by Sosie Frost
Marianne pitched her glass. “There’s no sugar in this.”
Susan waved a hand. A half dozen golden rings and bracelets glittered in the light. “Glory made some sort of low-carb lemonade. I tried to fix it, but whoever rented the social hall last didn’t refill the sugar. Now…who would that be?” She tapped one of her chins. “Certainly wasn’t any of my ladies.”
The war was on. Marianne fumed, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her oversized sweater—a larger version of the outfit she’d knitted for her cats.
“Why must the Daughters of Charity always use our budget to replenish the items used by everyone else in the social hall?” she asked.
Susan bristled. “What do you mean your budget?”
“Just what I said!” Marianne pulled out her phone and proudly displayed a picture of her new grandbaby and then a saved receipt from Barlow’s Market. “The kitchen was empty the last time we reserved it. I spent $17.23 on salt, paper towels, and plastic silverware. If you don’t believe me, there’s the proof!”
“A good Christian woman like me doesn’t need proof.” Susan fanned herself with a disposable cookie plate. The heat only made her perfume more pungent, filling the hall with apricot and rose hip. “Unlike some people, I take women at their word.”
We’d never survive this evening. Fortunately, the doors opened, and the least likely saviors of Butterpond entered the social hall.
My family.
I excused myself as my brothers took one step inside, swore loud enough to upset most of the church ladies, then turned to leave.
I grabbed Julian’s shoulder, hauling him toward a table. “Glad you could make it.”
“Is this a fundraiser or a shakedown?” Marius asked.
Gretchen let Ambrose off his leash so he could sniff out the surroundings. Dogs weren’t permitted in the social hall, but neither Susan nor Marianne had the patience to take on Gretchen. “It’s both, sailor. Take notes. We’ll need it for the campaign.”
“Why don’t I just tie ‘em down? Give them no choice but to love me.”
Gretchen winked. “Because that’s how you won me over, not the town.” She patted a sticker onto my chest. “Don’t forget—Vote for Payne.”
Jules snorted. “I’ll give you all the money in my wallet if Marius can tell me when the election is.”
Marius scowled. “Can’t tell you when to vote, but I can tell you where to shove the ballot. Christ, it’s hot in here.”
Julian helped Micah out of her coat, and then ditched his jacket. The bundle in the car seat stirred, and he removed two blankets from his son. This displeased Max, and, as a result, Micah. The baby wailed. She groaned, laying her head on Julian’s shoulder.
“Coffee?” She pleaded with me.
“It’s like a hundred degrees in here,” Julian said.
“Don’t care. Need sleep. Want coffee.”
I frowned. “We have low-carb lemonade.”
Micah looked ready to disolve into tears. “What?”
“The coffee maker isn’t working.”
She plunked down at a nearby table—the original occupants scattering after Max began to cry. “Too cruel, V. You’re supposed to be a man of God.”
The door opened once more. Tidus yelled, forced through the entrance by Cassi and Rem. A plume of cigarette smoke followed.
“You said you quit.” Cassi made a face and brushed off her dress—too long, silky, and elegant for a fundraiser with no coffee, sugar, or air circulation. “It’s like you want to kill yourself.”
“No fun in doing it yourself.” Tidus crashed into the table, swore, and immediately stripped out of his leather jacket. “Wait…is this Hell?”
Cassi crossed her arms. “No. Just a church fundraiser.”
“Same difference.”
“You could have been sober.”
“And there’s the difference.” Tidus snickered. “Hell has bourbon. Butterpond is dry.”
My youngest brother randomly appeared from the kitchen. Didn’t bother asking how long he’d been in the social hall or what the hell he’d been doing while I was straining to set up the tables by myself. He miraculously produced a cup of tea and set it before Micah.
“There is a God,” she said. “Oh, Quint. How can I repay you? You can have my next child.”
He gave the wailing Max a wary glance. “You know…I think I’m good. In fact, I’ll find you a real cup of coffee if you keep that one.”
