Christmas on Candy Cane Lane

by Sheila Roberts

  “Flu,” Alan said, and ate some of her ham-and-cheese strata.

  “More like allergies, if you ask me. I think he’s allergic to work. Why you ever put him in charge on Sundays is a mystery to me.”

  Alan sighed. “It’s hard to get good workers. Anyway, I can’t leave Wink there all by himself.”

  “Couldn’t Joe come in?”

  “Would you have wanted me to go to work one week after our daughter was born?”

  Good point.

  Jordan found this interesting. “Did you take off work when I was born, Daddy?”

  “Of course I did,” Alan said, smiling at her. “I didn’t want to miss a thing.”

  And he hadn’t. Neither of them had, really. They’d been there for every school concert, every piano recital (until Jordan decided she didn’t want to take piano anymore) and every Saturday soccer game (thank God she’d given up soccer). Granted, Maddy had been a little more MIA after buying the Spice Rack, but by then she’d figured Jordan’s self-esteem was pretty well boosted.

  “You’re going to miss a few things today,” Maddy said irritably.

  Alan’s brow furrowed. “What did we have planned?”

  “Besides church and getting the tree? How about putting our candy canes back up?”

  “We’ll have to get the tree tomorrow night. As for the candy canes, I guess you and Jordan will have to deal with that.”

  Jordan made a face and Maddy could feel her own lips turning down at the corners.

  “Or you can just not bother putting any more up.”

  “Alan Donaldson, what a thing to say!”

  He shrugged. “It’s your call. But if this batch gets ruined, you’re out of luck. I’ve sold out at the store and I can’t get any more in.”

  “Good. They’re dumb, anyway,” Jordan muttered.

  “They’re not dumb,” Maddy corrected her—again.

  “Someone sure thinks they are,” Alan said. “I don’t know, hon. This is all starting to feel a bit like Charlie Brown, Lucy and the football. How many times are we going to keep getting suckered into putting up candy canes for someone to come along and trash?”

  “Those candy canes are going up this afternoon,” Maddy insisted.

  “I thought we were going to see The Christmas Card this afternoon,” Jordan said.

  The latest holiday offering was now showing at Falls Cinema, and although it looked slapstick and silly, Maddy had promised they’d go. “We are. But first we’re going to put our candy canes up.”

  Jordan rolled her eyes.

  “And no eye rolling,” Maddy told her. “You’ll break your eye sockets.”

  Jordan performed another eyeball somersault. “Whatever.”

  Alan washed down one more bite of casserole with his coffee, then pushed away from the table. “I’d better get going,” he said, and kissed Maddy and Jordan.

  Maddy watched him go and sighed. So much for the nice family day she’d planned. Ah, well, the best-laid plans and all that.

  So, it was only her and Jordan at church. Well, only her, since Jordan always sat with her friends.

  Maddy consoled herself by visiting with as many people as possible before the service. A lot of families had come to church together. The Lindstroms, the Claussens, the Jonses. Muriel Sterling stood at the other end of the foyer with her clan all clustered around her. The Christiansens were making their way into the sanctuary, along with their daughters, Deirdre and Ivy, and the grandchildren. Poor Ivy. Being on her own had to be hard, even with her parents nearby to help her. Maddy found herself feeling smugly thankful that her husband was still loyal and in love with her.

  She decided to slip into a seat next to Ivy, just to see how she was doing. Ivy hadn’t volunteered to pass out candy canes this year, and Maddy hadn’t pressed her, figuring she had her hands full adjusting to her first Christmas as a single mom.

  Ivy greeted her with a polite smile and a hello.

  “I keep meaning to tell you how nice your lights look,” Maddy said, hoping to encourage her.

  “Thanks,” Ivy murmured.

  “Did you put them up all by yourself?” Did she sound nosy? She didn’t mean to be. She was simply making conversation.

  “I had a little help. Have you found out who’s been knocking over the candy canes?”

