As if it was Maddy’s fault? The immature part of her wanted to say, “Blame your father. This was his idea.” She silenced it, saying instead, “You’ll have time to catch up later in the week. Now, let’s see what’s playing at the Falls Cinema.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll probably miss half of it,” Jordan muttered.
Sigh. There was no forgiveness for past mistakes when you were the mother of a thirteen-year-old.
They did manage to find a movie, but even supplied with popcorn, Milk Duds and a gigantic Coke, Jordan was still pouting. So much for a family evening, Maddy thought as the opening credits began to roll.
* * *
Ivy stood outside in her red coat and her Santa hat passing out candy canes until she was sure her poor, frozen nose would pop off. She checked the time on her cell phone: 7:40. She decided her good deed was done. It had been fun at first, waving at people and giving out candy. After that she remembered why she so rarely volunteered for Mrs. Santa Claus patrol. Anyway, the snow was really starting to come down now and the wind was picking up. She hadn’t seen a car in ten minutes. Nobody would be out driving in this.
She went inside and put on her favorite ratty black sweater and her fleece pajama bottoms, then fixed herself a nutritious dinner—popcorn and diet Pepsi. No pizza! She was just about to watch the holiday movie she’d recorded when her doorbell rang.
It couldn’t be Deirdre. She’d had plans to go hang out at Zelda’s with Courtney from Sleeping Lady Salon. They’d invited Ivy, but after the humiliating show she’d put on at the Man Cave the night before, she didn’t trust herself not to offer some kind of repeat performance, and she’d opted out.
So who was here, catching her all glam in her fleecy bottoms with penguins on them? She opened the door and found Tilda Morrison standing there with a bowl of cookie dough, looking as awkward as Ivy suddenly felt.
“My new stove isn’t working. I made this cookie dough and...” She stopped, obviously uncomfortable with finding herself in need of neighborly assistance. Or maybe it was uncomfortable having to ask for help from the woman you’d sent home the night before, after she’d created a public disturbance.
Ivy stepped aside and pulled the door wide. “Come on in.”
“Thanks. Were you busy? I mean, this isn’t a big deal.”
Ivy pointed to her outfit. “Do I look like it?”
Tilda smiled. Her whole face changed when she smiled. “I dress like that when I’ve got company.”
“And never say cookies aren’t a big deal,” Ivy said with a smile. She peered into the bowl. “M&M’s cookies. My fave.”
“Mine, too,” Tilda said. “I was going to bake them today, but that damn stove crapped out on me. It was just delivered this week, too.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. You bought it from Arvid.”
Tilda scowled. “Yeah.”
“I think he was a crook in another life,” Ivy said, leading the way to the kitchen.
“I think he’s a crook in this life,” said Tilda.
Ivy started the oven preheating and got out a cookie sheet and two spoons. “Thanks for not arresting me last night.”
“Cops aren’t always out to get you. Sometimes they actually want to help. You know, serve and protect.”
“Well, I obviously needed protection last night. From myself.” She pointed at the bowl with her spoon. “Mind if I sample?”
“Be my guest.” Tilda picked up the other spoon and took a sample herself.
“Mmm, good.”
“It’s about the only thing I can make.”
Ivy pointed her spoon at Tilda. “You can make hot buttered rum mix now, too.”
“Yeah, there is that.”
They each dipped out another spoonful of dough. “I haven’t seen you around much,” Ivy said.
Tilda shrugged. “I’ve been busy. I started working second shift.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nights.”
“Not great for your social life,” Ivy observed.
“Most of my social life is with other cops and firefighters, and a lot of us are on similar schedules.”
“But you’ve got a Saturday night off.”
“It’s rare. That’s just how it worked in the schedule rotation this time. I’m on for tomorrow.”
“Saturday night, and you’re over here letting me eat your cookie dough. What’s wrong with this picture?”
Tilda ate another spoonful. “Right now all I want to do is eat cookie dough.” She looked at the shrinking ball of dough in the bowl. “Well, and maybe bake a few.”
In unspoken agreement, they began dropping dough onto the cookie sheet.
“So you’re home on a Saturday night, too,” Tilda said.
“After last night, I’m never going out again.”
Tilda smiled. “Hey, we all make fools of ourselves over men once in a while.”
“Not you. I can’t picture you making a fool of yourself over anyone,” Ivy said, dropping dough on the cookie sheet.
Tilda gave a snort and ate some more dough. ‘Like I said, we all do it.”
Ivy slid the sheet in the oven. “I thought I saw Devon Black over at your place the other day. What’s with that?”
“Nothing’s with that. He’s not my type. I want someone more...responsible.”
“Good luck,” Ivy said bitterly.
“Yeah, men are a crapshoot. But at least we’ve got cookies,” Tilda added with a grin.
“And popcorn. I made some. Wanna stay and help me eat it?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Why not indeed? “I’ve got pizza I can heat up, too.”
Tilda’s eyes lit up as if she’d been offered a bribe. “Yeah? Bring it on. I love pizza.”
