by Ava Miles
“Mr. November,” he said in a gruff voice through a lopsided grin. “I’m the oldest of this motley crew. I’m ninety-one.”
He was adorable. Lucy gave him a soft smile. “We’re lucky to have you.”
His scoff made everyone chuckle. “I might not have a young body anymore, but I’ve fought in two wars and devoted a lot of my time and energy to this town. I run Bingo night now when I’m not spending time with my friends at the senior citizens’ home. I’m representing all the old folks who’ve lost someone to cancer. While some people suggested I incorporate a Bingo theme—which I nixed because the balls are too small—I was hoping you could drape a flag over me since I’m dedicating my month to my brother. He died in Korea fighting beside me.”
Any laughter generated by his Bingo ball comment faded. Everyone seemed moved by his earnestness, and in that moment, Lucy knew she was going to treasure hearing his stories while she photographed him—her way—capturing the hard angles of his cheeks and mouth, chiseled from age and experience.
“Thank you so much for sharing, Mr. Jenkins,” she said. He nodded crisply and shuffled over to the bar to shake hands with Rhett, who led him over to the table and poured him a bourbon.
It did Lucy’s heart proud to see a younger man giving proper respect and care to the older man. So many of the cultures Lucy had experienced around the world respected the elderly in a way she wished people in the West would.
Lucy turned and saw her mother standing in the doorway, waiting for her full attention. “Mother. Somehow I am not surprised to see you’re rounding out the year as Miss December.”
Her mother gave an impish grin and sauntered forward. “I thought it fitting since I’ve won the Best Decorated House for Christmas award in Dare Valley five times—a town record.”
Lucy refrained from pointing out that her dad was the one who climbed his ever-faithful ladder in the snow each year to hang her mother’s extensive assortment of decorations and lights. Growing up, Lucy had hated decorating for Christmas. All the work had turned into a chore, so whenever she couldn’t come home for Christmas, she comforted herself with the thought that at least she wouldn’t have to help create the O’Brien Winter Wonderland.
“And your idea?” she asked because she would give her mother the respect she’d given everyone else. “Still thinking of mangoes?”
A few of the women snickered while Jill hooted out loud. “Mangoes,” Jill cried. “You can do better than mangoes, honey.”
“You’re the one who wants to cover your boobies with a hat made of fruit,” her mother shot back.
“Ladies!” Lucy cried, noting how the men had clustered together in solidarity, not that she blamed them.
“Mom, please share your idea with us,” she said, giving Jill a hard look.
“I, too, have been thinking about what I’d like to convey to our readership,” her mom said in a dramatic voice. “I was wondering if dressing up like Cleopatra might be intriguing enough. There are tales of how she hid in a rolled-up rug, wearing nothing but a headdress, to get to Julius Caesar.”
“Very Katy Perry of you,” Jill said, tapping her mouth. “I love it!”
Lucy didn’t. It was exactly the kind of cheap theatrics she rebelled against. “Thank you for sharing, Mom,” she said kindly, facing the twelve volunteers before her. “And thanks to all of you again for being a part of this. I’m really happy to be involved as well since it’s for such a great cause, and it honors the people we loved who died of cancer.”
She made sure to pause, hoping to shift the mood in her favor by reminding them all why they were here.
“I have to confess that this calendar isn’t the kind of photo shoot I normally do.” Her hands broke out in a sweat at the thought of taking photos of any kind, but they couldn’t know that. “I’m willing to keep an open mind about the kinds of poses you’d like to do. This might make some of you feel vulnerable. For others, it will be a walk in the park.”
She gave a pointed glance to Jill and Ester, who both started laughing.
“As you probably know, I’ve taken photographs for some of the biggest global organizations’ calendars out there, raising money for anything from human rights to women’s empowerment. I know what works, and while I really like this idea of taking fun, risqué photos, I wanted to suggest another approach for you to consider.”
Her mother jammed her hands across her chest and stared at Lucy with fire in her eyes.
