“What in the fresh hell is this?” Blackwell said beneath her breath to me.
If only so as not to embarrass them, I ignored her.
“They’ve given last call, so we should leave,” I said.
“Maine,” Daniella said. “If we were in Manhattan, we’d still have hours ahead of us. But I’ve had a great time,” she said. “Thanks for bringing all of us here, Alex and Jennifer. I appreciate it.”
“You’re perfectly welcome, Daniella,” Alex said.
“One thing,” Blackwell said. “Marcus is here on vacation alone. I hope that I haven’t stepped on anyone’s toes, but I’ve invited him to our little cocktail party tomorrow night for Christmas Eve. Is that OK?”
And when she said that, I felt my heart jump.
“Of course it is,” I said as calmly as I could. “We’d love to have you join us, Marcus. But just to warn you, it’s going to be a dressy affair. We’re also not going to have a formal dinner—that will happen on Christmas Day, which you certainly are invited to, as well. As for tomorrow night, we’re just going to gorge ourselves on a whole host of hors d’oeuvres, which will take the place of dinner itself.”
“Well, thank you,” he said. “And here I thought that I was going to spend Christmas Eve alone. This trip is turning out to be the bright spot of my year.”
“We look forward to seeing you tomorrow night. Eightish?”
“Works for me. Barbara already has given me the address.”
Has she? Well, then...
“Perfect,” I said. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning, while Alex continued to snore lightly in our bed, I got out of bed, put on my white satin robe, and went to Blackwell’s bedroom. She reared straight up in the bed when I woke her, and then I asked her to follow me to the kitchen.
It was just five o’clock and we’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, but I knew that she wanted questions answered about Daniella and Cutter, and it was best to answer them while we were alone and everyone else was still asleep.
“Put the coffee on,” she said as she tied her black robe around herself and we stepped into the kitchen. “I need several injections of it.”
“You’re not alone—I’m putting it on now.”
“Why do I feel as if I’m hung over?”
“How many martinis did you have last night?”
“Marcus just kept ordering them. I have no idea—but likely way too many.”
“So, you two got along?”
“If I say anything positive about my interactions with him, you’re just going to start to map out the wedding.”
“I will not. What was he like?”
“Before we get to that, why is your hair a horror show right now?”
“Seriously? I just got up.”
“And you couldn’t have even run a brush through it for me? I certainly did for you. Why is your husband still in love with you if you insist on getting up looking like rats have nested in your weave?”
“I don’t have a weave. And my husband loves me just as much as I love him—with no bounds.”
“Tell that to your divorce lawyer in two years.”
“Oh, whatever. Why don’t you tell me about Marcus before people start to wake up. We only have a limited amount of time to talk in private before that happens. So, come on—spill it!”
“I need coffee first.”
“It’s coming.”
“Then we’ll talk when it comes.”
When the pot was filled, I poured her a cup—black, just as she liked it.
“And let’s just thank God for this,” she said as she took her first sip. “While there’s a chance that I might still be slightly drunk, at least I can be awake through it all.”
I poured myself a cup, added a bit of cream and Stevia to it, and then sat next to her at the island. “Tell me about him,” I said.
“He’s intriguing. He’s handsome. He’s worthy of a second glance.”
“What did you two talk about? You were gone for hours.”
“I don’t know. We talked about everything. It seemed unusually easy talking to him. Maybe that was because he took the time to listen to me in ways that Charles never did. We talked about our children, about our divorces, about our jobs, and all sorts of meaningless trivia along the way.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Define ‘fun’.”
“Why are you always so difficult?”
“Define ‘difficult’.”
“Jesus! Did you enjoy yourself, or not?”
She blew over her cup of coffee and then just rolled her eyes at me. “Well of course I did. I didn’t invite him to Christmas Eve because I loathed him. As I said, he’s intriguing. I enjoyed how easy it was to talk with him. He’s bright. He’s intuitive and disarmingly funny. And I liked how his mind worked—we talked a lot about business. He’s savvy—and clearly successful. I find that attractive. But we only talked for a few hours, so don’t get your panties in a knot over any of this, because I’m certainly not. When you turn my age, Jennifer, and have been through a failed marriage—which I hope will never happen to you—you become very guarded. It’s a cliché, but your heart truly does become a steel trap. And it’s wounded and bruised. That said, I did enjoy myself. He seems like a perfectly nice man, so we’ll see what tonight brings—and if he remains equally disarming. But enough about him. What I want to know is what Cutter and Daniella were up to.”
Since I knew that was weighing heavily on her mind, I just got to it and told her everything I knew.
“Cutter started this?” she said.
“He did.”
“But why? I love my daughter deeply, but everyone knows that she’s a goddamned train wreck. Where did this come from? Cutter isn’t stupid—he sees what all of us see in her. A monsoon! He’s so on the straight and narrow when it comes to his life. I’m sorry to say that I just can’t see him inviting Daniella into it, as much as it pains me to say that. I want Daniella to find love, but with Cutter? I can’t see that happening—and that’s strictly between us.”
