We stood there in the cold. I could hear the police cars as they screeched onto the Belmont exit and toward the path. “Thank you for saving my life,” I said.
He looked down at Cleo. “I saved both of you. She makes unwise decisions, and too often we have not made her face consequences. Even now, her father and I will provide a team of lawyers for her defense. Yet she will face stern consequences, I fear.”
“Yes. She’s already facing some. She misses Brad.”
“Love is a mysterious thing,” said Enrico Donato, looking past me, and I turned to see Jay Parker running down the path toward me, his coat flapping in the cold wind.
“Parker,” I said, walking to meet him. Then suddenly I was in his arms and squeezing him too tightly and realizing just how afraid I had been. Other police officers flowed past us, but I never let go of Parker, who in turn was holding me with a fairly solid grip.
“I seem to always show up too late, after you’ve already been through danger. I wanted to protect you, to save you,” he said, squeezing me spasmodically. “When I talked to Cleo on the phone, I could tell she was unbalanced. I’ve never been so afraid, Lilah.”
“You and me both.”
He let me go and looked past me to the deck, where people were tending to the stiffened Cleo. “What happened?”
“Her uncle tased her,” I said, and suddenly I was laughing. It was unforgiveable and inappropriate, and it drew more than one glance from the team at work behind us, but I couldn’t stop. Parker looked concerned; he probably figured this was my last fall from sanity. He pulled me back against him.
I stayed there, giggling into his chest, enjoying the warmth of him, the familiar smell of him, the security of his arms around me. Finally I was able to stop laughing and take some deep breaths. I pulled away and looked at him more carefully. His normally perfect hair was in utter disarray, and his face, for the first time since I had known him, was unshaven. “This has been rough on you,” I said.
“It’s been a tough week. It got a lot better when I saw that you were all right.”
“I was scared, Jay. She had a gun, and I thought she might kill me. She shot Wendy!” I cried.
He stroked my hair. “Wendy is okay. They’re going to release her tonight. She was shot in the arm, but it was—a lucky place to take a bullet.”
“Oh God.” I shook my head at the weirdness of it all. “Enrico Donato saved my life.”
Parker glanced past me to Donato, who was speaking in his quiet voice to the authorities around him. Then his eyes were back on me. “Let’s get you home,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On Christmas Eve, my parents’ house was a Christmas fantasy, with real pine swags wound around the stair rails and a magical tree filled with the ornaments I remembered from childhood. Cam and Fina sat close together on the couch, and Fina displayed her wedding ring to my beaming parents. Across from them sat Wendy and Bets, my mother’s new best friends (and mine). Like all people who go through trauma, we found ourselves compelled to talk about it, to tell the story to one another even though most of us had been a part of it. We had spent much of the evening rehashing our harrowing adventure, all of us occasionally touching Wendy’s bandaged arm as a sort of talisman of good fortune.
Mick was in his element. He wore a red holiday scarf and strolled from person to person, getting endless petting and probably too many treats.
Wendy had been distressed since the previous night when Cleo turned on us; she felt it was unprofessional of her to allow her weapon to be taken in that way, although all of us had assured her that we, too, had been fooled into thinking Cleo had been in real danger. Parker understood the situation, and after a couple of interviews with Cleo, he told Wendy that she had in fact succeeded in keeping me safe, since Cleo had admitted being put off by Wendy’s presence and had been unwilling to approach me, despite her fears that I might remember something about her involvement in the crime.
I was hovering near a gold plate covered in generous pieces of my mother’s homemade fudge, eating too much of it, as I did each year. I occasionally switched to a different plate and retrieved a piece of cheese for Mick, who had relocated to a spot under my table. His red scarf brushed softly against my arm.
“Lilah, come back to us,” my mother said. She had been beaming widely all evening, a smile that was mostly due to relief and partly due to spiked eggnog. I had learned my lesson about that particular drink and was sticking to hot tea.
“I’m here,” I said. “Eating fudge, just like every Christmas. But we need to change the subject. We should be talking about holiday things. Baby Jesus and the snow outside, and the stockings hung by the chimney with care.”
My mother laughed. “This is the best Christmas ever. I’m so happy that you are all here and safe. All my children, by birth and by marriage and by adoption.”
That last part was for Bets and Wendy, who smiled and lifted their glasses.
When the doorbell rang, everyone stiffened for a moment; my father left the room, and we heard his voice mingling in friendly tones with the voice of Jay Parker. The two men appeared in the doorway. Parker’s eyes sought mine, but whatever he might have said was drowned out by Serafina screaming. “My purse! My beautiful bag!”
She leaped from the couch and dove on Parker, who was in fact holding Serafina’s lovely Italian leather handbag. “Where did you find it?” she cried.
Parker shrugged. “I just had to check a few Dumpsters near your apartment.”
