Christmas on Candy Cane Lane

by Sheila Roberts

  “So when’s dinner?” Alan asked.

  “Five. I’ll set everything out for you,” she said, and braced herself.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve pulled candy cane patrol tonight.” She didn’t look at him. Instead, she watched the milk swirl around in her frothing machine.

  “You had somebody else lined up for tonight.”

  “She’s sick.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Maddy. This is supposed to be a family day, remember?”

  “It has been. Maddy and I made fudge.”

  “And we got a movie for tonight. We were all going to watch it together.”

  “You and Maddy can have some father-daughter time this way,” Maddy said, putting a positive spin on the situation. “Or you can wait until I come back in. I won’t be away that long.”

  “I’ve seen how that plays out,” Alan grumbled.

  The milk was done. She poured it into a mug, adding peppermint syrup and a shot of espresso, and handed over her creation.

  He was frowning when he took it and still frowning after the first sip.

  “How is it?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “Fine,” he said, his tone of voice still grumpy.

  She went to him and slipped her arms around him. “Come on, Alan. Cut me a little slack here.”

  He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I know this whole Candy Cane Lane business means a lot to you.”

  “It’s made such a difference in our neighborhood—raised our property values, brought us together.”

  “Yeah, it sure brought old man Werner and me together.”

  “It’s only once a year.”

  “And it’s a time of year we should be doing things together as a family.”

  “We do lots of things together,” Maddy protested.

  He shook his head. “We get fractured at Christmas. We’re already busy enough with our stores.”

  She pulled back and frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you wish I hadn’t bought the Spice Rack.”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying with both of us working full-time, you might need to cut back on some of the extra things you do. There are plenty of other people on the street who could hand out candy canes.”

  “I tried everyone,” she said miserably. “They all had an excuse.”

  “That should tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “That they all have higher priorities than passing out candy canes on a weekend that’s usually reserved for family.”

  “We were stuffed to the gills with family only three days ago.” She’d had her sister’s brood over for Thanksgiving dinner, along with her widowed aunt and cousin (the weird cousin nobody could stand). And she and Jordan had just made fudge, for crying out loud.

  “Let the candy canes go for tonight. Nobody will miss them.”

  It was a tradition. People expected to see Mrs. Santa Claus and get candy canes when they came to look at the lights. “Like I said, I won’t be out long.”

  “Suit yourself, but don’t blame me when Jordan pitches a fit.”

  Maddy didn’t tell him their daughter had already done that.

  The second fit got pitched when Jordan followed her nose downstairs in search of dinner and saw her mother in her Mrs. Claus outfit. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “I have to go outside for a little while and pass out candy canes.”

  Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “We were gonna watch a movie.”

  “You and Daddy can watch it together. Or we can all watch it when I’m done.”

  “You’ll be out there forever,” Jordan complained.

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Why can’t somebody else pass out candy canes?”

  “Because everyone else is either sick or has commitments.”

  “Yeah, well, you had a commitment.”

  “Honey, I told you, I won’t be out for long.”

  “Fine,” Jordan said in her newly acquired snotty-girl voice.

  Okay, the old patience was wearing pretty thin. “Jordan,” Maddy said firmly.

  Jordan crossed her arms and glared at her. “I hate Candy Cane Lane!”

  “No, you don’t. You’ve always enjoyed seeing everyone’s lights and decorations.”

  “It’s dumb.”

  “What we do here brings a lot of joy to a lot of people.”

  “Well, I don’t enjoy it,” Jordan said, her face a study in sullenness.

  “Of course you do,” Maddy told her. “Remember how you used to like helping me pass out candy canes?”

  “I was a kid then!”

  “It’s still fun.” She paused. “I know. Why don’t you come out and help me tonight?”

  There was that clean-the-toilets look again. “It’s cold out there. And handing out candy canes is boring.”

  “Never mind,” Maddy said stiffly. “You don’t have to. I just thought it might be fun to do together.”

  “We were supposed to watch the movie together,” Jordan said.

  Maddy sighed. “Like I told you...”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to watch it now, anyway.” With that, Jordan ran back up the stairs to her room, probably to text Afton about her mother’s perfidy.

  “Jordan, come back down,” Maddy called. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Jordan called back.

  When had parenthood gotten so hard? Alan came out from the den. “What’s going on?”

  “Jordan’s not hungry.”

  “Pissed at you, huh?”

  Maddy sighed. “I’d take it personally if I hadn’t been the same way with my mother when I was her age. Hopefully, she’ll outgrow it before she turns every hair on my head gray.” Not that it mattered, thanks to regular visits to Sleeping Lady Salon.

  “You’d look cute with gray hair. You look darned cute in that wig,” Alan said, and kissed her.

  “Alan Donaldson, you are a truly wonderful man,” she said, smiling up at him. “I think I’m going to have to keep you.”

