Love Finds You in Holiday, Florida

by Sandra D. Bricker

  I know I’m not Jewish, but there is something to besaid for the whole eight-days-of-gifts thing. So you can call yourself Esther and open one each day, or you can save them all for Christmas morning. Either way you go, open the small gold one with the red velvet ribbon today. Right away!

  This is the first Christmas that we’ve been apart in toomany years to count. I love you, and I hope you find your bliss this season. Blessings, Rachel.

  With all of the activity since her arrival in Florida, Cassie had just about forgotten that Christmas was upon her. She’d been shopping all year for Debra and her family, and it had cost her nearly fifty dollars to mail the gifts before she left Boston. Then she’d given Rachel a gift certificate to their favorite day spa and left all thoughts of Christmas cheer behind her when she boarded the flight to Florida.

  She plucked the small gold box with the red velvet ribbon out of its cardboard home and set it down in front of her. After just a few seconds, she picked it up and shook it, first with gentle enthusiasm, and then harder, while holding it up to her ear. Cassie had always possessed a freakish talent for guessing the contents of Christmas packages, but this one wasn’t giving any hints at all.

  She ate two more grapes and then untied the bow and peeled away the tape. She didn’t recognize the significance of the gift at first, but when she opened the box and produced a small crystal box with a hinged lid, a slow smile emerged in crooked little jerks.

  It’s a “Surprise Yourself” box.

  Cassie remembered telling Rachel about wanting one. She eased open the lid, and it creaked slightly. She produced a small, glossy card from inside.

  “ ‘God sets the solitary in families,’” she read aloud. “Psalm 68, verse 6.”

  She turned over the card and read the back of it to herself.

  Be a companion to someone who feels alone.

  Cassie read the instruction several times and then placed the card back into the crystal box at the very back.

  After she finished eating, she kicked off her shoes and padded down the hallway toward her bedroom. She stripped out of her clothes and left them lying on the bed, and then she soaked for nearly an hour in the garden bathtub in the master bath, dreaming wide-awake about the end result of the efforts to transform her surroundings.

  One thing’s for sure, she thought as she closed her eyes, sank deeper into the hot water, and leaned her head back against the edge of the tub. Whoever ends up living in this house is going to be one lucky son-of-a-gun!

  Chapter Four

  3 DOWN: Having keen discernment; ingenious

  Cassie had intended to start painting the dining room while James worked on the kitchen floor that morning, but her interest waned about forty-five minutes after she’d started the longest wall. Humming along with the throbbing hip-hop spilling from his iPod, James matched the rhythm only he could hear with every tap-tapcrunch of old tile removal. So Cassie rinsed out her paintbrush and opted instead to lace up the Reebok wannabes that had been in her bedroom closet for an undetermined amount of years. She tucked the earbuds of her generic MP3 player into place and clipped Sophie’s leash to her collar, and the two of them headed out the front door.

  Cassie hadn’t been listening to as much contemporary Christian music recently as she once did, so she found herself surprised at that old soaring feeling, an instant connection in her heart, at the resurgence of a selection that used to be one of her favorites but had been consistently skipped over in recent months.

  She started humming along with Steven Curtis Chapman, and she’d no sooner put foot to pavement at the end of the driveway than her plans for taking a run were thwarted by a fast-moving fanny pack wearing a gray-haired woman.

  “Hunny bunny!” Millicent called out to her. Cassie considered pretending she hadn’t heard. But reluctant conviction got the better of her, not to mention the tug Sophie was giving the leash as the dog attempted to greet the woman.

  Cassie stopped in her tracks and paused the sound track in her ears. “Morning, Millicent.”

  “How are you settling in? I’ve seen a lot of activity over there these last couple of days. I don’t think I’ve had that much company in a year’s worth of Saturdays.”

  “Oh, I decided to do a little renovating to get the house ready to sell.”

  “Sell?” Millicent’s round pomegranate face fell faster than a skydiver without a parachute. “You’re selling?”