  The mere mention of the vandalism was enough to make Maddy grind her teeth. “Not yet. I don’t think the police are trying very hard, even though we have one living in our neighborhood now.”

  “Well, hopefully they’ll catch whoever it is soon. Meanwhile, I’m just glad they haven’t gotten down as far as our place. It’s so much work getting all the decorations up. I’d hate to have to keep replacing things.”

  “It’s not fun,” Maddy said, thinking of her poor squashed candy canes.

  The musicians had taken their places and the service was beginning, so that was the end of the chitchat. Maddy got swept up by the music and forgot about her irritations. Pastor Jim’s sermon centered on the joy of Christmas and the importance of sharing that joy with others, advice she took as an endorsement of all the joy she and her neighbors were spreading with their festive light displays.

  She said as much as she and Jordan headed home, hoping to instill a fresh appreciation for everything Candy Cane Lane represented.

  “I thought he was talking about doing stuff together,” Jordan said, which gave Maddy hope that her daughter actually listened to the sermons.

  “Well, of course, that, too.”

  “So, we’re still going to the movie, right?”

  “Yes. But first I need to do a few things at home.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like putting our candy canes back up. Remember? You can help if you want.”

  “No, thanks,” said Jordan.

  “Well, then, while I’m doing that, you can finish your homework.”

  That wasn’t met with great enthusiasm, either. Big surprise.

  After lunch Maddy bundled up and went out into the frosty air to set up her candy canes once more. Mr. Werner came out to supervise. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. The same little brats are just going to come by and wreck them.”

  “Now, Mr. Werner, you have to think positive,” Maddy said. Really, Mr. Werner was the most unpleasant—no, make that second most unpleasant—person she knew. Her mother-in-law would always hold the first-place position.

  “Waste of time,” he said. “I hope they catch the brats, though. I’ll be more than happy to press charges. Teach ’em a lesson.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Maddy said. That was one thing she and the old curmudgeon saw eye to eye on, anyway.

  She was working up a good sweat by the time Carla Welky and her husband, Earl, stopped by. “Here, let me help you,” Earl offered.

  “Oh, thank you, Earl. That would be great,” Maddy said.

  “It’s the least I can do for our resident Mrs. Santa Claus,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh, and speaking of Mrs. Santa Claus. I was just over at Safeway to get some more candy canes for tonight and they’re sold out,” Carla told her.

  “That can’t be. I bought some there the other day.”

  “Well, they’re out now. Won’t have any more in until the middle of the week. I’ve only got half a dozen left. That won’t last me very long tonight.”

  “Don’t worry,” Maddy said. “I’ll find you some.” Johnson’s Drugs probably had them in stock.

  Once her decorations were put to rights, she called the drugstore. “We’re all out,” Hildy said, “We’ve got some coming in next week. You girls up there on Candy Cane Lane tapped us out.”

  “But you ordered extra,” Maddy protested.

  “Yes, and you’ve used them. The pl
ace gets more popular all the time. Like I said, we’ll have some for you next week.”

  Next week didn’t help her now. “Okay, thanks. Can you think of anyplace else that might have them?”

  “Safeway,” Hildy said.

  “They’re out, too.”

  “Well, dear, you may have to drive over to Cashmere or Wenatchee.”

  Oh, no. That would take too long. She’d never make it back in time for the movie. She thanked Hildy, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to think. She’d have to call around and see if anyone else in the neighborhood had extra candy canes Carla could use. Half a dozen phone calls told her that the neighborhood supply was running on peppermint fumes. Great. What now?

  Jordan wandered into the kitchen. “I’m done.”

  “What? Oh. Good. Good job.”

  “The movie starts in half an hour.”

  “Okay. We’ll leave in twenty minutes,” Maddy promised, and put in a call to Carla. “I can’t find candy canes anywhere.”

  Jordan plunked down at the table, pulled out her cell phone and got busy texting.

