Dying in a Winter Wonderland

by Vicki Delany

  Alan and I had had a lovely Christmas Eve last night. Dinner of oysters to start, then homemade lasagna and green salad by the fireplace, followed by a long walk in the snow-covered woods with our dogs. Alan had recently taken in a rescue dog, a lively Jack Russell named Ranger, who made up with boundless energy what he lacked in size. Ranger and Mattie pretty much covered the ends of the dog-world spectrum in bulk as well as energy level. After the walk, while the dogs dozed by the dying fire dreaming they were chasing squirrels, Alan and I exchanged our gifts. The next morning, we’d driven to my parents’ house for a Dad-made brunch and present opening. A light lunch of soup and good cheese on baguettes from Vicky’s bakery had been Dad’s birthday celebration, when he alone had gifts to open and he blew out the single candle on his cupcake.

  “I can’t see that this is going to end well,” Chris said as he speared a turkey drumstick with the serving fork. “Aren’t weddings stressful enough, without adding last-minute chaos into the mix?”

  He was seated next to me and I picked up something in his voice. I turned to him as Russ Durham, editor in chief of the Rudolph Gazette, said, “Speaking of Luanne Ireland. Something’s up with her father, Harvey. They say he’s finally decided to unload that block of land near Muddle Harbor he’s been desperately holding on to for years. He’s been hoping to convince MegaMart to develop it but that’s going nowhere, so he’s decided it’s time to cut his losses. Do you know anything about that, Noel?”

  “No,” Dad said, “nor do I want to. The good people of Muddle Harbor can do whatever foolishness they want in their own town.”

  “Things are not looking good for Harvey,” Jack Olsen said. “He’s losing money hand over fist in that foolish venture he got himself mixed up in over in the Mohawk Valley. He needs an infusion of cash, and fast, and that land’s pretty much the only sellable asset he has left. Other than his house.”

  “I haven’t asked,” I said to my brother in a low voice. “What happened over your drinks with Luanne yesterday? Why did you need my help to escape?”

  Chris glanced around the table. Mom and Grace and a couple of the women were chatting about weddings, good and bad, they’d been to over the years. Dad and Russ and Jack were talking about the constant battle to keep Rudolph a town friendly to small, family-owned businesses. Vicky asked Alan if he had plans to go to Florida in the spring. All the while knives and forks clattered, bowls and platters were passed, wine and water glasses were refilled, and the candles in their silver candlesticks on the sideboard flickered. The dogs—including Sandbanks, Vicky’s ancient golden Lab—were confined to the kitchen.

  “Luanne’s having second thoughts about her wedding,” Chris said in a low voice.

  “Did she actually say that?”

  “Didn’t have to. She pretty much came out and said she wished she and I had never broken up. That’s when I ran for the men’s room and texted you.”

  “She’s about to make a big step,” I said. “She’s wondering if it’s the right thing to do. I suppose that’s normal.”

  “Maybe.” Chris stirred mashed potatoes around on his plate. My mom had traveled the world in her singing career, and she’d collected pieces everywhere she went. Our special Christmas plates were from England, the silverware from France, and the glassware from Italy. Mom loved nice things, and that’s one thing I inherited from her, but she also loved whimsy. The salt and pepper shakers she brought out every December came from Japan, and they were designed to look like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. None of us quite knows what the great detective has to do with the season of joy, but those shakers were as much a part of the Wilkinson family Christmas as the ornaments on the huge Douglas fir in the front room.

  “Luanne told me the bank she works for has branches in New York City and she’d be able to get a transfer, if she asked for one.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s rather blunt.”

  “Rather. The conversation started with talk of her wedding. She was excited about it, gushing over her dress and the decorating of the hall and the place settings you’re doing to do.” He glanced up the table at Vicky. “She’s excited to be preparing the dinner menu with Chef Mark Grosse, and wanted to be sure I knew he’d worked in Michelin-starred restaurants in New York City.”

  “She does get carried away by her enthusiasm,” I said.

  “To put it mildly.”

