An Island Christmas

by Nancy Thayer

  “I’m getting an ominous feeling,” said Jilly anxiously as they went down the stairs. “We stayed up there too long.”

  “Oh, dear, I hope the children haven’t been peeking at the presents,” said Lauren.

  But they found the children happily stuck to the sofa, watching cartoons on television.

  “Is the movie over?” Lauren asked.

  “It was over a long time ago, Mommy,” Portia replied, not taking her eyes off the TV screen. “We’re watching the Cartoon Network.”

  “How did you know how to work the remote controls?” Lauren asked.

  “Duh,” her son muttered, shaking his head.

  “The main thing,” pointed out Jilly, “is that everything is all right.”

  And then the door opened and the men came in.

  13

  The three men stood shrugging in the hall like schoolboys outside the principal’s office. George’s right ankle was splinted and wrapped in a protective blue boot. He leaned on crutches.

  Jilly rushed to her husband. “George! Darling, what happened?”

  “Wiped out on a moped,” George told her, unable to wipe the pride off his face.

  Jilly slammed to a stop. “A moped? What were you doing on a moped?”

  “I wanted to show Archie a lot of the island and while the weather is so nice I thought it would be fun if we rode mopeds. You can see a lot more that way.”

  “But, George, you’ve never ridden a moped before.”

  “So what?” George spoke as if he were wearing a Tarzan leopard skin and beating his manly chest. “It’s easy.”

  “Then how did you end up on crutches?” Jilly inquired, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  “I went around that curve on the parking lot at Jetties Beach, hit some shells, and wiped out.” George seemed to take pleasure in saying the words “wiped out.”

  “How badly are you hurt?”

  Shyly, George lifted his left hand. “Sprained wrist, sprained ankle, nothing serious.”

  “Nothing serious? How are you going to walk your daughter down the aisle on crutches with your hand in a bandage?”

  Lauren interceded smoothly before her mother’s voice rose any higher. “Dad, let’s help you into the living room where you can sit down.”

  In an awkward cluster, the men removed their hats, coats, and gloves. The women stayed close to George, ready to support him as he hobbled into the living room. He fell into a chair. Felicia took his crutches and leaned them on the arm of the chair next to him in easy reach.

  “Are you in any pain, Daddy?” Felicia asked.

  “A little, perhaps,” George admitted with a brave smile.

  “Can I fetch you a drink, Dad?” Lauren offered.

  “If he’s on medication, he shouldn’t drink,” Jilly pointed out.

  “They only gave me ibuprofen,” George told them. “A nice big scotch would help a lot right now.”

  “A scotch?” Jilly’s voice went soprano again. “Since when do you drink scotch?”

  “Archie bought a bottle of single malt.”

  Archie held up the bottle. “For medicinal purposes,” he said with a smile.

  “I’ll have some, too,” Porter announced, dropping into a chair. “We’ve had a dramatic afternoon. A scotch will go down well.”

  Jilly took a deep breath as her nurturing instincts overruled her desire to lecture her husband. “You’re probably hungry, too. I’ll bring you some munchies.”

  “We’ll help,” Lauren said, pulling Felicia along.

  In the kitchen, Lauren gently pushed her mother into a chair. “Sit down, Mom. We’ll fix the snacks. You have a glass of red wine. You’re shaking.”

  Felicia poured the wine and set it before her mother. “Dad’s going to be fine, you know, Mom. He’s okay. He’s not badly injured. You shouldn’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” Jilly admitted, “I’m furious. What the hell did he think he was doing, riding a moped two days before your wedding? I’m sorry, Felicia, but I can’t help thinking it was Archie’s influence.”

  Felicia snapped, “Mom, that is so unfair.”

  “Really?” Jilly shot back. “Do you think Porter came up with that idea? Porter’s hardly the type to take a ride on the wild side.”

  “Hey!” Lauren hurried to Porter’s defense. “I’ll have you know Porter can be WAY wild when he wants to.”

  “Do tell,” Felicia teased.

