Maddy fetched a glass of water and an aspirin. “Take this.”
Jordan stopped crying long enough to get the aspirin down and ask, “What’s going to happen to me?”
Maddy wished she knew. Court. What did that mean? Would Jordan be sent to juvie? How Maddy wished she’d never started this whole Candy Cane Lane thing. She didn’t want to see another candy cane as long as she lived.
And she wished she had a better answer for her daughter than “I don’t know.” Jordan sent up a howl and Maddy sat down on the bed next to her, rocking her back and forth. “But whatever happens, we’ll get through it. And, hopefully, you’ll learn that it’s not okay to act out like this when you’re mad.”
“You wouldn’t listen to me,” Jordan whimpered.
Maddy kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m sorry you felt so neglected. I do love you. You know that, right?”
Except she hadn’t shown it much lately. She’d been so absorbed in making sure her neighborhood was picture-perfect she’d neglected the most important people in the holiday picture—her family.
Jordan hugged her tightly, laying her head on Maddy’s shoulder. “I love you, Mommy.”
Her daughter’s words were the best Christmas present ever.
* * *
Tilda didn’t enjoy writing up the report of her night’s adventure. And she hadn’t enjoyed presenting Maddy Donaldson with her own daughter as one of the neighborhood candy cane killers. Probably the best thing that could happen to the kid, though. She’d been scared out of her gourd, and at that age, that was a good thing.
Tilda still remembered the time she got caught shoplifting at the drugstore at about the same age. Hildy Johnson had grabbed her by the arm and shaken her until her teeth rattled. Then she’d called Mom, who’d blistered her butt. Both Mom and Hildy had lectured her on how wrong and unfair it was to take things that didn’t belong to her, and to give her a taste of how that felt, her baseball mitt had gone to the local thrift store and she’d had to go buy it back. The rest of her penance had been just as bad. Every week for the whole summer she’d had to walk to Hildy’s house and mow her lawn. And Hildy had a push mower. All of which had convinced Tilda that crime didn’t pay, especially in Icicle Falls.
Part of her hated to do it, but with other people involved, she had to refer this case to juvenile court. Whatever punishment got meted out to little Jordan Donaldson, Tilda suspected it would be made to fit the crime. That might mean a crappy Christmas for the Donaldsons, but in the long run, she hoped it would give them a happy ending with their kid.
Idiot kid. What a stupid stunt to pull. But then, that was what you did at that age—pull dumb stunts. It was enough to make Tilda rethink the idea of having a couple of kids to go with her new house. Kids were a pain in the butt. Maybe she’d get a dog and call it quits.
And what about adding a man to the equation? Ivy Bohn and her troubles with her ex sprang to mind. Then so did the vision of Devon Black waiting for her at the hospital. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he did something to break open the box she’d put him in.
He was a poor love risk, she was sure of it. But then, what did she know? She’d thought Garrett Armstrong, Mr. Responsible, was exactly what she’d needed, and look how that had turned out. Love was such a crapshoot.
But when it came down to it, all of life was a crapshoot. Take a chance, urged her hormones.
I will when I find the right guy, she assured them.
We’re dyin’ here!
Don’t be rushing me. I’ll give you some chocolate when we get home.
Chocolate. Pah! We want sex.
Well, all you’re getting is chocolate, so shut up.
Her house was still lit up, the last one in the neighborhood. The lights illuminated a bottle sitting on her porch. Who was bringing her wine? There came the vision of Devon again.
She pulled the car into the garage, then went through the house and retrieved the bottle. Chocolate wine. The note on it said, Enjoy, and it was signed Ivy.
All right! Thanks, Ivy. But why was Ivy parting with perfectly good chocolate wine? It didn’t take a crack detective to work that out. The wine was probably from the same man who’d brought the pizza. Looked like he wasn’t making much progress.
Well, what did he expect? The worst crimes were crimes against the heart, and this particular criminal was probably going to be spending the rest of his life trying to bribe his way back into his home. Served him right.
Still, Tilda would’ve kept the wine if she were Ivy. Making a guy pay was one thing, but why deprive yourself?
The next day she was back at the hospital, assuring herself that Mom was still breathing. “I’m doing fine,” Mom said. “But I could sure use a cigarette.”
“Not happening,” Tilda informed her. “You’re done.”
“Just because you’re a cop doesn’t mean you get to boss me around,” Dot muttered.
“No, I get to do that ’cause I’m your daughter. And I don’t want you checking out anytime soon. You scared the shit out of me, Mom.”
“I’m going to be around for a million years,” Dot said.
“Yeah, if you quit smoking. This is the perfect time to stop. You’ve already gone forty-eight hours without a smoke.”
“And it’s killing me.”
“So is smoking.You can do this.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve tried to quit over the years?”
“None.”
“That’s not true. I’ve tried three different times.”
“Well, fourth time’s the charm,” Tilda retorted. “Come on, Mom. Do this for me, will you? It’ll be the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.”
Dot sighed. “I’ll give it a try. But no guarantees,” she said, hedging her bets.
Tilda handed over the incentive spirometer. “You haven’t used this yet.”
