Oscar was twelve years older than her.
She hadn’t thought of that last night when she sat on his lap.
She coughed into her hand. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her last night, but she was proud of herself for acting on her impulses. And her actions had nothing to do with a Bucket List or a dead sister or anyone else’s expectations of her. She had kissed Oscar all by herself, thank you very much.
“And now you are staring at your coffee and smiling. Nothing weird going on here at all, nope.” Paisley laughed and finished her coffee.
“Nick says he’s going to be the lobster in the parade,” she said. “I don’t understand what he’s thinking, moving in to my life like he belongs here. He was just a whim of my sister’s, a random item on a list. And now he’s the lobster.”
“Don’t tell me you had aspirations of lobster-dom,” Paisley laughed. “You’ve just barely gotten over wanting to vomit every time you walk on stage.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Yup. But you’re getting much better. Even Irenia commented that you seem to be embracing your theatrical soul, or something like that.”
“We only have one week left, I’d better embrace something if I’m going to make it to Opening Night.”
“The something you’re embracing wouldn’t happen to be our father, would it?” Nora appeared at the table, her belly almost touching Agnes as she stood beside her chair, tugging off her mittens.
“Forget it Nora, I’ve just been trying to get the goods as well, but she’s not one to kiss and tell.” Paisley shuffled her chair over so her sister could join them.
“You shaved him,” Nora said. Agnes couldn’t tell if she was angry, or disappointed. Or just really pregnant.
“You shaved him?” Paisley echoed loudly, causing people at the next table to look over at them.
Agnes’ mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
“He told me,” Nora said. “He said you ‘performed barbering duties to save him from butchering himself on the altar of theatrical realism’. Or something really wordy like that. Bottom line, you tried to seduce him.”
“I didn’t!” She looked from Paisley to Nora and back again. Did she?
“Shaving a man? During a power outage? In a storm? Come on, Agnes. This innocent little librarian act is getting old.” Nora leaned back in her chair and groaned slightly, rubbing one hand over the mound of her belly. “And our father is old too, need I remind you?”
“He is not old, Nora. If Agnes wants to seduce Dad, I say go for it.” Paisley raised her empty coffee cup in salute. Nora rolled her eyes.
“I… I like Oscar.” She felt like a child. She sat up straighter in her chair, placing her hands on the table. “I like your father very much, Nora, and if I decide to seduce him that is my business and not yours. Besides, he seemed to like it.”
Nora blushed. Paisley laughed out loud and Agnes grinned. She wasn’t sure who she was becoming, but she decided she liked this new Agnes, terrifying though she may be.
Fifteen
Oscar built the parade float on the trailer Doink used for hauling wood in the spring. It was just over ten feet long, with a rough wooden floor and just enough space for Scrooge’s bed and an old door they made out of cardboard, with a model of Marley’s ghost’s face where the knocker should be. Oscar was grudgingly proud of how it turned out, considering it was built by himself and Belinda in the shivering cold of an empty garage near the theatre. Mrs. Crawley was no where to be seen.
“Don’t be silly, Oscar.” Belinda blew her nose for the tenth time. “Cousin Irenia is allergic to work, didn’t you know? You didn’t honestly expect her to be out here shivering with the minions, did you?”
“I suppose not, but her absence precludes her from judgement of our accomplishment.”
He hopped down from the bed of the trailer, reaching up to help Belinda over the side. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying their work. The bed was propped up so that Irenia, swaddled in Scrooge’s dressing gown and cap, would be able to lie on it in full view of the crowd, nestled snuggly under blankets while the rest of the cast would have to brave the chill wind either standing on the float, or walking beside it. Doink would drive the truck, and Oscar insisted that Belinda ride shotgun instead of walking in the cold.
The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come hoped to be absent.
“I shouldn’t have to be in the parade,” he said again. Belinda looked at the ceiling. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, not Christmas Walking Down the Street. It will spoil the surprise ending.”
“Oscar, dear,” Belinda said patiently. Oscar reminded himself that Belinda had been a schoolteacher for over thirty years. She used her teacher voice with him, and he felt suitably chastised. “There is no surprise ending. Everyone and their dog knows what happens at the end of the play.”
