by Ritter Ames
“Rudy, darling, bring me a Coke!” Jackson shuddered. Carbonated soda was even worse than the potato chips Sherri kept around the house. At least his cookies were made with fresh, organic ingredients. Flour, butter, nuts…
“Rudy, you hear?”
Rudy rolled his eyes, put down his cookie, grabbed another napkin to wipe his face, and stomped over to the refrigerator.
“Whoa.” He stood and stared inside it. “You got too many vegetables.” He grabbed a Coke and clomped off toward the living room. “Ain’t nobody likes beets.”
“No such thing as too many vegetables,” Jackson called after him. “Don’t say ‘ain’t’! And beets are great for you.”
He added under his breath, “No carbs.”
Rudy stomped back in to sit at the table again and retrieve his half-eaten cookie. “Mom says Dad’s been gone a year today,” he announced, his mouth full.
Jackson put down the carrots and went to sit with him.
“Yeah?” He opened the tin and took out a cookie for himself. After the morning jog he’d had, he could probably afford two cookies.
“I think she misses him.”
“I’m sure she does, Rudy. How about you?”
“Well, yeah, but not as much as she did. I mean, she knew him longer, you know?”
Ah, the honesty of kids.
“Besides.” Rudy picked up his third cookie. “He was always gone, working, at meetings or flying off somewhere to work hard. Mom used to tell me he was bringing home the bacon, but I heard bacon is bad for you.” He looked up at Jackson, troubled. “Do you think that’s why he had the heart attack and died?”
Jackson smiled gently at him. “I don’t think he ate too much bacon, son. It’s just an expression people use to mean earning money.”
“It is? I wonder why people don’t just say what they mean.” Rudy shook his head in disgust. “Anyway, he’s gone a year now and Grandma says it’s time for Mom to start dating again. That’s just gross. Moms shouldn’t date!”
Jackson laughed aloud at the look of horror on the little boy’s face, but sobered quickly when he thought he saw tears starting.
He got up and poured Rudy a glass of almond milk to give the little guy time to collect himself.
“It’s okay to miss your dad, Rudy. And it’s okay if your mom misses him too. But do you want her to be lonely forever? Maybe it wouldn’t be bad if she just went on a date or two. Then you both could see how you felt about it.”
Jackson ignored the sudden surprising ache in his own chest at the thought of seeing Lucinda all dolled up, leaving the house to get in the car with some handsome stranger.
He tried to focus on Rudy’s earnest face. The child had stopped eating and was listening closely, staring down at the table.
“I promise you, your mom would never date someone you didn’t like. She loves you too much. And she’s not going to rush to change anything, okay?”
Rudy looked up at him, dry-eyed. “Okay. Thanks, Chef.”
Jackson wanted to tousle the kid’s hair, but the ridiculous knitted cap was in the way. He knew the boy’s mom had made it for him, so he didn’t want to make fun of it, but that woman needed another hobby besides knitting.
I could give her a new hobby, he thought to himself, and was immediately horrified. A change of subject was definitely in order.
He reached over and brushed a cookie crumb off Rudy’s sheet-covered shoulder. “What’s for dinner at your house, Rudy?”
“Hamburgers! With ketchup!” Rudy’s face lit up and Jackson laughed.
“You’d better get back over there, then, and make sure she cooks them right. Not too high of a temperature, and cooked through. All right?”
“Cooked through,” Rudy repeated dutifully. He stood up, shook crumbs off his sheet, and struggled into his coat. “You’re right. She’s probably wondering where I am to set the table.”
He reached out to shake Jackson’s hand, solemnly. “Thanks for the cookies, Chef. You make real good cookies.”
Jackson stood up as well. “See you soon, kid.”
Rudy clomped to the front door. “Bye, Jackson! Bye, Sherri!”
Jackson turned back to the sink and heard Sherri come to the kitchen doorway.
“The kid is nuts about you.”
“He’s a good kid.” Jackson put down the knife. “We need to talk.”
She groaned. “Not again. I’m tired. I’ve worked all week. I look forward to my Saturday afternoons off. You know that.”