Cassi scolded him with a shush and pulled me into a hug. “Well…this looks great.”
It didn’t. We’d dislodged a few decorations from the stage and shoved them into various corners around the hall. But the Christmas lights hadn’t survived the trip, and half of them had burned out. The plastic covering the tables had dry rotted in storage and ripped around the corners. Quint made a face, finding the missing sugar loaded into every saltshaker.
Leave it to the diabetic to sniff out the sweets.
“This was…Glory’s event,” I said. The woman was beautiful and talented, but thoroughly unprepared to host any church function. “She’s around here somewhere…fixing the heat…I hope.”
“Well, if this is any indication…” Micah cleared her throat. “I’m sure the pageant will be a…”
Tidus grinned at me. “Disaster?”
“Have some faith,” I said.
“After you, V.”
Faith was the only thing that was going to get me through this night. Or maybe whatever Tidus hid in his flask.
Cassi took Rem’s arm and nodded to the family. “Well, we wish we could stay, but we have a babysitter with the girls…”
Quint leapt up too. “If she gets to leave, I’m going too.”
She apologized with a shrug. “I’m sorry, V. We’ve had tonight planned for a while...”
A blinding flash glittered from her finger. Micah and Gretchen both gasped at the same time.
“Oh my God!” Micah’s mouth dropped open. “Rem, you got that rock from cutting down trees?”
Cassi hid her hand, but the damage was done.
Julian, Quint, Marius, and Tidus rose from the table in a stony, ominous silence. My little sister met their stares with a brilliant smile rivaling the glow of her ring.
“Surprise?” She nervously giggled. “Rem asked me to marry him. We’re going to celebrate with a dinner in Ironfield.”
Christmas was a time of peace, joy, and inevitable bloodshed. I’d only hoped we’d avoided it for the night.
Julian stepped forward, his voice low. “What do you mean you’re getting married?”
“You know…the white dress, the cake, the tearful vows…” Cassi hesitated as my brothers’ expressions darkened. “Come on, guys. I love Rem. He loves me. What did you think would happen?”
Tidus eyed his best friend with a scowl. “You’ve got some fucking balls if you think you can just marry my little sister.”
Rem was a brave man, especially when facing my brothers. Then again, even the worst of us weren’t as bad as the prick of a needle. Overcoming the addictions had been good for him. But breaking Cassi’s heart and leaving town hadn’t endeared him to us, even if we’d all been childhood friends.
Cassi had the most patience out of all of us. Unfortunately, she still had very little.
“It’s been five years,” she said. “It’s time we get over what happened. You’re mad at Rem for the barn burning down, but he didn’t light the match.”
It was the wrong time to dredge up the past, and it’d probably end with Tidus blacking out far from home again.
“Yeah…” Tidus swore. “He’s a real stand-up guy. Taking the blame and leaving town.”
Rem didn’t deny it. “Would have worked too. I gave you a second chance, Tidus.”
“Didn’t ask for it.”
“Sure as hell ain’t using it.”
Tidus didn’t need a reason to fight, but the alcohol helped numb the pain. He launched at Rem. Quint stepped between them,
preventing the blow from striking. Cassi groaned, pushing them apart and taking Tidus’s hand.
“We’re in love.” She was too old to pull the pout, but we fell for it anyway. “Can’t you be happy for us?”
“You were in love before.” Marius averted his gaze from the wide eyes and puffed lower lip. “What happened the first time?”
Rem tugged Cassi back to him. “I did the right thing by leaving back then. I wasn’t good enough for Cassi.”
“You’re still not.”
“A man can change.”
“Exactly.” Cassi peeked up at me with her dark, cocoa eyes. “Tell them, V.”
Tidus scowled. “Tell them what, V?”
“He believes in us,” Cassi said. “He’ll even do the ceremony. Right?”
Whoa. I backed away. “Cas, I never agreed—”
Julian stood. “You agreed to marry them?”
Tidus slammed a hand against the table. “Jesus Christ, V! You knew? And you didn’t say a goddamned word?”
