Three Christmas Wishes

by Sheila Roberts

  She lowered her window and greeted him with, “Please don’t give me a ticket. I’ve been having a terrible December.”

  “You were speeding,” he pointed out gently. “And the snow has made the streets slick.”

  “I had another accident since you stopped me and now I’m on my way to cancel the venue for my...my...my wedding,” she finished on a wail. “Who breaks up with you three weeks before your wedding? And on Thanksgiving Day no less!”

  Officer Knight was regarding her with a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”

  “You do?” Had someone broken his heart, too? Maybe they could help each other heal. Maybe...well, Santa had said she’d meet her Mr. Right in a memorable way. The way they’d met had certainly been memorable.

  He nodded. “Oh, yeah. My ex-girlfriend dumped me for a sailor.”

  “I’m sorry.” Maybe he needed consolation.

  “Then I met my new girlfriend and everything’s good.”

  Everything’s good. So much for that stupid shopping mall Santa.

  “I’m going to give you another warning,” said Officer Knight, back to business. “but you have to promise to be more careful.”

  “I will,” she managed, her voice shaky.

  “I mean it,” he said sternly. “Next time I’ll cite you.”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “And don’t worry,” he said. “Someone better will come along.”

  After Sean anyone would be better. She thanked Officer Knight in Shining Armor for the warning and continued slooowly on to the golf club.

  She shouldn’t be torturing herself like this, she thought as she drove up the long drive lined with evergreens, the golf course peeping out between. She should simply have called in her cancellation. That was what phones were for, to save jilted brides from self-flagellation. But maybe, if she showed up in person and looked pitiful enough, Sharla Green, the events coordinator, would give her back a small part of her deposit. It was Christmas, after all.

  And she was delusional.

  Only weeks ago, she’d envisioned herself going down this same drive in a limo with her groom. Wearing her beautiful wedding gown, drinking champagne. Life was so unfair sometimes.

  No, not life. Just Sean.

  She walked into the clubhouse lobby, and again it was hard not to imagine how beautiful this was all going to be...before it wasn’t. The lobby was richly decorated with a grouping of leather chairs and a love seat around a glass-topped table, potted plants artistically placed. Beyond it was the ever-popular Olympic Room, where so many people held their big events, with its sweeping views of the Olympics and Case Inlet, its baby grand piano, linen-draped tables, generous dance floor. Ugh. She should’ve called.

  But she was here now, so she made her way to the office where Sharla worked her magic. Sharla was in her midthirties, happily married with two kids, a big believer in happily-ever-after. She loved planning events, especially weddings. She’d left three messages on Riley’s phone last week.

  “Riley,” Sharla greeted her. “Did you get my messages? I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any last-minute questions. You all ready for the big day?”

  This was quintessential awful. “There isn’t going to be a big day,” Riley said, trying to keep her lower lip from wobbling. “The wedding’s been called off.”

  Sharla’s perky smile turned into an empathetic frown. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He was a weasel.”

  “Well, you sure don’t want to marry the wrong man. So maybe this was a lucky escape.”

  That was what everyone kept telling her. Riley wished she felt more relieved.

  Now that condolences had been bestowed, Sharla got down to business. “I’m afraid we can’t give you back your deposit at this late date.”

  Of course, canceling a week before the wedding was beyond too late. Ridiculous, even.

  So much for her special wedding supper—marinated chicken breast and truffle-scented crab salad, rosemary cracker-crusted cod. Then there was the cake. That would’ve been so gorgeous—white fondant trimmed with gold ribbon and red poinsettias, with votive candles all around it. She’d planned everything with such love and attention to detail. All that money and effort for nothing. Riley felt ill.

  “Can’t be helped,” she said, resigned to her miserable fate.

  “I’m really sorry,” Sharla said. “I hope next time it all works out.”

  At the rate she was going, maybe there’d never be a next time. She could feel the tide of tears rising, so she said a quick goodbye and hurried out of the office, down the hall and back to the lobby. She didn’t see the man coming out of the pro shop until she bumped into him.

  “Sorry,” she said as he steadied her.

  “No prob— You? Please don’t tell me you’re taking up golf. I’ll have to resign before you run me over with a golf cart.”

  Oh, no. Not Jack Logan again. “No, I’m canceling my wedding reception,” she said stiffly and took a swipe at the rivulet of tears rolling down her right cheek.

  His expression softened. “Well, shit.”

  “It’s okay. It’s only money.” She wiped her left cheek. More tears came, along with a sob. She was pathetic.

  “Here,” he said, taking her arm and steering her toward the café. “You can’t go running around all upset. Not the way you drive.”

  “Very funny,” she muttered and started sobbing in earnest.

  He sat her down at a table and went to order a coffee then returned and put the mug in front of her. There was a small container of sugar packets on the table and he pushed it toward her. “I’m guessing you like sugar in your coffee.”

  Still crying, she nodded and dumped in two packets. When Riley is upset how many packets of sugar does she need in her coffee? One more. She took another.

  “Can you say adult-onset diabetes?”