  “I’m going to be out in no time. You know Sundays are big nights for families.”

  “Well, there’s not much we can do. Hand out the ones you have and call it quits,” Maddy said.

  “Next year we should just order a whole bunch online.” We, of course, meaning Maddy.

  “Good idea.” Maddy wished Carla luck, then hung up, feeling frustrated.

  “Who cares if you run out of candy canes, anyway?” Jordan said.

  “You cared when you were little,” Maddy retorted, annoyed by her daughter’s callous attitude.

  “Kids just want candy. They don’t care if it’s candy canes or not.”

  Maybe her daughter had a point. Maddy called Johnson’s Drugs again. “Hildy, do you, by any chance, happen to have peppermint discs?”

  “Yes, we’ve got a couple of bags hanging in the candy section. But you didn’t say you wanted discs.”

  “They’ll do in a pinch. I’ll be right there to pick them up.” Maddy gave Jordan a kiss on the forehead. “You’re brilliant, my darling daughter.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Maddy said, grabbing her purse.

  “Mom, where are you going?”

  “To get some candy.”

  “But the movie...”

  “I’ll be back in time.”

  “No, you won’t!”

  “Yes, I will. Don’t worry.”

  And she would’ve been—if there hadn’t been a Sunday rush at the drugstore, with people standing in line to buy everything from cough drops to skin cream. Good grief. She finally made it out of there with her treasures and barreled toward home. She’d dash out of the car, throw the candy at Carla, then dash into the house. Jordan would be ready and waiting. They’d be a little late getting to the theater, but they’d probably only miss the commercials and the previews of coming attractions.

  She was so intent on getting the candy to Carla and getting Jordan to the movie on time that the flashing lights didn’t even register. Until the car behind her—yikes, a patrol car!—gave a short blast of its siren.

  Oh, no. She didn’t have time for this. But how was she going to explain her situation to the officer? There were some things men didn’t understand. Two men. Groan. Oh, wait. One wasn’t a man. Thank heaven. The officer getting out of the car was her new neighbor. Good. They could have a quick woman-to-woman chat and Maddy would be on her way.

  She lowered her window and donned her most diplomatic smile. “Hello there.”

  Tilda didn’t smile back. “Mrs. Donaldson, do you know how fast you were going?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. I don’t suppose, being neighbors and all...”

  “You were going forty-five in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone. Is there some emergency at home?”

  “Sort of. You see, we’re out of candy canes for our Mrs. Santa Claus to pass out, and I had to run to the store and...” Did this sound kind of lame? Judging from the expression on Tilda Morrison’s face, yes. “I promised my daughter I’d take her to see The Christmas Card and I’m late getting home and...” Now she’d gone from lame to ridiculous. “Just give me the ticket.”

  “License and registration, please.”

  Maddy dug around in her purse and produced the necessary information. “I know this is going to sound a little strange, but could you hurry, please?”

  Okay, that had not been a smart thing to say. Tilda’s eyes narrowed and for a minute Maddy was afraid she’d be asked to step out of the car and take a sobriety test. Because surely only someone under the influence would be stupid enough to say something like that to a cop.

  “Mrs. Donaldson, I’m not sure you understand the danger of going so far over the speed limit, especially at this time of year when the roads are hazardous.”

  Maddy sighed. “I do. I’m sorry. It’s just that I promised my daughter and... Never mind. Take your time.”

  Which, of course, she did. What was she doing back there, playing Trivial Pursuit with her partner? How many tickets are given out on Sundays to women who promised to take their daughters to a movie and tried to squeeze in a run to the drugstore for peppermint candies?

  Maddy called her daughter’s cell.

  “Mom, where are you?”

  “I’m almost home. I got stopped.”

  “Are you talking to someone?”

  You could say that. “I got pulled over by the police.”

  “Jeez, for what?”

  “Speeding. We’ll be a little late to the movie.”

