Double Jeopardy

by Bobby Hutchinson

  There would always be Gemma to cope with, of course. Things hadn’t appeared too hopeful between Gemma and Jack when they drove away from the airport together; Jack had looked grim and Gemma had looked frantic.

  Ben and Aldo would have to shake hands and be friends. And Ben hadn’t even met all her relatives yet; Sera suspected that at least three of her aunts would hit him up for a facelift once he was part of the family.

  She’d discuss it all with him, eventually. But right now she couldn’t say a word because she was being thoroughly kissed by the man she intended to many.

  EPILOGUE

  “It’s going to be a white Christmas, Ben, isn’t that perfect?” Sera was jubilant. The rain that had pelted Vancouver for the past week had miraculously changed to snow just as darkness was falling, and tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

  “Is this straight, love?” Ben, perched precariously on a paint ladder, carefully settled the angel on the top of the eight-foot Christmas tree Sera had insisted upon. “Make sure, because I’m not climbing up here again. I don’t fancy the idea of spending Christmas in the ER as a patient.”

  “It’s beautiful. Come down and look.”

  “Gladly. Gratefully. And I’m hiring someone to dismantle this when Christmas is over.” Ben stepped gingerly down and together they contemplated the glimmering tree.

  “You’re right, sweetheart.” He looped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “The tree’s absolutely spectacular. Stanley’s gonna flip out when he sees it.”

  She’d positioned the immense tree so it reflected in the wall-size mirror. There appeared to be two Christmas trees, ablaze with hundreds of tiny golden lights, and now that it was dark outside, the entire room was also reproduced in the glass of the window wall.

  “I think everything’s almost ready. We just need to finish wrapping the presents,” Sera said, casting a critical eye around the main floor of the loft. The soft taupe walls and the rich, darkly exotic rugs set the stage for the groupings of comfortably overstuffed couches and armchairs and low tables, an eclectic mix of old and new that she’d chosen to furnish the huge space.

  Green plants flourished in odd comers; pottery bowls on low tables held outsize acorns, and harvest baskets overflowed with holly and colored glass balls. On the walls, Ben’s drawings mingled happily with framed Gauguin prints, and underneath the skylight, situated just where the afternoon light was the best, stood the long worktable she and Ben shared. He painted or sculpted while she constructed the models for her sets. The lifelike busts of Stanley and baby Hannah that he’d finished and cast in bronze as gifts for Greg and Lily sat on the table, waiting to be boxed.

  “We’ll put the turkey in the oven as soon as we get up in the morning,” Sera plotted. “I tried it. It fits, but just barely. And there’ll probably be tons of food because everybody’s bringing their specialty. Aunt Teresa’s making cream horns and Uncle Dino’s sure to cook up that awful lentil soup of his. He laces it with so much brandy it’s not safe for the kids to eat.”

  Ben grinned, aware that Sera was more than a little nervous about the party they’d planned for Christmas Eve; this was the first time they’d be entertaining formally, and the guest list had quickly grown to astronomical proportions.

  After their wedding in mid-September, Sera had elected to spend her honeymoon decorating the loft.

  They could go on a trip later, she’d insisted, which made sense, because both she and he were unusually busy with their careers.

  Sera was working with Maisie on the challenging sets for a horror movie, and Ben had been invited by the hospital board to supervise the final planning for the burn unit, which would open the following summer. The invitation meant that his sessional appointment as head was almost a certainty.

  Sera had been in her element as painters transformed the walls and ceilings of the loft and muscled deliverymen obediently arranged furniture to her specifications.

  Ben smiled now at the memory. He and Grendel had done their heroic best to be enthusiastic and supportive about the redecorating, but their apprehension had been all too evident to his wife. She’d lavished affection on them to offset the trauma of it all, a situation they’d taken shameful advantage of. He’d actually been a little sorry when the loft was finished, and he was convinced Grendel felt the same.

  “Gemma finally found a wedding dress,” Sera announced, moving away from him to plump up the goose-down cushions on the sofa and straighten an ornament on the tree. “It’s off-white, with Empire styling to hide her big belly.”

  They both laughed. Gemma had managed to get pregnant last August, and she was having twins. Ben and Sera had wickedly speculated that it must have happened the very day Jack had driven Sera to the airport. True to her contrary self, Gemma had refused to be hurried into marriage. She’d insisted she wanted a long engagement, and Jack had patiently indulged her, until December arrived and her stomach began to reach monumental proportions. Then he’d firmly set the wedding date for New Year’s Eve. Ben noted that Gemma hadn’t argued.

  Ben’s own relationship with Gemma was still uncomfortably strained. Much as he wanted to, he didn’t trust her; he’d still prefer not to be in her company, but Maria stubbornly insisted her daughters and their partners come to family dinners every single week. Ben was trying, but he doubted the time would ever arrive when he’d be able to totally forgive Sera’s sister.

  Sera never mentioned it to him, but Ben instinctively knew his feelings about her sister troubled her. Gemma was, after all, her twin.

