Maddy slipped off the ribbon and braced herself. Over the years her mother-in-law’s presents had ranged from books on how to have a better marriage to workout DVDs (that one she’d given Maddy the Christmas after Jordan was born and she was trying to shed ten pounds). This year...
“Oh. Oven mitts.” Sage green decorated with a French boulangerie print. Maddy’s kitchen was done in Delft blue. Corrine had gone all out this year. “They’re very pretty,” she said politely. “I can always use oven mitts.”
“That’s what I thought,” Corrine said, nodding. “One of them has something inside.”
Maddy felt around in one. Nothing. She tried the other and her hand found a gift card. She pulled it out and saw it was for a chain department store.
“We looked online and saw they had one in Wenatchee,” Tom explained. Tom had probably been the one to suggest adding something more to Maddy’s present.
“Well, it was very thoughtful,” Maddy said, smiling at him.
And that was the end of the presents. Now it was time to get dinner on. “Don’t forget your oven mitts,” Corrine called after Maddy as she started for the kitchen.
“Oh, yes. Can’t forget those.”
Maddy spent the next couple of hours putting together their holiday feast—ham, mashed potatoes, rolls, fruit salad and roasted vegetables. She enlisted Jordan’s help in setting the table, then frosted the red velvet cake and waited on Corrine, fetching more painkillers, ice for her ankle and, of course, more coffee.
By the time dinner was over, Maddy was ready for bed. But the in-laws were still with them and had to be entertained. “Let’s play a game,” Jordan suggested.
“Okay,” Alan said. “You pick.”
Jordan picked the classic board game Clue, which they hadn’t played together in a year.
“Oh, good choice,” Tom said. “You know, I remember playing this with you and your sister when you were kids,” he told Alan.
They had to set up the game on the coffee table because Corrine couldn’t move all the way to the kitchen table. For a second Maddy imagined her mother-in-law laid out on the kitchen floor. Maddy Donaldson did it in the kitchen...with the oven mitts.
Surprisingly, the coffee table worked out just fine and Corrine enjoyed the game. She also enjoyed watching White Christmas later that day.
That evening Maddy served grilled ham and Gruyère sandwiches made with French bread. “These are great,” Tom said. “You should make these, hon.”
Corrine’s smile was cold enough to turn him into a snowman. But then she said to Maddy, “They’re very good. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” A compliment from Corrine? Whoa, what was in those pain pills?
Later that night Corrine said something else that nearly made Maddy’s jaw drop.
“It’s sweet of you to let us stay longer.”
Yes, it was. Too bad Protestants didn’t canonize people. She would surely have qualified for sainthood. Maddy Donaldson, patron saint of long-suffering daughters-in-law.
“You’re a kindhearted woman,” Corrine added, then picked up her crutches and swung off to her makeshift bed.
This time Maddy’s jaw did drop. Wow. Would wonders never cease?
“It’s been a strange Christmas,” Alan commented later as they got ready for bed.
“It sure has,” she agreed. But Corrine actually saying something kind to her—this just might have been the best Christmas she’d had in a long time.
* * *
The evening of Christmas Day was usually pretty quiet. Not tonight, though. Tilda and Jamal dealt with a B and E, which turned out to be a couple home from their holiday vacation a day earlier than expected. Their neighbors had been positive they were burglars. That was followed by two domestic disturbances, proving that there was, indeed, no place like home for the holidays, and a call from Mrs. Walters who was sure she’d heard something.
Tilda was equally sure Mrs. W. had imagined it, but she and Jamal walked all around the house, shining flashlights everywhere.
“I didn’t think we’d find anybody,” Jamal said.
“We can’t tell her that. She’ll worry that he’ll come back.”
“There’s nobody to come back,” Jamal pointed out.
“I know that and you know that, but Mrs. W. doesn’t,” Tilda said as they climbed the porch steps. Tilda knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” the old lady called.
“It’s me, Tilda. You can open up.”
Mrs. Walters opened the door, her bathrobe clutched tightly to her chest, and looked up at them with a mixture of fear and... Oh, now Tilda got it. Other than her excursions to Pancake Haus with her sis, this was the most excitement in Mrs. W.’s life.
“Did you get him?” she asked.
“We did,” Tilda lied. “He’s in the patrol car.”
Mrs. Walters craned her neck, trying to see into the dark vehicle. Jamal moved slightly to block her vision. “Oh, thank God. Now I can sleep. You know, I didn’t sleep very well last night. We were all at my niece’s over in Wenatchee and I had some coffee. She told me it was decaf, but I don’t think it was.”
“You can sleep well now,” Tilda assured her.
“Thank you, my dear. I don’t know what we’d do without you. I’m so glad you moved into the neighborhood.”
Actually, so was Tilda.
“You shoulda been a shrink,” Jamal said as they left.
Back in the patrol car, they picked up the thread of an earlier conversation. “So, your mom finally got over being mad ’cause you were late for Christmas Eve dinner?” Tilda asked.
“Yeah, but next year she’s threatening to make me come over the day before and spend the night.”
“Now she’s found that cute woman from her church, maybe you’ll have to do that,” Tilda said with a grin.
