by Rhett DeVane
“I can’t imagine what,” Jake said. “It’s reached critical mass. If you add any more lights, the electric meter is going to spin off into space.”
“I can’t be finished,” Shug fired back. “I still have three boxes of decorations left.”
Hattie laughed. Nothing could compare to Jake and his partner at war over holiday décor.
Jake considered. “I know exactly where to take the excess. It will be our contribution to world peace, not to mention my peace.”
*
For the first time since Elvina had handed over the keys, Mary-Esther entered the Herring house. Boudreau trailed behind her. The house still carried the scent from its former owner, a blend of rose water cologne, plug-in air fresheners, and the underlying aroma common to many older houses. She walked from room to room, surveying the furnishings. Could she really live here?
The front doorbell rang. When she opened the door, Jake Witherspoon greeted her, a furry Santa cap plopped at a jaunty angle atop his head. In one arm, he held a red plastic box. The other clutched his holiday walking cane—crimson and white striped, with jingle bells tied at the top.
“Ho, ho, hum!” he chortled. “Going to invite me in? This box is getting heavy.”
She stepped aside. “Sure.” Boudreau jumped onto the sofa arm and watched.
Jake set the box down on an end table, gave the cat a pat. “I see you haven’t changed anything since you moved in.”
“Actually, I’ve been coming over here only to use the kitchen. I’m still staying in the apartment.”
“Heavens why, when you have such a lovely old house to call home?” He propped one arm on his hip.
Mary-Esther shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. “I don’t know, Jake. It seems like . . . it still reminds me of the Herrings, especially Rose.”
“Mind if I look around?” Jake asked.
“Be my guest.”
With Boudreau leading the way, Jake strolled through the rooms. She heard him mumbling aloud to the cat and Boudreau’s yowled replies. The bells on Jake’s cane jingled with each step. Finally, he joined Mary-Esther in the kitchen. Boudreau settled back on his haunches and regarded both of them with round yellow eyes. Jake reached down and ruffled the hair around the cat’s ears. “Put on a fresh pot of coffee, will you?”
Was this how a friendship started? Mary-Esther’s heart warmed. He certainly had won over her cat.
“Love that old print on the mantle,” Jake said. “Your family in Louisiana?”
“My Nana Boudreau, the woman who’s holding the baby version of me. She mostly raised me.” Mary-Esther dumped out a measure of roasted coffee beans, then waited to continue after the noisy grinder stopped. “The other woman was Loretta, my mother.”
“I see.” Jake waited her out. A good listener, obviously. Probably why Hattie and Jake were such longtime pals.
“It’s the only picture I could salvage.” She breathed out. “I hate the ratty frame, but I’m leery of messing with it. The whole thing might disintegrate.”
“One of my friends in Tallahassee restores old photos. Could have him take a look-see. You’d be amazed how a fresh frame and glass can improve the image.”
The connections between people defied her. Sure, she’d known lots of people in New Orleans, but the crowd she ran with wasn’t dependable for ordinary needs.
“Now, down to business.” Jake rummaged through the mandatory kitchen junk drawer and located a piece of paper and pencil. “What would you say is your decorating style?”
“Can’t believe you’re asking that of someone who’s lived in the back of a van for over a year.” Boudreau yowled. First thing she’d have to move here: his treat container.
Jake slipped a hand into one pocket, then held out his palm. “Mind?” She shook her head. Jake handed a kitty morsel down to the cat. Boudreau sniffed then dug in. Wow. A true animal person. Probably had a dog biscuit in the other pocket.
“Now, back to decorating this place. Due to your past meager accommodations, you’ll be easy to please.” He sniffed. “Gosh, that sounded uppity. Let me rephrase. Do you prefer modern or something with an antique feel?”
Mary-Esther started a short pot of coffee, then found two mugs and set them on the counter. “Never thought about it, really. I like oak. Old pieces with some scrollwork . . . like that.” She pointed to the buffet behind the kitchen table. “And there are several others I adore. That old secretary desk in the guest bedroom. The curio in the living room.”
