Christmas on Candy Cane Lane

by Sheila Roberts

  “Good. Make ’em pay. That’s what I say. Kids these days have no respect for property.”

  “You’re so right, Mr. Werner.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  A spare minute. “Don’t worry, I’m going to.” Now, what should she do? There was no point calling the station. That would be closed. Nine-one-one? This didn’t exactly qualify as an emergency. She’d give it to Tilda. Looking through the directory, though, she discovered that Tilda Morrison had an unlisted number. Well, she’d run down the street to Tilda’s house.

  She pulled the piece of paper with the vital information off the tablet and went to grab her coat.

  “Where are you going?” Alan asked as she took her coat out of the closet.

  “I have to run this license number to Tilda Morrison.”

  “Now? Hon, we’re ready to hang the ornaments.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “No, she won’t,” Jordan muttered.

  “This is important,” Maddy informed them. “We got the license number of those vandals.”

  “Then call it in on Monday.”

  “They might be able to pick them up tonight. I’ll be right back, guys,” she said again, and slipped out the door.

  The night was clear, and the air was fresh and crisp. Every house glittered like a giant jewel box and the lawns were covered with snow. Candy Cane Lane looked picture-perfect. In fact, someone should take a picture of it and make it into a poster. Or a Christmas card. Maybe she’d do that. But not tonight. Tonight she had to get back and help trim the tree.

  She hurried down the street, her boots crunching in the snow. Tilda’s Christmas lights were on and that silly dinosaur sat smack-dab in the middle of the yard. So tacky. The house certainly wouldn’t win the prize for best-dressed holiday home at Maddy’s neighborhood New Year’s Day party, but at least she had some lights and her candy canes were up.

  Maddy went to the door and rang the bell. No answer. Where was she on a Sunday night, anyway? Maddy followed with a gentle knock on the door. Still no answer. With a sigh, she folded the piece of paper and slipped it under the doormat, which read Do You Live Here? (Pick one.) Beneath it were two option boxes. One said Yes. The printing next to it said Welcome Home. The other box was for No and said What the hell do you want? Was that supposed to be funny? Sheesh.

  She turned and trudged back. Wherever Tilda Morrison was, Maddy hoped she got home in time to do something with that information.

  Meanwhile, Maddy had things to do. The tree was two-thirds done when she walked in the door. “That looks lovely, you two,” she said as she hung up her coat.

  “Daddy and I had to do this all by ourselves,” Jordan chastised her.

  “We didn’t need help, anyway,” Alan said in an effort to lighten her mood. “We do good work, don’t we?”

  Maddy came over and dug a tissue-paper-wrapped ornament from one of the bins. She unwrapped it. “Look. Your Elsa ornament.” Every year she bought Jordan a Christmas ornament. Last year’s had been the Disney snow queen from the movie Frozen. Jordan had loved it.

  Tonight she just shrugged and pulled out another ornament.

  In the mommy doghouse again, thought Maddy as she hung Elsa on the tree. She had the distinct impression her daughter would like to hang her on a tree somewhere, and not as an ornament.

  Quite the weekend of family bonding.

  * * *

  It was after bedtime when Rob finally returned the kids. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “We were at my folks’.”

  The annual extended family Christmas bash. It was the first one Ivy had missed since she was eighteen. Her former mother-in-law had remained cordial, sending her birthday presents and Valentine’s cards in an effort to atone for her son’s bad behavior, but of course she couldn’t include Ivy in this particular gathering. Being excluded still rankled, and it was one more loss to lay at Rob’s new apartment door.

  “Can Daddy stay with us tonight?” Hannah asked.

  It was the same thing she’d been asking ever since Daddy and Mommy started having joint custody. Ivy gave her the same answer she always did. “Not tonight.”

  Hannah’s lower lip jutted out. “I want Daddy to stay.”

  “Daddy can stay to hear your bedtime prayers,” Ivy said, going up the stairs with Robbie in her arms. “Let’s get your bath and get you into bed. It’s way past your bedtime.”

