Christmas on Candy Cane Lane

by Sheila Roberts

  “Quiet but pleasant, thank you. My son’s not answering his cell. Is he home?”

  And how are you, Madeline? How was your Thanksgiving? “I’m afraid not. He’s at the hardware store.” The same place he is every Saturday.

  There was a silence while Maddy’s mother-in-law digested that information. “Oh. I assumed he’d take Thanksgiving weekend off.”

  He hadn’t done that since they’d bought the hardware store and moved to Icicle Falls eleven years ago. “Uh, no. Thanksgiving weekend is a busy time for retail.” Why did she have to constantly remind her mother-in-law of this? Sometimes it was as if Corrine came from another planet and had to have the customs here on Earth explained over and over again.

  “Of course. But since it’s not yet ten, I thought maybe he’d still be home.”

  “The store’s open from eight to six until after Christmas.” Corrine knew that.

  “It’s really you I wanted to talk to, anyway,” she said.

  That had to be a first. “Here I am,” Maddy said sweetly.

  “Thomas and I are coming up there for Christmas this year.”

  “Up...here?” Oh, no. She had to have misheard. Please God, let me have misheard. “You won’t be going to Monica’s?”

  “Monica has to spend Christmas with her in-laws in Utah this year.”

  Monica had probably begged her in-laws to rescue her from her sourpuss, nitpicky mother. Oh, wait. She was only sour and nitpicky around Maddy.

  Sadly, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot fifteen years ago. Maddy’d had the nerve to get engaged to Corrine’s son before Corrine could have a chance to meet (translation: inspect) her. It hadn’t helped matters that Maddy and Alan had spent their first Christmas with her parents rather than trekking down to California to hang out with the in-laws.

  In spite of their bumpy beginning, Maddy had tried to get along, sending birthday presents and a Mother’s Day card. And going to see his parents the following Christmas. But by then it was too late. Anytime Alan forgot to return his mother’s calls, it was Maddy’s fault, and when they were on the phone and he said he had to go, she always imagined Maddy was pulling him away. Corrine didn’t like to share. She especially didn’t like to share her son. And most of all, she didn’t like to share him with Maddy. He often went down for a few days in the summer just so Corrine could have him all to herself. Which was fine with Maddy. She had no desire to go where she wasn’t wanted.

  Too bad Corrine didn’t feel the same way. “Well, of course, we’ll be glad to have you,” Maddy lied. “When were you planning on coming?”

  “We’ll be there by the twenty-third.”

  “Oh.” Goody. “And how long can you stay?” Please don’t say you’re staying through New Year’s.

  “We’re going home the twenty-sixth. Your father-in-law has a doctor’s appointment the next day.”

  Father-in-law, not Dad. Although Tom had asked her to call him Dad the first time he met her. Corrine had never asked Maddy to call her Mom. “All right, we’ll see you then.”

  “Alan can pick us up at the airport.”

  God forbid they should rent a car.

  “I’ll try him on his cell again and give him the details,” Corrine went on.

  “Okay,” Maddy said. “I’ll let you go, then.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you have things to do.”

  “I do have to get to my shop.”

  “You’re working today, too. What’s my poor granddaughter doing?”

  At the moment the poor granddaughter was seated at the kitchen table, playing a game on her cell phone. “She’s going skating with some friends.”

  “That’s nice. Give her a hug from her grandma,” Corrine said, her voice softening.

  At least her dislike of Maddy hadn’t extended to Maddy’s offspring. “I’ll do that. We’ll see you soon.” And wouldn’t that be fun? Maddy set the phone on the table. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Are Grandma and Grandpa coming to visit?” Jordan asked as they walked to the garage.

  “Looks that way.” Okay, she should’ve tried to sound more enthusiastic. Hard to be enthusiastic when you were going to be entertaining Scrooge in drag.

  “How come you and Grandma don’t like each other?”

  “We like each other fine.”

  “No, you don’t. Grandma’s always nice to me. Why is she mean to you?”