“You could mix things up. Update a few things, add color to the walls—”
“Redecorating takes moolah, Jake. I have a little bit of what Rose left, but not the kind of money it would take for a complete overhaul.”
“Won’t be that much, when you do a bit at a time. I redid Hattie’s house for next to nothing. We kept many of her parents’ things and mixed in stuff Hattie liked. When she married Holston, I helped her add in his belongings. It’s all about blending the old and new. The idea is to make it individual.”
“Are you offering free assistance?”
When Jake grinned, the freckles across his cheeks crowded together. “I live for stuff like this, Mary-Esther.”
“Does this mean you’ve given up on the notion I’m a carpetbagger come to plunder the Davis family fortune?”
Jake puffed up his chest. “I will be just as protective of you, Mary-Esther.”
She poured two cups of coffee. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Cream. One sugar, please.”
“Sugar, I have.” Mary-Esther set a china container in front of him. She opened the refrigerator. “No such luck on the creamer.”
“I’ll make do.”
Mary-Esther slid the mug and a spoon in front of Jake. “So, I acquire a friend by right of verified blood ties?”
Jake sipped, nodded his appreciation. “Uh-hmm.”
“And a decorator to boot. What a deal.”
Boudreau hopped into a vacant chair and watched.
Jake’s head did a little swishy dance. “You could do worse.”
Mary-Esther motioned in the direction of the front room. “What’s in that box you lugged in?”
“My contribution to your happy holiday. There are three more in the truck. If you take these off my hands, I will be your friend forever. And I am very loyal.”
“Depends on what’s in them.”
“Ten, or thirty, strands of lights, festive trinkets to adorn every nook and cranny, three wreaths, four angels—fully electrified—and a couple of stuffed Santas. Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks, I don’t have any decorations yet. Figured I’d hit the Dollar Store for anything I could buy for a few bucks.”
“I could help fling them around. Or I could send Shug over.” He paused, tapped on his chin with one finger. “On second thought, I’ll spare you. Shug is deathly infected with holiday spirit.”
Mary-Esther laughed. No wonder Hattie liked this man. If he was a friend by default, she would gladly accept. “As to the house makeover, I welcome any suggestions, Jake. I have a little spare cash—emphasis on little.”
Jake clapped his hands together. Boudreau trilled. “Fantastic! Let’s start right away. You’ll be simply flabbergasted at what a coat of fresh paint will do. Rose had wonderful taste. Some of these things are worth a pretty penny.” He flicked his fingers. “We can move things around, pitch the clutter, and it’ll feel like yours in a flash.” He motioned to a battered cardboard box sitting on the kitchen table. “What’s up with the rocks?”
Mary-Esther picked up a hunk of quartz the size of her palm. “I’ve collected these for years.” She flipped the rock over. “Used a marker to put the date on one side.” She put down the quartz, selected a piece of sandstone. “Don’t know why they fascinate me so much, but I’ve picked up one from each place I stayed for longer than a couple of days.”
“Must run in the family. Hattie has rocks too. I corralled them into the clear glass base of a lamp when I
helped her redo the living room. Miz Tillie had a few. Added those to Hattie’s stash.” Jake tapped his chin. “Don’t think Bobby does the rock thing. He prefers mounted fish and deer heads.”
The sandstone warmed in Mary-Esther’s hand, collecting body heat. Why had she carted them from one place to the next? Something about their weight reassured her. As long as she had them, she couldn’t spin off into nowhere.
“Can we find a good place for them?” she asked.
Jake picked up one stone, then the next. “I envision these displayed on a series of glass shelves across your kitchen window. They’ll add a certain natural element to the room. We can pick up some of the colors, to use as accents around the house.”
“I like it! Sure you have time for me? This has to be a crazy time of year for you.”
“Jolene practically runs the shop. Shug is gone a lot with his hospice work. I’ll welcome the diversion. Otherwise, you doom me to sitting alone in a house full of so many nauseatingly merry decorations, I’ll need a bottle full of sedatives to survive.”
They laughed. “For certain,” Mary-Esther said. “We must find a spot for Rose’s dolls. They’re still packed up in one corner of the apartment.”