“Since you’re all making a dedication to someone you lost in the calendar,” she continued, “why not pose with the person’s photo or a special memento. Like the flag Old Man Jenkins mentioned. It personalizes the story in a beautiful way. Or we can even shoot you in the person’s favorite place—like the convertible Ester mentioned, or somewhere special you used to spend time together.”
A few people were nodding now, and she smiled at them in solidarity.
“I got laid plenty in that car, God bless my Howard,” Ester said, finally eating her candy cigarette.
Her mother walked toward her. “Lucy, we discussed this. I don’t want this to be one of your sad calendars.”
The bubble of solidarity she’d been creating burst, and her mother’s insinuation gripped its claws around her. “I’m not saying you have to make it sad, Mother. Only meaningful. Authentic. If you’re telling the story of your loss, why not have a photo that captures it?”
Everyone looked at her mother, sensing a showdown.
“Lucy, this calendar shows that life moves on,” her mother said in a hard tone. “That people still laugh and have fun. That’s why it’s called The Calendar of New Beginnings.”
“There’s no reason the photos I’m suggesting wouldn’t fit that theme,” she said diplomatically. “Surely you understand that considering Chef T’s participation, not to mention a few of the others in your group, this calendar could be sold nationally, perhaps even internationally. I just want a product that is going to be equal to that level of exposure.” Even if she wasn’t sure how she was going to pull off her part of the bargain.
“You mean your level,” her mother said sternly.
“Ellen,” April said, laying a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Lucy makes a good point. Maybe we should discuss this more with her once everyone leaves.”
“We did discuss it with her,” her mother said, making the others look away in discomfort. “If you didn’t want to do it, you should have just told us. I could have asked Farley Higgins. He has a pretty good photography studio here in town. But I was hoping you might be willing to use your God-given talents to help us out since you’re back in town. Clearly, this isn’t your thing.”
Her mother could throw guilt around like ninja stars. “Mom, I’m not saying I don’t want to be involved. I was only sharing a concept that came to me as I was thinking about this calendar. I hoped you would listen to my idea since I was respectful enough to listen to yours. It’s not like we couldn’t take more than one photo.” She considered the possibility. “We could have one that’s about the loss and another funny one about the joys of moving on.”
A few people were scratching their chins. Even Lucy wasn’t sure how that would work.
“Sounds like you two have some personal problems to work through,” Old Man Jenkins said, calling a spade a spade. “I’m old, and I’m tired. I’m going to head on home. When you two figure things out, give me a call.”
A few people nodded, and Ester shrugged. “I gave Old Man Jenkins a ride here, so I have to go. But he’s right. Work it out. Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow at Latin dancing.”
Pretty much everyone else followed them out the door, fleeing like a herd of water buffalos that scented lions. Too bad she and her mother were the lions. Lucy didn’t want to battle it out, but she knew it was inevitable.
Jill gave her an encouraging hug before she left. April whispered something in her mother’s ear as they hugged goodbye.
When they were alone, her mother turned to her, fire and brim
stone flashing in her eyes. “We need to get something straight.”
Cue the showdown.
Chapter 13
Ellen O’Brien had been a lot of fun growing up, but she could be as tough as a rebel leader. Lucy was about to receive one of her mother’s firm butt-kickings. Since she’d been through them before, she went to the bar and ladled out a hefty cosmopolitan.
“Lucy Marigold O’Brien,” her mother began, making Lucy’s mouth turn sour despite the sweet cocktail she’d just sipped.
She’d always hated her middle name, not only because it made her sound like some misplaced flower child, but because marigolds smelled like ass, if you asked her. Taking another fortifying drink of her cosmo, she turned around. Her mother was breathing hard enough to make her mangoes heave.
“I’m sorry you didn’t like my idea, Mom,” she said, striving for peace. “I was only trying to add something to the calendar from my experience.”