  “I guess you’ll have to ask her that,” Maddy replied as they got into the SUV. It would be interesting to see what Corrine would answer.

  Maddy backed out of the garage, then they set off down the street. The houses were all starting to look festive. By evening they’d be sparkling with colored lights, and reindeer would be prancing on lawns and rooftops. Come tomorrow night, the Christmas show would be ready for the holiday early birds, arriving with their cars packed with children to enjoy the sights. Thanks to all the women taking turns, a Mrs. Santa Claus would be somewhere on the street every evening from now through Christmas Eve, handing out candy canes.

  Several neighbors smiled and waved as they drove past, and Maddy waved back. Seeing Candy Cane Lane come to life usually made her heart soar. But now, even though almost everyone seemed to be in a festive mood, she just wasn’t feeling it anymore.

  There was only one person to blame for that. Maddy didn’t want to see the Grinch steal Christmas, but she wouldn’t mind if he made off with her mother-in-law.

  Chapter Three

  With Thanksgiving weekend comes the promise of a season of holiday delights.

  —Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas

  Ivy Bohn had seen her new neighbor and crew pull in next door. She stopped stringing her silver garland on the tree to watch Tilda the cop climb out of her black Jeep, managing to look both sexy and kick-ass in jeans, black boots and black leather jacket accessorized by spiky dark hair. She’d worn her usual frown. Tilda Morrison always looked like she wanted to arrest the entire world. What kind of neighbor would she make? Probably not a friendly one. Ugh.

  It seemed Ivy was doomed to have neighbors she didn’t want. Before Tilda it had been the Schmerzes, who thought yard work was optional and house repairs were for other people. They’d run the house into the ground. Before them it had been Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, whose son was a sneaky little drug dealer. There’d been muscle cars screaming up and down the street, loud parties and juvenile delinquents coming and going. Mrs. Gordon had been oblivious to what her son was doing to devalue the neighborhood, but when it came to Ivy’s dog, the woman had the radar of a bat. If Gizmo even came near her flower beds, Mrs. G. squirted him with her hose, sending the poor little guy somersaulting across the lawn. At least the Schmerzes hadn’t cared when Gizmo escaped under the fence and got into the flower beds. Tilda probably would. She’d probably arrest Gizmo for trespassing.

  Ivy sighed. Maybe Tilda would make a better neighbor than she did a friendly neighborhood cop. Ivy knew from experience how heartless she could be when she was in Dirty Harry mode. But the other day had been an exception, she reminded herself. Perhaps, under that icy exterior, there beat a warm heart. And maybe, when she was out of uniform, Tilda Morrison changed into a human.

  She should at least give Tilda the benefit of the doubt. She’d made pumpkin bread to take to her parents’ on Thanksgiving. She had half a loaf left. She could slice some of that, put it on a red plastic plate and bring it over.

  “Mommy, Robbie’s getting into the ornaments,” tattled four-year old Hannah from the couch where she was watching cartoons on TV.

  A solid thump pulled Ivy out of her reverie and she turned to see that Robbie Junior had tired of playing with his stacking blocks and acquired a new skill, escaping from the playpen. Oh, no. First the crib, now the playpen. There’d be no stopping him. He was already
at the great room’s dining table, a pudgy little hand reaching for the box of glass ornaments sitting on the table.

  “Robbie, no!” Ivy dropped the garland and hurried toward him.

  Too late. He had his fingers on the edge of the box. He wasn’t quite able to get a grip on it and the box tipped off the table and landed on the hardwood floor with a delicate crunch. Ivy wished she’d gone ahead and put in carpet the year before last, even though she and Rob had decided they couldn’t afford it.

  “Oh, Robbie,” she groaned. He tried to pick up one of the broken ornaments and she grabbed his hand. “No! You’ll cut yourself.”

  Unhappy at being thwarted, Robbie let out a wail.

  “Mommy told you no.” Ivy picked him up and plopped him back in the playpen, then gave him his favorite stuffed bear. “Here. Play with Teddy-boo.”

  He looked at the beloved toy in disgust and threw it on the floor. “No.” He held out his hands. “Uppy.”