“I’m sure I can talk your brother into building some display cases, if you’d like. Bobby does woodworking and he’s quite good. When he’s not being a donkey butt.”
Mary-Esther threw up her hands. “It’s like, no matter what you need, there’s someone around who does it.” It had become a bit easier to think of Hattie as a sister. Not so easy to plug Bobby into the role of helpful brother just yet.
“Networking, Big Sister-girl. Networking.” He giggled. “When do you want to start? You off today?”
“Yes. I pulled double-time around Thanksgiving to cover for a couple of the other servers. That’s why I was over here, trying to get a handle on things.”
Jake picked up the pencil and slid the pad into place. “Big Sister-Girl, I am at your service.”
*
Holston leaned against the extension ladder with a string of lights while Hattie tied fresh bows on the wreaths. When she lifted the first one into position on the front door, a stab of pain radiated through her shoulder and down her arm.
“Crapola!”
Holston glanced down. “You okay?”
“You know the old saying about someone being about as useful as a one-armed paper hanger?” She massaged her shoulder. “Well, I’m there. About the time I think my shoulder’s well, I move wrong and it reminds me it’s not.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll hang the wreaths as soon as I finish this. Why don’t you drape lights across the hedges? You won’t have to reach up.”
“I suppose.” Hattie chided herself for the harsh tone. Cranky-pants attitude would bump her from Santa’s Good Girl List.
Sarah Chuntian toddled around the front yard with Spackle trailing her like an overprotective nanny. Each time the child veered too close to the edge of the grass by the driveway, the dog nipped the butt of her trousers and dragged her gently back.
“Spackle, you are such a good boy,” Hattie said. “Santa Paws will leave a bunch of treats in your stocking.”
Shammie reclined in the front window ledge, observing with aloof interest. The activity was bound to be more entertaining than watching lizards scuttle through the boxwoods. The holiday must be a feline’s wonderland, Hattie thought. Every year, an evergreen filled with dangly stuff appeared in the house and was left unattended for many hours. Boxes with crinkly paper and curly ribbons would stand on the floor beneath the scented branches. Maniac-Cat heaven.
Hattie heard the rumble of Bobby’s pick-up when it turned from the main highway. He parked in the lane, far from Sarah and her four-legged bodyguard.
“Hey-ho, neighbors,” Bobby called. The truck’s door hinges complained when he stepped out. “We have a surprise for you.” Leigh and Tank popped out from their side.
Hattie dropped the convoluted mass of wires, grateful for the interruption. “Hope it’s some kind of miracle invention to help me unscramble these dang lights.”
“No such luck, Sis. That’s Santa’s test of your character. You can snuff a whole year of good behavior in a few minutes, if you don’t maintain your cool.” Bobby pointed up. “He’s watching you, you know.”
“I stopped falling for that ploy when I was ten.” Maybe. Hattie propped her hands on her hips, but still held two fingers crossed to counter the lie. “What’s your big surprise?”
“Two surprises, actually. I brought y’all a nice Fraser fir. We were over in Quincy and they had just hauled them in. Tall, with perfect shapes. Got one for our house and one for y’all.”
“Think they’ll last until Christmas?” Holston climbed down the ladder.
“Oh, for sure. Fraser firs are great. They cut these weeks ago. We’ll crop a couple of inches off the bottoms and stick the trunks in some buckets of water outside. As long as a tree has plenty to drink, it’ll last for weeks. We probably won’t put ours up until next weekend.”
“Thanks. Considerate of you.” Hattie narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
Bobby lunged for his sister and lifted her from the ground in a twirling hug. “I don’t want one dadgum thing. I’m like the Grinch. Now that my heart is not so small, I’m filled to the brim with Christmas spirit.”
When he set her down, Hattie grabbed her stomach. “I feel a bit nauseated.”
“Get used to it. It’s the new me.” Bobby spread his arms wide. “Speaking of feeling a little nauseated . . .” He lifted one eyebrow and tilted his head toward his wife. “Leigh can tell you about the second surprise.”
