Mistletoe Bay

by Marcia Evanick

“What would you like a pointer in?” Tucker was a little too young to be playing football. But how hard could the subject matter be? The kid was four, maybe five years old.

  “Why’s it easier to climb a tree than to get down from one?”

  “You haven’t been climbing trees again, have you?” Dorothy looked pale at the mere thought.

  Jenni studied her son. “Tucker?”

  “No.” The boy’s pout matched Felicity’s.

  Coop didn’t want to know how high Tucker must have been in a tree before he realized he had to climb back down. It was a wonder Jenni wasn’t totally gray. There wasn’t a gray hair on her head, but having Tucker for a son, she probably dyed it that rich dark brown color every week. Either that or she drank heavily.

  “When you’re climbing a tree, Tucker, you’re looking up reaching for the next branch. Your mind is concentrating on that nearby branch. When you get as high as you want, you look down, and then you realize how high you’ve climbed and you get scared. Those branches don’t seem so close by then, and your brain is telling you that if you fall, you will get hurt.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation to him.

  Tucker seemed to be mulling that one over.

  “How come my mom was real nice to me when I was up there, but once she got me down she whacked my bottom and made me sit in the corner for the whole day?”

  “Mom said a bad word and Grandmom cried that she wanted to call the fire department again.” Chase joined the conversation.

  “I could imagine.” He ignored the “again” and looked at Jenni. “How high was he?”

  “Let’s just say I passed an eagle’s nest on the way up to retrieve my son. A couple feet higher and he would have needed oxygen.” Jenni gave Tucker a stern look. “It won’t happen again, right?”

  “Right.” Tucker gave his mother a pure, innocent smile. “Birds fly, boys don’t.”

  “Right,” Jenni said.

  “Peter Pan flies,” Corey said.

  “Peter Pan isn’t real, Corey.” Jenni seemed to press that point hard. “Boys can’t and won’t fly, so don’t even try it.”

  “Can girls fly?” asked Tucker.

  “Do you think if I could fly I’d be sitting here listening to this?” Felicity obviously wasn’t enjoying herself.

  Coop wasn’t sure what upset the girl more—the fact that Sam was paying him more attention, or the boys’ ten thousand questions.

  “Felicity,” scolded Dorothy, “that’s not nice.”

  “Well, they always ask stupid questions.”

  “They are your nephews. Very young nephews.” Dorothy stared down her daughter. “Maybe you would like to enlighten us with an intelligent question.”

  “Sure.” Felicity smiled. “Why is the earth round instead of something more aerodynamic, like a bullet shape? Wouldn’t we avoid a lot of that wind resistance as we go spinning around in space?”

  Jenni smiled at Felicity. “There are no aerodynamics in space. Space is a vacuum. It wouldn’t matter what shape the earth was, it would still orbit the sun at the same speed.”

  “Geek,” Felicity said. Her small smile took some of the sting out of the word.

  “Thank you.” Jenni looked pleased.

  Coop was impressed. Not only was Jenni beautiful and smart, but she wasn’t allowing the seventeen-year-old to rattle her. Felicity looked like if she set her mind to it, she could rattle a lot of people’s cages. “I thought ‘geek’ was an insult?”

  Back in college, he would have decked anyone who had called him that—not like that would ever happen. He had been a jock, a dumb-ass jock who had thought brawn beat brains every time. He had been proven wrong many times over since that ripe old age of twenty.

  “Only to non-geeks,” Jenni replied with a smile to Felicity. “There’s nothing wrong with using your brain.”

  “Felicity’s real smart, Coop.” Sam puffed out his chest with pride. “She’s only a junior but she’s taking the top college-prep courses. Next year she’ll be eligible to take some college courses while still in high school.”

  “Impressive.” He gave Felicity a nod of approval and was gentlemanly enough not to stare at the fiery red blush sweeping up her cheeks.

  Tucker stuck his tongue out at his aunt.

  “I’m smart too,” Corey said. “I can count to one hundred. Wanna hear me?”