“Everything being said right now is between us.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “You know, I love that boy—and if my daughter could finally get her shit together, I’d love nothing more than for her to be with him. But I’m confounded that we’re even discussing this. What is all this about? Please enlighten me. Because I don’t understand any of it.”
“Here’s what Alex and I discerned. When Cutter was talking to Daniella before they went off to a table of their own, he mentioned the time that Daniella had spent with him when his life was on the line on the island. You remember how she was there for him when we thought we were going to lose him—she was at his side in ways that none of us were. I think he’s thought long and hard about that over these past few months, and perhaps questioned who Daniella really is as a person because of that. She’s a complicated girl.”
“The understatement of the decade.”
“But she also can be a wonderful person—we all know that because we’ve witnessed it for ourselves. I think that Cutter saw the real Daniella when she was there for him. That girl did everything she could to make sure that he left that island alive. And don’t forget that when Cutter was first returned to us, he was still coherent. I think it was at that point that he remembers what Daniella did for him. After that, he became too sick to remember any of it. And I believe that with the passing of time—and with some serious reflection—that has come to mean something to him. He knows Daniella’s potential. Last night, he said to her that he thought she acted up because she had been hurt by too many men, and that maybe what she really needed was a real man to bring out the person he remembered on that island.”
“Well, I would agree with that. Daniella tends to hook up with losers—not to sound like Donald Trump, but it’s true. She has a serious case of low self-esteem that reveals itself in the worst of ways.”
; And then Blackwell paused for a moment. “You know, the divorce was especially hard on Daniella,” she said. “Because Daniella was nothing if not a Daddy’s girl. Before Charles and I separated, she never acted like this. But the moment the papers were signed and the divorce was settled, she became this completely different person. She went to hell. So, all of her behavior is likely on me because I’m the one who initiated that divorce.”
“What were you to do? Charles cheated on you. Were you supposed to stay in that marriage given what he’d done to you?”
“Many others would have,” she said. “For their families. I chose not to for two reasons. First, when I learned about what he’d done to me and to our family, he was dead to me. Second, I wanted to set an example for my daughters, so they’d know that no man ever should treat them like that—and if one did, they needed to dump his ass and move forward with their lives, just as I have. While that sounded right to me at the time, I’m fairly certain that my decision might have affected Daniella more than it did Alexa, who is more rational than her sister. And that kills me.”
“How could you have stayed with him after what he’d done to you?” I asked. “You couldn’t. However Daniella and Alexa have interpreted the situation, what you showed them are character and strength. Hopefully, what Daniella will eventually take away from your decision to leave Charles is that no woman in a committed relationship should ever remain with a partner who cheats on her. By divorcing Charles, you sent a solid, meaningful message to your girls. You said that you were better than that, and by doing that alone, you essentially told Daniella and Alexa that they also should never tolerate that kind of behavior in their own relationships.”
“I think that Alexa gets it, but not Daniella,” she said. “Alexa hasn’t changed the way that Daniella has, but then Daniella always was closer to her father than Alexa was—and she’s always been the more emotional one. Psychologically, I think that she was the one who was most damaged by our divorce. And that damage has revealed itself in ways that many of us would rather forget. She hasn’t been herself since I filed papers. She’s not the sweet girl I remember from before the divorce. She’s regressed to the point that she’s become intolerable. I think that she’s seriously been affected by the divorce. I mean, look at her now—a combative mess. I’m directly responsible for that. Charles fought to save our marriage, but I was having none of it. The girls know that I walked away from our marriage, for better or worse.”
I placed my hand on her arm.
“I do adore you, you know?” she said.
“Well you are, after all, my surrogate womb.”
“Please, for the love of God, stop saying that.”
I gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her that I loved her.
“I love you, too,” she said. “Somehow, as unfathomable as it is to me, you’ve managed to become my third daughter.”
“Who knew?” I said.
“Who knew, indeed?”
“Well, I guess that all we can do now is let the day play out and see how tonight goes,” I said. “After last night with Cutter, Daniella has a lot on her mind right now, and she’s probably had a fitful sleep. She knows that if she doesn’t straighten up, her chances with Cutter are in serious question. As for Cutter, I’m sure he’s processing his own feelings for her and what transpired between them last night. He might even be awake right now, wondering to himself how to move forward—if he even wants to move forward.”
“Let’s just pray that he does,” Blackwell said. “Because he’s the one who decided to open that door, and I know my daughter. If she does rein herself in and he nevertheless decides to take a step back? God help us all. And God help him if he does so, because he’s the one who started this—and if he ends it with no good reason, then I’ll end it with him in ways that boy won’t soon forget.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE REST OF THE DAY went off without a hitch—and thank God for that.
Cutter and Daniella went off for a walk in the early afternoon, and that walk was a constant source of speculation for Alexa, who was dumbfounded by the lot of it—not that anyone could blame her. Still, since none of us wanted any drama between those two, we refused to engage her.