Her mother charged over to her. “The calendar was fine without your idea! This stunt you pulled was an embarrassment to me and yourself. These people signed up for The Calendar of New Beginnings, not The Calendar of Death.”
So much for peace. “Mom, I’m not suggesting—”
“Yes, you are,” her mother interrupted, slicing her hand through the air. “If you think you’re too good for us and this calendar, I can ask Farley to take the photos. I meant what I said, Lucy. We don’t need you to lower your standards for our sake. We might not be as well traveled as you are, but we’re good people, and the calendar is fine just as we planned it.”
Her mom’s voice, just below a shout, was making her head hurt. “You’re not listen—”
“Why didn’t you come to me with this idea beforehand? You blindsided me in front of all our volunteers.”
Since her mother wasn’t calming down any, Lucy set her cosmo aside. “I thought I’d see what the whole group thought of the idea, Mom. It came to me after I talked to you and April.”
“Bull! Let’s lay it all out, shall we? You didn’t think I’d consider your idea, and you were right. Lucy, sometimes I just don’t understand you.”
There it was again. The unsolvable issue between them. They didn’t understand each other. It was like trying to talk to someone speaking a different language. Why couldn’t her mother accept her for who she was?
“I’m going to head out,” she said, unable to continue the dead-end conversation. “We can both think about what’s best for us and talk tomorrow. I love you, Mom.” The words were hard to utter.
Her mom was stiff as she kissed her cheek. Lucy hustled out of the room, stopping to pick up her purse in the entryway. When she exited the house, she pressed her hand to her aching head. Her vision suddenly seemed worse. Hadn’t her mother’s mums in the terracotta pot looked crisper and clearer earlier? Hadn’t they looked red? Now they were almost rust-colored.
Lucy took a moment to scan her surroundings, blinking her right eye slowly, hoping to correct her vision. But it didn’t change. Everything looked worse than it had before.
She felt the claws of a panic attack sink into her skin. No, no, no, she told herself. We’re not going to freak out.
Her vision hadn’t altered like this since her hospital stay, and then it had only changed for the better. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her vision was supposed to improve, not worsen. Could it be the stress from the fight? She had no idea, which made it that much scarier.
She glanced at her car. Right now she didn’t trust herself to drive. Her spirits sank. She couldn’t even take care of herself. Powerlessness overwhelmed her. She needed help, and if there was one thing that grated on Lucy’s nerves more than anything, it was having to depend on anyone.
She set off down the sidewalk to Andy’s house, hoping he’d be home. There was no way she was asking her mom for a ride after their altercation, even if her mother had known the truth. Her dad would drop everything at Hairy’s and run her home. But then there would be questions.
After passing Washington Elementary, she finally reached Andy’s A-frame house, which seemed gray to her. There were a few white thingies in the yard alongside a T-ball set. Baseballs, she realized. She had to close her right eye to count them. Four in total. The grass was a little long, showing Andy hadn’t had the time to mow it in a while.
When he opened the door, he immediately said, “What’s wrong?”
“How did you know?” she asked, noting the Labrador next to his legs. “I was going to ease into it.”
He wrapped his arms around her before she could say anything. “It was your face. You look…scared. Is it your eye? I don’t see your car.”
All she wanted to do was burrow against him. “Yeah, it’s my eye. I had a fight with my mom over the calendar. My vision went all funny as soon as I stepped outside—funnier than usual. I don’t understand how that could have happened—”
“I’m glad you came,” he said, keeping his arms around her. “It’s going to be okay.”
Crap. Now he was going to make her cry. “I know. Maybe it’s just stress from the fight.”
“Doubtful. From my research, traumatic optic neuropathy doesn’t usually see visual acuity worsen. Even from stress. This is…puzzling. How’s your color vision?”
“Worse. You looked it up?” she asked, even though she wasn’t surprised.
“Of course I did. I might not be an ophthalmologist, but I’m a doctor. I wanted to be informed in case I could help.”
“No one can help,” she said, embarrassed by her woe-is-me tone.
