“Mommy and me just made these,” he informed Stanley. “I decorated them.”
Stanley could tell. You could barely see the frosting under all those sprinkles.
Carol used to make those cookies. Stanley’s thank-you was gruffer than intended, mainly because he was trying not to cry.
The boy’s eyes got big. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should smile or run away. He chose Door Number Two and scrammed.
Stanley felt suddenly sour. “Good. Maybe now the kid will leave us in peace for a while,” he said to Dog, who was, as usual, standing right there next to him.
Dog didn’t care about the complexities of human relations. Her eyes were on the plate of cookies. Her tail gave a hopeful wiggle.
“No, you can’t have a cookie. They’re not good for you.” Stanley was going to have to buy some dog treats.
Dog treats. What was he thinking? This animal was not staying.
Except another check of his still-empty voice mail told him otherwise. “What’s your story?” he asked Dog as he gave her another piece of jerky.
She stood on her hind legs and put her front paws on his pants.
He picked her up and carried her to his recliner. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Keep her,” said Carol, who visited him that night to tell him how happy his kindness to the neighbors had made her.
“I always liked you in red,” he said, taking in her red sweater. Darn, but she looked cute in that Santa hat.
She perched on the edge of the bed, her favorite spot. “Never mind my sweater.”
“You’re right. How about you take it off?”
She merely smiled and shook her head at him. “Your little neighbor’s going to want to get a tree, you know.”
“So?”
“She can’t drive. Remember?”
Stanley frowned. “She’ll find someone to take her.”
“Who? She’s new to the area with no family around, and she doesn’t know anyone.”
She has a job; she knows people.
“Stanley, she’s taken a liking to you.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to be at her beck and call,” he insisted.
“Stanley.” It was the wifely-warning voice.
The best defense was a good offense. “Darn it, Carol. Enough already. What do I look like, Santa Claus?”
“No, you look more like the Grinch.” Oh, no. Her eyes were starting to glow red again.
“I already risked a heart attack shoveling their walk.”
“And made a snowman. And you enjoyed it.”
“No, I didn’t,” he lied. “It was cold. Those two are pests.”
“They need a father figure,” Carol insisted.
“Well, that’s not me.” For crying out loud. What did he know about being a father figure?
As usual, she read his mind. “You were doing a pretty good job this afternoon.”
“Carol, stop. Please. Leave me alone.”
“Fine!” she snapped and vanished in a huff.
Crap. Now she wouldn’t come back.
“Wait!” he cried. “I didn’t mean it. Come back.”
She didn’t. He blinked awake and once more caught a hint of the scent of peppermint.
“I’m going crazy,” he muttered.
Either that or he was developing a hyperactive conscience. Neither theory appealed.
It was only three in the morning. He got up, used the bathroom and then went back to bed. He punched his pillow, wishing he hadn’t said what he’d said to Carol.
But, come on, hadn’t he done enough of the holly-jolly Christmas crap? He wasn’t a people person. He wasn’t Saint Stanley. She knew that, and she would just have to be okay with it.
From the look of things the next morning, she wasn’t.
12
Carol had handed Stanley a lemonade when he’d come in from edging the lawn and demanded to know what he’d been doing flirting with Mrs. Gimble’s daughter.
What the heck? “I was just talking to her.”
Mrs. Gimble’s daughter stopped by to see her mother every once in a while. They’d known her for years. Known the whole family ever since they moved to the neighborhood. It was hardly flirting to talk with the woman.
“And laughing.”
“So? She said something funny.”
“What?” Carol demanded.
“I don’t remember. Good grief, Carol. She said hi. What was I supposed to do, turn my back on her?”
Carol’s answer to that question was succinct. “Yes.”
“You’re always telling me to be more social,” he reminded her.
She scowled and marched off to the living room, plopped on the couch and picked up her copy of Woman’s Day. She began turning pages like she wanted to rip them out. Like she wanted to rip the magazine in two.
He followed and sat in the nearest chair, waiting for her to say something more. She would. He knew she would.
“There’s social, and there’s social.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, Stanley, don’t be so dense,” she said irritably. “She’s divorced, you know.”
“So? A lot of people are divorced.”
“And she’s looking for a replacement for her husband.”
“So?”
“So, she was flirting with you. And you were flirting right back!”
“Oh, come on. We’ve known her since she was a kid. And I’m married.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Ellie Jordan’s husband left her for one of his college students, and one of Amy’s friends had her husband stolen by her best friend. Who was divorced.”
“Oh, come on, Carol, the woman doesn’t want me,” he said, amused. And a little flattered that she was jealous, he had to admit.
But it was silly for her to be. Even in his prime he’d never been more than average-looking. And now he supposed he was turning into an average middle-aged man. His hair was starting to thin, and his pectoral muscles were melting and sliding down, above the beginnings of a pot belly.