I stared at him, openmouthed, while Serafina continued to hug him until her husband stood and pulled her away. I said, “You went Dumpster diving on Christmas Eve just to look for Serafina’s purse?”
Serafina was on the couch now, examining the inside of her bag. “It is all here—everything—just the money is gone. Money is the least important thing, yes?” Now she transferred her joy to Cam in the form of hugs and kisses, and he accepted them with a smug expression.
He did manage to say, “Thanks, Jay. That was really cool of you. I should have thought to look there.”
It was the first time Cam had ever called Parker by his first name, and Parker’s face brightened with surprise. Then my family closed around him, patting his back and asking him questions and (in the case of my mother) plying him with food. I went into the kitchen and retrieved Mick’s leash and my coat. Parker was still wearing his, but he wouldn’t be for long if he planned to stay.
I went back into the living room and waved to him. “I was just about to walk Mick. Do you want to go with me?”
Six people around Parker now suddenly found reasons to walk away from him, talking among themselves. “I would like to, yes,” Parker said.
We went out into the early evening cold. It wasn’t snowing, but the occasional random flake hit our faces as the weather sorted out what it wanted to do. I handed the leash to Parker so I could zip up my coat. He looked very natural walking Mick, so I let him keep doing it.
“Lilah,” Parker said.
“I didn’t mean to interrogate you over the phone yesterday.”
“I don’t want this to be a problem. I want to be with you. I made a mistake the first time, and I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. And I don’t want to create problems. But it seems to me the truth is a pretty big thing to have a disagreement about. I can’t be with someone who thinks I’m dishonest.”
“I don’t.”
“But what if you do, deep down? And then there comes a time that you need to trust me, really trust me, and you find that you can’t?”
Mick stopped to sniff a patch of snow, and Parker faced me. “Lilah, I regret the way I handled a lot of things. And I am sorry that I lied to you about my mother. All I can do is try to start from this point.”
I took his gloved hand, the one that wasn’t holding a leash, and held it. “When I was driving down the L
akeshore last night, wondering if Cleo was crazy enough to shoot me, I tried to think comforting thoughts—of my family and Mick—but mostly of you. I’ve only known you for a couple of months, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.”
Parker looked earnest. “What if we just made a pact right now to only look forward? And we’ll both promise not to lie to each other ever again?”
I studied his face, strong and finely chiseled in the evening light. “So we’re at that point when we’re talking about second chances, like you said in my house, when this all started?”
“We are at that point, yes.”
“I would like a second chance with you, Jay Parker. And I will never lie to you again.”
“I won’t lie to you, either, Lilah.”
“Okay. Can I kiss you now?”
“I wish you would.”
I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips against his. Parker slid one arm around me. Mick’s nose had moved to Parker’s shoes. Finally Parker broke away and laughed. “He’s licking my feet.”
“He’s affectionate, like me,” I said. “Hey, do you have time to come back in and celebrate Christmas with us?”
“For an hour or so. Can you spare some time after that to come over to Mom’s with me? Nothing would make her happier than to see me come home with a girlfriend.”
“Am I your girlfriend, Parker?” I said, batting my lashes at him.
He let go of Mick’s leash and slid both his arms around my back. “Do you know what? I hear your name in my head all day. When I first met you, I thought it was a pretty name, but now it’s almost like music to me. Lilah.” He kissed me. Mick sat down directly on our feet, clearly not pleased to lose our attention. “And yes, you are my girlfriend. Tell that to your Italian chef.”
I sent him a regretful look. “He’s offered me a regular spot. Is that going to be a problem?”
His mouth was near mine; I could feel the warmth of his skin. “I know he’s good for your career. Just keep it in the studio, okay? I don’t want to have to compete with that guy.”
“You never would, Jay. He had his chance, and he lost.”
“And I won.”
“You did. I keep thinking of what Brad Whitefield said, about his island of escape. Maybe he did want to be alone, but I think he would have chosen to be with Isabel eventually. I think he was in love with her; I understand, because that expression on his face—I see it on my own in the mirror, when I’m thinking about you.”
* * *
Two hours later we drove to Ellie Parker’s house. Ellie, my good friend, had tried to initiate a relationship between her son and me back in October, and the attempt had failed. Now Parker and I had reconciled, but Ellie didn’t know that yet.
Parker got out of the car, looking like a mysterious sailor in his dark coat, then came around to my side to help me out. “You look pretty,” he said.
I smiled, and we made our way up the driveway, past a couple of other cars. Parker’s brothers were there with their families.
Parker had texted his mother that he was coming, and she met us at the door. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m so glad you could make it, and—is that Lilah?” Ellie practically dragged me across the threshold and gave me a big hug. “You worked things out?” she said in my ear.
“We did,” I murmured.
She turned to hug Jay and wish him Merry Christmas. “Thanks for getting me the present I wanted,” she said to him.
He grinned. “It’s the present I wanted, too.”