Mom scowled at her. “You make quite the dictator, you know that?”
“I learned from the best. Do your breathing exercises and I’ll buy you some Oreos.”
An hour later the doctor came by and pronounced Mom ready to be discharged. “About time,” she said. “Your food here stinks.”
“Yep, you’re feeling better,” Tilda said.
“Good enough to make the yams for Christmas Eve,” Mom said.
“You’re not making anything. You get to just come and relax.”
“I want to help you,” Mom insisted.
“No need. It’s all taken care of.” Or it would be once Tilda got that turkey ordered. Which she needed to do before she went to work.
“How’s the new stove working?”
The stove. With all the stuff going on with Mom, getting it fixed had completely fallen off her radar. “Crap. I still have to call Arvid to order a heating element for it.”
“Heating element?”
“The oven doesn’t work.”
“You planning on having that by Christmas?” Mom asked skeptically.
“I’m counting on it.”
“What about the turkey?”
“All under control,” Tilda promised her. Or it would be soon.
As soon as she had Mom settled back at home, she drove to the store to order her cooked turkey. On her way she saw the sign outside Mort’s Meat Market. Order your precooked turkeys now. The price was cheaper than what Safeway was charging. All right. She pulled in to Mort’s and ordered a nice twenty-pound bird. That should be enough to feed everyone. And she’d saved some money. Oh, yeah.
“So, pick up on the twenty-fourth, 5:00 p.m.,” Mort confirmed.
“Yep,” Tilda said. That took care of the bird. She still needed to have her oven up and running for heating rolls and baking her green bean casserole, so she went to Arvid’s to
have a little talk about the faulty heating element.
“Not a problem,” he said. “We’ll replace that free of charge.”
“Very nice of you, considering the stove is brand-new.”
“Well, these things happen,” he said philosophically. Old Arvid sure rolled with someone else’s punches. “We’ll order it in for you right away.”
“What do you mean, order it in? Don’t you have one around here somewhere?”
He shook his head mournfully. “I’m afraid not.”
Why was she not surprised? “How long will that take?”
“We’ll have it day after tomorrow.”
“Wait a minute. Day after tomorrow is the twenty-fourth. My family’s coming over for dinner that night.”
“It’ll be in by morning,” he promised her. “Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? She’d seen how Arvid operated. She was screwed. She pulled out her cell phone as she left the appliance store and called Georgie. “Can you bring the green bean casserole?”
“I thought you were making that,” Georgie said.
“Yeah, so did I. But that was when I thought I had a working oven.”
“You have a brand-new stove!”
“With a dead heating element. Arvid’s ordering a new one. It’s supposed to come in on the twenty-fourth.”
“I’ll bring the casserole,” Georgie said.
Okay, she had Aunt Joyce bringing candied yams and cookies. Georgie was bringing cookies, too. She’d get Caitlin to take charge of the rolls and cranberry sauce. Stuffing and spuds Tilda could do on the stove top. That, at least, was working. The turkey had been ordered. She’d pick up the wine and beer and some of her aunt’s favorite holiday tea, and she’d be good to go. Christmas was now officially under control. And that was just the way Tilda liked things. Under control.
She picked up Mom’s Oreos and delivered them, then swung by Christmas Haus where she picked up Christmas ornaments to give out on Christmas Eve.
“Finishing your Christmas shopping?” Ivy guessed as she wrapped them.
“Yep, this does it. Speaking of gifts, thanks for the wine.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoyed it.”
“There’s still half a bottle left. You sure you don’t want it back?”
Ivy frowned. “No, thanks. I’d choke on it.” Tilda handed over her charge card and Ivy rang up the sale. “Do you think people can change?”
“I don’t know.” She wished she did. It would be so much easier to figure out love if you could look into the future.
Ivy gave Tilda back her charge card and her purchases. She shook her head. “Last year I wanted everything to be perfect, and it wasn’t. This year I decided I was going to do whatever it took to make the holidays perfect and so far...”
“Things don’t always work out according to plan.” Especially when it came to love. “I guess you have to do the best you can and call it good.”
Ivy nodded.
“You’ve got kids. That’s got to put some merry in Christmas.” Unless you were Maddy Donaldson. Tilda suspected her holidays were going to be pretty unmerry.
Ivy smiled at that. “You’re right. Kids make all the difference.” Her smile suddenly fell away. “Except Rob has the kids Christmas Day.”
Tilda had no idea what to say to that. If she was going to be home, she would’ve invited Ivy to visit with her, but she had to work Christmas Day.
Not until the afternoon, though. “Hey, you can come over to my place in the morning if you want. Maybe I’ll have a stove by then and you can teach me how to make pancakes or something.”
Ivy looked at her, incredulous. “You don’t know how to make pancakes?”
Tilda shrugged. “What can I say? Whenever I wanted pancakes I just went to the restaurant.”
“Wow, we have some work to do,” Ivy joked. She smiled. “Thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it.”
Another customer had arrived, so that ended the conversation.
“See you,” Tilda said, and started for the door.
“Merry Christmas,” Ivy called after her.
Tilda gave her a backward wave. With her mom out of the woods, this would be a merry Christmas.
