“You can spend the night, you know,” she added as if reading his mind.
“I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.” There. Nice and polite.
There was momentary silence on the other end of the call as Amy worked out her next plan of attack. Then, “You know Carol wouldn’t want us to lose touch.”
Stanley rubbed his forehead. Amy was probably right on that one. Except he’d only gone to all those gatherings to please Carol and to make sure she got her family fix.
“Yeah, well, maybe next year,” he said. Maybe by next Christmas Amy would have forgotten him. He only heard from her on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and if he kept turning her down, eventually those calls would dry up.
“I don’t know why I bother,” she said in disgust.
“Me, either,” he said. “It’s okay by me if you don’t.”
That pissed her off, and she ended the call, leaving Stanley to listen to the dial tone. He smiled and went in search of his recliner and TV. Amy was probably envisioning him feeling all hurt and insulted that she’d ended the call without so much as a goodbye and good luck. Actually, he felt amused. Amy always was a drama queen. She was probably working herself into a lather now and putting on a good show for her husband. The thought made him chuckle.
Carol wasn’t laughing when Stanley rolled over in bed and found her head on the pillow next to his. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Oh, no. Not having this discussion.
He rolled away, facing the window only to find her already on that side of the bed, bending over him. She was wearing a silky blue nightgown that matched her eyes. Wow.
“Is that new?” he asked.
“New in your dreams. Now, don’t change the subject.”
“Oh, come on, Carol. You know your sister is a pain in the butt. The only reason she’s bugging me to come visit is out of guilt. I’m not driving all the way to Gresham on Christmas Day. It’s a long trek.” And when you moved that far away you couldn’t expect people to come visit.
“It is a distance,” Carol admitted. “But she does care about you, Stanley.”
He supposed, when it came right down to it, she did. He shouldn’t have been so ungrateful.
But he still wasn’t driving all that way for Christmas dinner.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Maybe something with your neighbor,” she suggested.
“Maybe,” he said, not making any promises.
Carol smiled at him and bent over, close enough to kiss him. Maybe she was going to. To be able to kiss her one more time would be a taste of heaven.
“Lexie and Brock have taken quite a liking to you, Manly Stanley.”
“Huh?” He pulled his thoughts back into the conversation with an effort.
She drifted away to the far end of the bedroom. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“It was okay.”
“Enjoyed the lasagna?”
“Almost as good as yours, babe. And the cheese bread was really good.”
“It was kind of you to help set up their tree.”
“Lexie could hardly haul it in with that boot of hers.”
“And stay to decorate it.”
“I was only being polite.”
Carol grinned at him. “Oh. Was that it?”
“Yes.”
“Admit it, Stanley. You enjoyed yourself.”
“I guess. But I’m not making a habit of hanging out with those two.”
Carol’s expression became stern, and suddenly the bedroom felt cold. Stanley pulled the covers up to his chin.
“You’ve been making such progress. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I would never want to disappoint you,” he said earnestly. He’d lived to make her happy.
“I know,” she said. “And I know you’re doing these things now to make me happy, but it’s not about me, really.”
“Of course it is. Who’s haunting who?”
She giggled. “I am having fun. But this is about you, darling. I am going to make sure that you wind up with a good life.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. He’d never be fine without her.
“You’re surviving. It’s not the same as really living. You have to start participating in life.”
“I am, already. What more do you want?” he demanded, irritated.
“I want you to start allowing yourself to enjoy being part of the human race.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a transparent hand. “I know you’re not an extrovert, but you’re not really a hermit, either. I’m not going to rest until you realize that there’s a part of you that needs people, that wants people in your life. This is all a little bit like starting an exercise program. You’re doing these things because you have to. I want to see you come to realize you don’t have to but that you like to. You’ve made a beginning. Don’t drop the ball now.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered.
“Good night, Stanley. Pleasant dreams,” she said and vanished in a cloud of sparkles.
Pleasant dreams. After that little speech, he’d probably have nightmares. He got up, went downstairs to the kitchen and took two more antacids.
17
Shannon came over for dinner and a crafting night after taking Lexie to her physical-therapy appointment on Monday. Lexie served up homemade veggie soup and used up the last of the French bread to make more cheese bread. She’d ordered online what they needed for their pine-cone centerpiece project, and the box of supplies had come that very afternoon.
Once Brock was in bed and it was just the two women, Lexie asked how Shannon’s date with her latest possible match had gone. “Spill. I want deets.”
Shannon squirted a dab of hot glue on the back of a pine cone. “He’s really nice.”
Nice. Where were the rave reviews? “And?” Lexie prompted.
“He likes to play tennis, so that’s good, and he’s a foodie.”
“Sounds like you guys have got stuff in common.”
“We do, but I don’t know if he’s a keeper.”
“If he’s really nice...”
“There’s more to life than nice,” Shannon said, concentrating on securing her pine cone to its base. “I want to feel some sizzle when I’m with someone.”