Leigh held up one hand, palm up. “Nice segue, Bobby.”
Tank chased Spackle in a circle. The dog urged the boy on, stopping to bark playfully, but always a step ahead. Sarah stood and watched, clapping her chubby hands.
Hattie looked from her brother to her sister-in-law. “So, what’s up?”
“Your brother is going to get his Christmas wish.” Leigh slipped her arm around her husband’s waist.
Hattie jabbed Bobby in the side. “What? A truck that runs without spitting smoke and waking half the county?”
“Nothing wrong with my pick-up. The old gal has character.”
Leigh touched her belly, then her hand hovered protectively to a spot slightly below her waist. “We have another Davis on the way.”
“Ohmygah!” Hattie squealed and hugged her sister-in-law. “That’s fan-freakin’-tastic!”
Holston shook Bobby’s hand, then joined them in a back-slapping group hug. Sensing the adults’ excitement, both toddlers ran full-tilt and body-slammed their huddle at knee level. At times like this, Hattie imagined their parents looking down, sharing the wonder.
The trick was, figuring a way to ease Mary-Esther into the picture.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Mary-Esther spied LaJune after she pushed through the doors to the Sewanee Springs lobby. The old woman’s face brightened.
Great gobs of fake greenery sparkled with miniature white lights, and oversized glass ornaments draped over the entrance and most of the inside passageway doors. A seven-foot, live Fraser fir stood in one corner of the lobby, filled with lights, wide strips of wired ribbon, and red and gold glass balls. Animated figures waved and danced on every table, and the scent of coffee, mulled cider, and hot chocolate competed with evergreen air fresheners.
“Look who’s here!” LaJune pulled herself upright, using the walker for support. “Hoped you might make it by before Christmas. I have a little something for you in my room.”
Mary-Esther held up a beribboned gift bag. “Looks like Santa came a bit early for you too.”
She followed the old woman down the hallway, where LaJune used the key hanging from a long chain around her neck to open a door. “You’ve never been to my private space, have you?”
“Nope. First time.”
“It’s a mess. Please excuse it. I just spread
up my bed quickly this morning.”
The room appeared larger than the resident’s quarters in most of the facilities Mary-Esther had seen. A queen-sized bed centered on one wall held a homemade quilt in shades of green and blue. An upholstered rocker stood beside the bed, an antique-styled pole lamp behind it. Two long chests of drawers opposite the bed provided the platform for a small television and a multitude of family photos. Framed pictures lined the walls, some faded with age.
“Is this your husband?” Mary-Esther pointed to one sepia photograph.
“That’s my Robert. He had a full head of hair when we were first married.” The old woman’s sweet expression touched Mary-Esther. How would it feel to have loved someone for so many years?
Mary-Esther leaned closer to study the petite female in the picture. “And this is you!”
“I was quite a looker, back in the day.” LaJune rested her chin on her cupped hands.
Mary-Esther compared the image with her friend. “You still are.”
“Do we have to wait until Christmas to open our gifts?” LaJune’s gaze locked onto the package in Mary-Esther’s hands.
“No rule says we do. I’d like for you to enjoy this now, and I probably won’t see you until after the holidays, with work and all.”
The senior raised her hands and wiggled. “Oh, goodie!” LaJune walked to the chest of drawers and pulled out a manila envelope. “I didn’t have a way to wrap it. Not much. Something I made for you in art class.”
“I made yours too.” Mary-Esther handed over the gift bag.
LaJune settled into the rocker and centered the present in her lap. “You go first.”
Inside the envelope, Mary-Esther found a piece of heavy art paper painted with two penguins standing close together in the snow. At one corner, the words with love from your friend LaJune were scripted in shaky block letters.
“You did this?”
“I’m not an artist, but I believe it turned out passable.”
Mary-Esther hugged it to her chest. “I love it! I’m going to frame it and put it in my kitchen so it’s the first thing I see every morning.”
LaJune beamed. “Let’s see what I’ve got.” She tore into the mounds of tissue paper like a delighted child and pulled out a large plastic zippered storage bag. “You made me chocolate cookies!”