“You’re still a nice-looking man.”
He gave a snort.
“Are you getting a midlife crisis or something?”
“What?” He felt like he’d landed on an alien planet and was trying to learn the language and customs of its people.
“You’ve been being very secretive. Off running errands for hours. It doesn’t take hours to go to the hardware store.”
“It can,” Stanley insisted.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is there someone else?”
“No,” he said, shocked. “I’m working on something with John. And why would I want another woman when I’ve got you?”
Her gaze slid away from him. “I’m not exactly a size ten anymore.”
So what if she wasn’t quite as slender as she’d once been? “You still look great in a pair of shorts.”
“And I’m getting gray hairs.”
A few silver strands? So what? He loved those silver strands slipping into her hair.
“They make your hair sparkle in the sunlight.”
He moved and sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. “If anyone needs to be worried about getting replaced, it’s me.”
“Women never trade their husbands in for younger men,” she said irritably.
“Now, that was a sexist remark,” he teased.
“It’s true.”
“Well, I’m not planning on trading you in, and I hope you’re not planning on ditching me. I did see that new fifth-grade teacher eyeing you at the end-of-year party at Geri’s house.”
She made a face. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“I’m getting old,” she said miserably.
; “We both are. It happens. But we’re still here, and we’re both healthy, and we’ve got a lot of years left. And you really do look great.”
She heaved a sigh. “I know I’m being completely illogical, but I’m having a hard time. I’ll be fifty next month. Fifty, Stanley. I’ll be half a century old. That’s when things start to fall apart. You begin to become invisible. People throw over-the-hill parties for you and buy black balloons like it’s some kind of joke, but I don’t think it’s funny.”
“Well, then, I’ll make sure nobody gives you black balloons.”
She wasn’t listening. “I’m getting wrinkles.”
“Those are laugh lines.”
“No, they’re wrinkles,” she insisted. She bit her lip and fell silent.
There was more going on here, something deeper. He knew it.
“What else is bothering you?”
She looked down at her hands. Sighed. “I think I’m done having periods.”
Now he really had no idea what to say.
“Do you know it’s been almost a year since my last period?”
He hadn’t exactly been keeping track. Still, he remembered that first missed period. For a while there she’d thought that maybe, just maybe, a miracle had happened and she’d actually gotten pregnant. A home pregnancy test said no to that. Then the night sweats and mood swings had come, an unpleasant explanation of what was really happening.
She hadn’t enjoyed the last few months at all. But lately, it seemed like those uncomfortable times were subsiding.
“What does that mean?” he asked. “Are you done with the night sweats?”
Her lower lip wobbled. “It means I’m done, period.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. Done, period. Done with periods. He wasn’t getting it.
“It means I can never ever get pregnant.”
They hadn’t gotten pregnant the whole time they’d been married. This was nothing new.
But it was obviously something that still troubled her. He felt at a loss, unsure of what to say to make her feel better.
Tears began to slip down her cheeks. “I know it’s silly, but at the back of my mind, I always had this fantasy that...” She took a shaky breath. “This is all so final. I just...have to adjust, that’s all. I’m sorry. I’m not even being rational.”
He snugged her up against him. “How you feel is how you feel. I’m sorry...” Now he was finding it hard to speak. “Aw, Carol, we should have tried harder to adopt. We shouldn’t have given up. If I’d realized.”
She shook her head. “No, don’t you feel guilty because I’m having a meltdown. I’m the one who said no more. I know I need to be grateful that I’m still here. I love my job. I love my students.”
“And they love you,” he said. Many had come back to see her as young adults, telling her what college they’d chosen to attend or about that business they were starting. “You’ve guided a lot of kids over the years.”
She nodded and took a swipe at her wet cheeks. “I know,” she whispered.
“And you’ve got the nieces. They love you like crazy.”
She nodded.
“So do I.”
But it hadn’t been enough. What they’d had hadn’t been enough.
What came out next he really didn’t want to ask because he was afraid of the answer he’d get. He asked, anyway. “Are you sorry you married me?”
She looked at him in surprise. “No, of course not.”
“You could have married anyone.” Maybe even married someone with kids. Her whole life could have been different.
She put a hand to his cheek. “I didn’t want anyone. I wanted you. And we have been happy.”
He felt so relieved to hear her say it that he almost cried. “We’ll keep being happy,” he said.
He’d work harder at doing things she wanted to do. He’d even take those ballroom-dancing classes she’d been wanting to take. Anything.
“I know. I’m being squirrelly,” she said. “But I keep thinking what a turning point this is. It’s like seeing a door closing.”
