“I noticed,” Winnie said. “Don’t you think the lights and ornaments make it beautiful?”
“I think they make it look cluttered,” I replied. “Also, what is the deal with that ghost on top of the tree? What does that have to do with Christmas?”
Winnie tucked her blond hair behind her ear and fixed me with a hard look. Of all my nieces, she looks the most like her mother. I can’t help but like that about her. That look she gives me reminds me of her mother, too. I can’t help but hate that about her.
“That’s an angel,” Winnie replied, nonplussed.
“It doesn’t look like an angel.”
“Well, it is.”
I wrinkled my nose. I loath being told I’m wrong. I’m never wrong, just for the record. Sometimes the truth takes longer to catch up to me than it should. It’s pretty simple. “Isn’t an angel technically just a fancy ghost?”
One of the things I love most in life is watching my nieces try to handle me. When they were teenagers and their mother died, I stepped in to take care of them because their father was long gone. He took the path of Jack, Warren, and Teddy, and never looked back.
I spent three years getting them through the rest of their adolescence and then set them free on the world … kind of. We were all still under the same roof. Granted, it was one I had to expand when I took them in, but it was still essentially the home my husband Calvin and I built together. The homestead on the family property has gone through many changes throughout the years and now it stands as a tall Victorian home.
I’ve heard whispers – my nieces don’t know this, but I have – and there’s talk of trying to turn it into a bed and breakfast. That’s never going to happen on my watch. Never. I don’t like people, and I certainly don’t want them staying in the same house with me. Strangers ask questions. I don’t like answering questions.
Roles have reversed over the years, and now my nieces are in charge – or at least I let them think they are. I encourage that. The more they try to handle me, the more I get away with. One of the greatest perks in my life is shirking any and all adult responsibility.
It’s fun to be the crazy old lady in the paisley crop pants and flip flops in the middle of winter. You should try it when you get a chance. People live in fear when they think you’re living in La-La Land.
“You know darned well that angels are different than ghosts,” Winnie hissed, scorching me with her best impersonation of her mother. “Don’t go telling people that angels are the same as ghosts. People won’t like that – especially around Christmas.”
I shrugged. I don’t particularly care what people like and dislike. I figure the fewer people who like me, the fewer times I’ll get stopped for inane chatter in the checkout line. “You can’t tell me what to do,” I sniffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m an adult.”
“Then act like it,” Winnie said, her tone snippy. “We’re having a hard enough time getting through Christmas this year without you adding your particular brand of mayhem to the mix.”
Was that an insult? I can never tell. Whenever my nieces insult me they do it in sweet voices. I have a short attention span, so most of the time when they’re done talking I honestly have no idea what they just said.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” I said, figuring that was a safe response.
Winnie shook her head. “Did you even listen to what I just said to you?”
Of course not. “Yes. Are you insinuating that I can’t hear?”
“No.”
“Are you trying to say I’m going senile and can’t keep up with a conversation?” When someone accuses you of something, always turn it around on them right away. They’ll be so flustered that they give up.
“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Winnie said. “You’re not going to distract me on this one so … stop right now.”
Unfortunately, when you’ve run the same game on people who have known you for all of their lives the gambit can work against you sometimes. “I’m bored. Let’s go home.”
“We’ve been here exactly three minutes,” Winnie warned. “You have hours of this ahead of you so … get used to Christmas cheer and stay away from Abigail Hobbes’ special holiday punch.”
I’d forgotten about Abigail’s special punch. The woman makes a shrew look cuddly, but her cocktail-mixing talents are second to none. “And where is the special punch going to be located this evening – just so I can avoid it, I mean?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Winnie said, wagging her finger in my face. “This night is about the girls. Don’t you want to hear them sing?”
I’ve heard them sing plenty of times. Not one of them has a lick of musical talent. They make dying cats sound musical. “Not particularly.”
“Don’t you even think about embarrassing those girls.”
“If I can’t embarrass them, why did you have them?” I asked.
“Um … because we love them.”
“If that’s your story … .” I scanned the crowd, frowning when I realized just how many of Walkerville’s finest were out and about. “Don’t these people know that we’re all going to wish we were deaf in about a half hour? Why would they possibly be here if someone didn’t force them to be – like you did me?”
Winnie made a face. “Go find something to do.”
“Okay.”
Winnie grabbed my arm before I could move too far away. “No purposely picking fights. No dosing the coffee. No telling the kids that Santa is really a blood-sucking zombie. I know you told Lila Stevens that last week. Her mother called.”
“She’ll survive,” I said. I hate Poppy Stevens. That woman gives new meaning to the word annoying.
“No giving the girls candy either,” Winnie stressed. “We’ve got a special dessert for them at home.”
“I never give them candy.”
“You bribe them with candy whenever they catch you doing something you’re not supposed to be doing,” Winnie argued. “Don’t lie to me. You forget that we share the same roof. I know all of your secrets.”
She didn’t know even half of my secrets, and the ones she did know were spoon-fed to her because I wanted her to think she knew them. She’d lock me up if she knew all of my secrets. Heck, I can’t even remember all of my secrets. “Where are the girls?”