  “I think you are, too,” he said, smiling back. “Who else will you get to put up your over-the-top Christmas lights? Speaking of lights, you’d better get out there. Your public awaits.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him and left her warm, cozy house for the cold, dark night. Well, semidark. Thanks to the thousands of lights coming at her from all directions, it was hardly dark. But it was cold. Oh, the sacrifices she made for Candy Cane Lane.

  Still, it was worth it, she thought, looking around her. Every house on the street (except for the newcomer’s) twinkled with lights of all colors and dripped with icicle lights. Shrubs and trees were adorned with red, green and blue. Santas waved from lawns and rooftops. Mechanical deer grazed on snowy grass (preferable to real deer, who loved to nibble the tops off her tulips every spring). Several lawns, including hers, had nativity scenes commemorating the Reason for the Season, and one of the newer neighbors had set up an elaborate lit Christmas train on the roof. The Whitakers, as usual, had their outdoor speakers rigged with Christmas songs to greet visitors to the neighborhood and their gigantic inflatable snow globe was producing a regular blizzard. Ah, yes, it was a lovely sight, positively soul satisfying.

  A compact car came slowly down the street, crunching through the light dusting of snow. Obviously visitors taking in the sights. Maddy waved and the car pulled to a stop next to her. The driver’s window slid down to reveal a man somewhere in his thirties. In the seat next to him sat his wife.

  “Welcome to Candy Cane Lane,” Maddy said. “Would anyone like a candy cane?”

  “I would,” chorused two little voices from the back, and Maddy handed them the
treat.

  “We love coming here,” gushed the woman. “It gets better every year.”

  “Thank you,” Maddy said. “We all enjoy doing this.” Well, most of them did. Mr. Werner was the exception. The more popular Candy Cane Lane became, the crankier he got.

  “We’ve been coming ever since we moved here,” the man told her. “The kids love it.”

  Her daughter used to love it, too. It was so easy to take a good thing for granted. “I’m glad you all enjoy it. Merry Christmas,” she said, and stepped away so they could continue their tour.

  “Same to you,” called the woman.

  “Don’t ever stop doing this,” the man added.

  “We won’t,” Maddy assured him. Even if our daughters don’t appreciate our efforts.

  The happy family had barely continued their tour when a black SUV turned onto the street, cranked-up music and a thumping bass announcing its presence. Teenagers out joyriding, probably some of the same oversize marauders who crashed through the neighborhood on Halloween, harassing the younger kids and demanding candy from the grown-ups. Honestly, where were their parents?

  The vehicle drew close to her and the windows slid down. Teen boy laughter and catcalls spilled out.

  “Hey, tell Santa to bring me some condoms for Christmas,” shouted one as they cruised past. He looked all of fourteen, with shaggy blond hair, and was obviously applying for membership in Future Creeps of America.

  Maddy frowned. This was a family neighborhood.

  The other occupants of the vehicle thought their friend was hilarious and yukked it up even as the driver gunned the motor, screeching out past the car with the young family and driving over a parking strip, nearly taking out an inflated snowman. Then they whipped a U-turn and roared off down the street, too fast for Maddy to get the number of the license plate.

  If she had she would’ve reported them. With that crazy driving, they could have hurt someone.

  They’d had their fun. Most likely, they wouldn’t be back. At least she hoped not. But she’d send an email about this to all the neighbors so they could be on the lookout. Meanwhile, here came another car with another family, eager to take in the holiday finery of Candy Cane Lane. No requests for condoms from this bunch. Candy canes would do just fine.

  Maddy passed out the treats and gave them a final wave as they moved on, her heart warmed by the compliments she’d received.

  * * *

  The whole neighborhood was ablaze with lights, and visitors were already on the street checking it out. It’s Griswold Town, thought Tilda, standing at her living room window with her spiked eggnog, taking it all in. But hey, people in Icicle Falls enjoyed getting into the holiday mood. The downtown merchants went all out and, of course, the big tree at the center of town was a thing of wonder. That was how it should be. That was how it had always been, ever since Tilda was a kid. And it was great for the tourists. She supposed Candy Cane Lane was, too. A lot of people cruised this street in December, enjoying the lights. It was a pretty impressive sight.

  Until you got to her house. She heaved a sigh. She’d planned to go to the hardware store on her way home from work later in the week and get some candy canes, figuring she’d put them out the next weekend. Now she was thinking she should’ve left some of the inside stuff until later and gotten the outside of her house dressed up for the holidays, like everyone else. This was the Christmas equivalent of being the one party-pooper house at Halloween that kept its porch light turned off and its candy under lock and key.

  But a woman couldn’t do everything in one weekend, and since she was spending more time indoors than out, she’d focused on the inside of her new home. She’d set up her computer and TV and sound system, and her latest version of PlayStation. She’d hung Georgie’s quilted wall hanging in the living room, and the poinsettia she’d received from Mrs. Walters stood in the middle of her oak dining table. The mistletoe was hanging over the living room entryway, waiting for a stray male to wander by. Not that she’d be kissing any of her gaming pals, but it did add a festive touch. The floors were freshly mopped, and although the wax cleaner Georgie had used on the living room hardwood floor didn’t make a huge difference, it did show its potential. The bathrooms and kitchen had been cleaned and the food stowed away. Yeah, the inside was coming along.