  Aldo, too, had been awkward and uneasy with Ben until the September afternoon when Maria and her daughters were busy preparing for Sera’s wedding, arguing together over flowers and invitations and dresses and food and hairstyles.

  In self-defense, Ben and Aldo had taken refuge in front of the television. They watched two soccer matches and somehow drank their way through a large bottle of grappa, lethal homemade Italian liquor. As the grappa dwindled, conversation flowed, and by the time the bottle was empty, they were firm friends. Ben was almost sure the killer hangover he’d suffered the following day was worth it.

  Ben put a Christmas music CD on the player and turned out lamps until only the tree lights illuminated the room.

  Sera was still fussing over the party. “Do you think we’ve got enough ice?” She was making a list of what needed to be done. “And cranberries, I hope I’ve got enough cranberry sauce.”

  Ben took the pad and pen out of her hand and tugged her to her feet. “Forget cranberries. Come and dance with your husband, Mrs. Halsey.”

  Wrapped in each other’s arms, they moved slowly and sensuously as the music played. The second CD was still Christmas music, but with a more lively rock-and-roll beat.

  “You up to this, Doctor?” Sera did some intricate footwork, and Ben spun her out and caught her again. Grendel chose that moment to wake up and come galloping across the room toward them, barking with excitement. He seemed to think he was missing out on some wonderful new game. He tried to insinuate himself between them, and when that didn’t work, he growled and nipped at Ben’s ankles.

  “Stop it, Grendel. Go back and lie down.” Ben was perturbed. The dog ignored him, half tripping both of them.

  Sera started to giggle helplessly and they collapsed on a couch. "Maybe this is a better idea after all,” Ben murmured, trapping her beneath him and nibbling at her neck. “Have I told you lately that I love you, sweetheart?”

  “Not for a couple of hours,” she said, squirming into a more comfortable position beside him. They lay in each other’s arms, looking up at the tree.

  He held her against him, aware of her flesh touching his, her warm breath mingling with his own. He’d make hot, sweet love to her tonight, but not quite yet. One of the things he liked about being married was having time. They’d talked it over, and decided to wait a year or so before they had babies. They needed an interval to be alone, to focus only on each other, sharing admiration, understanding, trust,
desire...and love, such incredible love.

  There wasn’t any need to rush, because their life waited for them, rich and profound, filled with times of joy and, inevitably, as well, Ben suspected, times of sorrow.

  Whatever fate held, they’d weather it together.

  “The angel is blessing us,” Sera whispered, and Ben nodded, his heart filling up with gratitude, for his life, his beloved Sera and then, taking him completely by surprise, for her sister. It was only because of Gemma that he’d found Sera. The revelation was so surprising that Ben threw back his head and laughed, and all the lingering resentment he’d felt toward Gemma melted away.

  Sera laughed with him, happy because he was happy, and Grendel leaped up, paws on the couch, to lather their faces with his tongue.

  *****

  Bobby Hutchinson's Bio

  Bobby Hutchinson was born in a small town in interior British Columbia in 1940. Her father was an underground coal miner, her mother a housewife, and both were storytellers. Learning to read was the most significant event in her early life.

  She married young and had three sons. Her middle son was deaf, and he taught her patience. She divorced and worked at various odd jobs, directing traffic around construction sites, day caring challenged children, selling fabric by the pound at a remnant store.

  She mortgaged her house and bought the store, took her sewing machine to work, and began to sew a dress a day. The dresses sold. The fabric didn’t, so she hired four seamstresses and turned the store into a handmade clothing boutique.

  After twelve successful years, she sold the business and decided to run a marathon. Training was a huge bore, so she made up a story as she ran, about Pheiddipedes, the first marathoner. She copied it down and sent it to the Chatelaine short story contest, won first prize, finished the Vancouver marathon, and became a writer. It was a hell of a lot easier than running.

  She married again and divorced again, writing all the while, mostly romances, (which she obviously needs to learn a lot about,) and now has more than fifty-five published books.

  She decided she needed something to do in the morning in her spare time, so she opened her first B&B, Blue Collar, in Vancouver, B.C. After five successful years, she moved home to the small coal-mining town of Sparwood, where she now operates the reincarnated version of the Blue Collar.

  She's currently working on three or four or eight more books. She has six enchanting grandchildren. She lives alone, apart from guests, meditates, walks, bikes, reads incessantly, and writes.

  She likes a quote by Dolly Parton: “Decide who you are, and then do it on purpose.”

  Contact Bobby at:

  bobbyhut@telus.net

  http://www.bobbyhutchinson.ca

  http://www.bluecollarbedandbreakfast.com

  https://www.facebook.com/BobbyHutchinsonBooks?ref=ts&fref=ts

  I hope you enjoyed Double Jeopardy. Maybe you’d consider leaving me a review on Amazon, or Kobo, or ITunes, or wherever else you found this book. I’d be endlessly grateful.