Chapter Twenty
Grandparents are one of life’s greatest blessings, especially at this time of year.
—Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas
The twenty-third of December found Maddy and her family on the way to court. What happened to the courts being slow? Why did they have to deal with this right before Christmas?
Because her daughter had misbehaved right before Christmas, that was why. Obviously, there wasn’t much on the docket in Icicle Falls Juvenile Court these days.
Or maybe Tilda Morrison had greased some wheels so things would move along fast. It was better to get through this mess quickly than have it drag into the New Year. Maddy just wished they hadn’t gotten into the mess in the first place.
If only Jordan had talked to her, told her how she felt.
She did, said that small voice in the back of Maddy’s mind, the one she’d been trying to ignore. Your mom tried to tell you, too.
She looked out the window at the snowy yards along Candy Cane Lane filled with nativity sets and reindeer and inflatable snowmen, the myriad lights outlining rooftops and windows waiting to shine after dark. Such a magical place she and her neighbors had made. And yet she’d spent so much time focusing on the outside that inside, where true Christmas happened, she’d let the magic die. But we made fudge, she wanted to protest. We decorated the tree. We made cookies, for heaven’s sake!
That had all been wedged in around higher priorities. Holiday lights and stupid candy canes. No wonder Jordan had acted out. And now look what was happening to her, all because her mother had given plastic decorations and lights and stupid striped candy higher priority than her.
Priorities had certainly fallen into place since then. They’d spent the past two nights together on the couch, sharing a blanket and watching movies. Or just talking. Most of the talking was done by Maddy, assuring her crying daughter that she wouldn’t have to go to jail and wear an orange jumpsuit. (It was hard to tell which scared Jordan more, being incarcerated or having to wear orange.)
They’d met with the prosecutor. That had been an afternoon of tears, headaches and an early bedtime for Jordan, and tears, a headache and a sleepless night for Maddy. No one called and asked her to don her Mrs. Santa Claus suit and pass out candy canes. Just as well. Maddy didn’t care if she ever saw another candy cane as long as she lived.
Of course, all the neighbors knew by now. Most had been sympathetic, at least to her face. She was sure they were laughing at her behind her back. Or they were heaving sighs of relief that their kids hadn’t pulled a similar stunt. The few who grumbled every year about the fuss, the extra work and the increased traffic on the street must be taking devilish delight in her family’s misery.
Maddy hadn’t been able to down anything but half a cup of coffee before they left for court. That had been a mistake because it burned in her stomach like battery acid. Alan hadn’t eaten anything, either. Neither had Jordan. Now she sat quiet and subdued in the backseat as they left the neighborhood behind and made their way to the courthouse. No texting. These days she wasn’t speaking to Afton. Or the boy she’d found so fascinating. At least there was something to be thankful for.
The only time Maddy had ever been to court was to fight a speeding ticket, and she’d lost. It’s going to be okay, she told herself. They’d met with the prosecutor and survived. Now they just had to go stand before the judge.
Maddy was going to be sick.
How was poor Jordan doing? Maddy checked her daughter in the rearview mirror. “It’s going
to be okay,” she said.
Jordan bit her lip and nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek and another piece of Maddy’s heart broke off. Her poor daughter. The courthouse was scary, and Maddy held her baby’s hand as they walked down the hall to the room where Jordan’s fate would be decided. There weren’t many people in it; there was another case being heard before Jordan’s and that was Logan’s. Ah, yes, one of her partners in crime.
The judge gave him a stern lecture and ordered him to do a month of community service. “Don’t let me see you back in here again,” she warned.
He and his mother left. Her lips were pressed in a tight line, while he had a scowl on his face. She, too, scowled when they walked past where Maddy, Jordan and Alan sat, looking at Jordan as if it was all her fault. Her daughter the femme fatale.
Jordan had confessed all now, and yes, that little spree of destruction had been her daughter’s idea, but he’d been all over it, encouraging her every step of the way. He and Afton had both thought it would be great fun to sneak out and help Jordan make a holiday statement. On the second occasion, the three of them had been together, the girls in the house, with him visiting a couple of blocks over—the perfect Christmas storm. His friend had better sense than to get involved in the prank, but Logan had a great time demolishing candy canes. Afton, the not-so-perfect houseguest, had been the one who’d suggested sneaking out that night. The third time he’d stolen his mom’s car and taken a joyride to Candy Cane Lane. It was a wonder he hadn’t run off the road or hit someone. Thank God Jordan was done with them both.
And now look who’d entered the courtroom, along with their lawyer—Afton and her mother. Only a couple of weeks ago Maddy would have been embarrassed to be seen in this humiliating situation by the other woman. Now, not so much. Afton’s mother wasn’t perfect, either, and Maddy found that realization oddly comforting. There was no such thing as a perfect mother. There were only mothers who tried. Granted, some tried harder than others, but in the end kids made their own decisions. When they were right, parents could be proud and hope they’d had something to do with it. When they screwed up? Well, it took a village to raise a child, as the proverb said, and here they were in the village courthouse where someone else was going to step in and take a hand.
Christmas on Candy Cane Lane Page 28