  “Right about the time Alan was putting the oysters on the table for our first course last night, I got a text from Luanne. She’s arranged to meet with Mark tomorrow afternoon to go over the dinner menu for the wedding. Obviously, as the guest list is growing exponentially, that means some changes to the meal. I don’t want to go, but I haven’t yet replied to say I have a store to be at tomorrow.”

  Mom was seated at one end of the table, Dad at the other. Even from that distance, across the babble of conversation and clattering cutlery, Mom sensed something was wrong. She gave my brother and me a look. I returned it with a smile, and she turned her attention to what Grace was saying.

  “Thing is, Merry.” Chris kept his voice low. “I got the feeling Luanne’s more excited about the wedding than she is about the marriage. She didn’t mention Jeff once all afternoon.”

  “Not a good situation,” I said.

  “She always did want to be the center of attention, all the time. That was part of the reason I broke it off with her back then: it was exhausting trying to keep up with what she thought important.”

  “Don’t let it bother you, Chris. Luanne will make a mistake or not, that’s all up to her. You’re going home day after tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah. We have that show to open on New Year’s Eve.”

  “How’s everything going at work?”

  The clouds over my brother’s head fled. “Great. I love it. Dave’s proving to be a fabulous mentor. He’s teaching me everything he knows. I’d never get better experience anywhere, and the buzz about the new show is electrifying.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Eventually everyone’s plates were empty and the serving platters decimated. People leaned back in their chairs with satisfied grunts and big smiles. Dad patted his round belly.

  I gave Vicky a nod, and she and I leapt to our feet and began clearing the dishes. Mom half rose, and I ordered her to sit down. “We’ve got this, Mom. Why don’t you all go through to the living room? I’ll put the tea and coffee on and we’ll bring the desserts out.”

  “Desserts,” Russ said. “Plural. I like the sound of that.”

  “I do believe,” Dad said, “I can find a good bottle of brandy somewhere.”

  “Won’t say no to that,” Jack said.

  “I’d better take Ranger out for a break,” Alan said. “I can’t believe how much energy that dog has.”

  Chris grabbed the white Wedgwood gravy boat and Spode Christmas-tree turkey platter and carried them into the kitchen, while Alan stacked matching Spode dinner plates. When we came into the kitchen the dogs got up to greet us. Or maybe they just wanted to see if we’d brought any leftovers.

  My dad was a plain, practical cook, and he was also a mighty darned chaotic one. If a bomb had gone off in the kitchen, it wouldn’t have left more of a mess.

  “Goodness,” Vicky said as she surveyed the mountains of pots and frying pans, the almost-overflowing sink, the flour-and-gravy-saturated counter. The only part of the kitchen that was clean was the floor, as Mattie, Ranger, and Sandbanks had taken care of anything that found its way off the counters. “I’ve had more than my share of meals in this house over the years, but I’m always surprised at what a mess your dad makes of things.”

  “Mattie’s pretty good about not snatching food off the counter,” I said to Chris. “But don’t tempt him by leaving that turkey platter at his level.”

  Mattie was a big dog, easily able to rest his chin on a table and grab whatever
he found there, but I’d worked hard at his training when he was a puppy and he knew better. Most of the time.

  “Everything’s at his level.” Chris looked around for a safe place. He finally put the platter in the center of the island.

  Ranger danced in excited circles around Alan’s feet. Sandbanks settled himself back to sleep next to the stove, and Mattie watched Chris handle the food. I gave the dog a rub on the top of his head.

  “I cannot believe you got a Jack Russell,” Vicky said to Alan. “They’re cute but absolutely tireless.”

  Alan grinned. “What can I say? The little guy worked his wiles on me. We’ll be okay. I work at home and the property’s big and private, plenty of room for him to burn off all that energy.”

  I opened the back door for him and he gave me a kiss on the tip of my nose as Ranger dashed past. The light from the lamp above the door shone on fat snowflakes slowly drifting out of the black sky. Alan lightly touched my cheek with his right hand before following the dog into the night. One of the things I love best about Alan are his hands. They’re the hands of a man who uses them to make his living: rough, calloused, scarred. The tiniest tip of his right index finger is missing, the result of a moment’s inattention to a circular saw when he was first learning his trade alongside his father. He assures me he learned his lesson and will never take his attention off his equipment again.