Profanity never fundraised well in a church, but the congregation had grown accustomed to our family’s dysfunction. Didn’t approve of it, but at least the black-eyes were no longer a surprise.
Cassi bristled. “It wasn’t V’s place to tell you anything. This is our decision. Jesus, I thought you’d be happy.”
“You’re a kid,” Julian said. “What the hell do you know about getting married?”
“Enough to know that marriage comes before babies. Learned that quicker than you, Daddy.”
Micah downed her tea and shook the cup at Quint. “Hit me again. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Longer than any of us realized.
The doors opened, and the conversation silenced.
Maybe Glory had planned for this evening to kill me, but what a sight for my last breath.
Glory had stripped out of her conservative blouse and slacks, opting instead to wear a snowball white bikini top that would have complimented her dark skin had anyone the strength to stare beyond the gratuitous cleavage barely contained by straining material. A sheer black skirt covered her waist and thighs, though a slit edged high up her hip. That secret tease would forever ruin me with sinful thoughts. She corrupted as easily as she seduced, and she did it with a goddamned smile.
She carried Lulu on her hip. The baby also sported a swimsuit, pink and frilly. She batted at the white, wide-rimmed sunglasses over her eyes, peeked out from under them to ensure her momma still wore hers, then smooshed them back over her face.
“Forget the pageant…” Tidus whistled. “Just sell admission to see her.”
Even Micah agreed. “Would probably make a lot more money, V.”
Yeah, but if I had it my way, she’d never sell herself again. Glory thought she belonged on the stage—even used her success to build her confidence. But she couldn’t hide how much she loved the pageant. For all the headaches, disasters, and paint spills, a day spent in Butterpond was worth all the money she’d earn in Ironfield at night.
Hadn’t talked about it, but I knew what would happen once the pageant was finished. Glitter would replace the tinsel, fishnets for stockings, and nights in my arms for long hours around a pole.
At least while she was here—in my bed—she wouldn’t need to sell herself for a couple of bucks.
Enough people stared. Panic waged with jealousy, and I swept Glory from the middle of the room to a darkened corner. Did nothing for my self-control to pin the woman against a wall, but at least she was away from the congregation’s prying eyes.
“What are you wearing?” My voice rasped, but that wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped to hide.
Glory fanned her face. Lulu mimicked her. “I was dying in this heat. Figured I’d change before I got heat stroke. We’ll call it…Christmas on the beach.”
Butterpond had other names for it—immodesty, indecency, and the reason half a dozen senior men would ultimately die of a heart attack.
“What about the furnace?” I asked.
She handed me a bent metal component I couldn’t recognize under the rust and grime.
“I think that’s the problem,” she said.
Fantastic. “Why are you holding it?”
“It wasn’t doing much good rolling loose under the furnace,” she said. “But forget the heat, V. We’ve got bigger problems. When the furnace blew, it took a couple breakers with it. I flipped the fuses, but I think it’s too late.”
“For what?”
“The ice cream.”
It’d been a long time since Butterpond had threatened a resident with crucifixion. At least Glory’s sacrifice would unite the League of Women Missionaries and the Daughters of Charity.
“It’s all gone?”
“Melted into one big pile of goo in the bottom of the freezer.”
And this was why we did spaghetti dinners. Didn’t matter if the noodles were overcooked, the meat sour, or the sauce spiked with a full bag of sugar. When the plates were served—the dinner was always ice cold.
So much for the fundraiser.
Lulu gave me a toothy grin from behind her sunglasses. At least someone was happy. Glory reached for me, realized too many people were watching, and squeezed Lulu instead.
“We’ll just…” She hummed. “Oh! We’ll order pizza. It might cost a bit more from the budget, but at least we’ll have some food.”
She really didn’t know Butterpond.
I shook my head. “Won’t work. Gino is pushing eighty now. He needs a good twenty-four hours’ notice for an order.”