“He’s a good kid, Sherri. But I want kids of my own.”
“We’ve been through all this before, Jackson. I’m not ready. Give me a little more time, at least another year or two. We’ve only been married going on three years.”
“I thought you wanted kids as much as I did, and we’re not getting any younger.” He wondered if Lucinda would have more kids. She was still a young, vibrant woman, and Rudy would make a gentle, wonderful big brother. He felt a tugging sensation in his heart again.
“I did want kids when we got married. I just—I don’t know—don’t feel the sense of urgency you do.”
He looked at her, standing there in the doorway, straggling blond hair, bulky sweater, and leggings which no longer hid the cellulite that had started to show up this winter. She was lazy, he realized. Sure, she went to work, but she sat at a desk all day, pushing paper, and showed no interest in anything else but the damn television when she wasn’t at the office.
“Are we getting out the Halloween decorations this year?” he asked her. I’ve got a few minutes to handle the outside if you do the inside. Might cheer things up around here.”
Sheri rewarded his suggestion with an eye roll. “It’s plenty cheery. What’s the difference anyway? It’s just one day. I don’t know what the big deal is. And as you so frequently point out, we don’t even have kids. Besides, we’d just have to put it all away afterward, and then you’ll want the Christmas decorations out. Why do it twice?”
Jackson took a moment to consider this. No decorations. No exercise. No kids. No nothing. “You were different when we got married,” he said gently, sadly.
“Yeah, well, nobody ever said marriage was supposed to be exciting,” Sherri answered. “I mean, you get up, you go to work, you make dinner, you take a vacation. We have a comfortable house and everything we could want. Having a kid around would mess things up. I’m happy like this. Let’s wait a while longer.” She came over to the sink and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She smelled of potato chips. “But maybe tonight we can practice.”
Disappointed, hurt, and—if he was completely honest with himself—repulsed, Jackson stared at her behind as she lumbered back to the living room. He wondered if she’d ever want kids. He was starting to wonder if she ever had. Maybe she’d just wanted someone to take care of her. And pay her damn cable bill.
He sighed. She hadn’t even mentioned Thanksgiving next month in her litany of how much work holidays created. They always had her parents over for the full deal—which, of course, he would dish up himself after serving a big lunch crowd at his restaurant. He suddenly realized how much he didn’t like her parents. What had happened? Why had they seemed so interesting back in the day? Was he just blinded by the set of Thirty-Six D’s on their daughter? The same daughter who used to jog with him, dress up for him, laugh at his jokes?
He stabbed at a carrot, angrily. He’d decorate the house for Halloween by himself tonight. He wanted to beat the early snowfall in the forecast, and he hadn’t bought this house in this nice neighborhood to be the only one on his street who didn’t go to any trouble to decorate and make things fun for the trick-or-treaters next week. If nothing else, Rudy would appreciate his efforts.
And tomorrow he was darn good and well going to take Lucinda up on that cup of coffee. He had worked up quite a thirst.
* * *
“HAND ME THE nail gun.” Jackson was midway up a ladder on Lucinda’s front porch, hanging a long string of black and orange lights.
“I can’t thank you enough, Jackson. I got the skeletons and witches and ghosts hung in the windows, but Franklin always used to do the decorating bits I was too short for.”
Jackson smiled down at the pretty blue eyes twinkling up at him. “Just happy I was jogging by in time to help,” he said. They kept smiling at each other, and he correctly read the invitation in those bright eyes. He knew full well she’d planned the timing perfectly for his morning jog and, mad as he’d been at Sherri last night, he was still a little unsure.
Or maybe, he admitted ruefully to himself, carefully arranging another string of lights and applying the nail gun, he was actually a little insecure, a little unsure of his own attractiveness after the last few months with a disinterested wife. Maybe he was the problem.
He climbed down off the ladder. “All set, Lucinda.”
“Thank you again.” Her hand lingered against his a moment too long as she took the nail gun from him. “I’d hate to be the only one on the street with no decorations this year. And of course Rudy would have been so disappointed.”
