One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  Reverend Ben wore a long black cassock and the wide-brimmed clergyman’s hat of the era. He had a Bible tucked under his arm and looked the most calm and comfortable.

  They were each led to a different spot on the dock, like pieces on a chessboard. A very, very detailed chessboard, Lucy thought. Craig Hamilton and another actor stood on the dock while a woman busily powdered their noses, then looked them over carefully. Another actor was in a small boat.

  The man talking to the director shouted, “Quiet on the set!” in a loud, booming voice. And it was suddenly very quiet and still. Even in the milling crowd, everyone seemed to hush and hold their breath. A seagull swooped right over the set and let out a loud caw, and Lucy heard a snicker behind her.

  The man shouted again, “Roll sound!”

  “Sound is speeding!” called a voice from the right.

  “Camera?” the man said.

  “Camera rolling!”

  Lucy didn’t want to be fascinated, but she was. There was something thrilling about watching a movie being made. She could see now why Fran had morphed into a total fan.

  A girl holding a clapboard ran up in front of the camera aimed at Craig. “Scene 21A, Take One. Marker.” SLAP—she clacked down on the board and quickly moved off the set.

  “Action!” the director shouted.

  The actor in the boat called to Craig and tossed the boat line to the dock. Craig grabbed it and tied it up. Lucy heard his voice as he recited his dialogue—until the words were lost in a sudden spasm of coughing.

  “Hold for sound!” the woman holding the boom pole called, but the coughing continued.

  “Cut. Cut!” the director shouted. Two assistants ran up to Craig and stood by. The coughing had stopped, but his eyes bugged out and he grabbed at his throat, clawing at the elaborately knotted tie. Even from a distance his panicked, shocked expression was clear.

  The director jumped down from her chair, shouting, “Call an ambulance!” Then the entire crew rushed to help.

  Craig stumbled forward, and someone grabbed his arm just in time to save him from falling into the water. He dropped to his knees, a soft landing, as he crumpled on the dock and was suddenly out of sight.

  The onlookers reacted with gasps. “Did you see that?”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Is he sick?”

  “Looks like a heart attack or something.”

  Lucy pushed forward as far as she could go, straining to see what was going on. With a shaky hand, she pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

  A few police officers had run up to the set, and others stayed to keep the onlookers back. But most people had the good sense to stay out of the way.

  The operator came on, and Lucy gave her name and location. “A man on the dock just collapsed. Send an ambulance immediately.”

  The operator asked her to hold, then told her a call was already in and help was on the way.

  Lucy felt relieved. The fire station was just down Main Street, and she’d barely ended the call before she heard a siren roaring their way.

  She craned her neck to see what was going on. Craig was stretched out on the dock, and it appeared that one of the members of the movie crew was giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She had heard that movie crews always had medical professionals on-site and felt encouraged by the immediate attention. It could make a world of difference, depending on what had happened to him.

  The ambulance roared up, and everyone made way for it to pass. She watched as Craig was lifted onto a gurney, his face covered with an oxygen mask, then loaded into the vehicle.

  “Geez, looks bad,” someone said. “What do you think happened to him?”

  Lucy wished she knew. It appeared that he was conscious. She had to count that on the plus side, though she still felt stunned as the ambulance sped past them again and disappeared down Bayview Street, headed for the highway.

  The crowd quickly dispersed. Lucy felt oddly disoriented. What had just happened? Was he going to survive?

  She drifted across the street and stared out at the choppy blue waves in the harbor. She suddenly felt as if she might cry.

  That’s just plain silly, Lucy. Get a grip. It could have been . . . a peanut allergy, for all you know. Though even that situation was life-threatening if not addressed promptly and properly. But Lucy had been trained not to overreact. A minor, easily treatable problem could often present as a health crisis.

  Still, she didn’t know what to do. What to feel. She’d willed herself to shut down so totally to Craig Hamilton, even after his plea for sympathy Sunday. But she had to admit the sight of him being lifted into the ambulance really got to her.

  Maybe he had some ongoing medical condition. That might explain his reflection on the past, and his regrets. Everyone our age starts to feel that way a bit. We become aware of the big picture, and our mortality. She certainly felt aware of his right now.

  If she’d known this was going to happen, would she have been kinder to him? Would she have shown him at least a hint of compassion? Without a doubt, she answered honestly.

  She had already been feeling guilty for the way she’d spoken to him, even before this emergency. Not for what she’d said—she’d been honest and had no regrets about that—but for the way she had said it. She could have been kinder.

  She’d had time to think since Sunday and had to give him credit for approaching her. It couldn’t have been easy after all these years. She still didn’t want to dig around in all that ancient muck. She couldn’t see any point to it.

  She tucked her bag under her arm and headed back to her car. She was in no mood for Christmas shopping now. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She wished she knew what had happened to him. But no one did. Not yet.

  Tucker would have some sense of it, having been front and center on the scene. He would tell Fran, or even Charlie. She’d hear some news that way, probably by the end of the day.

