by Linda West
He waved to her, “Welcome home, Summer! It’s been a long time! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!”
Her spirits had lifted with the thought of some unhealthy cold weather fare. Back in L.A. it was kale salads and tofu everyday. When she was home, she wanted everything that came with gravy and lots of gluten.
The cafe was small and looked like an old cabin, but it had an inviting feel and gay holiday music spilling out from the door when it opened.
Summer took a seat at the bar.
The bartender came over quickly.
“Wow, you’re gorgeous! What are you doing here?” Summer smiled. “I’m visiting, actually.”
“Figures. No one wants to stay in Kissing Bridge.”
“Actually, I never wanted to leave. But that’s a story for another night…right now I’d like the most unhealthy dish you have.”
A long slow smile spread over the bartender’s face. “You got it, pretty lady!”
Soon Summer was drinking a glass of chardonnay accompanied by a side of french fries and gravy. She considered the events that had transpired in the last 24 hours.
Somehow, she had found herself engaged to Drake, who she had planned to break up with just the week prior.
Somehow, she had ended up running into Brad Anderson, who she’d been avoiding for ten years.
And now, her family’s cookie legacy had been conquered without her even knowing!
She considered the possibilities before her, as she munched away.
It was all too much to think about. Suddenly, she was broken from her reverie.
“Summer? Summer Landers?! Welcome home! It’s been a long time. You’re all famous now!”
Summer focused on the smiling face in front of her. He was bald and slightly overweight and she had no idea who he was.
“Want to come on over and say hi to all the guys? They would be thrilled!”
Summer tried to remember him.
“Remember the time you barfed all over me in my car at Duff’s? I had chicken wing sauce stains on that seat forever!”
A dazed memory came back of her throwing up in one of her friend’s boyfriend’s new Camaro.
“Jack Morgan. Hi Jack! Thanks, I was actually on my way out. I’m on west-coast time so I’m not sleepy yet. I thought gravy might help.”
Jack laughed. “You’re funny, Summer. Okay then, we’ll catch up at the Mistletoe Ski Event. You’re going, right?”
“Uh, no. Probably not.”
“Well, I hope you do. Make sure you bring your famous fiancé. My wife is crazy about him!”
Summer looked at him dazed.
“My what?”
Jack pointed at the huge diamond on her left finger.
“Been all over the tabloids. You and Drake Mason getting married. Pretty cool.”
She held up the massive diamond ring like she had never seen it before.
“Oh yeah. It’s really big, huh?” She couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculous size of it—even by Hollywood standards.
Jack laughed. “Yeah it sure is big!
He walked away and then turned back and said, “Hey, did you know Brad Anderson is back in town for Christmas too? He’s going with his new girlfriend …guess she’s super hot!”
“No, I didn’t know that. Not that I care. Thanks.”
Summer suddenly wanted to barf on Jack again.
Chapter 15
It was four days before Christmas and the official evening lighting ceremony of the Kissing Bridge Mountain Christmas tree.
All the inhabitants of Kissing Bridge were assembled for the special annual event.
Each year the captain of the high school ski team would ski up with the silver star that would grace the top of the tree. Behind him, the rest of the team would follow, carrying bags of lights and ornaments. The high school band would play.
A light snow had fallen overnight and it gave the whole event a holy glow. The school chorus was assembled as carolers. They were dressed in happy red gowns with gold trim and the sounds of their merry voices singing Holy Night filled the air.
Summer had come with her mother and Aunt Carol. They had abandoned her and were both busy ‘scouting,’ as they called it. Summer had no idea what that meant, but they had taken off, as if on a very serious mission.
Summer thought about the upcoming competition. The fair was in three days and they still had not decided how to beat Mrs. Beaverton.
The sight of Wily Junior trudging up the walkway next door had become a daily sight at the Beaverton house, and a reminder of how dire the situation had become.
Surely, ‘The Professional’ didn’t have time to be Skyping with Mrs. Beaverton every day… Summer pondered. What could they be doing?
In the last few days the Landers ladies had scoured all of YouTube searching for the best hints and cookie recipes they could find.
They had made batch after batch of recipes that claimed to be the best cookies in the world, only to find that they failed miserably next to Grandma Izzy’s original recipe.
Summer really didn’t know what to do next.
Her phone rang and she picked it up.
Drake.
“Where was she? How come she hadn’t picked up her phone? What about meeting his parents?”
The carolers were overly exuberant in their ‘Here comes Santa Claus, Here Comes Santa Claus, Right Down Santa Claus Lane….’
Summer could barely hear him over the loud singing. She looked around absently as he spoke, looking for a place to hear him better.
She spotted Brad, again with Miss Big Boobs. They were smiling and singing along with the carolers.
She spotted a tavern that looked open and made her way toward it.
“I know, I’m sorry Drake. I’m having trouble hearing you. There’s a lot going on back here…”
She plopped down in the tavern at the counter bar and a young bartender sporting a Patriots football jersey handed her a menu.
She perused it, all the while holding the phone away from her head to dull the volume of Drake’s yelling. He was angry, and Drake never got angry.