  She glanced over at Mrs. Walters’s place. Even that was now dripping with red and green lights. When had that happened? Elves had obviously sneaked over while she was taking a break, eating her leftover deli sandwiches and enjoying the episode of Justified she’d recorded. She caught a glimpse of a man in a parka and knit cap going into the garage with a ladder. Oh, yeah. The guy Mrs. W. had hired to fix up her place.

  Hmm. How much did he charge? She pulled her coat out of the closet and put on her boots, then hurried outside to catch him before he drove away.

  She was halfway down her front walk when she noticed the truck parked in front of Mrs. W.’s. Oh. Never mind. She did an about-face and started for the porch as fast as she could without looking like she was in a hurry to escape. Which she was. Idiot, she scolded herself. She should’ve seen the gas-hog, big-wheel truck, and it should’ve registered. Where were her powers of observation lately?

  “Well, hey, there,” called Devon Black. “You out on foot patrol?”

  Great. Frickin’ lovely. If there was a man on the planet Tilda would less rather stand out in the cold with, she couldn’t think of him. “Nope,” she said over her shoulder, and kept moving.

  “Hey, wait up.”

  No way. Here was the porch now. Here was the door.

  And here was Devon Black, looking like the devil’s best friend with that five-o’clock shadow on his perfect, square chin, his eyes dark, his mouth... Oh, good grief, stop it! “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  “Very funny,” she snapped.

  “So, you live here?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s kind of...naked.”

  Her thoughts exactly. Only when she’d used that word, it hadn’t produced the same holiday glow it did when Devon said it. “I just moved in,” she said defensively.

  “Yeah?” He was eyeing the place now. “It needs some work.” He pointed to her droopy gutters.

  “I’ll get to them.”

  “I could fix ’em for you.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “What, you gonna do it yourself?”

  “I might. Well, it’s been nice talking to you. I’m sure you’ve got a tavern brawl waiting over at the Man Cave.”

  “Ha, ha,” he said sourly. “One little misunderstanding and I’m branded for life. Is that it?”

  “I understand who you are,” she said, aiming a finger at him.

  “A few speeding tickets.”

  “You have no regard for the law.”

  He scowled. “I do, too. When was the last time you caught me robbing a bank? Shooting someone?”

  “Doing drugs,” Tilda added sweetly.

  “I kicked that four years ago. Anyway, I only did weed, which as you know is totally legal in Washington.”

  “It wasn’t four years ago.”

  “I wasn’t here four years ago.”

  “Yeah, well, you were here when you were drunk and disorderly. Seems to me that’s how we met.”

  “Aww, you remembered.”

  “I can remember more than one occasion.”

  “Hey, that last time I didn’t start it.”

  “I guess not, if you don’t count hitting on another guy’s woman.”

  “How was I supposed to know they were together? Come on, she was flirting with me.”

  Yep, God’s gift to women.

  He crossed his arms, leaned against the house and grinned at her. “Sometimes I think you’re prejudiced, Office
r.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You’re prejudiced against normal people.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said with a snort.

  “Yeah? Then how come you don’t like me?”

  Because you’re immature, obnoxious and conceited. “You really need to ask?”

  “Hey, you keep confusing the old me with the new me. Anyway, I’m not so bad. Ask my brother. Ask Dan Masters.”

  “And how many women should I ask?”

  He smiled. Oh, yeah. She could smell sulfur. Where was he hiding the pitchfork? “Can I help it if the ladies like me?”

  “Look, I’d like to stand out here all night listening to your line of bull, but it’s cold,” she said, opening the door.

  “Yeah, it is. Let’s go inside.” The smile got bigger, showing off his even, white teeth and making her suddenly think of the big bad wolf. The better to give you a love bite, little girl.

  He started to follow her in, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Tilda. Show me your new place.”

  And your black thong. Whoa, where had that come from? As if she couldn’t guess. Devon Black had a gift for waking up her sleeping hormones. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

  “I’ll help you do it.”

  Do it. Yes! Okay, no more spiked eggnog. Time to cut herself off before her sex drive ran her off the road. “That’s okay. I can manage alone.” Thirty-two and still managing alone. That sucked.

  But it would suck worse to hook up with a bad boy like Devon Black. She was on the side of law and order and self-control. He was...trouble. Beautiful, gorgeous, tempting trouble.

  And, of course, that was why she couldn’t stand him. He’d want to talk her into doing all kinds of bad things. Skinny-dipping (indecent exposure). Wild party-style drinking (which would lead to indecent exposure). Speeding. Oh, not in a car, but into a relationship that would drive her completely crazy. Tilda had her act together. She was strong and disciplined and straight as an arrow. Some people confused that with having a stick up her butt, but they were idiots. And she’d be an idiot to encourage Devon Black.

  “Being alone sucks,” Devon said as if reading her mind.