“So he didn’t kiss you?”
“He did, and it was okay.”
Just okay: that wasn’t okay. “No fire, huh?”
“Barely a spark. He wants to see me again, but I’m gonna cool things.”
“You’re not going to just ghost him, I hope,” Lexie said.
“No. I’m gonna use the f-word.”
“Men hate it when you only want to be friends.”
“I know,” Shannon said with a sigh. She picked up another pine cone and examined it. “But what can you do? I mean, he would make a great friend. But I want a great friend plus great sex. I want to end up with somebody who sets me on fire, who sets the whole bed on fire. Is that asking too much?”
“I don’t think so,” Lexie said.
Except maybe it was. Could a man be fun to be with, great in bed and undyingly loyal all at the same time? She wasn’t sure. She heaved a sigh.
“Yeah, maybe I’m dreaming,” Shannon said.
“There’s nothing wrong with dreams,” Lexie was quick to say.
Except she wasn’t so sure they came true. Her big dream had turned into a nightmare. She’d found someone she thought was perfect and gave him her heart, and look what had happened.
“If you really believe that, how come you’re not looking harder?” Shannon challenged.
“I guess I’m not as brave as I once was.”
Having her little boy to love had gone a long way toward helping her heal, but th
ere was still a fissure that could crack her poor heart in two if she entrusted it to someone only to get rejected again. She longed to have a wonderful man in her life, really wanted that happy ending, that one true love like her mother and grandmother had both found, but maybe there was no such thing anymore. Maybe nobody really cared about happily ever afters. Maybe there was only happy now. Maybe you had to think of love like it was chocolate. You enjoyed it while it lasted, and when it was gone, it was gone.
You could always go out and get more chocolate. How many times could you go out and find true love? And if it kept vanishing and you had to go looking time after time, was it really love?
She frowned at her half-finished wreath. “Why is love so complicated?”
“I don’t know,” Shannon said. “I asked my mom that once.”
“What did she say?”
“She said ‘Don’t ask me.’ Mom’s been married twice, and it’s not looking good for Number Three.”
“Some people figure it out. My parents did. And I think our neighbor did. His wife’s been gone three years, but I can tell he still misses her. He can hardly bring himself to talk about her.”
Similar to her own mother. But at least Mr. Mann was getting out there and making an effort in his own stiff way.
“That’s so sad. And so romantic all at the same time.”
Stanley Mann, romantic. Lexie had trouble envisioning it. He could barely manage friendly.
Getting to know him was like befriending a feral animal. There was a lot of coaxing involved. But the coaxing was working. He was warming to her and Brock and each time he was with them he revealed a little more of himself. There was a lot of good hiding under that crusty exterior.
* * *
Inch by inch, Lexie Bell and her kid kept encroaching further into Stanley’s life. First it was cookies, rides, tree-shopping, then it was tree decorating. Next the kid was asking if Bonnie could come over to his yard and play.
The dog needed something to do besides watch TV and supervise Stanley as he worked his sudoku puzzles, so he let her go. But then he found himself walking over to say it was time for Bonnie to come home. And standing on the front porch, yakking with Lexie Bell. Not about anything much—him asking if she was keeping her tree watered, if she needed anything from the store. Her talking about Brock, how he was liking school and starting to make friends. Oh, and his Winter Holiday program was coming up at school. Would Stanley like to go? Not really, but he’d wound up saying yes, anyway.
He wasn’t sure, but right after he’d agreed he thought he heard his wife whisper, “Good for you, Stanley.”
Good for somebody. Those two were sucking up his time faster than a new vacuum cleaner.
They weren’t the only ones. It seemed that Mrs. Gimble was somehow starting to take up more of his time also. It all began with a conversation at her mailbox. Even though she had someone to deliver meals, she was itching to bake. Could he pick up some vanilla extract at the store? Why not? He had to go to the store, anyway. Next he got a call. She was out of her pain medicine, and the friend who usually picked it up for her was sick. Was he, by any chance, going by the drugstore? And, while he was out... She’d reserved a book at the library. Would he mind picking it up?
Yeah, he minded.
Okay, not that much. He had to go out sometimes, himself, so really, it wasn’t that big of a deal to run errands for the old woman.
Or for Lexie. It seemed like every day she was wanting to bake something Christmassy: red velvet cupcakes for the teachers’ lounge, gingerbread cookies for her class. Oh, but she needed gluten-free flour. If he was going to the store...
He always got a treat as a reward, so why not? Good grief. He was no better than his dog. Anything for a treat.
But who could blame him? It felt like forever since he’d enjoyed home-baked goods. Carol had been quite the baker. And a great cook. He sure missed her chicken pot pie.
Had she been whispering to Lexie Bell in her dreams? he wondered when Lexie invited him for dinner on Thursday after he’d dropped off white chocolate chips. “I’m making a chicken pot pie,” she said as they wound up having yet another front-porch yakfest.