“I couldn’t just abandon Fluff. Where was I supposed to put him?”
Her eyes widened at the sight of ‘beef on weck’ on the menu—a hometown specialty.
She pointed to it on the menu, and mouthed “…and a glass of chardonnay please.”
Drake was still yelling on the phone.
“Well, maybe you should have asked Donald to take some allergy medicine and I’d be there…” Summer continued on the phone.
She finished one and a half beef on weck sandwiches and two chardonnays, before she gave up on coming to an understanding with Drake.
She just couldn’t fight about it anymore. Exhausted from the argument and too much beef on weck, Summer was soon fast asleep on the bar counter.
Brad Anderson walked in and called out to the bartender.
“Billy, are you guys still selling beef on weck to go?”
“Sorry Brad. We just sold out.”
He glanced over at Summer sleeping with half a beef on weck sandwich still on her plate.
“The Ponderosa is still serving.”
Brad motioned to the blonde head asleep on the bar.
“What’s going on there?”
Billy the bartender shrugged.
“Don’t know. She was arguing on the phone with someone. Next thing I knew – snoring.”
Brad scowled. He walked over to the sleeping figure and lifted up a tendril of blonde hair.
Summer.
“Billy, aren’t you supposed to cut people off when they drink too much?”
The bartender threw his hands up in defence.
“Brad, she only had two glasses of wine. How’d I know she was such a lightweight? She can sure eat like a man, though. Snores like one too. I’ve gotten a couple complaints from the other customers.”
Brad rolled his eyes.
She certainly hadn’t change
d. How many times had she fallen asleep because she forgot to eat enough and had a half a glass of wine? She had to be the only person on Kissing Bridge Mountain that couldn’t hold her liquor. It was a hard-drinking, beef- on-weck-eating town, and ‘Little Miss Malibu’ wasn’t holding up very well.
He eyed the half-eaten sandwich still on the plate beside her sleeping head.
Summer started snoring again— loudly.
The bartender pleaded with Brad.
“Brad, you know her. Can you just take her home? Please?”
Brad shook his head. He popped the rest of her uneaten beef on weck in his mouth, and headed for the door.
“Not my problem anymore.”
Chapter 16
Summer woke up in bed with a horrible hang over and her clothes on from the previous night.
She couldn’t remember a thing. For a dreaded moment, she didn’t recognize her old room.
She spotted her old high school photo on the wall and let out a sigh of relief.
She picked up her phone on the bedside table.
Ten voicemails. 15 Texts.
“Two Advil, please.”
Summer rubbed her head and headed downstairs for a cup of coffee.
Her mother and Aunt Carol were already seated at the breakfast table in deep conversation. Breakfast at Tiffany’s was playing on the TV in the living room.
They stopped talking abruptly as she entered the room.
They both stared at her.
“What’s up?”
Her mother cleared her throat—something she always did before bringing up something serious.
“Your Aunt Carol and I went roaming last night to try and get some information about the Beaverton’s cookies and we found out something very interesting.”
Summer was wide-eyed and all ears, but her head was pounding.
She went over and poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to hear what they had discovered.
“What’s up?”
They looked at her seriously.
Another throat clearing by her mother, before Aunt Carol bursted out.
“You’re an alcoholic!”
Summer rubbed her forehead and considered it.
“Alcoholic?”
Well, that would explain a lot. She was simply unhappy because she was an alcoholic. What a relief!
That actually solved a lot of issues in her life! Everyone knew you could blame all your problems from gaining weight to sagging jowls on substance abuse. After rehab, you popped out like a newborn babe with a clean slate with every transgression forgiven. It was the perfect system!
It had always been a dream of hers to go to rehab, but she had already been rejected—in fact, twice. Did you know you could get rejected by a rehab? Too healthy, they said. Too normal. Normie. How about going to rehab to get over the trauma from getting rejected by a rehab?
She was so envious the rehabs had all the best stuff. Talk about ‘members only’! All of her famous friends had been to luxury vacation rehab centers and bragged about them; best masseurs, best private chefs, even the best tennis pros. Summer had just never been able to come up with a suitable reason.
Alcoholic! Bingo.
She looked down at the same outfit she still had on from the night before. She could only imagine the state of her hair. She touched it gingerly. It was matted and half-way to dread locks.
“So, I guess I need to go to rehab right away?”
Aunt Carol and Mom nodded in agreement.
“Of course, Darling but, since the whole town knows you have a problem, we thought it best you start right away—family name and all.”
Mom slid an AA meeting schedule in front of her.
Summer considered for a moment defending herself. As if reading her thoughts, her mother continued.
“Brad Anderson brought you home last night. He had to carry you out of the tavern because customers were complaining about you snoring.”
Summer turned bright red and winced.
Mom continued her point.
“He also carried you up the stairs and put you to bed.”
Chapter 17
Summer found herself in a room full of recovering alcoholics later that day.
This was not the luxurious rehab she had been so jealous of her friends attending. This was Kissing Bridge Mountain AA.