  A chorus of “no’s” was heard around the table. The only “yes’s” came from him and Jenni.

  Corey started to count. “One, two, three, four . . .”

  “Mom, make him stop,” Chase pleaded.

  Tucker shoved half a meatball into his mouth and then covered his ears.

  “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen . . .”

  Dorothy and Felicity started to argue about Sam and her going into town after dinner. Dorothy was against it. Felicity obviously didn’t like the answer—no.

  Sam started making funny faces at Tucker, who nearly choked on a meatball.

  “Want to hear the song we learned in school today?” asked Chase in a loud voice. All of a sudden the kid wanted some attention.

  “After your brother is done counting.” Jenni was leaning closer to Corey to hear him over the other conversations. “That’s right, hon, keep going. You’re doing great.” Jenni gave her youngest son a smile of encouragement.

  “Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one . . .”

  “It’s about a turkey named Tom.” Chase wasn’t giving up and he started to sing, “Gobble, gobble, gobble went Tom the Turkey.”

  “Sixty-seven, sixty-eight . . .” Corey was using his fingers and speaking louder to drown out his brother.

  “I don’t see why we can’t just run into Bailey’s for a few minutes,” Felicity said. “They have the best sundaes. All the other kids will be there.” If Felicity’s pout grew any more pronounced her lower lip would land on her plate.

  “Pick me a pumpkin, pick me a pumpkin, said Priscilla Pilgrim.” Chase sounded like he was singing rap, not a children’s Thanksgiving song. The boy was really getting into the song.

  “I said no. It’s a school night. You should be doing homework.” Dorothy took a drink from her wineglass.

  “All the other kids . . .” Felicity’s voice carried on.

  “Seventy-two, seventy-three . . .”

  “Tucker, I bet you can’t fit an entire meatball in your mouth.” Sam egged Tucker on.

  Tucker took up the challenge before Jenni could stop him.

  Chase’s next line in the song had something to do with a chopping block, and Coop had to wonder what they were teaching kids in school nowadays.

  He couldn’t decide if he was developing a headache from all the noise or from holding back his laughter. The nice family dinner was now in total chaos.

  Tucker looked like a demented chipmunk.

  Jenni was congratulating and hugging Corey as he shouted, “One hundred!”

  “Felicity, I don’t mind spending the evening here.” Sam patted her hand. “You can do your homework and I can catch Monday Night Football.”

  Felicity looked like she wanted to deck Sam.

  Dorothy smiled pleasantly, but Coop noticed her wineglass was now empty. He should have taken up her offer to have wine with his meal instead of water.

  Chase finished the last line of the song, just as everyone at the table finally fell silent. “And that’s when the Indian chief said, ‘Pass me a drumstick.’”

  “You haven’t forgiven me yet for laughing, have you?” Coop asked.

  Jenni finished wiping down the counter. “You fixed the washer; I’ll call it even.”

  “You have to admit, it was funny.” Coop straightened the last chair at the table. “I haven’t laughed like that in months.”

  “I’ll admit it was, let’s say, awkward.” Jenni shuddered as she tossed the dishcloth into the sink. “Who teaches a first-grader about eating a poor turkey named Tom?”

  “That’s what you do on Thanksgiving, eat turkey and watch football.”

/>   “You don’t give a name to the main dish, and not everyone watches the game.” Jenni couldn’t believe it. “I wasn’t really paying too much attention to the song. Maybe it wasn’t Tom they ate.”

  “Could be.” Coop had an expression on his face that said he was pacifying her.

  She decided to change the subject. It wasn’t Coop’s fault what her son was picking up in school. Here she thought he’d be bringing home four-letter words from the other kids, not songs about wielding an ax and killing a turkey from the teacher. She couldn’t imagine what he’d be singing come Christmas. Reindeer burgers, mutilated elves, and Santa getting stuck in a chimney.

  “Thank you again.” Jenni glanced around the now-neat kitchen. “You really didn’t have to help clean up, but I appreciate it.” Dorothy and Jenni had an agreement—if her mother-in-law cooked, Jenni cleaned up. Jenni did a lot of cleaning up in the kitchen.