The very mention of his favorite dish made his mouth water. “You know how to make that?”
“My mom’s recipe. Flakiest crust you’ll ever eat,” she added.
He had to eat, and Carol wanted him to get out more. He agreed to dinner.
“Do you like it?” Lexie asked when he sat at her dining table, wolfing it down.
He nodded, swallowed. “It’s as good as what my wife used to make.”
She smiled at that. “I’m glad to hear it. My mom taught me how to make pie crust. She always said the secret to good crust is not handling it a lot, but I watched a cook online who said the secret is really in chilling it.”
He nodded. He didn’t care what the secret was. All he was interested in was the end result.
“Well, it’s good,” he said.
“I added thyme.”
“Like in the old Simon and Garfunkel song.”
She looked questioningly at him.
“Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?” he prompted. “‘Scarborough Fair’?”
She nodded and pretended to know what he was talking about.
“Never mind,” he said.
“We have pudding for dessert,” Brock volunteered, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. “I held the beaters.”
“That’s good. You’ll be able to cook for yourself when you move out.”
Brock looked as puzzled now as his mother had over the mention of the Simon and Garfunkel song.
“When you grow up and have a house of your own,” Stanley explained.
“I’m going to live with Mommy all my life and take care of her,” Brock said.
Stanley chuckled at that. “Yeah, I said that when I was your age, too. Then I grew up and met a girl.”
Brock made a face. “Girls.”
“Yeah, I said that, too,” Stanley told him.
“I like Shatika Wilson,” Brock confessed after a moment. “She has a turtle and a cat.”
“A wealthy woman,” Stanley observed.
“Can we have a cat?” Brock asked Lexie.
“May we have a cat?” she said. “And now you want a cat instead of a dog?”
“We have Bonnie. I don’t need a dog anymore.”
Lexie looked at Stanley as if to say What can you do?
Yeah, what could you do? The kid had adopted both him and his dog.
“How did your day go, Mr. Mann?” Lexie asked.
Still calling him Mr. Mann while her kid called him Grandpa Stanley. It seemed a little weird. “Call me Stanley,” he said.
She looked pleased. “Stanley. How did your day go?”
“It was all right. Had to run an errand for Mrs. Gimble. You haven’t met her yet.”
“She waved at me once this fall when she was at her mailbox,” Lexie said.
“She doesn’t get out much,” Stanley said.
“That’s too bad.”
He shrugged. “It happens when you get older.” A lot of stuff happened when you got older. Aches and pains, hemorrhoids, wrinkles. Potbellies. He’d put some work into that, he thought, and half smiled.
Losing the love of your life. His smile vanished, and his throat suddenly felt tight.
He cleared it. “How was your physical therapy?” he asked. Her friend had taken over chauffeur duties, and that had been a relief. One less thing he had to do.
He could almost hear Carol mocking “Yes, because you are so busy.”
“I have another doctor appointment for right before Christmas. I’m hoping I’ll be able to get out of this boot and into a brace.”
“If you need a ride.”
“I’m sure Shannon can
take me.”
Yep, she didn’t need him for that. Oddly, he felt a little...hmm, what? Rejected? Nah.
“Well, if she can’t and you need someone,” he told her. What was he saying?
“Thanks.”
“You should have my phone number for just in case you, uh, have an emergency or something,” he said.
She smiled at him as if he’d given her a bouquet of roses. “That’s so nice of you.”
He wished she’d quit saying stuff like that. It was embarrassing.
“Well, you never know when you might need something.”
She happily put his number in her phone and then gave him hers, too. “Just so you have it,” she said. “Not that I’d be any help in an emergency,” she added, sticking out her booted foot as exhibit A.
“I may have a cookie emergency,” he joked. She giggled, and it lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Now, how about we have our pudding?” she said.
“Yes!” Brock hooted.
So pudding it was. Chocolate, with freshly whipped cream, not the crap from a can. Someone had raised this girl right.
“Good,” Stanley said in approval after the first bite. “Nice to see someone using real whipped cream.”
“Oh, yes. Another thing my mom taught me,” Lexie said.
She suddenly looked sad. What was that about?
None of his business, that was what.
After dinner Brock asked Stanley if he’d play Candy Land with him.
Stanley had played the classic board game as a kid, himself. “That game’s been around forever,” he said.
“No, it hasn’t,” Brock said. “We just bought it this summer.”
“I mean the game itself.” He turned to Lexie. “The woman who invented it had polio. She came up with it when she was in the hospital, made it up to entertain the kids who were in there.”
“So can we... May we play?” Brock asked.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve got time for a game,” Stanley said.
With a whoop, Brock ran to fetch the game from a cupboard.
“It’s really nice of you to stay and play with him,” Lexie said.
Stanley shrugged like it was no big deal.
“I never knew the history of that game,” Lexie continued as she began to clear the table. “That is so inspiring.”
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 17
