings Richard straight to my house from the airport and I’m thrilled to see him. He’s brought a gorgeous bouquet of flowers that I set down straight on the dining room table. My dining room seats eight comfortably so we’re going to have to attach another table to the end and continue seating into the living room to fit all sixteen of us. Again I wonder why we couldn’t have just had Thanksgiving at Renée’s house, but for some reason it’s important to Elliot to do it here.

  I put Richard and Kevin to work prepping ingredients for my famous cranberry relish. Kevin grates the fresh ginger root while Richard pulps the oranges. As I’m assembling it in my grandmother Sissy’s crystal salad bow, I mention, “Richard, I don’t know what happened with Philippa at my wedding…”

  Richard gruffly cuts me off, “Mimi, I’ve told you I don’t want to discuss it with you. In fact, there’s no reason to ever mention it. It’s not like I ever have to lay eyes on the woman again.”

  Uh oh, now I’m in for it. “Richard,” big breath, “I’m afraid you are going to have to see Pippa again. I mean, rather, crap. It’s like this. She’s in town and she’ll be joining us for Thanksgiving.”

  Kevin decides to join in by adding, “She’s staying at Renée’s, too.”

  I turn to glare at my friend and accuse, “Are you trying to make this worse?”

  Kevin turns red and fidgety, “No, but I think Richard should know that, don’t you?”

  Clearly, I don’t, but I can’t say that so I turn to Richard and offer, “You know how big Renée’s house is. You never have to see her if you don’t want to.”

  In an act of pure sullenness, Richard grabs his phone and starts to look up hotels in the area. Strangely, there’s nothing available so he finally decides, “Fine, I’ll stay there but I don’t have to like it.”

  Renée and Laurent have invited us all over to their house for a casual pizza party. With all the preparations for Thanksgiving, this will allow us to enjoy each other’s company without a hassle or mess.

  Once we get there, Richard escapes to his room, pleading exhaustion and we don’t see him for the rest of the night. Pip seems relieved, but this tension between them is making me nervous about tomorrow. Ah well, with sixteen of us, they don’t even have to speak to each other, right?

  Chapter 17

  I am forever befuddled that a world as technologically advanced and inherently wealthy as ours has not been able to solve the homeless problem. We’re so out for ourselves and our own pocketbooks that it’s become too easy to turn a blind eye to human suffering in this world. I am by no means the queen of charity, but darn it, at least I try to make a difference.

  Elliot and I are on the way out the door to the parish when his mother calls out, “Don’t leave yet! We’ll be ready in two minutes.”

  I look at Elliot and ask, “They’re coming with us?”

  He nods his head and responds, “They offered to help last night at Renée’s.”

  I’m not sure what to make of this. I mean heck, I’m wearing jeans and a sweater, I have my hair tied up and I’m prepared to get sweaty while helping serve my fellow man. I can imagine the countess showing up in cashmere, sticking her nose in the air and breathing into a scented hanky so she doesn’t pass out from the stench of the unwashed masses.

  When Elliot’s parents join us at the front door, they look as regal as always, but somehow seem more human in casual attire. I’m sure their clothes still cost enough to feed a family of four for a month but they’ve made an effort to fit in. The earl is carrying a shopping bag with him and the countess has forgone her usual Hermès tote in lieu of a less pretentious model. They really do appear to be trying, although I have no idea what’s in the shopping bag.

  We meet my family in the parish parking lot and begin to unpack all the goodies we’ve brought. Jonathan has four hotel pans full of crescent rolls and enough butter to grease the Hippodrome. He notices my surprise and announces, “Ginger went to the market hungry and craving crescent rolls. She came home with forty-eight tubes of them.”

  I reply, “I hope you saved some for us.”

  Ginger winks, “I saved nine for us which will make seventy-two rolls.” Doing the math, I smile. Seventy-two crescent rolls for sixteen people sounds just about right.