“What happens at the end of the play?” Nick appeared in the doorway, letting in a gust of cold air and the scent of car wax. “Nope, wait! Don’t tell me. Don’t ruin the end. Does someone die? I bet you do, don’t ya, creepy guy?”
Nick nodded at Oscar with wide eyes.
“Don’t tease, Nick,” Belinda bubbled. “Of course no one dies, you know the story—”
“Aw, now you’ve gone and ruined it!” Nick shrugged his arms into the air, frowning. “It’s ok, I’ll try to forget and then maybe I’ll still be surprised at the end.”
Belinda and Oscar looked at each other. Oscar shrugged.
“What can we do for you, Nick?” It wasn’t that Oscar didn’t like Nick, it was very hard to not like Nick with his expansive gestures and good humor. It was just that Oscar didn’t like the way Nick looked at Agnes. When they had spent the night digging Nick out of the snowdrift, Oscar had seen him put his arm around her several times. He rubbed his bare chin, warmth rising from the memory of that evening. He preferred his own arm around Agnes, minus the loud intrusions of her high school lover.
Which she denied.
But here he was.
“Came to help,” Nick boomed. “Gotta go see that angry costume lady about the lobster, and thought I’d take my date out to lunch.” He made air quotes with his fingers and waggled his eyebrows at Belinda suggestively.
“Nicolas, really!” She blushed and swatted at his arm, giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Really?” Oscar raised an eyebrow. Belinda was easily twenty years older than Nick. Oscar eyed him suspiciously.
“It’s not a real date, Oscar,” Belinda said, shrugging into her coat. “It’s all quite out of character for me, truth be told, but I find myself enjoying the element of espionage all the same.”
“Espionage?” Oscar asked.
“We ain’t having no weird French food for lunch, Belindy,” Nick said. “None of that espionage and what-all. Them’s snails, ain’t they?”
Belinda giggled. “Isn’t he delightful?”
“Delightful.” Oscar frowned.
Belinda turned Nick toward the door, patting his broad shoulders like a coach encouraging a favorite line-backer. “We’re just trying to be a sneaky and work a little Christmas magic, aren’t we, Nick?”
“That’s right. No woman can resist a little Christmas magic.” Nick did a strange little sashay with a hip wiggle that made Oscar wince. “I know a pretty little librarian who won’t know what hit her when she unwraps this package.”
Belinda gasped, then giggled again, urging Nick out the door.
“He’s hysterical, isn’t he?” she asked over her shoulder. “Agnes will come around, just watch. Nick is exactly what she needs to help her deal with her grief.”
The door to the garage closed behind her, leaving Oscar dumbfounded and alone. Belinda was helping Nick to woo Agnes? Nick was exactly what Agnes needed?
Oscar scratched his head. Agnes had kissed him. Passionately.
He heard the echo of Belinda’s laughter coming from outside. Belinda who was much too old for Nick. Just as Oscar was much too old for
Agnes.
He ran his fingers along the edge of Scrooge’s bed, straightening the bedsheets as his mind tumbled over images of Agnes. She was so bold and daring… auditioning, breaking in to the bookshop, standing up to Nora, sitting on his lap with her soft lips brushing his…
What had he been thinking?
He lived for the New York Times crossword and a good book by the fire. His ex-wife had insisted that he was boring, dull, and had no emotions.
Now he was old, boring, dull and had no emotions.
Except for the hollow feeling growing inside his chest.
Perhaps Nick was exactly what Agnes needed.
He walked slowly out of the garage, his footsteps echoing behind him.
∞∞∞
Agnes had tried to catch Oscar alone but the flurry of activity as the theatre group prepared for the parade made it impossible. The Portly Gentlemen couldn’t find their hats, the giant stuffed turkey seemed to be missing and Tiny Tim insisted on darting underneath everyone’s feet crying “God Bless us every-one” until Fezziwig threatened to break his other leg with his own cane.
