by Gina Ardito
He did seem to cast a spell over the town’s residents. Their war hero. Some of the men had trouble looking him in the eye, and not just because of his size. They’d murmur their condolences and shake his hand with emphasis, as if to confirm they were equally as strong and capable in their own minds, all while looking at me or Irenka.
The women, on the other hand, were downright predatory. Even while standing in front of the casket, they flirted, held his hand a little too long, engaged him with not-so-subtle hints about how they’d love to visit the new tea room in town, or how they planned to stop by to check on him on a regular basis now to make sure he had enough to eat and didn’t need anything—emphasis on anything. One young lady, barely out of high school according to my eyes, went so far as to remark he wouldn’t have to worry about being alone on New Year’s Eve! To most, he was gracious. To some, he’d introduce me as his girlfriend, which always resulted in a frigid look and a quick retreat.
When Miss New Year’s Eve sauntered away, Irenka leaned to whisper, “Lucky our intrepid soldier has you to scare off the interlopers.”
“I’m a Marine, not a soldier,” he retorted
“That makes it worse. Tough guy like you hiding behind your girlfriend is pathetic. Right, Serge?”
Irenka’s husband and I didn’t participate in their family ribbing. By some unspoken agreement, we understood their need to tease each other, to gain a sense of normalcy in a topsy-turvy world. But as outsiders, we remained neutral and solemn. I liked Sergio. He was caring and polite and head-over-heels in love with his wife. Their two children, a girl and a boy, aged five and three respectively, inherited the best of both their parents in appearance and temperament.
When it was all done and the crowds had gone, I headed home and called my mom.
“Jayne? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” I assured her. “In fact, I was calling to ask if you and Dad wanted to fly out here for Thanksgiving. My dime.”
“To New York?”
“Sure. You can see my place, meet my friends.” One in particular. “Who knows? You might like it so much, you’ll decide to stay.”
My mother laughed. “Oh, silly, you know Dad and I don’t want to move. This is our home. It’s where all our memories are.”
Uh-huh. I’d heard that dirge for years now. I’d have to play my trump card sooner than I’d hoped. “Will you at least come for the holiday? There’s someone special I want you to meet.”
As expected, I’d piqued her interest. “A male someone special?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Silence. Then, at last, her sigh hissed through my ear. “Are you sure about him, sweetheart?”
“I’m sure about me, Mom. You can never be a hundred percent sure what’s in another person’s head or heart. But I can be sure I won’t fall blindly into love, pinning all my hopes and dreams on someone else. I’m making a new life for myself here. Iggy’s a part of that new life, but just a part. I’d like you to come. Spend the weekend. Spend a whole week, if you like. I know the last few years haven’t been easy on you and Dad, thanks to me. I’m sorry about that. You’ll like it here. The people are wonderful—”
“We have wonderful people here, too, Jayne.”
The verbal slap hit me across both cheeks, and I winced. “Does that mean you won’t come?”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you and your special friend come here?”
In other words, no. She had no intention of ever leaving her hometown, even for her only daughter. I got it. Mom was determined to prove to me that the friends and neighbors who’d turned their backs on me during the trial would be more willing to accept me if I gave them ample time to spew out all their distrustful bile. In Mom’s mind, my “slinking away,” rather than facing their judgment made me look even guiltier for them. The fact that I was facing bankruptcy as well as judgment was a point she overlooked.
“It’s not a good time. He needs to be with family right now.”
“And I don’t? You know, if Dad and I come out to New York, Paul will have to spend the holiday with Holly’s parents.”
And wouldn’t that throw a kink into everyone’s plans? My brother, Paul, happily married to Holly the Wonder Wife and residing fifteen minutes from my parents, lived by rules and routine. Every day from sunrise to moonrise was scripted, including holidays: Thanksgiving with my parents, Christmas with Holly’s, New Years at home and so on and so on. If I planned to disrupt the fine order of Herrera family life, I’d better have a darned-good reason. And I did. I just hated to talk about it.
“Iggy’s mom passed away this week,” I replied.
“Uh-huh.”
“Please don’t say that.” Uh-huh. That was Mom’s way of processing information, buying time to figure out how anything I said pertained to her.
“I’m just wondering if your invitation to visit you for Thanksgiving has anything to do with guilt that we’re not as close as we used to be.”
I sucked back a retort and tried to find a calm reply. “Or maybe it’s just because I’d like to see my parents for the holiday?” The edge with which I bit out the words confirmed my failure at that calm I’d sought.
“Jayne,” she warned. “Watch your tone.”
I took a deep breath, let the air out on a slow count. One…two…three… “Okay, Mom. I’m sorry. If you decide you want to come and if Paul is willing to juggle his schedule,” I skillfully avoided adding just this once, “let me know. If not, have a happy Thanksgiving.”
“Maybe you and your friend can come out for Christmas,” she suggested. “If you’re still together.”
“Yeah, maybe. Bye, Mom.”
“Goodbye, Jayne.”
I rushed to get the words out before she hung up. “And Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.” I did. I didn’t always understand her, and I often resented her, but she was my mom, and I loved her.