  She glared at him and grabbed another packet.

  “Okay, sorry. I get that you’re upset.”

  “I’m not. I’m well rid of him. I just hate that I spent all that time planning our wedding and all this money on the reception, and it was all for nothing. He wasted two years of my life and most of my savings and a bunch of my parents’ money, too.” She’d pay her folks back what they’d given her, every penny, darn it all. She ripped open another packet. Sugar spilled everywhere and she threw the packet on the table.

  “He was a shit,” Jack said.

  “Yes, he was.” She grabbed a napkin and blew her nose.

  “But at least he backed out now before you got married.”

  She scowled at him. “You men all stick together.” She took a sip of her coffee. Okay, maybe she’d gone a little overboard with the sugar. She shoved it away.

  “Hey, don’t lump me in the same category as your dude.”

  “Former dude,” she corrected him.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, I never thought Sean would, either.”

  “Sean? Sean Little?”

  “You know him?” They were friends? Okay, this conversation was officially over.

  Before she could leave, he said, “The guy recently joined the club. He wants to take golf lessons. His girlfriend is a...oh.”

  “Golfer?” Why not add that to the list of Emily’s many sporty talents? And now she and Sean were joining the club. A fresh flood of tears began.

  “Hey, now,” Jack said, stretching his hand across the table and laying it on her arm. “Don’t start again. You really don’t want to be with a guy like that, do you?”

  “I did,” she sobbed, reaching for another napkin, “before I knew he was a guy like that.”

  “Well, now that you know he is, you ought to be thanking your lucky stars you esc
aped. You ought to be celebrating.”

  Riley plucked another napkin from the dispenser. “That’s what my sister said.”

  “Your sister sounds pretty smart.” He smiled. “You should go dancing.”

  That pulled a reluctant smile from her. “I tried that.”

  He leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “You’re cute when you smile.” Then, before she could feel too flattered, he added, “You could give Rudoloph a run for his money with that red nose of yours.”

  She took a sugar packet out of the holder and threw it at him and he chuckled. And she chuckled. “Thanks,” she said. “Somehow I feel better.” She sighed. “Except I wish I wasn’t out a small fortune.”

  “That’s crappy,” he agreed. “I hope you’re gonna do something besides sit home and mope.”

  She shrugged. “I thought maybe I’d bake about two dozen cookies and eat them.”

  “That’s one way to teach the bastard a lesson, eat cookies and get fat.”

  Riley scowled. “Great. Another fitness freak.”

  “Not me. But I’m thinking you could do better than sitting around and self-medicating with cookies. Do something epic. You know what they say. Living well is the best revenge.”

  “Living well was the reception we were going to have,” Riley said bitterly.

  Jo’s words came back to her. Let’s have a party. Hmm. She’d already paid for the venue. She had her gown. Why let all that go to waste? Did she really want to sit around and mope on what would have been her big day?

  She slapped the table. “I am going to live well, darn it all.”

  He nodded approvingly. “Way to rock it.”

  “I’m going to un-cancel my cancellation. So what if I don’t have a groom? I’ve got a dress and a venue. And I’m going to celebrate!” She jumped up and hurried back to Sharla’s office.

  “Go for it,” he called after her.

  Sharla was at her desk, working on her computer. She looked up in surprise. “Riley?”

  “Never mind about canceling,” Riley said. “We’re having a party to celebrate my lucky escape.”

  Sharla grinned. “Well, way to go.”

  Riley grinned back. Suddenly she didn’t feel so bad. Yes, she almost felt—was it possible?—happy.

  “We’ll make sure it’s wonderful,” Sharla promised.

  Riley nodded and started out of the office. Then she remembered Jack. “I met a Jack Logan. He must be a member here.”

  “He’s our golf pro. Nice guy.”

  Riley would never have labeled him a nice guy in light of their first two encounters, but after this last one she was revising her opinion.

  “And he’s single. Not that you’re looking. I mean, it’s probably too soon.”

  “It is.” Not. It was far from too soon for revenge. If she was going to do that living-well thing, she should have a date for her non-wedding reception.

  She went back down the hall and entered the pro shop, hoping she’d find him there.

  Sure enough. He was handing over a bucket of practice golf balls to an old guy in golf attire and a cap and winter jacket.

  “Damn snow,” the man muttered. “I hear we’re supposed to get more of it later today.”

  “Spring’ll be here soon, Andy,” Jack said to him.

  “Yeah. Meanwhile, I’ll have to content myself with the driving range. Glad we put in those heated stalls. At least I can take a few swings to keep the old shoulder limber. Now, what was that tip you mentioned the other day?”

  “If the ball goes off to the left, your shoulders are getting ahead of your hips and if it goes off to the right, your hips are getting ahead of your shoulders. Try to keep that swing even.”

  “Got it,” said the old man. He took his bucket of balls, turned to leave and caught sight of Riley. “Well, hello there. Are you new here?”

  “I’m not a member.”

  Old Andy gave a knowing nod. “Here to see our boy, huh?” He winked at Riley. “He sure can pick ’em.”