“I don’t want to marry a chick from the ’hood. I don’t know why I can’t get that through my mom’s head.”
“She’s afraid you’ll take up with some trashy white girl.”
“Yeah? You wish,” he teased.
And, at one point, he’d wished it. But really, even though Jamal was big and beautiful and even meaner than her—everything a tough cookie could want—she’d had her heart set on Garrett Armstrong.
And now. She smiled. Now she was falling for Clark Kent in a tool belt.
“So, you never told me. How’d your dinner go?” Jamal asked.
“It went okay.” More than okay. True to his word, Devon had come by her house late that night, and she and he and her hormones had enjoyed a very merry Christmas. And tomorrow she had a breakfast date with him. Oh, yeah.
She didn’t see the point of mentioning that to Jamal, though. As far as he was concerned, Devon Black didn’t make the cut. But, like her, he hadn’t seen past the cocky facade. She’d gotten a good look this Christmas, and the more she saw, the more she liked. Construction workers weren’t cops or firemen, but they were pretty handy when you owned a fixer-upper. They were probably good with dogs, too. And kids.
Pancake Haus wasn’t the most private setting for a date, and she couldn’t help wondering why Devon had suggested it, especially when her mom kept popping over to pour coffee neither of them needed. “Are you sure your dad’s not single?” Mom joked on her third visit.
Devon smiled at her. What a smile. No wonder Mom was asking. Not that she really wanted anyone. According to Mom, men were more trouble than they were worth. “He’s married, third time. He likes the ladies,” Devon added.
“Like father, like son,” Tilda murmured, and took another bite of her waffle.
“Nah. He can’t cook.”
“Well, I don’t have time for a man, anyway,” Mom said with a chuckle, and moved off to greet new customers, for once not leaving behind the smell of
cigarette smoke. It looked like Mom had finally kicked the habit.
“Speaking of cooking,” Tilda said, “I think my heating element’s supposed to come in today.”
Devon cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? Maybe we should install it, see what we can heat up in your kitchen.”
Like another black lace thong...
“I like your mom, by the way,” he said, calmly returning to his pancakes after creating estrogen mayhem.
“I guess. Is that why you suggested meeting here?”
He shrugged. “I figure if I suck up to her, she’ll put in a good word for me.”
“You need my mom to plead your case?”
“No—because I think that closed mind of yours is finally open.”
“Sure is,” she said with a smile.
“Good, since my mom’s still in town.”
Tilda laid down her fork and stared at him. “What’s this meet-the-mom stuff?”
“A guy always wants his mom to meet the woman he’s going to marry.”
“You’re full of shit,” she scoffed. Yes, she’d given him a warm (no, make that hot) welcome when he returned to her place Christmas Eve, but it didn’t mean anything. Well, actually, it did, but she wasn’t going to be stupid enough to say that.
“Why? Because I already know how this story’s gonna end? I knew it practically the minute I laid eyes on you.” He forked a mouthful of pancake into his mouth. “We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together. Which is just as well, since it’ll take a lifetime to turn that dump of yours into a real house.”
“That house is a great house!”
He nodded. “It will be.”
“I’m going to get a dog.”
“There’s a surprise. A Rottweiler?”
“No. A poodle.”
He almost choked on his coffee.
“They’re smart. And I want a couple of kids, too.” Now he’d run in the opposite direction.
“Works for me. We can all go to the batting range on Sundays.”
She had never had this kind of conversation with Garrett. She’d never had this kind of conversation with any man. She pointed a warning finger at Devon. “You’d better not be messing with me.”
He grinned. “That comes later, after we get to your place.”
Happy New Year! hooted her hormones.
Yeah, it looked that way.
Happy New Year
The afternoon of New Year’s Day saw lots of people coming and going at the Donaldson residence. Maddy had made enough appetizers to feed not only everyone on Candy Cane Lane but half of Icicle Falls.
“Honestly, Madeline, aren’t you going a little overboard?” Corrine had asked.
“There’s nothing worse than throwing a party and not having enough food,” Maddy had replied.
“Except, perhaps, having to host your in-laws for an extra week?” Corrine teased.
“My in-laws are welcome anytime,” Maddy said graciously. Actually, the extended visit hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared. Corrine had been as negative, opinionated and demanding as usual, but there’d been a shift in their relationship, as if they’d called some sort of truce. Maddy would always be the woman who took Corrine’s son away but, as she’d said one night, “My son could have done a lot worse.” High praise indeed.
“You need to give me this recipe,” Geraldine Chan said, helping herself to more of Maddy’s Brie cheese in puff pastry.
“Nothing to it,” Maddy told her.
“You say that about everything you make. Honestly, Maddy, I don’t know how you do it. You’re a regular Martha Stewart.”
She’d done much of “it” at her family’s expense. Next year was going to be different. Maddy would still pitch in to make Candy Cane Lane the wonderful place it was—after all, her daughter needed to see the importance of volunteering—but she was resigning from being in charge of everything. She had her hands full just managing her family.