  There would be an item in the newspaper about it tomorrow, too, though she doubted medical details would be disclosed. But she had a shift coming up at the hospital soon. That was probably the best route to real information.

  Southport Hospital rarely admitted celebrities of Craig’s caliber, which meant that despite patient privacy laws, the staff would be buzzing about his situation. She would hear the entire chart, top to bottom. She felt a bit better knowing that and thought she might even call a friend she knew was working at the hospital today. She still had no intention of getting in touch with Craig to “talk things out,” but she did want to know what had sent him to the hospital and what medical issues he was dealing with. From a safe distance.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Is the dog at your house? Have you seen him around the neighborhood?” Jessica sounded panicked, which was not her style at all.

  Lillian felt annoyed. “Have they really lost track of that silly animal again? I thought you said that you found responsible owners. They appear to be the very opposite.”

  She had returned the irritating creature on Saturday afternoon, and it was only Friday. Couldn’t those people keep track of their dog for an entire week? The feckless owners had come around, all smiles and apologies, and had almost seemed to find it amusing that their new pet had run off.

  “They’re doing their best, Mother. The property is completely fenced. But he seems to have dug a hole when they weren’t looking.”

  Resourceful little creature, she’d give him that. Still, she was losing her patience with this comedy of errors. And she was starting to feel warm in her coat and hat, with her purse strap over her shoulder and her gloves in hand.

  “We haven’t seen him. And we’re on our way out to do some Christmas shopping. We should be gone all day.” No help forthcoming from this quarter is what she hoped to convey.

  “All right. Then I guess I’ll mis
s seeing you today. I’m going to come by and look around your neighborhood. It seems to be Teddy’s favorite destination.”

  “What can I say? He prefers the better neighborhoods. To his credit.”

  Providence Street was among the best, if not the very best address in the village. The classic and beautifully maintained grand old houses that lined the street, Lillian’s mansard-roofed Victorian among them, were the jewels in the crown of Cape Light. Lillian had always thought so.

  Though her family had had to leave Lilac Hall, at least she’d managed to land them here; it was some small recompense. Of course the dog liked this part of town better than out on the Beach Road—the armpit of nowhere, if you asked her. But she didn’t tell Jessica that. Her daughter thought that wild territory was paradise on Earth. And after the way she’d been raised. It was that husband of hers. He’d brainwashed her, clearly. It was like shouting down a well, trying to advise those two. Better to save her breath.

  “Is that all?” she asked Jessica.

  “Yes. That’s it. Keep a lookout, will you, please?”

  “Indeed I will. I’ll chase him away with a broom if I see him.”

  “Tell Ezra. He’ll help me.”

  “Goodbye, Jessica. Good luck with your . . . task.” Lillian ended the call and suddenly realized that if she played her cards right, Ezra would be none the wiser.

  Unfortunately, he’d been standing near enough to hear the conversation as he searched around for the reusable tote bags he insisted on using when they went to the stores these days. She knew that he’d heard more than enough by the look on his face. “Was that Jessica about Teddy? Has he run away again?”

  Lillian was about to reply, but the look on her husband’s face gave her pause. It was as if some inner light that had been switched off since Saturday was suddenly turned on. Glowing brilliantly, too.

  The real Ezra had returned, which was a great relief to her—though the reason was impossibly annoying.

  “Yes, the dog is lost. Again. His owners are totally irresponsible. Jessica says she’s going to find new ones. Someplace distant, this time.”

  Ezra set the pile of neatly folded bags on the table. “That’s not what she said. I heard her. Or at least enough of the conversation to know that part isn’t so.”

  He walked into the mudroom, sat on the bench, and began to exchange his good shoes for heavy walkers.

  “What are you doing? You don’t need to wear those ghastly shoes to the shops. They’re full of mud.”

  “They’ll have more on them by the time I’m through. I’m not going to the shops. Change of plans, dear.”

  “You’re not going out to look for that dog. Are you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He glanced up at her briefly, then chose a heavier muffler for his neck and that awful plaid hat with the earflaps. He looked like a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Magoo. She wouldn’t be seen with him in that thing.

  “You’ll never find him. He could be anywhere. All you’ll do is tramp around in the cold and catch a chill. They say it’s going to snow.”

  “Not until tonight. All the more reason to get him inside as soon as I can.”

  “And what about you? Anything could happen to you out there. It’s not worth the risk. All for a silly dog.”

  He ignored her and walked back into the kitchen. Was she making any headway at all?

  He opened the refrigerator, found a dish of leftovers, and filled a sandwich bag with meat scraps. He stuck that in his pocket, along with a few dog biscuits from the cupboard.

  He already had a dog leash—the one he’d bought during the few days the dog had been stranded with them—slung around his neck.

  “Of course he keeps coming back here. You spoil him. I bet his real owners don’t stuff him with table scraps.”

  “It’s not the treats, Lillian. Face it, he likes us. He belongs here. He likes you most of all.”

  Lillian jumped back and stuck out her chin. “Don’t insult me with such foolishness. He doesn’t belong here. We’ve been all through that.”