  “No, I’m not picking you up.”

  Okay, fine. Then I’ll just climb out. He lifted one little jammy-clad foot in an effort to get out again.

  She put his foot back on the playpen floor where it belonged. “No, you don’t, buster. You’re staying put until we get done with the tree.”

  This inspired a fresh wail of outrage.

  There was no good time to cope with the terrible twos, but Christmas was the worst. It would’ve been helpful if her son had waited until he actually turned two to begin this behavior. Two was still six months away but Robbie had made an early start.

  “When can we dec’rate the tree?” Hannah asked from the couch. Gizmo had joined her now and she sat with the corgi snuggled up next to her. Such an angelic picture.

  Except Gizmo wasn’t allowed on the couch, and with his stubby legs he couldn’t get up without assistance. Rather than argue with another child, Ivy ignored Gizmo’s trespassing. “You can help as soon as I have the garland on. Just another minute.”

  Hannah got tired of waiting just another minute, and scrambled off the couch, Gizmo hopping down after her. She handed her brother his discarded bear and that shut him up. Ah, a peaceful moment.

  A moment was about all Ivy got before she heard the scrape of a chair on the kitchen floor. This, she knew from experience, meant her darling daughter was up to no good. Sure enough, when she got to the kitchen, Hannah was climbing onto the counter, right in front of the cupboard where Ivy kept the bag of marshmallows they used to make Rice Krispies treats.

  “Hannah Joy!”

  Hannah gave a start and made an effort to climb back onto the chair. In her haste she missed her footing and tumbled to the floor. Robbie, unhappy about being abandoned, was once more crying for all he was worth in the living room and now Hannah was crying, too.

  Ivy picked her up and sat on the chair, soothing her while checking for damage. “There now, it’s okay. But you know better than to get into things without asking.”

  “I want to dec’rate the tree,” Hannah sobbed, changing the subject.

  Oh, this was fun. Nothing like trying to decorate for the holidays with two little ones.

  She’d had two little ones the year before, but Rob had been around then. Although he’d been disconnected emotionally, he’d still been there to ride herd on the kids. Now it was just her, and she hated it.

  Women do this all the time, she reminded herself. You’re not the only woman to wind up as a single mom. And at least she had her parents. They’d retired, leaving the running of Christmas Haus to their daughters, and Mom, affectionately nicknamed Mutti, had been more than happy to help Ivy out with child care. But even with her mom’s help, there always came that time when Ivy had to take her kids and go home to no one but the dog. When she had to bathe the kids and put them to bed and then find a way to fill the silence. Thank God for HGTV, Netflix and her new hobby of knitting. So far, she’d made scarves for everyone in the family for Christmas, as well as half a dozen hats.

  “I know you’re tired of waiting,” Ivy said. “But can you be good for Mommy for a few more minutes?”

  “I just want to dec’rate the tree,” Hannah sobbed, not making any promises.

  “Well, the sooner you start behaving, the sooner we can do that.” There was no reasoning with a four-year-old. Why was she trying?

  Her cell phone rang and, still holding her daughter, Ivy snagged it.

  “Hey, Ivy,” said her cousin Pete, “do you know if Deirdre’s coming in today?”

  “What do you mean?” Ivy shouted, trying to make herself heard above her crying children. “She’s on the schedule.” Her younger sister always worked on Saturdays. (Well, almost always, unless she got an offer to go to Seattle for the weekend with her girlfriends.) She got Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays off. Very European of Deirdre to make sure she had a four-day workweek.

  “Well, she’s not here.”

  “Did you call her cell?”

  “Voice mail.”

  If she’d gone skiing, Ivy was going to whack her with a snow globe. Now, what kind of thing is that to think? she scolded herself. That would just damage the inventory.

  “Nicole and I can’t handle all the customers on our own. You know what this place is like Thanksgiving weekend.”

  Boy, did she ever. Thanksgiving kicked off the holiday tourist season in Icicle Falls. People came up in droves to enjoy fancy holiday dinners at the various B and Bs and restaurants, shop and, when there was snow, get in some skiing. There’d been snow and there would be skiers and shoppers aplenty this Saturday.