  Jilly interrupted. “Never mind who started it, your idiot father went along with it and now look at him. You children have to remember he’s not a young man anymore. He can’t keep up with your husbands. He knows better than to ride a moped, especially before your wedding, Felicia. I truly want to shake him, I’m so angry.”

  “Calm down, Mom.” Felicia emptied a bag of chips into a bowl and spooned salsa into a smaller bowl. “Here. Cut some veggies into strips for the hummus dip.” She put a chopping board, knife, and fresh vegetables in front of her mother.

  “I’m going to have to phone the Howards to give our apologies.” Jilly forcefully beheaded some celery. “They have the best parties, too. But I can’t have George weaving around on crutches, getting in everyone’s way.”

  “You go, Mom,” Felicia said. “We’ll stay home with Dad.”

  “I just might do that,” Jilly said, vigorously beheading a carrot.

  Lauren took a plate of veggies in to her children, who were still captivated by the television. She returned to the kitchen, dumped a can of mixed nuts into a bowl, and joined her mother and sister as they carried the snacks into the living room.

  “… fishermen dump scallop shells down by the jetties,” George was saying, obviously unable to urge his mind off the awesome moment when he wiped out on a moped. “It’s a gritty, uneven surface.”

  Settling into chairs and sofas with their glasses of wine, the three women listened patiently to George recount his drama. Finally Jilly couldn’t take it anymore.

  “You know, George, we’re going to miss the Howards’ party tonight.”

  George frowned. “What a shame. They always have great food. Perhaps you can go with Felicia and Archie, Jilly.”

  “I think I will,” Jilly said. “Would you mind being in charge of Lawrence and Portia? Do you think you could manage them? We’d only be gone for an hour.”

  “I’ll read to them,” George said. “We’ve got lots of good books.”

  “But, Dad, will you be okay without someone to help you?” Felicia asked.

  “Of course I will,” George huffed.

  A knock sounded at the front door.

  “Who can that be?” Jilly wondered aloud.

  “The police, to arrest Daddy for reckless moped driving,” Lauren joked.

  Felicia went to the door. A short, lean, tanned woman stood there, shivering in a zip-up golf jacket.

  “Is this the Gordon house?”

  Oh my God! This was Felicia’s future mother-in-law! “Yes,” Felicia managed to say. “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m Pat Galloway. Archie’s mother.”

  “Oh!” Felicia held the door open. “Please! Come in! Oh, man, we forgot to meet you at the airport! You see, we’ve had a bit of a drama this afternoon—” She stopped, took a deep breath, and composed herself. “Mrs. Galloway, I’m Felicia. Archie’s fiancée. I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m thrilled to meet you at last.” Pat Galloway leaned forward to kiss Felicia on the cheek. “You’re as pretty as your pictures.”

  “Thank you. Let me take your coat.”

  “Not yet, if you don’t mind. I’d forgotten how cold it is up here in the north.”

  Felicia ushered Pat Galloway into the living room.

  Archie jumped up from his chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Mom!”

  All heads turned as Archie strode across the floor to hug his mother. With his arm wrapped around her shoulders, Archie announced proudly, “Everyone, meet my mother, Pat Galloway.”

  14

&nb
sp; Jilly greeted the tiny, shivering woman and brought her to a chair close to the fire. Of course she was cold, the woman was all skin and bones and muscles. Not an ounce of fat on her. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut sensibly, rather like Derek Jacobi as Brother Cadfael. Her skin was as tanned as one of Jilly’s favorite Coach bags; no doubt Pat came from Florida. That also explained her choice of clothing, Jilly assumed. While everyone else wore turtlenecks and wool sweaters, Pat wore tartan golf slacks, a long-sleeved rugby shirt, and the ridiculously inadequate windbreaker. Instead of winter boots, she wore high-topped sneakers. Those at least would be practical on Nantucket’s uneven brick sidewalks.

  Jilly was so busy gawking at her daughter’s future mother-in-law that she failed to notice how her husband was struggling to stand up to meet Pat. George gripped one of his crutches, leaned on it, and rose shakily. He bent to grasp the other crutch with his bandaged hand, teetered, tottered, and fell back onto the sofa, his crutch hitting the brass bowl of chestnuts, walnuts, and pecans still in their shells on the coffee table. Everything flew. The nuts barreled across the floor like large marbles.