It was Christmas Eve and with the caterers set to arrive at six to prepare the many hors d’oeuvres that would take the place of a formal dinner, there were things to get done, especially since we had a guest arriving at eight—Marcus Koch. So, despite Alexa’s repeated questions about Daniella and Cutter, we set about making the house look as festive as possible.
I tended to the music, because I loved Christmas music. It was hellish growing up with my abusive, alcoholic parents, whom I still had no contact with to this day. But it was Christmas music that I leaned on during the holidays of my early years to partly allow me to escape from reality. The music allowed me to lose myself in the spirit of the season in ways that my parents’ behavior denied me.
As a child, I would take to my bedroom and listen mostly to Barbara Streisand’s iconic first Christmas album, if only because it evoked the kind of sadness that I could relate to at that point in my life.
Christmas was never a happy time for me as a child, and because of that, her album spoke profoundly to me. I remember when my mother asked me why I kept “playing those songs over and over again.” I never answered her truthfully, because if I did and she learned just how miserable she and my father made me, I feared I’d receive a beating, so I just told her that I loved Streisand’s voice—which even my mother had to admit she enjoyed.
But it wasn’t all dour for me when I was a kid. Growing up, I also listened to Mariah Carey’s first Christmas CD, “Merry Christmas,” which I still considered among the best Christmas albums ever. And then there was Ella Fitzgerald’s “Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas,” Bing Crosby’s 1945 album “Merry Christmas,” and 1973’s “A Motown Christmas,” and a whole host of others that seemed to speak directly to me—as if they were reaching out to me, and understanding me in ways that so few did.
Even after all these years, I still loved those albums. They weren’t only classics, but amazing works of art that had brought me a great deal of happiness during my darker, younger years. And now? Now they lifted me up in this amazing new phase of my life, which was all about love—being loved by Alex and all of my friends, and the love that I had for them.
As I chose the playlist for later that night, I reached deep into my past in an effort that I hoped would touch all of us. I chose each song carefully, and after I’d set up a proper playlist on my SlimPhone, which I’d later connect to the house’s Bose sound system, I was pleased with my choices. A mix of upbeat, popular Christmas songs interlaced with songs that made you want to pull your family in close to you and tell them that you loved them.
Because that’s what this season is all about...
Meanwhile, everyone around me was busy. Madison and Brock were in the kitchen making certain that every wine glass, martini glass, and tumbler sparkled. They also were unloading boxes of champagne and different kinds of white wine into the refrigerator. Bottles of vodka and gin were already stacked in the freezer.
Blackwell and Alexa were tending to the flowers that had been delivered earlier via the only florist in the area, and they were placing them strategically around the house in a number of vases—tall and short. And because of the few inches of late-morning snow we’d received earlier, Alex was outside shoveling the walk to make certain that when Marcus arrived, he wouldn’t slip and fall.
After the year all of us had gone through, there was something in the air that galvanized how special tonight needed to be for all of us, if only because there was a clear sense that we wanted the year to end on a positive note.
This year had been rotten in so many ways, but it hadn’t defeated us—it hadn’t brought us down—and because it hadn’t, we needed to rejoice in that. We were here together, we were alive together, we were stronger because of what we’d endured, and we were thriving
and happy because of it.
For me, it was tonight that meant the most to me—not Christmas morning, with its wealth of gifts. As appreciative as I was to receive any gift that someone had put time, thought, and effort into purchasing for me, what I loved most about the season was spending time with those whom I loved.
That’s what mattered to me.
Tonight, we would dress up, we would mix, we would laugh, and we would salute ourselves for getting through one of the toughest years of our lives. No present could ever be more meaningful than that, nor could it trump spending time with my family and my extended family—telling them that I loved them, joking with them and hell, just being with them. Especially with my husband. My darling Alex.
After this year—and especially after the loss of our child—I was beyond grateful that I was here, that Alex and I were closer than we’d ever been, and that all of us could come together to celebrate not only our lives together, but the fact that we’d won in a year that for so long seemed determined to destroy us.
IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON when my SlimPhone rang, and when I pulled it out of my pants pocket, my heart soared—Lisa!
“I’m so happy that you called!” I said.
“And I’m beyond grateful that you even dared to answer!”
“What does that mean?”
“You think that Maine is remote? Forget it. Maine might as well be Manhattan considering where I am right now. As you know, I’m in Tank’s hometown of Prairie Home, Nebraska. But what you don’t know is the massive size of its population—2: his parents.”
“Oh, dear,” I said.
“You don’t even know.”
“But where are you now?” I asked. “If you’re in a place that’s so rural, how can your cell reception be so good?”
“Tank and I might have needed a little time away. We might have taken a day trip to Lincoln, where there are actual signs of life.”
“Oh, burn!” I said. “So, you did it! You totally are at a no-tell motel!”
Holiday: Annihilate Him, #4 Page 11