  Normally, in the good old days before the divorce, when Ivy thought she was happily married for life, she would’ve been able to drop everything and rush right in. Rob worked in the warehouse at Sweet Dreams Chocolates and had Saturdays off. He would’ve held down the fort for the day, feeding their daughter junk food and watching cartoons with her. Not cleaning up a thing, of course. But he’d have been home, a watchful presence, someone to return to, someone who had her back. Now nobody had her back.

  Darn it all, her sister had said she’d be happy to go in so Ivy could spend the day at home, decorating for Christmas. Ivy had already worked until seven on Black Friday. She’d had enough.

  But this was the family business, and the holiday buck stopped with her. “Let me see if I can get someone to stay with the kids.”

  “What if you can’t?” Pete asked, his voice filled with panic.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”

  Hannah’s crying had subsided to sobs and to reward her (or reinforce bad behavior), Ivy took down the bag of marshmallows and gave her one. “Do not put the whole thing in your mouth,” she said, setting Hannah on her feet. “And eat it at the kitchen table.”

  Hannah complied and Gizmo accompanied her to the table, where he sat at Hannah’s feet looking pitiful. No need to tell her not to feed the dog. Marshmallows were her favorite, and she wouldn’t be inclined to share.

  Robbie had finally given up crying and Ivy took advantage of the moment of silence to put in a call to her mother.

  “Hello, darling,” said Mutti. “How’s the decorating going?”

  “Lousy. Robbie’s learned how to escape the playpen. He managed to get out and knock my Italian glass ornaments off the dining room table and break them.”

  “I told you not to bring those out this year.”

  “I know. Have you talked to Deirdre?”

  “Since Thanksgiving? No. Why?”

  “She hasn’t come into the store yet.”

  A long moment of silence ensued, followed by, “Your sister needs to stop this irresponsible behavior.”

  Ivy’s sentiments exactly, yet she found herself defending Deirdre. “Well, she did just lose a fiancé.”

  “He didn’t die,” Mutti said firmly. “He dumped her, t
he beast. She should be glad to be rid of such a man.”

  Same here, Ivy thought. Rob had ended things the day after Christmas last year, and by New Year’s Eve he’d moved into the Mountain View Apartments at the edge of town. “I just don’t know what I want,” he’d said, as if wanting had anything to do with commitment and responsibility. She’d been so hurt and mad. And she’d missed him terribly.

  To prove it she’d thrown a grapefruit at him when she encountered him in the Safeway produce aisle after the divorce was final.

  “Breakups can make you crazy,” she said to her mom. But why, oh, why did her sister have to go crazy right now, when Christmas Haus was entering its busiest season? “Anyway, can you take the kids?”

  “Oh, dear. Your father and I on our way out the door to visit Grandma.”

  And her grandmother, who lived in Issaquah, was not fond of little ones. Ivy still remembered trips to Grandma’s house when they were young. They called it No-No House because everything in the place was off-limits. No, no. Don’t touch that. Look with your eyes, not your hands. Don’t put your feet on the sofa. Those dolls are for decoration, not to play with. Oh, yes, her grandmother would love to see her two kids, she thought as she went into the living room to make sure her son was where she’d left him.

  She arrived in time to see him topple over the edge of the playpen. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “He’s really mastered this escape-artist stuff.” And, of course, he was headed straight for the tree. She made a Supermom dash across the room, catching him just before he could pull on the branches and yank it over on himself. “No, Robbie,” she said, scooping him up, which of course produced fresh wails. Ivy felt like crying herself.

  She could barely hear her mom asking, “Is everything all right over there?”

  “Oh, yeah. We’re great.”

  “Oh, dear,” said her mother. “We’d better take the kids with us.”

  That would not be fun for her poor parents. “Never mind. I’ll see if I can get a sitter.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, no worries.” She dumped the kids on her parents enough as it was. She didn’t need to do it on Thanksgiving weekend.