  “George!” Jilly ran to help him wobble back into his chair.

  “Sorry.”

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Jilly asked.

  “No,” said George, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’m all right.”

  All the others were gathered around Pat, everyone talking at once.

  “Stay there, please, George, and don’t move. I’ve got to pick up all these nuts before everyone else trips over them and we’re all on crutches.”

  Jilly quickly sank to her knees—not as easy a movement as it used to be—and began to gather up the nuts and return them to the bowl. She had collected most of them when she heard Felicia say, “Mom, what are you doing on the floor?”

  “Gathering the nuts,” Jilly answered factually, realizing as she spoke that this made her sound slightly demented. A childish part of her wanted to make sure everyone knew the scattered nuts were George’s fault, especially because as she looked up she met the sensible green eyes of Archie’s mother.

  “Hello up there,” said Jilly, trying to make a joke out of it. “The bowl of nuts got knocked over and I wanted to pick them up before anyone tripped on them.” There, she thought, she hadn’t mentioned George’s clumsiness.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” said Pat. “I apologize for showing up at your house like this, but no one met my plane and I couldn’t wait to see everyone.”

  “We’re so glad you came,” Jilly told Pat. She set the bowl of nuts on the table and rose. “We’ve had a rather disorganized day because the men went off on mopeds and George had an accident.”

  Pat turned her vibrant green eyes toward George. “An accident!” Pat said the word as Jilly would say “chocolate.” “How exciting. How did it happen? Were you on a dirt road? Was it hilly?”

  George shrugged carelessly. “I hit some grit and wiped out.” He sounded as if this happened every day.

  “Did you have to go to the hospital?” Pat asked hopefully.

  “I did,” George announced triumphantly. “Porter and Archie were on mopeds too. They helped me onto the back of Archie’s moped and took me to the hospital. Of course we had to take a taxi home.”

  Jilly was torn between guilt at not having asked George how he got to the hospital, and concern that three mopeds were dispersed around the island, driving up the charges on George’s credit card.

  “Did it hurt terribly to ride on the back of Archie’s moped after your fall?” Pat inquired.

  Proudly, George nodded. “I knew I’d done something pretty bad to my ankle because I couldn’t move it without pain, and the same thing with my wrist.”

  “I’ve heard that a sprained wrist can hurt more than a broken one,” Pat said with sympathy.

  Oh, brother, Jilly thought. All the others had settled back into their seats to sip their drinks and listen to George’s dramatic account of how he had “wiped out.”

  “Pat,” Jilly asked, “may I get you a drink?”

  “That would be nice,” Pat said. “Could I have a Manhattan?”

  Jilly froze. She didn’t know how to make a Manhattan and she was wondering where she had put her cocktail recipe book and whether she had the ingredients for the drink in the house.

  Fortunately, Archie came to her rescue. “Mom, no bourbon. We’ve got wine and scotch.”

  “No bourbon?” Pat asked, surprised, as if her son had told her they all drank out of jam jars. Then, without waiting for an answer, she said, “Scotch on the rocks would be perfect.”

  “Coming right up,” Jilly said cheerfully.

  As she prepared Pat’s drink in the kitchen, Rex swaggered out of the laundry room, rubbed against her ankles, and meowed. He’d had his dinner, but Jilly opened a can of Fancy Feast and gave him a tiny bit more.

  “Obviously we’re not going to the Howards’ party now,” she whispered to Rex. “I’d counted on everyone enjoying the Howards’ gourmet canapés and returning to the house stuffed to the gills. Instead, I’ve got to prepare some kind of dinner.”

  Rex meowed again. Jilly thought he sounded concerned. “I do have the makings for sandwiches, of course, but I don’t want to serve them to Pat, especially since we forgot to pick her up at the airport. Pat seems remarkably good-natured about this. If she’s going to be Felicia’s mother-in-law, I want her to feel welcome and comfortable here.” Rex left the food bowl to wind around Jilly’s ankles, purring. It was as if he were saying: I feel comfortable here. I’m sure she will, too. Cats were remarkably sensitive creatures.