Glory knew better than to ask questions, but I anticipated what she’d suggest next. Her expression twisted, and she puffed a straying lock of hair away from her face.
“V—”
“No.”
“We have to cancel.”
“Absolutely not.”
Lulu poked at me. “Hot.”
Glory agreed. “It’s stifling. V, the only way we’re gonna make any money tonight is if we rob the people who pass out from heatstroke—and I’m pretty sure there are places in the Bible forbiding that.”
“We’re going to do everything we can do…short of robbery,” I said.
Because we didn’t have a choice.
This was the last opportunity we had for a fundraiser—and even tonight was a long shot to get the funds we needed to ensure we even had a show to perform.
No fundraiser, no pageant.
No pageant…and no money for the church.
I couldn’t let the congregation down, not when it was my fault they were struggling.
I rubbed the sweat from my eyes. “What do we have in the kitchen?”
Glory sighed. “A lot of coffee, but no pot to brew it.”
At least it was something. “There’s one in the parish house. Run back and grab it.”
“You’re going to make coffee while this room is boiling hot?” she asked.
“Have you met my congregation?”
She smirked. “Your congregation?”
A slip of the tongue that only reminded me how badly I’d hurt the community. I ignored her implication. “Coffee’s fine. I’ll ask Marianne and Susan to run home and raid their pantries. Someone must have some Christmas cookies this close to the holiday. If we can score some desserts and coffee, we’ll pull this off.” My hope renewed just to be dashed once more. “What about our music?”
Glory winced. “About that…”
Lulu grew frustrated and reached for me. Glory surrendered the baby, and I swung her into my arms, earning a delighted giggle that shrieked over the social hall.
Suddenly, the congregation wasn’t talking about the heat anymore.
Lulu’s gleeful hug around my neck silenced my feuding family.
Either Glory didn’t notice, or she was far more accustomed to strangers’ stares. “I have good news and bad news about the music.”
“I don’t think we can handle any more bad news.”
“Our string quartet had to cancel.” She shushed my
protests. “But I found a different band. They’re as good as I can get on short notice.”
She pointed behind me.
And here I’d thought I’d been tested enough. A tornado had destroyed my church, torn apart my congregation, and sent me a rather convincing message from God Himself.
I hadn’t expected a second test.
Four men in lederhosen began to unpack a variety of brass instruments in the corner of the hall. One tipped his hat toward a stunned Marianne and Susan, lifted a tuba to his lips, and bellowed the beginnings of an upbeat Oompa All Ye Faithful.
“They’re called Bupkis,” Glory said.
I glanced at her. How hadn’t this woman fallen apart yet? Glory had the body of an angel, patience of a saint, and the temper of the Devil himself. She should have been raging.
Instead, she nearly laughed.
“They promised me they knew a couple Christmas carols. Butterpond…likes polkas, right?”
This was a nightmare.
Five feuding brothers.
Four melted sundaes.
Three brass horns.
Two warring women’s clubs.
And one congregation that would never forgive me.
At least Lulu was having a good time. She bounced in my arms to the tuba’s beat, dancing and tickled to pieces that she got to wear her sunglasses and the bathing suit.
“Lulu dance!” She squirmed, tried to escape, and kicked me right in the crotch. “Bastard V?”
Glory covered her mouth with her hands, but she took the baby as I leaned over the closest table and hoped to God those bells would still jingle when I needed them.
“Really, V…” Glory rubbed my shoulders. “What kind of sign do you need? A flood? The four horsemen of the apocalypse leading Santa’s sleigh? Let’s cancel.”
“We need the money for the pageant,” I said. “There’s too much riding on tonight.”
“Is there?” Her words softened. “Maybe we can…trim the production a little bit. Eliminate a song…or five. We don’t need the lights or the fancy sound equipment.”
Most of the production was over age sixty-five—the lights and sound equipment weren’t for the audience, it was so the cast could see through their cataracts and hear their cues.
“That’ll ruin any chance for success,” I said. “Glory, I’m doing everything in my power to make sure we earn money off this show.”