She caught Oscar’s eye briefly as she climbed onto the float. The flowing gauze of her costume tangled around the foot of Scrooge’s bed. He stopped momentarily and unwound her trailing fabric, his eyes peeking out from the depths of his grim reaper hood.
“How does it feel, without the beard?” she asked, reaching down to touch his shoulder.
“Much better, thank you.”
“You look good without it.”
“I look like Death,” he said. “Or at least, I’m supposed to.” He held up his fake hand and shrugged, his draped black shroud shifting gracefully around his tall frame.
He moved away before she could respond. He was avoiding her. Had she imagined his attraction? He seemed preoccupied and aloof after the warmth of their shared intimacy. She hadn’t kissed anyone with such eagerness before, and it disturbed her that he didn’t seem to share her attraction. He had kissed her back. Several times.
What would have happened if Nick hadn’t knocked on the door?
Agnes’ thoughts were interrupted as Mrs. Crawley, fully bedecked in Scrooge’s dressing gown and nightcap, was helped aboard the float.
“Passion, people, passion!” Irenia directed even as Agnes helped tuck her into the upright bed so she could appear to be lying down, but in full view of the crowd. “This may seem like a parade, but it’s a performance. In character, everyone. In. Character!”
Doink maneuvered the truck and the float out onto the street, joining the line of the parade as it wound slowly through downtown Heartswell. Oscar and a variety of other cast members walked beside the float, waving and tossing candy to the crowd.
Agnes smiled and waved as they moved slowly toward the Lighthouse. Tonight was opening night. She swallowed the anxiety fluttering in her stomach and concentrated on keeping her balance on the rumbling float. She glanced at Irenia, glaring out at the crowd and doing her best to appear as Scrooge-like as possible. Agnes had to grudgingly admit that she was doing an impressive job.
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas everyone!” Nick’s voice peeled above the noise of the crowd. The giant lobster wove through the line of the parade, waving huge red claws over its head and bellowing out greetings of good cheer. Nick was in his element.
Agnes couldn’t help but smile as he mingled with the crowd, grabbing a woman and waltzing her down the sidewalk, then picking up a child and swinging her around before passing her back to her mother. He danced, he sashayed, he skipped.
Nick was a natural mascot.
Agnes could see Oscar step out of his way as Nick fox-trotted an elderly woman along side of the float. He returned her to the sidewalk and approached the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, matching his gait to Oscar’s so they walked side by side. Agnes couldn’t see Oscar’s face, but she imagined he wished he was beside the fire in the Nook with a cup of tea and a book. Anything rather than prancing down the street beside a giant lobster.
Nick hooked his arm in Oscar’s, forcing him to skip along to the applause and cheers of the crowd. Agnes clapped, laughing at the spectacle of the Grim Reaper dancing with a lobster. Nick released him and Oscar staggered slightly, regaining his footing. He shook his head, shaking the long fingers of his fake hand at the lobster as Nick danced away, the crowd roaring with laughter.
The parade made its way to the Lighthouse where crowds of people nursed mugs of hot chocolate, wisps of steam rising into the chilly air. The setting sun cast everything in a silver glow as it sank beneath the horizon.
Someone flicked a switch the moment the sun disappeared, and the Lighthouse blazed with thousands of tiny twinkling lights running up it’s steep walls to the lantern at the very top. The crowd cheered as light flakes of snow drifted in the gentle glow.
The mayor, The Honorable RJ Stanhope, stood on the wide steps of the Lighthouse, speaking into a tinny microphone. Agnes and the rest of the cast made their way through the crowd to stand together and listen to the Mayor speak about the community events planned around the holiday. Oscar stood on the edge of the crowd, definitely staying in character with his hood over his head and his shoulders hunched. Irenia should be pleased.
Agnes tried to make her way toward him, but the crowd was thick. She decided to wait until the Mayor wrapped up his speech
“… and this evening we have a special treat as the Heartswell Ladies Who… uh… Heartswell Women of…”
“The Heartswell Association of Women who Care.” Irenia’s voice shrilled out from somewhere behind Agnes.