  Father Brennan pops his head out of the kitchen door to hurry us along. “Let’s go, Finnegan family! I need your food on the buffet right away.”

  With that dictate, we pick up speed and immediately jump in where needed.

  Laurent enlists Elliot’s help in putting the final touches on his stuffing and mashed potato contributions. Kevin and Muffy assemble their salad and start pouring sparkling cider in the church’s all-purpose glassware. A special touch Father Brennan has insisted upon is the use of the church’s dishware and glasses. The only disposables are the napkins. He’s adamant, “Every one of the fine folks dining with us today remembers a Thanksgiving during better times. Let’s encourage the hope that those times will come again.”

  My parents slip on aprons and start carving the turkeys and Richard and Pip wind up side by side serving on the buffet. Neither looks very pleased but before they can scramble to get farther away from each other, the diners start to pour in.

  This is one of those moments that overwhelms me every year. These are not nameless, faceless, soulless beings. These are people down on their luck for one reason or another. Yes, some of those reasons might be a product of their own making, but many are simply the result of circumstance.

  My eye is drawn to a ragged looking woman who seems to be about my age. She has two small children huddled at her side and they all appear to be malnourished. I immediately put my hand to my stomach as if to shield my unborn child from ever knowing this reality. My eyes fill with tears and I am hard-pressed to control them.

  Elliot sees me and comes to my side, “Do you need to sit down, love?”

  I assure him I don’t and send him back to his duties. Then I find my mother, “Mom, where are the clothes we collected?”

  She gasps, “Drat, I left them out in the car. Here, take over for your father and he’ll go get them.” I take up the carving and my dad disappears to retrieve the items I’ve requested.

  When he returns, I hand his knife back and go into the kitchen to find what I’m searching for. Inside one of the shopping bags are children’s boots and coats. I go out to the dining room and find the woman with the small children and ask if any of these items would be useful to her.

  She smiles shyly as tears run down her face. “I’m so embarrassed to be here in this situation.” She adds, “You know, three years ago I was helping to serve this same meal in my parish.”

  I ask her what happened and she confesses, “My husband got sick. The medical bills were staggering.” With a sob, she adds, “He died last year and the kids and I have been doing everything we can just to stay together. We lost our house at the end of the summer.”

  Every year I talk to the people who come into the soup kitchen for Thanksgiving dinner and every year I hear stories that tear me apart. But this year, this story hits so close to home I know I have to do something. I find out the woman’s name is Faith and she and her children are staying at the shelter in Pipsy. I tell her that I’d like to find a way to help her and ask if it’s okay for me to come and see her. She sobs in heartfelt gratitude and I assure her I will be there Saturday morning.

  By the time ev
eryone is sitting down to eat, I’m wrung out physically and emotionally. I just want to collapse and thank God for every last gift in my life. I don’t know how I, Mimi Fielding, turned out to be the most blessed person in the world, but I am. I’m so overwhelmed with abundance; I can never show my gratitude enough.

  As I sip on some apple cider I notice Pip making her way around the room. It’s like she’s encased in a bright light. I know that sounds fanciful but I really can see it. She’s radiant and so self-assured and composed as she sits down with people. Several hug her and many others are just drawn to watch her. Pip doesn’t hurry or rush. She just takes her time and offers a message to every person that waits to hear one. It’s like watching Jesus walk amongst the masses. These people are drawn to her. They are hungry for any word she has for them.

  I notice Richard watching her too and he appears to be as enthralled as I am. I think maybe my friend might be seeing the error of his ways. I hope so anyway.

  I also find out what’s in the earl’s shopping bag. No wonder none of the Pipsy hotels had any vacancies. Upon arriving in town earlier in the week and hearing of our soup kitchen plans, Elliot’s father bought out every vacant room in the area. He’s handing out gift cards to each person or family in need of a warm, clean hotel room. The rooms are booked for four nights so they will have ample time to rest and enjoy some basic comforts like heat and running water. Apparently, he’s planning to meet with Father Brennan to help find a more suitable long-term solution for our town. I have the strongest urge to jump into old Archie’s arms and hug him for all I’m worth, but I’m afraid the shock might kill him.