I said nothing, but I realized it was what I had asked for, when I spoke with a costumed Brad Whitefield on that fateful day when we stood together in a delicate snowfall. I wanted a second chance, I’d told him, and he had smiled at me and told me to believe in my dream.
Now Jay Parker and his mother and I walked together to the main room, where Jay’s two brothers, their wives, and three little children sat around the tree. They looked up at us, their faces bright and expectant.
Parker stepped forward, holding my hand, and said, “Everyone? This is Lilah.”
Recipes
Serafina’s Pizzelles
(Italian Christmas Waffle Cookies)
For this recipe, you need a pizzelle baker, similar to a waffle iron, which imprints a beautiful, snowflake-like design on each cookie. The dough takes only minutes to prepare, and the cookies themselves can be hot on your table in less than half an hour.
My sister-in-law, Serafina Bellini Drake, assures me that these cookies, when made with love and just the right amount of butter, taste like Christmas itself, whatever that means.
INGREDIENTS
1½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1½ sticks (¾ cup) butter
3 large eggs
¾ cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla (or almond extract, if you prefer)
Powdered sugar for sprinkling
First preheat your pizzelle baker.
Mix flour and baking soda and set aside.
Melt butter and mix with eggs, sugar, and vanilla in blender until smooth.
Add the flour mixture until you have a sticky dough.
Check to see that your baker is ready; spray the inside lightly with a baking spray to avoid sticking.
Place a rounded teaspoonful of dough on each of the pizzelle pattern grids.
Lower the lid and hold for 30–40 seconds (you may have to experiment with timing).
Lift and gently pry up the cookies with a fork tine or thin knife, then set cookies on a baking rack to cool.
When cookies are finished, sift powdered sugar over them to create a lacy, holiday effect.
Your finished pizzelles will be thin, delicate, snowflake-like cookies that are sweet and addictive.
Lilah’s French Toast Casserole with Gingerbread Flavor
(Adapted for Christmastime)
INGREDIENTS:
1 loaf of soft French bread (or soft rolls)
8 large eggs
2 cups half-and-half
1 cup milk
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
Salt to taste
STREUSEL TOPPING:
(This can vary, but here’s one option.)
2 sticks (1 cup) butter
¼ cup molasses
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup corn syrup
1 cup chopped pecans (or walnuts)
½ teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon cloves
Slice bread into twenty slices (or separate ten rolls) and lay out in buttered baking dish.
Blend all of the ingredients and pour them over the slices of bread, making sure that the wet mixture gets under and in between the slices, and that all of the bread is saturated.
Cover the mixture with tinfoil and refrigerate overnight. In the morning, make the streusel mixture and spread on top of the saturated, chilled bread; bake for 40 minutes at 350 degrees.
Serve with pats of butter and maple syrup. (Gingerbread also tastes delicious topped with whipped cream.)
Be ready for a scrumptious surprise to share with friends or family! Toby’s five children love this recipe, but adults love it, too!
Lilah’s Henry-Bear Chocolate Chip Cookies
Made Exclusively for Henry of Weston
This particular recipe is sure to please any cookie-grubbing small people in your environment. Since children have surprisingly large hands when it comes to taking cookies, you might consider doubling the recipe so that you have plenty on hand.
INGREDIENTS
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup light brown sugar
½ teaspoon cinnamon s
ugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 eggs
2¼ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 bag semisweet chocolate chips
Chopped walnuts to taste (For those with a nut allergy, these can be omitted or replaced with a candy substitute. Check candy bag to make sure it is nut-free.)
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Combine sugars, vanilla, and eggs (use a blender for a smooth dough). In a separate bowl, mix flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder. Gradually fold into the blended mixture. Finally, stir in chocolate chips and nuts, if you choose.
(If a tiny child is present, he will try to eat the dough at this early stage—watch for little fingers.)
Capture dough between two teaspoons and flick balls onto greased baking sheets. (Alternatively you can buy cookie patterns in various child-friendly shapes. Henry is fond of the knight patterns.)
Bake for 12–15 minutes or to desired crunchiness.
This recipe is also excellent aromatherapy, as it fills your house with the smell of chocolate and sweet cake.
Take cookies off the pan (they might continue baking slightly) and put on wire racks to cool. Seal cooled cookies into airtight containers.
Freeze half the batch so that you can have them fresh and ready when company comes.
Henry’s rating: Five Batmans (the highest number possible)
Julia Buckley is the author of the Undercover Dish Mysteries, including The Big Chili, and the Writer’s Apprentice Mysteries, including A Dark and Stormy Murder. She is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Romance Writers of America, along with the Chicago Writer’s Association. Julia has taught high school English for twenty-eight years. She lives in the Chicago area with her husband, two sons, three cats, and a rambunctious Lab puppy named Digby, who is a lot like Mick. Visit her online at juliabuckley.com.
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