  “He does. You’ll see.” He filled another pocket with tissues and took a pill with a sip of water.

  She decided to try another tack. “So you’re leaving me flat. Is that it? When will we do our Christmas shopping?”

  “Plenty of time for that. This is an emergency. I’ll be in touch,” he promised. “Maybe Emily will take you out. Why don’t you call her?”

  “Sure. And maybe I’ll saunter down Main Street with a rose between my teeth,” she answered tartly.

  Her older daughter, Emily, had to be the busiest person in the universe, even though she was no longer mayor. Busier than God, Lillian sometimes said.

  “See you later, dear,” Ezra said cheerfully.

  “I hope so. And in one piece. And without that dog,” she called after him. “Don’t bring him back here. Call Jessica to meet you and take him back.”

  Ezra did not answer. The side door closed, and the house was very quiet and still. Too quiet, she thought as she ambled toward the living room. She pressed a few buttons on their music thing, and the loud, full notes of an opera filled the silence.

  What had she found? She wasn’t even sure, though she used to be able to identify every aria after only a note or two. What did it matter? It was always about love—love or death. Or both. This one was about the former. A love that made you lose your senses and drove you to mad, absurd, and desperate acts.

  Ezra was in love. That was it. She’d hit it on the head. She felt like calling someone to share the insight, but no one would understand. She’d sound like a raving old bat. Now that she saw it clearly, it explained everything.

  Ezra had fallen in love with that ridiculous Teddy—her flop-eared rival—and had lost his judgment completely. In the opera, these affairs of the heart never ended well. Lillian knew this one wouldn’t either.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lauren wasn’t sure if she’d agreed to help her aunt with the rescue animals again out of boredom or from a need for some strenuous exercise in the fresh air. Or was it because the day and night spent caring for Wilbur had hooked her, and now she had to live up to her title as the Pig Lady?

  I’m worried about you. Honestly, she told herself as she headed for the old barn on the spacious property that Sam and Jessica owned.

  Sam had bought the house and lot on the outskirts of the village long before he and Jessica had even begun dating. The house had been deserted, a boarded-up, decrepit Queen Anne that most new owners would have knocked down in a heartbeat. It took a rare and imaginative soul like her uncle to see the beauty hidden under a moldy roof, peeling paint, rotten shingles, and all the rest. It had taken a skilled craftsman, which he was as well, to restore the house to its full glory. Which he’d done, practically all on his own.

  Sam and Jess had lived there happily for years, raising a growing family. But when a fire ravaged the home and consumed almost everything the family owned, they had somehow managed to rebuild an exact replica. “With better wiring and plumbing,” her uncle always added. The insurance policy had failed to supply the means for the project, but to everyone’s surprise, a generous gift from Jessica’s mother, Lillian, had answered their prayers.

  Lillian was a complicated woman. Just when you thought you had her all figured out, she’d make some grand gesture and confuse everyone. She still made it no secret that she didn’t like the house, in its past or present version, or the woodsy setting.

  Lauren thought it was lovely—if a person wanted to live around here. There was even a pond on the edge of the property, its shoreline shared by a few neighbors. She had happy memories of swimming and boating there in the summer and ice-skating in the winter with her sisters and cousins. Jessica’s youngest, Lily, who was close to her little sister Betty in age, still had skating and swimming parties with Betty a
nd their friends.

  Lauren found her aunt in one of the horse stalls, brushing down the sleek coat of a chestnut mare with one hand and talking on the phone with the other.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. If Ezra wants to search for the dog, I can’t stop him . . . I do know how cold it is. I’m outside right now.” She paused. Lauren could hear Lillian voicing a reply, even though the phone wasn’t on speaker.

  “All right, I’ll call him, if you really want me to. I doubt it will do any good,” Jessica said. “I’ll let you know.”

  She ended the call and greeted Lauren with a frustrated expression. “My mother is in a tizzy. That little dog Ezra found was placed in a new home, but he keeps running away. Straight to Providence Street the first time. He’s taken off again but hasn’t shown up there. Ezra was out looking all day yesterday, and into the night. He went out early again today. My mother’s beside herself.”

  “It is very cold for an old person to be outside all day,” Lauren conceded. “He made flyers. I saw one this morning when I stopped in my mom’s bakery. I guess he’s posting them all over.”

  “Bless that man. I meant to do that but never got around to it.” Her aunt had finished with the horse. She cleaned out the brush and stepped out of the stall. “I wish I could drive around to look,” Jessica said, “but there’s so much to do here. We just got a huge donation of hay and feed. I have to deliver it to the people who are holding animals for us.” Like Cole McGuire, Lauren thought. “And we need to muck out these stalls and lay down fresh straw.”

  “That’s why I’m here?” Lauren asked with a grin.

  “If you’re up for it. There are easier tasks.”

  Less distasteful, she really meant. Lauren was tempted to volunteer for the deliveries but decided that move would be too obvious. To both Cole and her aunt.