  As it turned out, they were a lot late. Tilda Morrison had, indeed, taken her time giving Maddy her present from the Icicle Falls Police Force, then followed her home to make sure she drove like a good citizen. She left the candies on her front porch and called Carla as she and Jordan made their way (at twenty-five miles an hour) to the theater, telling her about plan B. They arrived at the theater after the commercials, after the previews of coming attractions and after the heroine’s best friend had died and her boyfriend dumped her on Christmas Eve. Well, at least they got to see her find someone new and live happily ever after.

  Too bad Jordan wasn’t inclined to help her mother put a happy holiday spin on the situation. Jordan sat through the movie looking as if she’d been sucking on a lemon, and even popcorn and a Coke couldn’t put a smile on her face.

  The smile never surfaced on the drive home, either. “I said you wouldn’t be back in time.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “And there isn’t another showing. I didn’t even get to see Angelica die,” Jordan finished on a wail.

  “I know, I know. I’m very sorry. But the rest of the movie was good, wasn’t it?”

  Jordan didn’t answer. She was now in ignore mode, texting. Probably telling Afton all about her mother’s latest failure. Angelica had died and Jordan hadn’t been there to witness it.

  What would Muriel Sterling have said about this? Maddy didn’t want to know.

  * * *

  Tilda came home from work to find that Mrs. Santa Claus was on duty, passing out candy. Maddy Donaldson’s big emergency had been taken care of. That woman needed a life.

  So do you, came the unbidden thought as she hurried to her bedroom to change.

  No, she had a life. She had guys coming over to play video games and eat chips and salsa, and tomorrow her new stove was being delivered. Plenty of life.

  And that, of course, was why she avoided looking in the direction of the stupid mirror some previous owner had hung on her bedroom door. (With all the stuff that had gotten bunged up in this house, couldn’t someone have made off with the mirror?) As long as she didn’t look, she couldn’t see the black lacy bra and match
ing thong. And if she didn’t see the fancy lingerie, she didn’t have to think about the fact that not one of the guys coming over to play would be staying for more adult games later on. And if she didn’t think about that, she wouldn’t ponder the suitability of a certain bad boy who seemed to have a hidden good side, a certain bad boy who wasn’t what she was looking for, even if he did have one lucky moment when he’d actually behaved like a grown-up instead of a teenager stuck in a man’s body.

  And what a body it is, whispered her hormones.

  Stop that!

  She pulled on jeans and an old Washington State sweatshirt that proved her loyalty to her alma mater, and went into the kitchen to put together the evening’s refreshments—chips and salsa and beer. Half an hour later, she and three guys (two cops and one EMT thrown in for good measure) were whooping it up, drinking beer and shooting one another on her TV screen. Three and a half hours after that, it was just her and her lacy undies, getting ready for bed. Alone. Oh, well. Life wasn’t all bad. Her new stove was coming tomorrow. Finally.

  But on Monday there was no stove. She finally called Arvid’s Appliances at one in the afternoon.

  “We ran into a scheduling problem,” he explained. “We’ll have it to you tomorrow, no problem.”

  “Okay, but you need to deliver it by three-thirty.” She was on second shift now and she couldn’t wait around all day.

  “We’ll have it to you by noon. No worries.”

  No worries, huh? Well, okay.

  But by two in the afternoon, it still hadn’t arrived.

  All she got when she called the appliance store was a voice message. “This is Arvid. Glad you called! We’re open from 10:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. six days a week, ten to five on Sundays. If we’re not answering it’s because we’re busy helping another satisfied customer, so leave your name and number, and we’ll call you back. Then you can be a satisfied customer, too. Remember, we sell it, we fix it and we make your life simple.”

  Oh, yeah? “Arvid, this is Tilda Morrison. You promised to deliver my stove by noon and it’s two and I’m still waiting. I have to leave for work at quarter to four. Call me. Or better yet, get my stove over here.”