  “I’m going to go out and ask who wants tea or coffee,” I said. “We’ll put the desserts on the sideboard and people can help themselves and eat on their laps.”

  Chris patted his flat stomach, and I hid a smile at how much the gesture was like our father’s. “Every Christmas, I eat until I don’t think I can eat again. And then I eat again. Those look great, Vicky.”

  Guests would have their choice of traditional mince tarts, apple pie, or English trifle. Some, like my dad and Chris, wouldn’t be able to make a decision and would have a serving of everything.

  I went into the living room, where guests were taking seats and resuming their conversation. Dad was at the liquor cabinet getting out his collection of small glasses and exotically shaped bottles. Russ added a log to the dying fire.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Are you expecting someone, Mom?” I asked.

  “No. I’m not. This is an unusual time to be having visitors.” She got to her feet and followed me to the foyer.

  I opened the door to see Luanne Ireland. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her face red and splotchy, her hair wild, and she was missing one ruby earring. Her coat was unbuttoned, and her feet were in sparkling gold sandals with four-inch heels. Beneath the coat, she wore a deeply cut, close-fitting orange dress. I glanced behind her, to see her Mazda parked half on the sidewalk. In front of the house next to ours, a small dark car had its engine running.

  Luanne almost fell into the house and into my arms.

  “What on earth?” my mother said.

  I unfolded myself from Luanne’s grip. “What’s happened? What are you doing here?”

  “I need to speak to Chris. Is he here?”

  “Yes, but—” Mom said.

  “Chris!” Luanne shouted. “Chris, I have to talk to you. Chris!” She ran into the living room. People stared. My dad was frozen in the act of pouring Grace’s drink. Vicky held a stack of dessert plates, and Chris stood behind her with the trifle, which Vicky had specially made for Mom and arranged in one of Mom’s huge cut-glass bowls.

  Luanne saw my brother and lurched across the room. Vicky dropped the plates onto the sideboard and snatched the trifle out of Chris’s hands. He threw a panicked look at me and Mom as Luanne reached for him. He stepped behind a chair, taking himself out of the way.

  Luanne burst into tears. “I can’t marry him. I don’t want to marry him. I want to marry you. You’re the only one I ever loved.” She hiccupped.

  “Oh dear,” said my mother.

  Chris turned on his heel and fled for the safety of the kitchen. Mom and I each took one of Luanne’s arms. Grace stood up, offering Luanne her place on the love seat. Dad extended a glass of brandy toward Luanne, but Mom intercepted it. “I think she’s had enough.”

  “I want to marry Chris,” Luanne moaned.

  “Be that as it may,” Mom said, “this isn’t the proper time or place for a proposal of marriage. Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Luanne both nodded and shook her head at the same time. She hiccupped again.

  “Noel,” Mom said, “call a cab, please.”

  “I brought my own car,” Luanne said.

  “You can go home in a cab.”

  “Don’t have any money.”

  “Consider it a wedding present from me,” Mom said.

  “You’re coming to my wedding,” the bride said. “We’ve got room for you now.”

  “I am so looking forward to it.” My mother does not suffer fools gladly.

  Dad made the phone call, and then he said to us, “Be about twenty minutes. It’s a busy night.”

  Alan came in from the kitchen, his cheeks ruddy with cold, snow melting in the dark blond hair curling around the back of his neck. He saw Luanne, weeping on the love seat, and glanced at me. I raised my eyebrows in response.

  The time passed awkwardly indeed. Chris didn’t reappear. Vicky and I served coffee and dessert, and Dad poured the liqueur. Mom sat next to Luanne, her hand firmly on the younger woman’s arm. She was, I realized, making sure Luanne didn’t go in search of Chris. Luanne alternately wept and hiccupped, told Mom she loved Chris desperately, and babbled to everyone about the fabulous wedding she was going to have. We were all, it seemed, invited.