  “I’ll help you,” Rob offered, coming up after with Hannah, who began singing. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way.” Rob joined in, singing in his off-key voice.

  Ivy had her own version. Jingle bells, this sure smells. Wish he’d go away. But did she? Really? Deep down? Yes! Three-strike laws worked fine for men who stole cars. Men who stole hearts and then broke them should be locked up for life. With no pizza.

  With bath time over and Robbie in his crib (for about two seconds), it was time to hear Hannah’s prayers. That, too, was a repeat. “God bless Mommy and Daddy and Oma and Opa, and Grandma and Grandpa B., and Robbie and Gizmo and Aunt Deirdre, and my bear and...” The list went on. Her Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Walters, all the children in the world, all the teddy bears in the world, all the dogs in the world.

  “I think that covers it, honey,” Ivy finally said.

  “And please bring Daddy home to stay,” Hannah finished. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Rob, kissing her.

  Ivy didn’t add an amen. “Okay, you, in bed,” she said, pulling back the covers.

  Hannah bounced onto the bed, her newly cleaned curls bouncing, too. “Daddy, you’ll be here when I wake up, won’t you?”

  Ivy could feel Rob’s eyes on her. “No. You know Daddy lives someplace else.”

  Hannah’s little brow furrowed. “But I asked God.”

  “Sometimes God says no, honey,” Ivy said, trying to be as gentle with the hard news as possible.

  Hannah started crying and Ivy felt like a rat. Why she had to feel like a rat when Rob was the one who’d caused this problem in the first place was a mystery. “But Daddy’s not far away.”

  “I want Daddy to live with us again,” Hannah sobbed.

  “Come on, now, princess. Don’t cry,” Rob said. “You know we’re going to spend Christmas Day together.”

  Christmas Day without her children, and the whole rest of the week, too. She’d never spent Christmas without her kids. The very thought of it made her want to cry. Instead, she kissed Hannah, then scrammed and left Rob to settle her down while she went downstairs to camp out on the couch and fume.

  “What did you tell her?” Ivy demanded when he came downstairs.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You must have said something to set her off.”

  “I didn’t say anything, Ive, honest. I’ll be right back,” he added, and slipped out the door.

  “Don’t bother.” She got up and locked the door after him and enjoyed the satisfaction of listening while he turned the knob and realized he couldn’t get in.

  “Come on, unlock the door.”

  “Go home.”

  “I brought you something.”

  “Take it with you.”

  “Ive, please. Come on.”

  He’d stay out there banging all night, she rationalized, and opened the door.

  He stepped in, bearing a bottle of chocolate wine. Her favorite. First pizza, now wine. This was definitely bribery. “You really think you can get me to take you back just because you ordered a pizza and bought some wine?” How easy did he think she was, anyway?

  “I told you, I’m just trying to prove that I’ve changed. I’m up for doing whatever you want.”

  “Yeah? Well
, take out an ad in the paper, tell all of Icicle Falls what a jerk you were.” Make a public spectacle of yourself like your idiot wife did.

  He nodded and set the wine down on the hall table. “Guess I’d better go.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’d better.” He left and once again she locked the door behind him. Then she double-checked the lock she’d put on her heart, just to make sure it was still in place. So far, so good.

  Except it wasn’t. Nothing was good anymore, including Christmas. She got a piece of scratch paper from the kitchen junk drawer and wrote Enjoy, then signed the note and taped it on the bottle of wine. She marched it next door to Tilda’s, where she put it on the front porch. Back home again, she snatched Muriel Sterling’s stupid book from her nightstand, took it downstairs and dumped it in the garbage.

  Then she ran a bubble bath and sat in it and had a nice, long cry. ’Tis the season to be soggy. Fa-la-la-la-la la-la-la-la.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Plan a night of fun with your children. This will make the season memorable for everyone.