“Which means another one’s opening,” he said. “Fifty’s not that old, babe. You’re still beautiful and healthy, and you love your work. You matter to all those kids you teach. You matter to your family. You matter to me.”
She sniffed. Smiled at him. “Stanley, you are a dear.”
“Age is just a number. You’ve got lots more years ahead of you, and you’re going to be better with each one.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
“I do. The best is yet to come.”
“You’re right,” she said with a determined nod.
And now he had to make sure what he predicted happened. He already had a great surprise for her, but he knew he had to do more, so he did a very un-Stanley thing. He organized a birthday party, inviting the families and neighbors and friends.
“No black balloons or over-the-hill jokes,” he instructed everyone.
“Stanley, no way can you do this all by yourself,” Amy informed him. “I’m taking care of the food.”
He hadn’t been pleased with her assessment of his competence, but deep down he suspected she was right. Still, this was his idea, his wife, darn it all. So he asserted himself.
“I’m getting the cake,” he insisted. “And I’m grilling burgers.”
“Fine,” she said, allowing him that much. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
He ordered a big sheet cake from the local bakery with lots of red frosting roses. He also ordered a dozen red roses from the local florist to be delivered on the big day.
He’d half wanted to surprise Carol, but he suspected she’d want to look her best, so he gave her a few days’ notice. “We got company coming Saturday afternoon.”
“We do?”
He could see the excitement in her eyes. Carol loved having company. He felt downright proud of himself.
“Yep. Thought you’d want to get your nails done or something.”
“I just might,” she said. “And what’s this party for?” she asked coyly.
“Someone special I know is having a birthday,” he answered.
“You’re throwing me a party? Oh, Stanley, that is so sweet of you,” she said and hugged him.
“I thought so,” he said, making a joke of it.
But his stress levels had been no joke. Calling people and organizing the whole thing, figuring out how much hamburger and how many buns to buy, borrowing card tables and chairs to set up in the back yard—he was glad he didn’t have to do this on a regular basis.
The big day came, and the hordes of guests arrived, bringing gifts and cards, crowding onto the patio and spilling into the back yard, guzzling beer and soda pop by the gallon. Kids running everywhere. Chaos. Stanley was glad to be tied to the barbecue where he didn’t have to be in the middle of it all.
Carol was in her element, beaming as if he’d given her diamonds. Well, wait until she saw the surprise.
After dinner, as she was cutting her birthday cake, he slipped inside the house and called his buddy John. “Okay, bring it over.”
“Be there in ten,” said John.
Stanley wandered back out onto the patio. He checked his watch a couple of times and finally, with a couple of minutes to go, sauntered up to where Carol stood talking with one of her former students, her sister positioned next to her.
“Time for presents,” he said. “Come on out to the front.”
“Presents, yes, good idea,” said Amy. “Don’t you want her to open them here?”
“Not this one,” he said and took his wife’s hand.
“Hey, everyone, presents,” Amy called and started a parade of people following them through the house and out onto the front porch.
Right on cue, John drove up to the curb in a r
efurbished shiny red 1969 Ford Mustang sporting a big red bow on its hood.
Carol gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. It was exactly the reaction Stanley had been hoping for, and his heart swelled.
“Happy birthday, babe,” he said as all their friends oohed and aahed and clapped.
“Oh, Stanley,” she breathed.
“Now you know where I was and what I was up to.”
“You are amazing,” she said and hugged him.
“Let’s go check it out,” he said.
“Oh, yes!”
She ran down the front walk, him strolling after, feeling very proud of himself.
She walked around the hood, and John got out and handed her the keys.
“John, it looks great.”
“Yeah, well, you should have seen it when we first got it,” he said.
Stanley joined them. “Take it for a spin.”
She took the keys, hopped in and started it up. He hadn’t seen her this happy in a long time.
The windows were already down to take advantage of the July sunshine. Stanley leaned his arms on the window of the driver’s side. He motioned to the radio.
“Turn the radio on,” he suggested.
She did and her favorite rock-and-roll classics station started playing the Eagles’ “Life in the Fast Lane.”
“Yow!” she squealed and cranked it up. “Get in, Stanley.”
He ran around to the passenger side, hopped in, and she laid rubber, and they roared off with everyone clapping and waving.
“Stanley, this is the best present ever,” she said, her voice filled with joy. “I feel like I’m eighteen again.”
“You look as good as you did at eighteen,” he said.
She smiled and shook her head. “You are so full of it, but you know what? I don’t care. You’re right. Fifty is just a number.”
“It’s a good number. We’re gonna have another fifty together.”
And he was determined to make sure they were good ones. “I still have some vacation time left,” he said. “We should take a road trip before school starts again. See how this baby handles on the open road.”
“That’s a great idea.”
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 13