“You must have had some fight with your mother,” he said, sweeping his hand up and down her back in the most wonderful way.
She was sure she wasn’t supposed to notice how good it felt. She also wasn’t supposed to notice he smelled like pine and earth. At least her sense of smell hadn’t changed.
“Hey!” he said, tightening his arms around her. “You’re scaring me here. I think this is the single longest hug we’ve ever had. How bad is it?”
She pressed her head into his chest, noticing how hard the muscles were underneath his dark T-shirt. “It’s bad enough that I decided not to drive home.”
He was silent for a moment, stroking her hair, something she realized was more than comforting. No one had ever stroked her hair with that much tenderness before.
“Will you call your doctor, please, if you haven’t already?” he asked softly. “I know I said I wouldn’t push, but it seems like the smart course of action.”
Rubbing her head against his chest, she nodded. “I think I probably should. He said to call if there was any change.”
“I can take tomorrow off and drive you to Denver for the appointment,” he said, tucking her closer, all protective-like. “We’ll figure it out, Lucy.”
It moved her something fierce that he would cancel his work at the hospital to help her. “I can make it to Denver. Tanner offered—”
“I’m taking you! Don’t even try and argue with me. You’ll just piss me off.”
She hung her head against his chest, wanting to weep suddenly. “I’m not used to people helping me. Usually I’m the one helping.”
He hugged her tightly. “Well, get used to it, Lucy Lu. I’m here for you, and damn it, you’d better let me help.”
“Thanks, Andy. I don’t know what else to say.” Her voice was hoarse, she realized.
“You should tell your mom and dad, you know.” He shushed her when she went rigid in his arms. “Your mom wouldn’t have picked a fight if she knew what was really going on.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, her spirits sinking further. Her mom’s precious project had been threatened. She might have chosen a different way of putting Lucy in her place, but she would have done the same thing regardless.
“All right. I won’t try and convince you.” He finally let go of her, but his hands were still on her waist and he was staring into her eyes.
It took Lucy a moment to realize he was trying to ass
ess her condition…like the doctor he was.
She gave him a gentle shove in his middle, making him grunt. “Stop. I don’t need you going all doctor on me. You can’t see anything wrong with the naked eye anyway. Can you take me home? I wasn’t sure if Danny was around or not.”
Andy continued to study her—zoom in on her was more like it. “He’s at Latin dance with Natalie and Jane. They took him once as a lark because I was working late, and he got hooked. The oldest male is close to eighty, and Danny is the youngest. He goes once a week. It’s good cardio, better than soccer even.”
Laughter was the best balm in the world, especially in life’s dark moments. “That’s gotta be the best story I’ve heard in weeks,” she said, chuckling despite herself. “And to hear you calling it good cardio…”
His gaze was soft as he pushed her hair behind her ear. “Wait until he wiggles his hips to the merengue. You’ll be a goner.”
Her eyes might be playing tricks on her, but she’d be a goner if he continued to look at her like that. Suddenly her chest was tight. It was happening again. This weird, strange, otherworldly attraction for him.
“I can’t wait,” she said, hearing the breathless quality of her voice.
His nostrils flared like he’d heard it too, and everything inside her stilled. His hands tightened on her waist before falling away. He stepped back, and she could have sworn he shook himself.
“How about a beer?” he asked, putting his hand on the edge of the open door.
“Sounds good,” she responded, aware he was looking over her shoulder.
Somehow they’d both forgotten they were standing in the doorway for all his neighbors to see. Oh, how the Dare Valley gossip mill would turn if someone squealed that the now-eligible Andy Hale had kept his arms around Lucy O’Brien for a couple of minutes.
“Anyone see us?” she decided to boldly ask.
“I think we’re safe,” he said with a wry twist to the mouth. “Come on in. This is Rufus. He’s a good dog, but he’s a handful. I’m going to put him in Danny’s room so he won’t bother you and then grab us a beer.”