  Riley felt herself blushing.

  “I should be so lucky,” said Jack.

  “Well, then, if you’re not taken and you like older men with lots of money, I’ll be around,” Andy told her.

  She smiled at him. “I’ll remember that.”

  “You never want to underestimate us older guys. The outside might look like a jalopy, but inside it’s a Ferrari.” He chuckled at his own wit and left for the driving range.

  Jack shook his head. “I think he really believes that.”

  “He’s sweet,” Riley said, watching him go.

  “He’s lonely. Wife died two years ago. He’s here every day, rain or shine. If you decide to bake those cookies, Andy’ll be happy to help you eat them.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll invite him to come here Saturday night and eat non-wedding cake. How about you? Want to see what a non-wedding reception looks like?” Now that she’d issued the invitation she felt ridiculously self-conscious. She hardly knew this man.

  He nodded. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Can I kiss the non-bride? You owe me a favor, after all.”

  Her cheeks were sizzling but she smiled and said, “Maybe.”

  He grinned.

  She grinned, too. Jack Logan was turning out to be a pretty cool guy.

  Of course, she’d thought the same about Sean when she first met him. They’d both been at a fund-raiser for autism research. She’d been there because she liked to support any children’s cause. He’d been there because he had a cousin who suffered from it and he wanted to help raise awareness. He’d said he loved kids. And he admired teachers. She’d thought Sean was perfect. Boy, had she been deceived.

  Well, she already knew Jack wasn’t. So maybe she would let him kiss the non-bride.

  She bade him farewell and left the club, still feeling—was it truly possible?—happy. A few light snowflakes were starting to drift onto her windshield and she decided to stop by the grocery store to stock up on soup and instant hot chocolate. At even a hint of snow everyone panicked and cleared the shelves. If she didn’t go now there’d be nothing left.

  She was picking up some more flour in case the urge to bake overcame her when she ran into Mrs. Wooster, whose tall, skinny frame was wrapped in a long, black parka. “Hello, dear, stocking up for the storm? I hear we’re supposed to get three inches. I’m not poking my nose out the door until it’s all gone.”

  Mrs. Wooster made it sound as if they were in for a blizzard. “I think it’s supposed to turn to rain by Thursday,” Riley said.

  “Rain by Tuesday?”

  Riley raised her voice. “By Thursday.”

  “Good. The sooner, the better. The snow’s pretty but I hate going out in the stuff. At my age it only takes one fall and then you’re in trouble. I have no intention of getting a broken hip for Christmas.” She pointed to Riley’s cart. “Are you going to bake cookies?”

  “I thought I might.”

  “Tonight you say?”

  “I might!”

  Mrs. Wooster looked almost wistful. “I don’t bake much anymore. Not much point when there’s just me. Sometimes I wish my children lived closer.”

  Poor Mrs. Wooster. It had to get lonely living all by herself.

  Riley remembered the old man she’d met at the country club and a new idea popped into her mind. “Mrs. Wooster, what are you doing this Saturday?”

  “Saturday? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see if your grandma wants to come over and play Scrabble.”

  “How’d you like to come to a party?”

  The old woman’s eyes lit up. “Are you having a party, dear?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I’m celebrating a lucky escape and having a reception at the golf club,” Riley said.
“Dinner, dancing, cake.”

  “What are you going to make?”

  “Cake!” Riley shouted.

  “Cake?” Mrs. Wooster repeated eagerly.

  “I’d love to have you come,” Riley said, speaking loudly enough for Mrs. Wooster’s hearing aid to pick up. “In fact, tell your friends. This is going to be the party of the year.”

  “Well, I guess,” Mrs. Wooster said. “Thank you for inviting me. I sure am going to be praying that snow goes away.”

  “We’ll get you there no matter what,” Riley promised.

  Mrs. Wooster’s eyes actually teared up. “It’s very generous of you, my dear, to think of an old woman.”

  Riley was thinking of all the older people she’d had contact with lately. They’d lived a lot and many of them had lost a lot. Just because they were old, it didn’t mean their lives were over. They deserved to have a good time. They’d be the perfect guests to invite to her non-reception.

  She patted Mrs. Wooster’s arm. “I’ll be delighted to have you.” She’d be delighted to have anyone whose life wasn’t quite going according to plan.

  She said goodbye to Mrs. Wooster and hurried to the checkout. She had loads to do when she got home. She needed to design invitations to take to the senior center and the nursing home, needed to send out e-vites, call her family and have them spread the word, get everyone on board.

  Once she was home she called Mom.

  “How are you doing, sweetie? How was school?” Mom asked.

  “I’m doing great. Mom, can you do me a favor and call Bett at Floral Bliss?”

  “Honey, I already did. Remember?”

  “I know. But now could you call her and tell her I still want flowers? I need those table arrangements, too, and ask her if she can put a hundred single red carnations in a bucket to give away. Also, please tell Annette I still want the cake.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t get a refund on the club, so I’m having the reception, anyway.”