The Werners showed up and, seeing them come through the door, Jordan ducked out of sight. Encountering Mr. Werner was like having a run-in with Ebenezer Scrooge. Jordan had lucked out when she delivered her letter of apology, because his wife had answered the door. She’d probably hide until the Werners were gone, and Maddy didn’t blame her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she felt the need to make amends, she would’ve conveniently forgotten to invite them over.
“Where’s that daughter of yours?” Mr. Werner demanded as his wife handed over a plate of lebkuchen. “I want her to come take down my decorations today.”
“Mr. Werner, it’s New Year’s Day,” Maddy protested.
“I tried to explain to him that you’re having a party,” put in Mrs. Werner.
“I can see she’s having a party,” her husband said. “But it’s all grown-ups. Kids get bored with that kind of thing. The girl will be happy to escape.”
Maddy doubted that spending time with grumpy Mr. Werner qualified as escape.
“Anyway, I’m more than ready to get that nonsense gone. Now, where is she? Ah, there she is,” he said, and pursued Jordan into the kitchen.
Maddy followed, prepared to shield her daughter from a Werner onslaught, Mrs. Werner tagging along.
“There you are,” he said, making Jordan jump. “I want my decorations taken down today.”
Jordan kept her gaze on her feet and nodded. “Okay, Mr. Werner.”
“What time would you like her there?” Maddy asked.
“The sooner, the better, while we still have some sunshine.”
“I can come now,” Jordan offered.
“Oh, honey, I’m sure Mr. Werner doesn’t mind if you stay here for a little while.”
“Now is okay,” Jordan said.
Mr. Werner nodded. “Good girl. You know what you did was wrong.” Maddy was about to inform him that her daughter had already gotten a lecture both from the judge and her grandmother when he added, “But I can’t say as I blame you. I hate those blasted candy canes.” That made Jordan smile. Until he pointed a finger at her and said, “But don’t go around damaging my property again.”
Jordan gulped and shook her head. “No, Mr. Werner.”
“Okay, come on back to the house and let’s get that crap taken down. We’ve also got some eggnog that needs to be finished off.” And then, to Maddy’s surprise, he put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and ushered her out of the kitchen. “You know, when I was just a couple of years older than you, my friends and I wedged our buddy’s VW Bug between two trees.”
“Oh, dear,” said his wife with a sigh. “I don’t think he’s going to be a very good influence on her.”
“I’m just happy he’s forgiven her,” Maddy said.
“Let he who is without sin cast the first snowball,” his wife muttered, frowning at her husband’s departing back.
Tilda Morrison arrived shortly after Jordan left, escorting Mrs. Walters. Tilda also had a handsome man with her whom she introduced as Devon Black. She didn’t look like the same woman when she was out of uniform. In jeans and a red sweater and a printed scarf, she looked almost, well, feminine. Maddy had made a special point of inviting her so she’d know there were no hard feelings. She came about the same time as Ivy and...Rob?
“We’re back together,” Ivy said.
“I’m so glad,” Maddy told her, hugging them both. And she was. As for Tilda...
Ivy smiled at Devon. “You guys...?”
“Are together,” he said, and slung an arm around Tilda’s shoulders.
Tilda shrugged. “What can I say? He can cook.”
“Such a lovely party,” Mrs. Walters gushed. “But then, Madeline, you always do everything to perfection.”
Not everything. Certainly not parenting. She glanced over at Muriel Sterling, who
sat in a corner, chatting with Carla Welky and her husband. Well, Muriel, all we can do is try.
She said as much to Ivy later, as they set out more cookies.
“Don’t tell Muriel, but I threw her book away,” Ivy confessed. “Too much to live up to. All those suggestions for a perfect holiday. They just weren’t working for me.”
“It’s been far from perfect for us this year,” Maddy said, looking to where her mother-in-law sat, reigning on the couch, well stocked with both appetizers and neighborly sympathizers. Somehow they’d all survived. In fact, it seemed that they were in better shape now than when they entered the Christmas season. “Funny how even the most imperfect Christmas can turn out perfectly,” she mused.
Ivy smiled across the room at her husband, who was holding Robbie and talking with Devon, and he smiled back. “I’ll second that,” she said.
Tilda joined them now. “How’s your daughter doing?” she asked Maddy.
“She’s doing well. We all are. Even though what happened was horrible.”
Tilda nodded. “Don’t blame yourself too much. Kids do dumb stuff. And like my mom always says, it takes a lot of manure to make a garden grow.”
“Then we should have a bumper crop of good things this year,” Maddy said, pouring them all a cup of punch. “Anyway, there’s always next Christmas.”
And who knew what that would bring? For the moment, they had right now, and right now was just fine. She saluted her two neighbors with her cup. “Here’s to imperfect Christmases and happy New Years in spite of them.”
“Let’s drink to that,” said Ivy, and they did.
* * * * *
“Sheila Roberts makes me laugh. I read her books and come away inspired, hopeful and happy.”
—Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author
Looking for more great reads from Sheila Roberts?
If you enjoyed Christmas on Candy Cane Lane, then you won’t want to miss a charming moment of small-town romance in the Life in Icicle Falls series. Catch up on the complete series:
Welcome to Icicle Falls (novella)
Better Than Chocolate
Merry Ex-Mas
Christmas on Candy Cane Lane Page 33