“We do make a big deal about Halloween around here, don’t we?” He looked across the street at the flowing, ghost-like sheets hung in the trees at the Jenkins’ house, and next door where the Mathesons had strung their bushes with…were those black and orange eggs? Weird. People were decorating for Halloween as much as Christmas nowadays.
Jackson was stalling. He knew he should be heading toward his own house, but Sherri had already left for work and he wasn’t due at the restaurant for a few hours. He sighed. He just couldn’t do it. Not yet, anyway.
“Coffee, then? It’s getting colder out here.”
“I can’t today,” Jackson told her. He immediately regretted the flash of disappointment in her eyes. “But how about you stopping by the restaurant next week?” he blurted. Now where had that come from? “We, uh, we have the Halloween party at Jackson’s Hideaway, you know.”
Lucinda was smiling again. “Actually, I didn’t know you had a Halloween party at your restaurant.”
“Oh, sure,” Jackson said, warming to his subject. “Done it since we opened seven years ago. We always have it the night before trick-or-treat. Everybody dresses up, brings the kids. The customers and the staff bring their families. We have a costume contest, sing-a-long, carve pumpkins, even tell ghost stories with the lights down. We’re sold out this year, but I’m sure I could fit in an extra table for you and Rudy. Not like you two take up much room.” He glanced at her trim figure appreciably before he could stop himself.
Lucinda liked the look, though, and laughed aloud. “I guess we don’t. But I always thought of your place as for adults, Jackson. Fine dining, piano bar, classy special occasion kind of place.”
“Sure, it’s what keeps us in business. But a couple times a year it’s fun to change it up a little, have a little fun, and give the kids their night. The adults love it too.”
“Fine, Jackson, no coffee today then but a party next week.”
“You and Rudy come at seven. And you’ll need a costume,” he reminded her. He tugged the pretty brown ponytail hanging to her waist. “Maybe Rapunzel?”
She giggled. Oh God, was he flirting?
He’d have to be careful not to be too attentive, he reminded himself. Sherri had no interest in his family Halloween party and wouldn’t show up for it, but some of his employees weren’t above flinging a little gossip her way afterward.
Reluctantly, he tore himself away from those blue eyes—the ones he wouldn’t be able to get out of his mind for the next week until it was time for the party. As he jogged across the yard back to his own house, he wondered if Sherri would even notice he didn’t beg her to come to the restaurant for Halloween Eve this year.
* * *
AT 6:55 P.M. on the night before Halloween, Jackson stood in his restaurant kitchen while his sous chef, food prep experts, expeditors, and wait staff bustled around him. It was a pared-down menu, heavy on hamburgers and hotdogs for the kids, steaks and salads for the parents, and lots of Halloween fodder: Pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, pumpkin squash, and tiny trick-or-treat bags for each child filled with chocolates, lollipops, and a popcorn ball.
Everything smelled delicious, but Jackson had eyes only for his costume. He tried to catch his reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator door. He hoped the pirate outfit with the sash and swashbuckling belt and hat set off his athletic, six-foot-tall frame and his dark eyes to advantage. He’d even borrowed Sherri’s eyeliner for a Johnny Depp pirate look. He knew the parrot on his shoulder was a nice touch, too. The kids could pull the string on it and make it squawk or say things like “Ahoy, matey!” and “Set sail, captain!”
Not that Lucinda hadn’t seen him practically naked in his jogging clothes dozens of times, he reminded himself. Still, he was as nervous as a teenager off to the prom. In fact, he thought he even looked nervous.
“Don’t worry, boss. You look mighty fine.”
“Thanks, Penny.” He smiled warmly at his sous chef, but not too warmly. He always got the feeling she was looking for an opening, but he could never decide if it was because she found him attractive or simply wanted to cement her job at one of the best, up-and-coming restaurants in central Maine.
It wasn’t easy being a halfway attractive owner of a large restaurant, constantly surrounded by young and pretty wait and bar staff, many of whom showed not a lick of concern for his marital status. He wondered in passing why Sherri had never shown a glimmer of jealousy.
Her hostess stuck her head in the doorway. “Chef, those special guests you mentioned have arrived.”