Looking around, she felt uncomfortable about being there. She had donned a short brunette wig and her dark glasses and she hoped no one would be able to recognize her. It was anonymous, but there was no telling if that would really stick. More than likely, someone would call the Enquirer and a swarm of paparazzi would suddenly show up.
She looked around at the group. She made up her mind to leave and was just getting on her feet, when a young teenage girl walked over and sat down next to her.
“Hi, my name is Chelsea. Must be your first time here? I haven’t seen you before.” Summer noticed the girl’s t-shirt sporting the moniker ‘Life Sucks’.
Summer found herself liking her right away.
“Hi, I’m Summer.”
Chelsea smiled a true smile.
There was something so darn likeable about this teenager.
That’s how Summer ended up in a lucky seat, once again.
Now, as I mentioned, each of the Landers family had special talents. Aunt Carol had her eavesdropping. Mother had her color healing. And of course, Grandma Izzy had her cookie-making ability. She was the one that had created the famous Landers’ blue-ribbon-winning recipe, after all.
Summer Landers had a lucky seating gift.
It was her lucky seating talent that got her seated next to ski instructor Joe, who had talked her into trying skiing for her very first time. It was her lucky seating talent that had happened to have her seated next to Brad as her lab partner in freshmen chemistry.
And it had ultimately been her lucky seating talent that gotten her the big modeling contract that had changed her life. A top Elite model scout had sat down next to her at Starbucks. That had occurred ten years ago right over on main street, just two blocks over.
Little did she know that she had once again landed just where she needed to be, thanks to her special gift.
After the meeting, Summer and Chelsea went outside to the corridor and helped themselves to a cup of coffee.
Chelsea turned to speak to Summer with a sombre expression on her face.
“Listen Summer, I really like you. Please don’t take this personally ...but in all honesty… I looked over your intake sheet for a sponsor…and I’d love to do it but…”
Summer was quiet. Chelsea let out a hard breath.
“I just don’t think you’re an alcoholic.”
Summer looked defeated.
“What do you mean? It kind of solved all my issues in one fell swoop! Can you check again?
Chelsea consoled her.
“I even checked your family history. There’s never been a Landers ever that had alcohol issues.”
Summer looked defeated.
“I knew it was too good to be true.”
“Look, we would love to have you, but it wouldn’t be ethical. You’re a ‘normie.’ Just accept it.”
Now Summer was left without a blanket excuse for her problems; she was back at square one.
“Oh well,” Summer said defeated, “It was fun while it lasted.”
Just then, Dolly Ferguson, the group coffee monitor, came bustling into the coffee room dressed in a festive elf outfit for the holidays. Dolly wore her elf outfit every year, every day, starting the first day of December. Dolly had a lot of Christmas spirit, and also obviously really liked that elf outfit.
In her hands was a tray of lovely cookies.
“Fresh cookies. Help yourselves, ladies.”
Summer’s eyes lit up at the beauty of the cut-out cookies. Such interesting and unique Christmas shapes! Not your usual tree and ornament cut out.
She raised a reindeer-shaped cookie to her mouth.
She brought it to he
r nose and smelled it. Fresh butter, a hint of…? She wasn’t sure. She took a delicate bite and the taste assailed her senses like a breath of fresh air.
Delicate, light, perfect.
This was a winner! She had to have the recipe!
She turned to Dolly who was adjusting her elf hat.
“Dolly, where did you get these cookies? They’re the best I’ve ever tasted!”
Dolly grinned.
“I know. Aren’t they amazing?! They’re the blue-ribbon winners from the fair, don’t you know. Mrs. Beaverton donated them!”
Chapter 18
“Martha Stewart??!!”
Aunt Carol and Summer had to steady mother from falling over.
It was a devastating blow to the Landers’ morale.
“It’s a disaster!”
Summer and her Aunt Carol had to agree.
Who would have guessed the small-town Beavertons were keeping one of America’s culinary giants up their sleeve?
The gig was up!
After luckily being seated next to Chelsea, who was best friends with the elf-dressed Dolly, Summer had been able to find out the dreaded truth by having her investigate on their behalf.
It seemed that the Beaverton’s youngest niece, Devora, had been caught shoplifting earrings, and actually been in jail with Martha Stewart for a time. Some chatter about being her prison b**** , that Summer didn’t understand. But Devora had been the one that connected the Beavertons to Martha Stewart. The secret was out.
Mother paced back and forth in front of the twinkling Christmas tree. Even Fluff knew enough to run out of the room.
“Well, then. We can’t enter. We can’t compete against Martha Stewart!”
She stopped and through her arms up for emphasis.
“She’s gosh darn Martha Stewart!”
Summer and Aunt Carol looked at each other. They wanted to console her.
They just couldn’t.
She was gosh darn Martha Stewart.
Chapter 19
Summer was whipping up cookie dough in the kitchen the next day with a new determination.
Her mom and Aunt Carol had gone out shopping for ingredients for a new batch of cookies. Summer had been sure the secret spice she had tasted in the AA cookies Mrs. Beaverton had donated had been ‘anise.’