“Yes, yes, quite so.” RJ looked anxiously toward Irenia as if he expected her to storm the podium. “Opening night is tonight!” he barrelled on. “I encourage you all to make your way to our fine theatre to enjoy the Scrooge story—”
“Charles Dicken’s A Christmas Carol,” Irenia chirped.
“Indeed, yes,” the mayor agreed.
Agnes sensed movement behind her as the crowd parted to let the Lobster through. Nick stood beside her, beaming from under his Lobster hat, the antennae bobbing merrily as he giggled like a happy four-year-old about to sit on Santa’s knee.
“Are you having fun, Nick?” She smiled at him. Savannah had been wrong about his potential as a boyfriend, but he was certainly entertaining.
“Not as much fun as I’m about to have,” he said. He seemed to be vibrating with excitement. She looked at him nervously. Why did she feel like he was about to do something stupid?
She began to move away, afraid he was about to embarrass himself in front of the half the town, when he lunged at her.
She shrieked as Nick scooped her into his giant claws as if she weighed nothing.
“Lobster love,” he shouted, shouldering his way through the crowd as she struggled to escape his grasp. “Make way for the Lobster and his little lady!”
Nick picked up speed, jostling her in his arms.
“Nick! Put me down!” she shrieked.
He cackled maniacally.
There was no stopping him. The crowd parted before them. People clapped and cheered as her costume flowed out behind them like a bridal train. She tried to wriggle free, but he gripped her tightly, puffing like a steam engine as he tried to run in the bulky costume.
Agnes twisted in his arms, just in time to see Oscar running behind them, the crowd looking on in awe as his draped and hooded costume billowed behind him. His hood fell off as he raised his arm in a pitcher’s throw.
The prosthetic hand hit Nick in the side of his lobster head, knocking him off balance. He collapsed to his knees, rolling over with Agnes pinned in his arms.
He was surprisingly soft, for a lobster.
Sixteen
“You simply must be reasonable, Constable. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come cannot, cannot I say, be incarcerated on opening night. It will not stand.” Irenia Crawley, complete in Scrooge’s dressing gown and sleeping cap, stomped her foot and drew herself up to her most impressive
height that reached almost to Constable Wells' elbow.
Agnes thought police work in Heartswell would be dull. Not, apparently, on Christmas Eve.
The entry way of the local precinct office was crammed with thespians. Two Portly Gentlemen leaned on one wall, while Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig sat on a table with their legs swinging. Tiny Tim and the entire Cratchit family were huddled around a giant stuffed turkey. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come stood with his arms crossed staring grimly at the floor.
“The perpetrator attacked an unarmed man…” Constable Wells read from a clipboard in his free hand. He placed Oscar’s fake hand on the counter, pointing the finger in the direction of the haggard-looking lobster sitting on the opposite side of the room.
“Lobster,” Agnes added, helpfully.
“An unarmed lobster,” the constable amended. “And if said Lobster is wishing to press charges, then—”
“He averted a kidnapping!” Irenia stomped her foot again. “The entire town is witness. The Lobster grabbed the Ghost of Christmas Past, and, utterly against her will, began to abscond with her—”
“It weren’t against her will, were it, Aggie?” Nick sat sullenly, his lobster costume drooping around his waist as Belinda held an ice-pack to his head. “She messaged me, ya know. She wants me, bad.”
Agnes groaned. She held a wet towel to her knee where it had scraped on the pavement in her tumble to the ground.
“For goodness sake, Nick, I do not want you! How many times do I have to say it?”
“Playing hard to get. I seen it before.” He looked plaintively at Oscar who shrugged, his ragged costume shifting ominously. “Know what I mean, Ozzie? Women. They don’t know what they want.”
“Officer Wells, if I may?” Oscar turned to the policeman who watched the conversation between the guilty parties as if at a tennis match where everyone was wearing Victorian clothes. “I was in the wrong and I acted rashly. I was concerned for the well-being of Miss Evans and acted without thinking. I will, of course, serve my time at the whim of … the Lobster.”
Love Like the Dickens: A Heartswell Harbour Romance Page 10