“Me, too,” Ivy said. “But this one I’d just as soon see gone.”
Tilda looked at her questioningly.
“My ex sent it.”
“Your ex sends you pizza?”
“He wants to get back together.” And she was sharing this with someone she barely knew because?
“Interesting. You taking him back?”
“He left me,” Ivy said as she pulled the pizza out of the fridge. “Do you think he deserves to be taken back?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
Ivy kept her gaze on the pizza she was wrapping in foil. “What would you do if you were me?”
“Probably tell him to take a hike.” Ivy was feeling justified until Tilda said, “But I’m not you. And I don’t have kids to think about. Do you still love him?”
“When I’m not hating him, you mean?”
Tilda smiled. “Want me to run him in for heartbreak in the first degree?”
“Too bad you can’t do that.”
“The jails are too crowded already. Seriously, I know it’s hard working stuff out, but if he really feels bad about his screwup and, deep down, you still love him, you may need to give him another chance. You’ve heard of the three-strike law, right? Not saying you should give him three chances,” she added hastily. “But people do screw up sometimes.”
Ivy did look at her now. “And everyone deserves a second chance?”
“I don’t know. I can see how you wouldn’t want to risk it.”
The timer went off and Ivy took out the cookies.
“The only thing better than cookie dough is hot cookies,” Tilda said once Ivy had transferred them to cooling racks. She helped herself to one, juggling the hot cookie in her hands.
“Cookies and milk,” said Ivy, turning to the fridge.
“Cookies and milk, pizza, popcorn—girl, you sure know how to party,” Tilda said approvingly.
“Thanks. Right back atcha.” When she wasn’t being a
cop Tilda Morrison was pretty cool. Actually, Ivy thought, remembering the night before, she could be pretty cool even when she was being a cop.
Chapter Eighteen
Remember, this is the season to be jolly. Your positive attitude can go a long way to fostering happiness in your home.
—Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas
In spite of the pout she’d pasted on her face, Jordan enjoyed the movie and laughed at all the funny scenes.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she said as they left the theater. “That was fun.”
“You should thank your mom, too,” Alan said.
“Thanks,” Jordan said, the sweetness vanishing from her voice. Proof that you could make a child say the right thing, but you couldn’t make her have the right heart.
It was a cold walk to the car with an icy wind blowing snow in their faces, but that was nothing compared to the chill coming off Jordan.
“Let’s hope they don’t close the pass tomorrow,” Alan said.
As if on cue, the snow began to fall faster and the wind whipped up, batting the giant fir trees hovering over the theater.
“I hope we don’t lose power,” Maddy said. Trapped in the house with her cranky daughter and no power. Oh, that would be fun.
There were only a few cars on the road, probably making their way home. As they turned onto Candy Cane Lane, Maddy heard a distant boom. Then all the lights on every house on the street went dark as if a giant plug had been pulled.
“Looks like a transformer blew,” Alan remarked.
Lovely.
Once inside the garage, Alan found a flashlight and lit them into the house. Maddy got candles and Alan gave Jordan the flashlight to take to bed, then fetched one they kept charging in the laundry room. Power outages had become a rare thing, but when they did happen, Jordan loved it because it meant a fire in the fireplace, roasting marshmallows and her dad telling ghost stories. It was too late for that tonight, on so many levels. Jordan went straight to bed, a hug and kiss good-night for her dad and an icy peck on the cheek for her mean mom.
Maddy lay in bed that night listening to the wind howl and praying that the storm would end quickly and they’d be able to get over the pass the next day to see her parents. Her daughter obviously didn’t want any mother-daughter time with her, but Maddy sure needed some time with her mother.
There was no power the following morning and the house was cold. So was her daughter. Jordan was still Little Miss Frosty, determined to make Maddy feel guilty for ruining her thirteen-year-old life.
All the houses were dark and so was most of downtown, except the end where the hospital was. It looked so...sad and deserted. “We can stop in Gold Bar and get breakfast,” Alan said.
Jordan had set herself to Ignore mode and started texting at the table until Alan told her to put her phone away. That cut off all communication, especially with her parents.
Once at her grandparents’ she was polite, but polite was as far as she could bring herself to go. It wouldn’t do to ruin the abused-child facade.
“What’s bothering our little girl?” Maddy’s mom asked after Jordan had finished clearing the table and went to sit in a corner and text.
“I wouldn’t let her hang out with her friends last night.”
“Was she in trouble?”
“No. We were having some family time.”
Mom nodded slowly. Sagely. “Do you remember how much you wanted to hang out with us when you were that age?”
Maddy sighed. “I know. I just...oh, Mom, she’s growing up so fast. I feel like I’m losing her.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing me. Between work and keeping everything going in the neighborhood... It sometimes feels like I’m hauling around a backpack with a baby elephant in it. And now I’ve got Corrine descending on us.”
“This is a hectic time of year, honey. You have to prioritize.”
“I know, but there’s nothing I can cut out.”