  Our guests ate dessert; drank coffee, tea, and brandy; and made awkward conversation.

  “I don’t think I want to marry Jeff Vanderhaven,” Luanne said in a good loud voice. “But my mom and dad want me to and they’ll be mad if I back out now. We’ve already paid the deposit, you see, and I’ve bought my dress.”

  “What an excellent idea,” Mom said.

  “Vanderhaven,” Russ Durham said after he’d swallowed a mouthful of apple pie. “Is your fiancé related to Louis Vanderhaven? The real estate developer in Rochester?”

  Luanne burped in agreement. No one had offered to take her coat, but she’d pulled off her gloves when Vicky handed her a cup of coffee. I saw Mom notice the size and quality of the engagement ring.

  Russ, Dad, and Jack exchanged glances. The Vanderhaven name obviously meant something to them, although it didn’t to me.

  “Should I go and check on Chris?” Vicky whispered to me.

  “Better not. He’s hiding and he’s probably hideously embarrassed.”

  “She doesn’t really think this display is going to endear her to him, does she?”

  “I don’t think Luanne knows what she thinks,” I replied. At that moment the house phone rang. “I’d better get that,” Dad said. “It might be Harvey or Fran.”

  He answered the phone and said, “Yes, she’s here. She’s fine. Having a cup of coffee. I’ve called a cab. Okay, if you’d rather.” He hung up, made another call, and canceled the taxi. “Harvey and Jeff are coming to get her.”

  “That might not be such a good idea,” Grace said.

  “I couldn’t say no.”

  “Then you should have let me speak to him,” Mom said.

  The kitchen door opened and Chris ventured slowly out. He gave everyone an embarrassed grin. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left her with you, but I didn’t know what to do.” Mattie, Ranger, and Sandbanks trotted after him.

  Mattie went up to Luanne and put one of his giant paws in her lap. She tried to push him away, but if Mattie didn’t want to be moved, he wasn’t movable. Sandbanks, as befitted his respectable age, curled up in front of the fireplace and started snoring almost immediately. Ranger ran around the room, trying to sniff at everyone and eve
rything at the same time. Alan called to him, and eventually he went to sit next to Alan. Alan gave him a scratch behind the ears as a reward.

  “You need to sort things out with your fiancé, Luanne,” Chris said. “I’m going back to New York the day after tomorrow.”

  She gave him a sad smile. Her mascara had run, her cheeks were blotchy, her eyes red, and her fair hair a tangled mess. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m confused. I thought I wanted to marry Jeff, but then I saw you again, and . . . and . . .”

  My mother stood up and went to stand next to my father. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she jabbed him in the ribs.

  “You need to be frank, son,” Dad said.

  “I like your sweater, Mr. Wilkinson,” Luanne said.

  “Thank you,” Dad said.

  “You’re not listening to me, Luanne,” Chris said. “I have a job and a life in New York City, and I’m sorry but that doesn’t include you. I don’t want you to move on my account. You must know I’m right. You need to talk things over with Jeff.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Chris. I thought I had, but . . .”

  “Could this possibly be any more awkward?” Vicky whispered.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Perhaps we should be going,” Grace said to her husband.

  “I haven’t finished my drink yet. Excellent brandy, this. Besides, I want to see how the show ends. Don’t you?”

  Russ turned to Alan, “So, what do you think about the Yankees’ prospects for next year?”

  “If they want to get anywhere,” Alan said gratefully, “they need to get rid of . . .”

  Chris gave Mattie a nudge, the dog shifted over about a quarter of an inch, and Chris dropped to his haunches in front of Luanne. He tilted her chin up so she was looking directly at him. “You’re a great woman, Lou. Really. You’re beautiful and smart and kind, and you’ll make the right man very happy. But that man’s not me. It’s natural to be nervous about your approaching wedding. It’s natural to have second thoughts. Go home, talk things over with Jeff, think about it. And you’ll realize that I’m not the man for you.”