  Chapter 18

  By the time we get back to my little yellow house on Mercer Ave. I’m totally done in. Elliot sends me upstairs to lie down while he and my family get our dinner ready. The house is overflowing with noise, people and love. Even though Renée’s house would have been a million times more comfortable, given its size, I like the feeling of all this happy energy in my home.

  As I come down the stairs, I stop for a moment to take in the contented scene before me. The earl and Elliot are adding the folding table to the end of the dining room table so we’ll all fit, my mom flits about tidying the silverware, Kevin and Muffy are snuggled on the couch. Elliot walks in wearing my grandma Sissy’s apron. My cup runneth over.

  I don’t hear the countess creep up behind me until she begins to talk. As soon as she speaks, I jump, let out a rather large scream and wet my pants, simultaneously. Once I gather my composure, she says, “What a nice day, Mimi. Thank you for including us in your celebration.”

  I murmur the appropriate response and go change my underwear before joining everyone. By the time I get to the table there are only three vacant seats, two together and one across from them. I take the single seat next to my husband, leaving the other two for Richard and Pip who are not yet seated. They show up at the table moments later, from opposite directions only to find out they’re sitting together. After seeing Richard’s admiring looks towards Pip at the soup kitchen, I’m less inclined to break them up. I’m actually rather looking forward to seeing what will happen between them.

  As soon as I sit down, my mother stands to offer a word of gratitude, as is our tradition. She rises and remains quiet until the table settles and then starts, “Every year I’m overwhelmed by all the gifts life brings. This year we’ve added a new son-in-law and four grandbabies on the way.” She stops to collect her emotions before continuing, “In addition to that, we’ve joined Elliot’s family to ours, Kevin has come into the fold and Mimi’s dear friend, Richard, has become a cherished friend to us all.” Then she looks to the earl and countess, “Archibald and Victoria, we are all so grateful for all you’ve done for our town’s underprivileged and we thank you for your generosity.” To Pippa, she adds, “Philippa dear, the lovely message you shared from my mother this morning was so meaningful, I can’t find the words to thank you. You have an amazing gift and I’m humbled you shared it with me.”

  I take a quick peak at Richard to see how he’s receiving that bit of gratitude and notice his face redden. I can’t tell if it’s from shame, anger or embarrassment at not believing in Pip.

  My mom continues, “It is my goal through life’s ups and downs to always remember that the gifts outweigh the troubles.” Then she raises her wine glass, “To all of you, thank you for being part of my family and thank you for gracing our holiday table.”

  Everyone lifts their glasses to toast before my dad stands up to offer the prayer. “Oh Gracious God, we give you thanks for your overflowing generosity to us. Thank you for the blessings of the food we eat and especially for this feast today. Thank you for our home and family and friends, especially for the presence of those gathered here. Thank you for our health, our work and our play. Please send help to those who are hungry, alone, sick and suffering war and violence. Open our hearts to your love. We ask your blessing through Christ your son. Amen.”

  Chapter 19

  My bionic emotions hit on the way to my meeting with Faith. I’m already feeling fragile, grateful and weepy (three of the gestational seven dwarves), when I decide to turn on the radio hoping for some classic eighties rock to take my mind off the arbitrariness of life. Why do some people wind up with real struggles while the rest of us with invented ones? That’s when I hear it, Shannon, sung by Henry Gross. It’s a song my parents used to listen to and I remember dancing around the yard singing it with my sisters when we were kids.