“I love you, too, Jayne. Be happy, sweetheart. That’s all your father and I ever wanted for you.”
Me, too.
Epilogue
Terri
Although the shop’s sign read “Closed,” any passersby would have been surprised to see the throng of people celebrating the holiday inside. Gary and I had toyed with different scenarios for our first Thanksgiving for those with nowhere else to go, but had opted to host the event at Tea and Tidbits with its comfortable seating arrangements rather than the colder feel of portable banquet tables in a church basement. Small, intimate groups allowed each circle to maintain a sense of personalization to their celebration.
The spread consisted of traditional turkey with stuffing, assorted vegetable dishes, and pumpkin pie, along with, of course, some fabulous French desserts. Instead of booze, we served apple cider, orange juice, soft drinks, and the obligatory tea and coffee.
Together with Aunt Andrea and Uncle Larry, Gary, Christian, and I had created a family holiday for residents of Snug Harbor and the surrounding towns with no family to call their own. It had taken a tremendous amount of work, but it was so worth it!
Throughout the day, my aunt and uncle beamed at me, and I basked in the glow. I don’t think I ever remember them seeming so proud of me, but, then again, up until now, I’d never given them a reason to experience anything but shame and regret for my shortcomings.
As I stood near the kitchen doors, reveling in the happiness reflected from all the celebrants, Gary slipped an arm around my waist and nuzzled my neck.
“Well done, ma puce. These people won’t soon forget what you’ve done for them today.”
“What we’ve done,” I corrected, melting into his embrace. I looked up at him, my smile broad. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you. What, exactly, does ma puce mean?”
“Ah. Yes, well.” His gaze circled the room, never landing on me. “It’s…umm…a French term of endearment.”
I quirked my brow. “Yeah, I kinda figured. What does it translate to
? In English?”
“Literally?” He glanced around the room twice more before replying, “The literal translation is ‘my flea.’”
I took a step back and my smile dimmed. “Seriously? Your flea? As in the bug?”
He skimmed a finger down my nose. “You seemed to despise it when I called you cherie. The term got your back up.”
“Because I thought I was your boss at the time! And you knew that. So, what? You chose ‘my flea’ to irritate me?”
“Of course not. It really is a term of endearment.”
“But there was nothing else between ‘my dear,’ and ‘my flea’ that you could’ve used for someone you claim to care so much about?”
He cocked his head. “Like you did so much better in your nickname for me? ‘The Scary Bartender?’”
“That’s not fair.” I planted my fists on my hips. “I came up with that name for you because you did scare me. At the time.”
He inched closer until we stood a breath apart. “How about now? Do I still scare you now? Ma puce?”
My posture relaxed, and I covered the distance between us, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “You were always a scary bartender because you were never meant to be a bartender. You were meant to be a great pastry chef. You were meant to be mine.”
♥♥♥♥
Jayne
I spent the holiday at the Martinez house with Irenka, Sergio, their two kids, and Iggy. Coming so soon after Mrs. Zemski’s death, Thanksgiving would be a subdued event. In fact, I’d tried to beg off, expecting them to want to be alone to heal without an outsider present. After all, Dom and Evan had invited me to their family get-together so it wasn’t like I’d have nowhere to go.
For a while, the fact my parents refused to come here irritated me. But, then, I realized I would never change them. And I’d changed drastically—especially in their eyes. Still, while I regretted what had happened to David and the decisions he’d made, I knew, in the end, the experience had made me stronger. Who I was back in Ohio had no bearing on who I’d become here in Snug Harbor. What I’d gone through in the last few years had reshaped me, much in the way years of crashing waves reshaped a rocky shoreline.
It was Iggy who’d made me understand that. Iggy had made me understand a lot of things I hadn’t before. In return for the wisdom and strength he’d imparted to me, I’d given him peace. Not a bad trade-off.
When we all sat at the table before the simple feast Irenka had prepared, china and crystal gleaming under the dining room chandelier, Sergio lifted his wine glass. “This year, this week in fact, we lost someone very dear to us. We’re thankful for having Mom with us for so long and that she passed quietly without pain. Today, we’re grateful for the family left behind and for those who’ve become as dear to us.” He pointed his glass in my direction, and in case I still didn’t understand he meant me, Iggy jabbed his elbow into my forearm.
“That’s you.”
I nodded. “I figured that.”
Sergio ended his speech with, “Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Hear! Hear!” Iggy said.
We all clinked glasses and took a long sip.
Setting my glass back on the table, I took stock of the man who sat beside me, and I thought back to how far we’d come in such a short time. When I first met him, he terrified me. I feared he would hurt me the way Cole Abrams and so many others had in the past, and I put up the defenses I’d erected when David died. Yet, this wounded warrior had managed to tear down my shields and make me stronger in the process.
I was fairly certain I’d done the same for him. Now we could move forward, at an easier pace for both of us. While I loved the idea of lightning striking two hearts at the same moment, we both agreed to take our time and grow together, but still remain able to stand alone, if necessary.
“You have to tell us something you’re thankful for, Jayne.” Irenka’s directive broke into my musings. “It’s a family tradition.”
All eyes at the table turned toward me, even the kids’. Nothing like a little last-minute command performance to set my fears teetering on the edge.