  “It was the least I could do. The meal was delicious.”

  “Dorothy’s a great cook, and she loves doing it.” Her mother-in-law wasn’t one for cleaning or sewing. As long as her kitchen was immaculate and the refrigerator was stocked, the rest of the house could fall down upon their ears. Dorothy also like to putter in the gardens, but so far she hadn’t managed to get anything to live beyond six weeks.

  Jenni had a sneaking suspicion that either the boys had something to do with that or Bojangles was watering the plants.

  “It shows.” Coop swiped another chocolate chip cookie from the plate sitting on the counter.

  “Let me at least pay you for the washer hose.” She felt funny accepting all of Coop’s help. The man was a virtual stranger. She hadn’t even known him a week and already he was sharing their dinner table.

  “The meal was worth more than the hose. I’m the one who should be thanking you for such an entertaining evening.”

  “The Wright family dinners are a laugh a minute. One of these days we’ll put the show on the road and make a fortune.” She couldn’t believe Felicity had gone into one of her snits with company at the table and that Dorothy had finished off two glasses of wine during the meal. Great, her sister-in-law’s attitude was on a downward spiral and Dorothy was developing a taste for merlot.

  If she could just teach one of the boys to juggle, they would have an act for every age group.

  “It wasn’t that bad.” Coop seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride. “I’ve seen worse.”

  “When? I thought you said you were an only child.” Coop had explained that he moved back to this area from California about six months ago to be closer to his parents. His father had suffered a major heart attack.

  “I worked on construction crews for ten years. You should have seen our Christmas party.”

  She laughed as hard as he had earlier. Her beloved family was being compared to a rowdy construction crew. Somewhere her life had taken a left-hand turn instead of a right. Ever since she’d picked up not only her household but also Dorothy’s and moved them all to the coast of Maine, nothing seemed to go according to her plans.

  The good news was her business was taking off extremely well. Sometimes she thought too well. The orders were pouring in and she employed Felicity for about fifteen to twenty hours a week to help pick up the slack.

  Her plan had been to grow the business slowly so once she would need the help, the boys would be in school full time and Dorothy would only have to work for her part time. She was grateful, because she knew most business owners would love to be in her shoes. It was just hard trying to be something to all people. There never were enough hours in a day.

  Coop grinned, and he tugged on his coat and picked up his toolbox. He gave her a quick wink. “The only thing missing this evening was the stripper.”

  Chapter Five

  Dorothy chopped carrots with a little more force than necessary. She was angry, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out whom or what she was angry at. Tonight she was cooking a roast, throwing everything into the pan, and shoving it all into the oven. She didn’t even care how it turned out.

  She would like to think it was a first, but not caring about cooking was happening more and more lately. So were the tears and the anger. Helping Jenni raise three very active boys was the reason she was tired all the time, and her seventeen-year-old daughter explained the gray streaks in her hair. Felicity was turning into a stranger right before her eyes, and she didn’t know how to stop it or who her own daughter was half the time.

  Raising a girl was so much harder than raising a boy. Kenny had been a dream child from the day he was born. She had barely made it to the hospital and the delivery had been easy. Kenny had been an excellent student and never once gave her or his father a moment of trouble. He even married a wonderful woman, gave her three precious grandbabies, and had never once forgotten about her or his baby sister. When his father had died, Kenny had stepped right into his shoes and handled all the work and worry concerning her home.

  If she had a problem, Kenny handled it, without one complaint. What mother could have asked for anything more?

  While she’d grieved and missed her husband dearly, Kenny had been there to lean on. Kenny had been her strength and her rock. Only now in hindsight, she realized she shouldn’t have leaned quite as much or as often.

  Felicity, on the other hand, took ten hours of hard labor, and she came out mad, red, and screaming at the top of her lungs. Teacher conferences were the norm, and her daughter questioned authority at every turn. Felicity pushed buttons Dorothy never knew she had. George, her father, had spoiled her shamelessly for the first twelve years of her life, then her brother had taken over the role.