  I immediately flash back to my carefree childhood and think of Faith’s kids and the real struggles they’re facing. Life without a father and dreary days in a homeless shelter, with a mother doing her best to get her family back on their feet. The song ends and the DJ announces, “I bet you didn’t know that Shannon was Brian Wilson’s Irish setter. Yup, the Beach Boy was nearly suicidal in his depression when a friend brought him the dog to cheer him up. And boy howdy, did it work! Brian and Shannon were inseparable, running and playing together on the beaches of Southern California until the day a big wave came and washed old Shannon out to sea. Brian never saw his beloved pet again.”

  What the hell? OMG, this is too much sadness for my hormonal body to handle. I pull off to the side of the road and burst into uncontrollable tears. I sob until I’m nearly dehydrated. My eyes are almost swollen shut and my nose is so stopped up I can barely breathe. Apparently I can’t handle pregnancy and the tragedies of life because there’s no sign of the waterworks abating.

  I must be parked at an alarming angle because the next thing I know, a police officer is tapping on my window. I look up, unroll the window and manage to utter, “Y-y-yes, sir. How, how, how can I h-h-h-help you?”

  Alarmed, the young officer answers, “Ma’am, are you okay? Do I need to call the paramedics?”

  I’m thinking, the paramedics? Yes, I’m sad but it’s too late to save Shannon now. Then it hits me all over again and I burst into another round of uncontrollable weeping. I try to assure him that I’m fine and just completely off my nut due to the very natural thrill ride of pregnancy, but he’s already taken note of my rounded tummy and is beating it back to his squad car. The next thing I know, the cop is opening the passenger side door and he climbs into the seat next to me. He says, “Ma’am, please relax, I’m here. The paramedics are on their way.” Then he pats my hand and soothes, “Try to stay calm.”

  To say I’m totally alarmed would be the understatement of the century. This well-meaning officer of the peace has just called an ambulance because he thinks something is wrong with me or my baby. I’ve got to set him straight before this scene turns into a circus. So I shout out, “Shannon, Shannon, oh my God, she’s d-d-d-dead!” This isn’t quite what I was going for, but it’s all that I can manage.

  The officer grabs my phone and asks what my husband’s name is. I manage, “Elliot, E-E-Elliot Fielding.” The officer finds Elliot’s name and calls him. When Elliot answers, I hear him say, “Sir, this is Officer Ben Malone of the Pipsy Polic
e Department. I’m sitting here in the car with your wife and I’m sorry to tell you, she appears to be miscarrying.”

  “WHAT?” Now I absolutely have to get ahold of myself before Elliot freaks out and gets killed on the way to picking me up. Then I remember Faith’s dead husband and I’m history again. Great big, ugly, sobs escape me and I moan, “Shannon, oh Shannon…”

  Officer Ben tells Elliot to meet us at the hospital because the paramedics have just arrived. How can this be happening to me? I cannot let the ambulance take me to the hospital because Brian Wilson’s dog died forty years ago. But I’m helpless to stop it. I can’t control my outburst long enough to make it clear I’m just a lunatic and not in any real danger. Although they might just lock me up in the psych ward by the time this is over.

  Two burly paramedics come to check me out. They take my blood pressure and other vitals before the one with blond hair asks, “Are you bleeding heavily?”

  Of course I’m not because my baby is fine but I only shake my head and weep, “Oh Shannon…”

  The EMT’s strap me to a gurney and roll me into the ambulance which arrives at the same time Elliot does. Elliot runs to meet me and cries, “Mimi, my love, are you okay?”

  I scream, “No, Shannon is dead!”

  I know Elliot’s thinking, “Who the hell is Shannon? I thought we were naming the baby Sophie.” But all he says is, “I’m right here, darling. We’ll have a dozen more babies. I love you so much. Hang in there; we’ll get through this together.”

  Holy crap I have got to get control of myself long enough to tell everyone that I’m fine. I finally succeed in yelling/sobbing, “Shannon is a dog!”

  That stops everyone in their tracks. Officer Ben asks, “Shannon’s a dog? Did you hit a dog?”

  “No, she’s Brian Wilson’s dog.”

  Elliot inquires, “The Beach Boy?”