“Thanks, Monique.” He left Penny’s raised eyebrow behind him and tried not to hurry as he went into the restaurant.
But one look at Lucinda had him sending Monique scurrying to move their reservation card across the room away from the fireplace. Rudy in his ghostly sheet and ghoul mask he had expected, but Lucinda was clad head to toe in a fuzzy black cat suit, complete with ears, tail, and whiskers.
Jackson laughed. “I think I’ll have to move you closer to the window,” he told her, grinning. “Be a bit cooler over there.”
She grinned back around her painted-on whiskers. “Hi, neighbor. I have now learned the hard way it’s best not to leave the trip to the costume shop until the last day before Halloween.”
Jackson leaned down to Rudy. “That’s a pretty frightening outfit, Red. Hope you don’t scare off my customers.”
“Boo!” Rudy giggled through the mask. “This is more fun than being a cowboy. I can scare people. I like it.” He reached up and pulled the string on Jackson’s parrot. “Walk the plank, matey!” the bird shrieked. The diners seated around them grinned, and Jackson took Rudy’s hand and Lucinda’s arm to walk them across the room to their new table.
“Oh! There’s a pumpkin light on the table!” Rudy squealed. It was true; the wait staff had come in early to carve small jack-o-lanterns for each table, hollowed out with room for a candle. The table was set with black plates and orange napkins, and orange and black balloons were tied to the back of each wooden chair. The lighting was dimmed but the candles and fireplace were more than adequate. It was both cozy and festive.
“You’ll get to carve your own pumpkin later to take home, too.”
Lucinda smiled at him and mouthed a thank you. Jackson understood; he knew she was thinking that this time last year she’d just lost her husband. It probably meant a lot to her to give Rudy something different to do this year, since his father had always taken him trick-or-treating.
He backed away as the waitress showed up with the menus and water. “I’ll check back with you later. Rudy, son, you’re going to want to take off your mask to eat, I think.”
“Later, Chef,” came the muffled answer. “Boo!” the little boy said to the waitress.
“And boo to you too, Mr. Ghost,” she answered.
Grinning, Jackson turned around and met Penny’s glare. His sous chef stood in the doorway to the ki
tchen. She could have been trying out for a job as spokesmodel for the expression, “If looks could kill.” He winced.
“Oops,” one of the waitresses hissed in his ear in passing. “That look can’t be good, Chef.” He didn’t acknowledge the remark, but so much for his plan not to be overly attentive. And as for Penny, it may be time to think about replacing her, no matter how good she was. He wondered if there was any gossip about the two of them.
For a married man, he sure did have a fantastic imaginary love life, he decided. But the dining room was full, the mood was festive, and Jackson had rounds to make. He shook his head and went to ask the bartender how everything was going and double check enough pumpkins had been piled on the bar for carving later in the evening. He also eyeballed the number of small, intentionally blunt knives in the box and figured they had enough for each parent. He made his way back to the kitchen, dodging a voluptuous mermaid, a group of Ghostbuster lookalikes, several tot-sized Sesame Street characters, and lots of witches and goblins. Costumes ran the gamut from sweet to scary, just like they did every year.
He barely had time to check back with Lucinda and the now maskless Rudy during the evening, but did make sure they had a pumpkin to carve—and she was the one holding the knife. Rudy directed, and if Jackson found himself standing behind Lucinda and steadying her hand on her knife while she carved, well, it was just being neighborly, right? Fortunately his sous chef was occupied in the kitchen and not watching his every move.
First prize went to the pumpkin carver who had created a pirate jack-o-lantern, right down to the eye-patch, and Jackson was asked to pose with it endlessly for pictures until the lights went down for ghost-story time. The smaller kids nestled into their parents’ arms and the older ones, promised trick-or-treat bags upon good behavior, quieted right down while the professional storyteller, as instructed, weaved her way around a tale strong on atmosphere and low on actual fear.
Lucinda was holding Rudy and Jackson went to sit with her. The little boy nodded off in the darkness to the sound of the storyteller’s voice, and Lucinda reached over to take Jackson’s hand. “We’ve had the most wonderful time,” she whispered.