“They’re around,” Winnie said. “If you’re bored you can go and find them. Just don’t upset them. They have it rough enough right now.”
“I never upset them.”
“I … go someplace else,” Winnie ordered. “I’ve taken about all I can for right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I kicked my heels together and mock saluted, ignoring the scowl on Winnie’s face as I moved toward the crowd. I fought the urge to scream “fire” in an effort to get breathing room and scanned familiar faces until I found the ones I wanted.
Bay, Clove and Thistle stood next to the hot chocolate stand, and whatever was going on had all of them staring down a dark-haired girl with an unfortunate nose as if they were about to set her ablaze. Lila Stevens. I don’t believe in the Devil, but if I did I would think Lila was the offspring of the Devil and Adolf Hitler. Yes, she’s that unpleasant.
I took a roundabout route to get to them, listening as I approached.
“You guys aren’t going to get Christmas presents from Santa because everyone knows Santa hates witches,” Lila said, bobbing her head up and down like one of those unfortunate dolls men affix to their dashboards. “It’s a fact.”
“The only thing that’s a fact is that your nose looks like a candy cane,” Thistle shot back, her hands on her hips. “Why are you even over here bugging us?”
“I’m not over here because of you,” Lila replied, wrinkling her nose. “I’m here to make sure that you guys don’t ruin Christmas for anyone else.”
“I guess that makes you the Christmas police, huh?” Bay said, her hands clasped around a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate. “Do they give you a badge for that?”
That was a good one! Wait. Crud on crackers. That’s what I said about Fredericka Lassiter last week when I found out she was trying to join our euchre club down at the senior center. They probably heard that from me.
“Why would I have a stick up my behind?” Lila asked. The kid was a snot, but she wasn’t worldly, like the Winchester witches.
“Because that’s what happens when you have a bad attitude and someone has to reload you of it,” Clove supplied.
“Relieve,” Bay corrected. “Someone has to be relieved of a bad attitude.”
Clove furrowed her brow. “I don’t get it.”
That was probably good. If Winnie, Marnie and Twila figured out exactly how much lingo the wee ones picked up from me we were all going to be in trouble. I still don’t understand how my nieces ended up in charge of me.
“I don’t get it either,” Bay admitted.
That was good.
“I get it,” Thistle said. “It means Lila is like a balloon and we need a stick so we can pop her.”
That was as good an explanation as any. I cleared my throat to let the girls know they were being watched. Clove had the grace to look abashed but Bay and Thistle were too angry to pay attention to me.
Lila pasted a bright smile on her face as she regarded me. “Hello, Mrs. Winchester. You look particularly lovely this evening. I just love … flip flops.”
“Hello, Laura.”
Lila frowned. I always pretended I couldn’t remember the monster’s name just to mess with her. What? I have to get my thrills somehow and I can’t do what I really want to do and make a voodoo doll of the little terror and let Thistle and Bay poke it with pins whenever the mood strikes.
“My name is Lila.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I regarded her. You can just tell when someone is going to grow up to be obnoxious. Yes, I know I’m purposely obnoxious. I’m an acquired taste. The problem with Lila is that she thinks she’s charming even though every kid in the school wants to lock her in the janitor’s closet and forget her there every summer break. I know people hate me. I encourage it.
“It is,” Lila sneered.
“Whatever you say, Lilac,” I replied, focusing on the Bay, Clove and Thistle. “What are you guys doing?”
“Having hot chocolate,” Clove said. “We’re not doing anything bad.”
That usually means they are doing something bad. Given that they were dealing with Lila, though, I didn’t think they were doing anything bad enough. I would have to give them some pointers later.
“What are you doing over here, Lucifer?” I fixed Lila with a dark look. “Shouldn’t you be stepping on puppy tails or starting some poor, unsuspecting kid’s hair on fire?”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Lila shot back.
“Really? I always thought the truth was welcome.”
Lila narrowed her eyes, looking me up and down as she decided how to respond. She was afraid of me – and that’s the way I like it. If she was a little older I’d show her exactly how to handle a bully. I would probably be arrested for that if I tried it now.
“I’m going to tell my mother you’re being mean to me,” Lila announced, as if that was somehow a threat that would bring me to my knees.
“You do that,” I suggested. “While you’re at it, tell her that if you don’t stop harassing my nieces I’m going to give you a good dose of herpes on your lip to match hers. How does that sound?”
Lila balked. “I … my mother does not have herpes. That’s a beauty mark.”
“Huh. I heard through the gossip vine that she got that beauty mark from the mailman,” I said. “I heard she had to buy ointment at the pharmacy for it.”
“That’s a lie!”
“I don’t lie,” I countered, lowering my voice. “Here’s a little tip, Locust. If you keep messing with my girls you’re going to run into a big brick wall – and it’s going to look a lot like me. When that brick wall falls, you’re going to be crushed and we’re going to laugh until we can’t laugh any longer.”