Her mom stopped washing a pot and looked at her. “Are you sure?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Well, there was some talk about Candy Cane Lane at dinner.”
More like complaining. Alan had joked that he saw more of Santa’s wife than he did of his own these days, and Jordan had muttered her usual epithet regarding the neighborhood decorations. “Dumb.”
“Your street is charming,” Mom said, “but maybe you need to spend a little less time out on it and a little more inside with Alan and Maddy.”
“People have been sick this year,” Maddy explained.
“That doesn’t mean you need to single-handedly pick up the slack,” said Mom. “If you were around more, you could probably let go more.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, make Jordan a higher priority during the week and you won’t have so much trouble letting her go off with her friends on the weekends.”
Maddy frowned as she poured soap in the dishwasher and shut the door. “I have to work during the week.”
“Not at night. Look, this is just a suggestion, but I think maybe you should hang up your Mrs. Santa Claus suit for the year. Life will still go on if someone doesn’t get a piece of candy. You’ve got the lights and all the pretty decorations, and that’s what people really come for.”
Mom was right, Maddy thought as they drove home, the trunk filled with presents to put under the tree. There weren’t that many days left until Christmas. She’d take her mother’s advice and stay inside. She and Jordan could wrap gifts, maybe even make some fancy Christmas cards for Jordan to give to her girlfriends. Jordan always liked making cards. And they’d start all this fun by putting up the tree and having a nice family evening decorating it.
The lights were on again downtown. Hopefully, they’d also be on at home. “So, who’s for decorating the tree?” Maddy asked cheerfully as they entered town. It was only seven-thirty, plenty of time to get the tree done before Jordan had to go to bed.
The old Jordan surfaced. “Me.”
“Me, too,” said Alan, smiling.
They could see the lights from their street even before they got to it, a nimbus of Christmas glory in the night sky. “It does look pretty,” Maddy said as they turned onto Candy Cane Lane.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” agreed Alan.
Jordan said nothing.
They were just walking in the door, loaded with presents, when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Maddy said, setting down her pile.
“Let it ring,” Alan said.
“I won’t be long,” she promised.
“I’ll have the tree inside and up in ten minutes,” he said.
“She’s gonna talk on the phone all night,” Jordan predicted, grumpy again.
“Only for a minute.” Maddy snagged the cordless from the hall table.
It was Carla. “Maddy, I got it!”
“Got what?” Maddy asked, slipping out of her coat.
“The license plate for that SUV. They came through again. Took the last of my candy canes and fishtailed on out of here. Almost hit another car in the process.”
Maddy walked to the kitchen to boil some hot water for cocoa. “Oh, good job. Did you call the police?”
“Uh, no. I figured I’d give it to you since you’ve got an in with them. You know, being friends with Tilda and all.”
“We’re not exactly friends,” Maddy said as she flipped on the electric teapot. In fact, she got the distinct impression that Tilda Morrison didn’t want to be friends.
“Well, anyway, you want the number?”
“Sure.” It would only take a minute to call the police. “Let me grab a pencil.”
Carla rattled it off. “I’d like to see ’em try and mess with
us now,” she said.
“Yeah, this should fix the problem,” Maddy agreed, and wrote Candy Cane Lane Vandals next to the vital information. “Thanks.”
Jordan walked into the kitchen. “Daddy’s got the tree up.”
“Great. You two bring the decorations from the garage and I’ll be right with you.”
“Okay. Daddy! We have to get the decorations,” she hollered, and disappeared through the laundry room and out the door into the garage.
Alan came into the kitchen. “You ready?”
“Almost,” Maddy said. “I’ve got water heating for cocoa.”
“Great idea.”
Maddy was just looking up the number for the police station when Shirley Shank called. “Did you hear? Carla found the vandals.”
Jordan and Alan were coming back through the kitchen, each carrying a large plastic bin. “We’re ready, hon,” Alan called over his shoulder.
“Be right there,” she said. Then to Shirley. “Yes, I just talked to her.”
“Are you going to call the cops?” Shirley asked.
Why did everyone assume she’d be the one to call the police?
Because she was the one who did all the organizing around here, from getting the neighborhood on board with the holiday lights to keeping everyone supplied in candy canes. Heck, she was the one who came up with everything—the best Halloween house contest, the summer block party. Christmas.
But somebody had to do it. And those were the things that brought people together.
“Mom!” Jordan yelled from the living room, her voice packed with irritation.
“I’ve got to go,” she said to Shirley. “We’re decorating the tree.”
She made cocoa and delivered it to the living room. “Okay, here’s hot chocolate.”
“Is this how you want the lights?” Alan asked.
“We’ve got a gap in the middle,” she said just as the phone rang again.
“Don’t answer it,” Alan said.
“It’ll just take a minute.” This time it was Mr. Werner. “Carla Welky told me you got those hoodlums.”
“Well, we think we do,” Maddy said. “We’ve got a license-plate number.”
Christmas on Candy Cane Lane Page 26