  Felicity had been devastated when Kenny had died in the fire. To Dorothy’s shame, she hadn’t been strong enough for her young daughter. Her own world had once again crumbled around her and she had been left floating aimlessly in her grief. It had been Jenni who had stepped in and held everyone together.

  Jenni was now her rock.

  “Grandmom, can I have a cookie?” Tucker, who was sitting at the kitchen table practicing his ABCs added, “Please.”

  She was tempted to give him one for that “please” alone, but she knew she shouldn’t. “I’m afraid not, hon. You’re being punished. You heard your mother, no snacks.”

  “Can I have a drink?”

  “Milk or water?” Corey was upstairs taking a nap. Tucker had outgrown that habit before his fourth birthday. They had a hard enough time just getting him to sleep at night. Kenny’s middle child was always on the run, from the moment his little feet hit the floor in the morning till his mother was blue in the face from telling him to close his eyes and go to sleep every night.

  “Chocolate milk.” Tucker grinned.

  “Sorry, kiddo, regular milk or water?” She glanced through the opening into the sun room that ran the length of the back of the house. The large room was used as the family room. Thankfully the previous owners had connected two radiators into the room, which supplied plenty of heat. Too much heat.

  Then again, the entire house was too darn hot. If she hadn’t opened both sets of sliding doors in the sun room to let in some cool air, Bojangles wouldn’t have run through one of the screen doors to escape Tucker. Her grandson had been terrorizing the poor dog with Felicity’s makeup. Jenni had heard the commotion from her shop and had come to investigate. A green plastic garbage bag and duct tape had fixed the screen door, but there was no hope for Felicity’s green eye shadow, the plastic hair accessory, or the green tank top Bojangles had been wearing at the time.

  Tucker was in for a world of hurt when Felicity got home from school and saw the disaster in her room.

  If Dorothy found a few free minutes this afternoon, she would go upstairs and see if she could scrub off the eye liner that Tucker had used to sign the hallway walls. She should have been watching the boys more closely instead of taking inventory of what was in the pantry. Thanksgiving was coming up quickly, and she had wanted to make sure she had everyth
ing she would need.

  Tucker was very proud of the fact that he could write his full name and a couple other words. Every one of them now were on display in the upstairs hallway. Corey, not to be left out of anything, had added his own artwork with Siren Green waterproof eyeliner. Of course it didn’t help that Bojangles had eaten an entire tube of Felicity’s cherry lip gloss before making his fashionable escape.

  Bojangles, who wasn’t known for his strong constitution, was sure to get the runs from that greasy treat.

  One day she surely would laugh about this latest episode in what she now referred to as her Maine exile, but not today. Some days she didn’t think she would live long enough to see the humor in Tucker’s adventurous schemes.

  Tucker frowned and gave a dramatic sigh. “Water.”

  She contained her smile and got her grandson a cup of water. “Want to show me what you’ve been working on?” Dinner was ready to go into the oven and Tucker had been working diligently on his studies.

  “Stupid letters.” Tucker gulped down the water like a thirsty camel.

  “Letters aren’t stupid. You need to learn them so you can learn to read and write.” She had noticed that upstairs he had spelled “cat” with a k. The boy needed some more study time. She put the covered pan into the refrigerator until it was time to go into the oven.

  The hulking hunk of metal in the basement called a heater was stupid. It sounded like a 747 taking off every time it kicked on, and the thermostat refused to work properly.

  She walked over to the ancient thermostat and pounded on the wall. No way was it sixty-three degrees in the kitchen. Eighty-three, she would believe. One of these days the heater was going to give up the ghost and blow them all to smithereens.

  She sat down next to Tucker and looked at some of his work. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned her life. The first week of the new year she would be turning fifty, and she had a horrible feeling menopause was kicking in. God, she really couldn’t be that old, could she?

  Life was supposed to be different than this. She wanted George alive, calling all the shots and carrying their world upon his broad shoulders. He had promised to always take care of her and their children. He had promised they would travel and see the world once he retired and Felicity was through college. George had lied.