  Cassie stroked the woman’s arm and then nodded. “Zan was really the one who wanted a place down here. And when Debra was young, we used to love bringing her down. But she’s got a family of her own now, and Zan’s gone. The upkeep just isn’t worth it for a house that’s never used.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I understand. I guess I just thought eventually you all might retire and move down here year-round.”

  “I’m sure my husband had that in mind,” Cassie replied with a smile. “But I can’t see that happening now.”

  “You never know, though, do you? You might stick around a week or so and fall in love with the place. It takes a good couple of weeks for Holiday to settle in on you.” She gave Cassie a desolate little smile, hopeful in its depth, and then varnished by a clear sense of reality. “That’s a shame,” she surrendered. “Such a shame.”

  “Thank you, Millicent. It means a lot to me that you’ll miss me when I go.”

  “You’re here now, though, hunny bunny,” she brightened. “How about keeping me company over at the church this afternoon? We’re having a dance lesson!”

  “A dance lesson,” Cassie repeated. “Millicent, you don’t know how funny that is. I was born with two left feet.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to be any good,” she told her. “Just be my other half so I can take the lesson.”

  “I’m sorry. I have so much to do here.”

  And there it went again. Her round face deflated and then bunched up like a fist.

  “Sure. I understand. I’ll see you another day.”

  Millicent turned away and headed back up her driveway without so much as a glance behind her, and it did something to Cassie as she watched the rigid form move away from her that way.

  Right out of nowhere, straight up from the pit of her stomach, the words churned: Be a companion to someone who feels alone.

  The very first card in her “Surprise Yourself” box. She’d forgotten all about it in the light of day.

  “Hey, Millicent,” she called out, against her better judgment. “What time is that dance lesson?”

  One might have thought the sun had forgotten to shine that morning and that, with those few innocent words, Cassie had provided the reminder.

  “One o’clock.”

  “Want to grab some lunch first?”

  “I have some chicken chowder simmering right this minute,” the woman exclaimed, shuffling back down the driveway toward Cassie.

  “You save that for your dinner,” she said. “What do you say we go have a pizza?”

  “Oooh, cheese,” Millicent lamented. “Dairy’s not so good to me.”

  Cassie wondered if she was ever going to get that spinach pizza she’d been thinking about since before leaving Boston.

  “Chicken chowder it is, then!” she declared. Millicent looked as if she was going to burst into happy tears at any minute. “I’ll come by around noon. Can I bring anything?” Cassie asked.

  “Just your dancing shoes,” the older woman cried, and then she was on her way up the drive again, this time with a spring in her step and intermittent chuckles tossed over her shoulder as she hurried.

  A couple of hours later, they shared a bowl of chicken chowder at the table in Millicent’s glass-enclosed Florida room.

  “This is delicious!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never had anything like it.”

  “It was my grandmother’s recipe,” Millicent told her. “We had it once a week when I was growing up because it was so inexpensive to make. I’ve fattened it up over the years by adding asparagus and sweet peas, b
ut it’s pretty much the same.”

  “I’m very happy we didn’t opt for the pizza,” Cassie told her. “Let me load the dishwasher for you, and then we’ll take off for the church.”

  A smile passed over Millicent’s lined face. “I’m so glad you decided to come with me.”

  “I am, too. I needed a little fun.”

  Cassie knew that part was no lie; she couldn’t remember the last time she had a really good time. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t expect today to be that day. She had agreed to go along with Millicent for one reason and one reason only: because Millicent bore the sudden and striking expression of a lonely person in need of a companion.

  “Hurry, hunny. Hurry!” Millicent cried as she climbed out of the passenger side of Cassie’s car and scurried up the church sidewalk. “It’s fox-trot day.”

  Cassie picked up the pace, reaching the door to the recreation hall just in time to open it for Millicent. She followed the woman down the long linoleum-tiled corridor, strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” growing louder with each step forward.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we’re late,” Millicent whispered as they stepped into the group gathered around the center of the massive room.