  —Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas

  Although Tilda knew her mom was going to be okay, seeing her in a hospital bed had been a shock. It had brought home clearly the fact that she wouldn’t have her crazy best friend around forever, and that thought was terrifying. She’d returned to the hospital later in the afternoon but found Mom sound asleep, so she’d tiptoed out and gone home, feeling at loose ends. Hanging out with Ivy (who knew she’d ever want to hang out with Ivy Bohn?) had been a nice distraction, but it couldn’t completely take her mind off where Mom was.

  First thing Sunday morning found her back at the hospital, smuggling in a couple of M&M’s cookies. She’d wanted to call in sick but Mom had shooed her out. “You’re watching me like a buzzard. Get out of here and go do some real good for someone.”

  So now here she was, riding around town looking for criminals and having to settle for trying to stump Jamal with movie trivia questions. “Okay, how come Edward Scissorhands never got real hands?”

  “And how old were we when that came out?”

  “Five. Looks like you can’t answer. Point for me.”

  “Uh-uh, not so fast. What’s the answer?”

  “Because the inventor who made him died before he could make his hands.”

  Jamal snorted in disgust and Tilda chortled. She was ahead.

  “Okay,” he said, “here’s one you’re not gonna get. What’s the first movie that actually has the word zombie in the dialogue.”

  “Easy. Shaun of the Dead.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I like that movie.”

  “You’re killin’ me. I need a Coke. Let’s swing by Safeway.”

  By ten at night the grocery store’s parking lot was almost empty. The whole town was pretty much in slumber mode.

  They got their sodas and went back to movie trivia until around midnight Tilda said, “Let’s swing by my street and see if it’s all quiet.”

  “Not again,” he groaned. “You’re not gonna catch whoever messed with the candy canes. It’s too late and it’s too cold.”

  “You’re probably right, but at least I can tell Maddy Donaldson I tried.”

  “What’s with this sudden need to keep Maddy Donaldson happy?”

  “Hey, if you lived in the same neighborhood, wouldn’t you want to keep her happy?” Tilda retorted.

  “She’s the queen bee over there, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, yeah. I think if anybody gave her a chance she’d rule the world.”

  They turned onto the street and all was, indeed, quiet. Everyone’s lights were off, both outside and in, as the residents of Candy Cane Lane logged in their eight hours before the Monday-morning alarm went off. But it was almost a full moon and that, plus the patrol car’s headlights, made it easy to spot the vandals.

  “Bingo,” Tilda said, pointing to Maddy Donaldson’s house where two figures were busy knocking down candy canes, one of them taller than the other. A girl and a boy. Why was she not surprised? Half the time when girls got in trouble with the law there was a guy involved. Jamal floored it and, seeing them approaching, the kids took off, the boy galloping across the nearest front lawn, the girl running around the corner of the Donaldson house.

  Jamal jumped out and took after him, while Tilda went after his accomplice. “Stop! Police!” That was always such a waste of breath. They never stopped.

  This one didn’t, either. The perp slipped through the fence into the backyard like a pro but Tilda closed the gap. Knowing she couldn’t escape, the girl turned around and cried, “Don’t hurt me!”

  Good grief. The kid looked all of twelve. In fact, the kid looked...oh, shit.

  * * *

  Something startled Maddy out of a sound sleep. What was that noise? Someone hollering. The vandals! She shot out of bed and grabbed her bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door.

  “Maddy, what’s wrong?” Alan asked, sitting up.

  “Someone’s outside!” she said, and ran out of the bedroom.

  “Wha...”

  She didn’t wait to explain, but hurried down the stairs and flipped on the front porch light. A glance out the living room window confirmed it. Yes, there was the patrol car parked at a crazy angle at the curb, its lights flashing. And there was that big police officer stuffing a kid inside. Maddy squinted, trying to bring him into better focus. He looked a lot like the boy Jordan had a crush on. Tall, scraggly hair. Attitude.

  Good. But why their house? Was he trying to impress Jordan? If so, this was the wrong way to do it.