  In the freezer, Jilly had a lasagna she’d made for one of the evenings after Christmas when Lauren, Porter, and their children were still here. She took it out, microwaved it for a couple of minutes, then put it in the oven.

  Rex watched thoughtfully. “It will be ready in thirty minutes,” Jilly told him. “I’ll serve a green salad with it and dessert can be—”

  “Mom, what are you doing in here?” Felicia stood in the doorway. “You’ve been forever fixing Pat’s drink.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Jilly said, hitting herself on the forehead. “I thought I would start dinner–”

  “Give me Pat’s drink and I’ll take it in to her.”

  “No, no, I’ll take it in.” Jilly didn’t want to be rude, hiding away in the kitchen. Carrying the drink to the living room, Jilly thought: Broccoli? Green beans? Lauren’s children hated salad but Lauren insisted they eat one green vegetable at every meal. Broccoli, Jilly thought, she would sauté some broccoli.

  Pat almost snatched the drink out of Jilly’s hands. “Thank you so much! I really need this after the day I’ve had. First my plane out of Miami was delayed, then we had to circle for forty-five minutes before we could land in Boston, and the flight from Boston to Nantucket felt like a roller-coaster ride.”

  “Well, we’re so glad you’re here. Enjoy your drink. There’s more where that came from.” Jilly offered Pat the platter of sliced vegetables and dip.

  “Thanks.” Pat picked up a carrot.

  “Have you checked into the hotel yet, Mom?” Archie asked.

  “I did. It’s great,” Pat told her son. “This seems to be a first class little village.” To Felicia, she said, “You grew up here, right?”

  Jilly sank into a chair, took a sip of her own drink, and relaxed as the conversation flowed. Really, it was a splendid thing to have so many people she treasured gathered here together—even though she still thought George had been an idiot to ride that moped.

  “What a divine house you have,” Pat told Jilly. “Your Christmas tree is like something out of a storybook. And look at all those presents!”

  Pat’s praise and Jilly’s drink spread a warm sensation of satisfaction through Jilly. She felt rather earth-motherish, capable of dealing with spontaneous events with aplomb. “I’ve put a lasagna in the oven. It will be ready in thirty minutes.”

  “But, Mom,” Lauren objected, “I
thought we were going to the Howards’ cocktail party.”

  “I think it will be much cozier to stay here,” Jilly said, “and besides, I don’t want to put any stress on your father’s ankle. We’ll have to wait on him hand and foot for the next day so he can walk Felicia down the aisle.” She flashed George a loving look. He beamed with pleasure at her words. Jilly rested in her chair and studied the Christmas tree. It was glorious, as it should be, for she had spent hours positioning the lights and ornaments in the right spots. The appetizing aroma of cheese and tomato sauce drifted out from the kitchen. Her family was all here, safe and content.

  This was turning into a perfect family evening.

  15

  In the living room of the house on Chestnut Street, Felicia surreptitiously studied her future mother-in-law. Quiet, Archie had described his mother. Quiet. Who could understand the male mind? Perhaps he meant that his mother was athletic, preferring golf, tennis, and swimming to conversation.

  What did Pat think of Felicia? Did it matter terribly? Archie’s family wasn’t as close as the Gordons. Archie seldom visited his mother, although he often phoned her and sent her gifts from exotic lands.

  Perhaps everything was all right. The wedding was in two days and then she and Archie would go on their honeymoon.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Jilly, rising, “I need to prepare a few things for dinner.”

  “I’ll help you, Mom,” Felicia offered.

  “I’ll wrestle the children away from the television set,” Lauren said. To the room in general, she warned, “Prepare yourselves for screaming. Porter and I don’t let our children watch television very often and they’ve been stuck to the TV practically all day. But they’re good children, I promise.”

  In the kitchen, Felicia tossed a green salad while her mother got out a sauté pan. From the family room came the predicted sounds of anguished protestations, before Lauren, Portia, and Lawrence appeared in the kitchen.