  “Oh, good, you’ve got a partner!” one of the ladies said to Millicent, and then the woman reached out and squeezed Cassie’s wrist.

  “This is my friend, Maureen Heaton,” Millicent told her. “Mo, this is Cassie Constantine. She lives across the street from me.”

  Maureen had a very odd birdlike quality to her features, with big overlapping eyelids and a thick nose that pointed downward at the very tip.

  “Nice to meet you,” the woman practically hooted.

  Not every couple there, to Cassie’s surprise, was comprised of male and female counterparts. Several other dance teams were made up of two women. Apparently the dance was the thing above all else. Cassie grinned as she glanced around at the other couples.

  Metal chairs dotted the circumference of the room, and Cassie was stunned to realize that Richard Dillon was the male half of the duo floating across the floor in front of them. As the music faded to a close, the onlookers erupted in applause.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Maureen said to Cassie. “And he’s just magnificent.”

  Magnificent? Richard Dillon?

  “The fox-trot is a very smooth dance. There should be no jerkiness. It’s called ‘the Rolls-Royce of dances’ because of the smoothness of the steps.” Taking the hand of the woman dancing with him, Richard demonstrated. “It should be like this. Slow, slow, quick-quick. Slow, slow, quick-quick. And there are a couple of distinctive moves of the fox-trot. Anyone want to wager a guess?”

  “Those quick forward steps,” someone called out.

  “Excellent,” he replied. “Those are always done on the toes, like this.”

  As cheesy as the whole situation was, Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He moved like a professional dancer, and she found her heart tapping out the beat of his weaving steps as he crossed the floor.

  “And then the slow steps,” he told them, “are on the heel. Like so.”

  “Who’s the woman dancing with him?” Cassie whispered to Millicent.

  “That’s Laura, Faye’s daughter. She’s a schoolteacher over in Ruskin.”

  “His girlfriend?”

  “Just his dance partner sometimes, I think.”

  How ridiculous is it that I’m relieved to hear that?

  “Now, the feather step goes like this,” he showed them. “It’s when the man steps away from the woman. Let’s all try it.”

  “Do you want to be the man or the woman, hunny bunny?” Millicent asked her as she grabbed her by the hand.

  “Cassie should be the woman,” Richard said as he walked behind them, “and you lead her, Millicent. You’re the taller of the two of you, by a hair.”

  “Okay, follow me, then, Cassie-dear.”

  Laura started the music from the beginning, and Cassie stepped on her partner’s toes twice before the first bar was complete.

  “Maybe you should lead,” Millicent suggested. “I have a corn on that foot.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Cassie winced. “Millicent, I’m just so bad at this.”

  “Slow, slow, quick-quick,” Richard instructed from the other side of the room. On the final “slow,” Cassie rolled right over Millicent’s corn for the third time.

  “Oh, no! Millicent, I’m sorry.”

  “Laura, why don’t you lead for Millicent?” Richard said as he crossed the floor and reached for Cassie’s hand. “Let me show you.”

  “Oh, really, that’s okay, I—” And with that, she tromped right on Richard’s well-meaning foot. Recoiling from his arms, Cassie cringed. “I’m so very sorry.”

  “Let’s try again,” he offered.

  “Really?” she exclaimed. Planting her hands on her hips, she grimaced again. “Are you some sort of glutton for punishment?”

  “Not in the least,” he said, and he pressed her hand into his and commenced the dance one more time. “You can do this,” he promised just before taking the first step. “Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow.”

  When she managed just those few steps without landing on any of his toes, a smile broke out across Cassie’s face as fast and furious as a just-popped champagne cork. But her joy was short-lived because, with the very next step, Richard cried out and so did she.

  “Have you ever danced before in your life?” he asked her, his expression contorted with pain.

  “Of course I have,” she replied. Then, with a shrug, she looked at his clenched face and added, “I can twist…and I used to do a better-than-average pony…ooh, and I can hustle!”