  And now here came the second officer, walking around from the side of the house. It was her new neighbor, and she had a hand on the other criminal’s arm. So, there’d been two of them. But this one seemed so young and... Wait a minute. Maddy recognized that white parka. And the girl wearing it.

  Oh, this couldn’t be happening. This was the Nightmare Before Christmas.

  If she was dreaming, that doorbell was pretty realistic. She went to the door on wobbly legs and opened it to see Tilda Morrison standing on her front porch with Jordan, whose face was as white as her parka.

  Jordan rushed to Maddy, throwing herself into her arms and crying.

  Alan was coming down the stairs now. “What’s going on?”

  “We caught your daughter destroying your candy canes,” Tilda said.

  “Come in.” Maddy stepped aside to let Tilda pass. Jordan was glued to her and they moved like an amoeba.

  Tilda came in. She sure was intimidating in that uniform. Maddy wanted to cry herself. “Jordan, was it you who’s been wrecking everything?” It couldn’t be.

  “I’m sorry, Mommy,” Jordan sobbed, her newly acquired teen-girl attitude completely gone.

  “But why? Why would you do such a thing?” Maddy asked, trying to understand her daughter’s bizarre behavior.

  “Because I hate those candy canes! And I hate Candy Cane Lane! You care more about that than you do about me.”

  “Oh, good Lord,” Alan muttered.

  “Jordan, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “It’s true. You never have time for me!”

  Maddy hugged her daughter tightly. “Oh, sweetie. This isn’t the way to get what you want. And why would you wreck other people’s things?”

  “We did it so you wouldn’t sus...sus...suspect,” Jordan wailed, trying to get the words out in between sobs.

  “We, as in?” Alan prompted.

  “There were two of them out there tonight,” Tilda explained. “Who else helped you?” she asked Jordan.

  “N-no one,” Jordan stammered.

  “There were three sets of prints in the snow last time,” Tilda said. Th
e way Tilda was looking at Jordan made Maddy want to cry out, “I confess.”

  “Jordan, did any of your friends help you do this?” Alan asked.

  Jordan bit her lip. Tears were running down her cheeks. She shook her head vehemently.

  “You’re not doing your friend any favors by covering for her,” Tilda said sternly.

  Jordan buried her face in Maddy’s bathrobe. “Afton,” she sobbed.

  “Afton?” Afton with the perfect mother? Maddy had to be hearing wrong.

  “What’s her last name?” Tilda asked.

  “White.”

  White. Snow White, white as snow. Model child Afton. It was hard to believe.

  “What happens now?” Alan asked Tilda.

  “We can release her to you.”

  Thank God.

  Maddy was just breathing a sigh of relief when Tilda added, “Yours wasn’t the only property she’s vandalized.”

  The Welkys wouldn’t press charges, or whatever it was you did to misbehaving minors. Oh, but the Werners. Maddy felt sick.

  “I’m afraid this will have to get referred to juvenile court.”

  “But it’s Christmas,” Maddy protested.

  “We understand,” Alan said.

  Not Maddy. She didn’t understand any of it. How could her daughter do such a thing? And more than once? She remembered Jordan’s words after the first candy cane assault. Wow, what happened? What indeed? She was raising a criminal mastermind.

  How was she supposed to handle this? There was nothing in the parenting handbook that dealt with holiday vandalism. Oh, yeah, there was no parenting handbook.

  Her job done, Tilda left Maddy and Alan to deal with their domestic mess.

  “Am I in trouble?” Jordan asked in a small voice.

  “Yes, you certainly are,” Maddy replied. “What you did was wrong.”

  Jordan hung her head. “I know.” Then she hugged Maddy fiercely and started crying all over again.

  “I think we’ve had enough excitement for tonight,” Alan said. “Back to bed, girls.”

  Jordan was still crying. She cried as Maddy helped her out of her coat. She cried all the way upstairs to her bedroom. She cried as she got out of her clothes and into her pajamas. She was going to have the headache to end all headaches.