Iggy must have noticed my sudden attack of nerves because he squeezed my hand. “She’s just kidding. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
I lifted my glass again. “No. I can do this.” I gazed from face to face, drinking in the love and compassion emanating from this family who’d taken me in and accepted me. No, not only this family. The entire town had granted me refuge when I came here, broken and bruised. They had soothed me, healed me, and made me whole again. “I’m thankful to each and every one of you. I’m thankful I seized Dom’s offer to come to this place. I was lost and alone, and here, I found acceptance, peace, and love. I’m thankful I’ve found my way home.”
“Hear, hear.” Iggy leaned across the table and captured my lips with his.
Home. I was, finally, home.
The End
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in the Calendar Girls series, MEMORIES IN DECEMBER.
COMING SPRING 2017
Memories in December
Chapter 1
Siobhan
“Good morning. May I speak to ‘See-o-ban’ Bendlow?”
Oh, for God’s sake. I pulled the phone from my ear to make a face at the caller, and once again, probably for the thousandth time this month, cursed my parents for giving me a Celtic name no one could pronounce correctly.
I replaced the phone and without correcting her, replied, “Speaking.”
“Miss Bendlow, this is Darlene Mercado at Sunny Hills. I’m afraid there’s been another incident with Althea.”
Annoyance turned to panic. “Ohmigod, is she all right?” With my parents snowbirding in Arizona for the winter, I was in charge of everything to do with my grandmother at her assisted living facility here in Snug Harbor.
“She’s become disruptive to the other patients and the staff. To be honest, we’re not sure she’s a good match for our facility.”
“Why not? What’s she done?”
“During last week’s yoga class, she kept poking the participants with her cane to make sure they were still alive.”
I snorted back a giggle. Oh, Nana. What a cutup.
“Last night, she challenged two of the residents to nude wheelchair races in the hallway.”
Okay. That wasn’t good.
“And this morning, we discovered she’s been hiding three kittens in her room.”
I swallowed hard. “Three?”
“She calls them Shaggy, Daphne, and Velma.”
Scooby-Doo. Nana never did anything on a covert scale. She was a contradiction of terms: a diminutive woman—five-foot-nothing and about ninety-five pounds—who lived her life with enormous passion.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to make other arrangements for her. We can no longer allow her to stay here.”
Panic resurged. “No, wait!” They planned to kick her out? Over a few harmless pranks? “Please. Let me call my parents first. I’m sure we can—”
“I’m sorry. She’ll have to be out by Friday. We have a very long waiting list of prospective residents who, we believe, would be a much better fit.”
“Friday? This Friday?” That gave me three days to come up with a contingency plan. Impossible.
“Sooner would be better, of course.”
Oh, sure. Why not? If what they wanted was already impossible, might as well jump straight to the ludicrous demands. “Can I at least come in and talk to her? Maybe I can convince her to give up the cats. And behave,” I added.
“You’re welcome to visit, but I’m sorry. The decision has been made. These were not her first offenses.”
“But,” I sputtered, struggling to buy time, “she’s an old lady. You can’t just kick her out onto the street.”
“We’re not. We’re discharging her to her family. Thanks for understanding. Have a nice day.” Click.
Thank you for understanding? For understanding what? That
my nana was as big a pain in the butt in her assisted living facility as she’d always been at home? Don’t get me wrong. I love the lady. But I swear she must have dropped the brown acid at Woodstock. She had no filter, no sense of decorum. I couldn’t imagine how my mom managed to grow up with Nana as her parental influence. Even Grandpa could never stifle her rowdy spirit.
Once, when I was about fourteen, I had a crush on this guy who lived across the street from us. Jimmy Vais was everything a teenage girl lusted after in those days. He was an older man, at least sixteen, and had long dark hair—permed!—and he played bass guitar in a band. He was tall and lanky and didn’t know I existed, much to my poor heart’s distress. That summer, I’d finally convinced my puritanical parents to buy me my first bikini, tame by today’s standards, by the way. One hot July day, I decided to wear my new bathing suit while washing Dad’s car. I know. Not a very original idea, but I was an MTV child, and all the sexiest videos had girls in bikinis or school girl uniforms, climbing on the hoods of sleek sports cars. So I’ve got the music blaring on some top forty radio station, and I’m soaking myself with the hose, practically kissing this enormous sponge, and here comes Nana Thea strolling up the walk.
“Well, look at you!” she exclaimed loud enough to drown out Britney Spears singing about getting hit one more time. “You’re gonna be a stunner when you’re finally able to fill out that bra cup!”
I didn’t have to glance across the street to know Jimmy had heard her. His hoots of laughter rappelled down my spine and set my skin ablaze with embarrassment.
“Nana!” I screeched, but it was too late. The damage was done. From that day on, Jimmy called me “Quarter Cup” whenever he saw me. Talk about humiliating.
Luckily, over the years, Jimmy and I had gone our separate ways. Last I’d heard, he’d moved to Manhattan and worked for some big fancy firm. Nana, on the other hand, continued to be the bane of my existence far into my twenties. And apparently, based on this morning’s phone call, beyond.