  Richard stared at her for a long, uncomfortable, and excruciating moment. Then, without a word, he spun around and headed off across the room away from her. He said something to Laura in a hushed voice, which the lovely blond questioned before finally turning toward a stack of albums on the table and picking through them. When she found what she was looking for, she removed the vinyl from its cover and placed it on the turntable before nodding at Richard.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “There’s been a change of plans. Today…we are going to learn the hustle.”

  The familiar oooooh ooh ooh ooh ooh started to play, and Richard grinned at Cassie, making her heart do a mad flutter—not because of the delightful smile trapped between those attractive parentheses, but because she knew the song well enough to know what was coming next.

  Doot doot doot da doo da doot doot.

  “Ms. Constantine, let’s show them how it’s done.”

  Cassie’s doubts flew away on silent wings, along with the 30-plus years between now and the time she last danced to this song. She vaulted toward Richard, eager to move up beside him.

  Three steps back—bump! Three steps forward—bump!

  By the first overhead clap, Richard had stepped into line beside her, and they danced side by side in perfect sync.

  After the rolling arms came the signature Travolta move, and all of the onlookers began to applaud. Before she knew it, every one of them had hurried to form lines on either side of her and Richard. Maureen Heaton nearly knocked a couple of people down trying to take the spot next to Richard. And then, as the rhythm of the music built, more than a dozen Floridians over fifty—many of them pushing seventy in fact!—were disco-dancing as if there was a glitter ball hanging overhead.

  “I can’t believe this!” Cassie shouted to Richard over the music on a rolling fit of laughter. “You are insane.”

  He pulled a contorted face and spun into the Travolta move just then, pointing at the ceiling and then at the floor. Cassie could hardly contain herself.

  “You’re hysterical!” she exclaimed.

  Richard Dillon, hysterical. Who knew?

  Cassie and Millicent stopped at a roadside stand on the way home from the church, and Cassie bought three bags of produce for less than twenty dollars. Or
anges, carrots, and bib lettuce; leeks, bell peppers, and zucchinis; tangelos and a small bag of the most luscious tomatoes she’d seen since summer.

  “These are the last of the tangelos this year,” the young woman said as she rang up the purchase. “They’re still looking good.” And then she punctuated the announcement with the snap of her gum.

  Cassie dropped off Millicent at the bottom of her driveway, and then she turned into her own and pressed the button to open the garage. She noticed that the lawn had been mowed and some new flowers planted in the garden along the front of the house, a telltale sign that Frank Mitchell had been by.

  James’s truck was nowhere to be seen, and she felt a twinge of disappointment when she glanced at the clock on the dash.

  Barely four o’clock, and he’s already quit for the day.

  She wondered, as she gathered the bags from the backseat, how long it was going to take to finish the upgrades at this rate. But when she pushed open the kitchen door and rounded the corner, Cassie’s jaw fell open and hung there like a barn door off its hinge.

  The kitchen floor was completely laid, and brand-new appliances stood where the old ones had been just that morning. A sticky note adhered to the front of the refrigerator announced, “They delivered a day early. Floor’s done. See you tomorrow to finish the dining room.”

  Cassie leaned against the arched opening to the kitchen and sighed. The copper hood over the stove was a perfect match to the backsplash, and the paint color on the walls was rich and beautiful. The appliances, the exquisite alabaster stone floors, all of it, every aspect…in two days’ time, it had become the kitchen she’d always dreamed about.

  The realization that she would be giving it away to a complete stranger one day very soon draped over her like a wet woolen cloak for a moment. Perhaps with the money she would make on the sale of the house, she could recreate the masterpiece in her own home in Boston. That thought lifted her spirits somewhat, and she set about putting away the fruits and vegetables.

  Just as she let the last tomato tumble into a large Mexican-style ceramic bowl on the counter, the doorbell rang. Cassie quickly put the plastic bags into the recycle sack hanging on the pantry door before pushing past her barking dog to answer it.