“You can’t threaten me,” Lila hissed. “I’ll tell my mother.”
“I can do whatever I want,” I said. “You go and tell your mother that I’m waiting for her if she wants to talk. I think we’ll have a really nice chat about you … and your future … and that herpes on her lip and how it will probably spread if you don’t start behaving yourself.”
“I … you’re a witch,” Lila said. “Everyone knows it!”
“I am a witch,” I agreed. “That means I can cast spells on you. I’ve been limited because you’re a child. That won’t last forever.
“Let me tell you a little bit about karma, Listerine. You’ve earned a big ball of it, and when it finally comes your way you’re not going to like what happens one little bit,” I continued. “I would start trying to make up for all the rotten things you’ve done if I were you.”
“Well, that shows what you know,” Lila said, tossing her greasy hair over her shoulder. “I don’t believe in karma. I’m a princess.”
“What you just said doesn’t make any sense.”
“Says you,” Lila snapped. “My mother says I can be anything I want to be.”
“Oh, I believe that,” I said. “You’re just the type of person who is going to do it with herpes on your lip and pit stains on your blouse.”
Lila’s lower lip began trembling, but I recognize an act when I see one. “I’m telling my mom!”
“Good,” I said, unruffled. “I’d rather mess with her anyway. I can do truly awful things to her and not get in trouble. Go get her.”
Lila scampered off and I could hear her screaming for Poppy as she disappeared into the crowd. I really was in a foul mood. The idea of taking it out on someone was just the thing I needed to get me into the holiday spirit.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” Bay said, her blue eyes cloudy as they landed on me.
“Why is that?”
“She’s going to make us pay for what you said to her.”
“Not if I teach you how to get her back,” I said.
Bay stilled and I could practically see her mind working. “Will you teach us how to curse her?”
“Will you tell your mothers if I do?”
Three heads solemnly shook in unison.
“Then I’ll teach you how to curse her,” I said. What? The kid has it coming, and if my kids do it there’s no way I can get in trouble for it. “It’s going to be our secret, though, and you can never tell your mothers.”
“Deal,” Thistle said, extending her hand for me to shake. She knows I won’t go back on a promise once I shake someone’s hand.
I clasped her hand tightly. “You’re going to make some man really miserable some day.”
Thistle’s eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait!”
Three
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened in the history of the entire world!”
I followed Clove into the house a few hours later, spurring her on with my foot whenever her mother wasn’t looking. She was overly dramatic on a daily basis. She is going to be a beast as a teenager.
“It’s not the end of the world, Clove,” Marnie chided, dropping her gloves on the table next to the door.
“Santa Claus is missing!”
I cringed. Clove’s voice bordered on shrill on good days. Now that she thought reindeer were going to start falling from the sky she was practically panicked.
“Santa Claus is not missing,” Marnie said, pulling Clove’s coat from her shoulders and hanging it in the hall closet. “He was just … detained.”
After the pageant ended – and the ringing in my ears ceased – the school Christmas spectacular was supposed to end with a visit from Santa Claus. When he didn’t show, the kids started wailing. They didn’t stop – not even for a five-second breather. I had a feeling some of them were still wail
ing.
“He was probably detained by a bottle of whiskey and whatever hot-to-trot waitress was staffing the bar at Hannigan’s,” I said, laughing at my own joke. Walkerville’s resident Santa Claus was Bernard Hill. The man wasn’t good with kids and he has wandering hands when it comes to the ladies, but he also has white hair and fits the suit. He got the job by default.
“That will be enough of that,” Winnie warned, moving Bay so she could help her take her coat off.
“Do you think Santa Claus is dead?” Clove asked, her brown eyes widening. “Does that mean we’re not going to get our Christmas presents?”
“Santa Claus isn’t dead,” Twila said. “He probably forgot to write down tonight’s event in his day planner. There’s no reason to get worked up.”
“We’re never going to get that puppy now,” Clove yelled, burying her face in her hands as she burst into tears.
If I didn’t want to be deaf during the Christmas pageant, I definitely wanted to be inflicted with selective hearing loss now.
“I think you’re just tired, Clove,” Marnie said, gently tugging on her hair in an attempt to get her to perk up. “You’ll see in the morning that things aren’t so bad.”
“Santa Claus isn’t even real,” Thistle pointed out.
“Knock that off, fresh mouth,” I said, cuffing her on the back of the head. “Santa Claus is real. I already told you that.”
“I don’t believe you.” Thistle widened her eyes to comical proportions. “I think you’re full of it.”
“That’s enough of that,” Twila said, swooping in and gathering Thistle in her arms before I could retaliate. “I think you need some sleep. I think all of you need some sleep.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Marnie said, hoisting Clove up into her arms instead of cajoling her further. “Everyone needs some sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”
“Does that mean we’re getting a puppy?” Clove asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as her lower lip quivered. “We really want one.”
Marnie looked caught. “I … .”
“You’re not getting a puppy,” I said. “I already told you that, so stop asking. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to have a great Christmas … so stop all that whining. You’re giving me a headache.”
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