Christmas in Icicle Falls

by Sheila Roberts

  Robert Cratchett smiling? Sienna had to be seeing things.

  Now Mrs. Zuckerman had joined them. Here was a chance to introduce Beauty to the Beast and see if she could have any luck turning him into a human being.

  “Mr. Cratchett caught Bandit for you,” she greeted her friend.

  His face suddenly looked as red as Santa’s suit. “Well...”

  “Mr. Cratchett, have you met Mrs. Zuckerman?”

  “Pleasure,” he said, the word coming out stiffly.

  “Thank you so much,” said Mrs. Zuckerman. She picked up her dog and smiled at Cratchett. “Let me bake you some cookies as a thank-you.”

  “You’ll have to be careful what you make for him,” Sienna taunted, bringing back his habitual frown.

  “Do you have a favorite cookie?” Mrs. Zuckerman asked.

  “My wife used to make chocolate chip cookies,” he said. Memory softened his expression. “Right out of the oven, they were something else.”

  “I love chocolate chip cookies,” said Mrs. Zuckerman. “I’ll bake you some. Maybe you’d like to come over and have lunch, as well.”

  “That’s really nice of you,” Cratchett said, not committing to anything.

  “Wonderful,” said Mrs. Zuckerman as if they actually had a date. “Thanks again for helping with Bandit. I’m eternally grateful.”

  Once more his cheeks turned red and he waved away her praise. “Happy to help,” he said and—shock!—for the second time in five minutes, smiled. Then he caught sight of Sienna staring at him. He dropped the smile and got busy with the rock salt.

  “You must have the magic touch,” Sienna said to Mrs. Zuckerman as they walked away. “I’ve never seen Mr. Cratchett smile.”

  “Perhaps he’s needed something to smile about,” Mrs. Zuckerman said. “Like chocolate chip cookies?”

  “Or a pretty woman,” Sienna suggested, and now Mrs. Zuckerman was blushing. “Still, I’ll die of shock if you ever get him out of his house.”

  “You never know,” Mrs. Zuckerman said.

  The guy had smiled. So, yes, you never knew. But Sienna wasn’t holding her breath.

  * * *

  Olivia and James had gotten in the habit of having dinner with Eric and Brooke on Monday evenings when life at the lodge was relatively quiet. With Brandon back home, he and Meadow were automatically included in the family dinner invite.

  This night everyone was squeezed into Olivia’s little apartment, seated around her table with slices of pizza from Bavarian Alps and a tossed salad Olivia had put together. After discussing business—how many guests were registered for the upcoming weekend, what needed to be repaired around the place and who was going to do it—talk turned to the anticipated birth of Eric and Brooke’s baby.

  “Have you two decided on a name yet?” James asked. “You’re running out of time.”

  “I think we finally have,” said Brooke. “William George if it’s a boy.”

  James’s middle name coupled with Olivia’s first husband’s name. “Your father would be so pleased,” she said, beaming.

  “I know I am,” James said.

  “And Olivia Joy if it’s a girl,” Brooke continued. “After the two best moms ever,” she said, smiling at Olivia.

  It was James’s turn to beam. “I can’t think of two better names. Or two better women,” he added, squeezing Olivia’s hand.

  She dabbed at her eyes, which were suddenly teary. “That is so sweet. But don’t you want to put your own mother’s name first?” she asked Brooke.

  “Olivia Joy sounds better,” Brooke said. “And I know Mom wouldn’t have minded.”

  “Anyway, we need to always have an Olivia here at the lodge,” Eric said.

  “If she’ll stay,” Olivia cautioned.

  “She will,” he said confidently. “This is the best place in the whole country to live.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Olivia said, “but children do get married and leave.”

  “Yeah, but they eventually come back,” Eric said. “Even little brothers,” he added.

  “What can I say?” Brandon shot back. “There’s no place like home, even if you do have to put up with your pain-in-the-butt bro.”

  “Speaking of kids...I’ve got an announcement,” Meadow said with a smile for Brandon. “Guess what, babe? We’re pregnant!”

  “No way,” he said. “For sure?” She nodded and he grabbed her and hugged her. “That’s great.”

  “Good news, indeed,” said James. “Two grandkids in one year.”

  “Congrats, bro,” Eric said.

  “No wonder you’ve been acting so, uh...” Brandon stopped himself, obviously coming to his senses before he could say anything to get in trouble with his wife.

  “Bitchy?” she supplied.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Hey, I’ve felt like crap, so bite me,” she said, and he chuckled and gave her a kiss.

  Of course, morning sickness. So those excuses for not helping with breakfast weren’t excuses at all. Olivia should have figured that out.

  “And I’ve been trying to quit smoking,” Meadow added.

  “I’m proud of you, babe,” Brandon said and took her hand.

  “I can hardly wait,” she said. “I hope we have a girl. Baby-girl clothes are so cute.”

  “But boys are wonderful, too,” Olivia said. Hers were.

  “Oh, man, I don’t know anything about boys. I never had a brother.”

  “We’re pretty easy,” Eric told her. “Feed us cookies, keep us in sports and try to keep us from beating the crap out of each other. Right, Mom?”

  “Something like that,” Olivia said.

  “I don’t care what we have,” said Brandon, “just so long as it’s healthy.”

  “For sure,” Meadow agreed. She turned to Brooke. “Our kids can grow up together. How cool is that?”

  “Very,” Brooke said.

  “I always wanted kids.” Meadow’s brow furrowed. “I hope I don’t screw up.”

  “You’ll be a great mom,” Brandon assured her.

  Olivia hoped so. Meadow a mother, heaven help them.

  * * *

  Muriel used to enjoy Facebook. Lately, though, not so much. Both Arnie and Dot showed up on her feed on a regular basis and it seemed like daily—no, hourly—there was a new post from one or the other of them, raving about their trip. There they were in Bamberg, posed in front of an ancient castle. Or at an open-air market, surrounded by booths of colorful merchandise. There were pictures of their boat all decked out with lights and ornaments, shots as they went through various canal locks, enough pictures of food to fill an entire cookbook.

  Muriel shut down Facebook and opened an empty document marked Book Ideas and typed How to Stay Friends When You’re Not Feeling Friendly. Now, that could make an interesting book.

  Except she’d have to find someone to write it for her. At the moment, she had little enough advice for herself, let alone anyone else.

  She should write about something different. The joys of grandparenting? How to stay on a diet when you owned a chocolate company? How to fall off your diet when you owned a chocolate company? Ugh.

  She sighed and shut her laptop. Maybe she should quit writing and find something else to do with her time. Maybe she’d said all she had to say.

  Her phone told her she had a message. It was from Dot.

  I think I’m in love. Oh, gotta go. We’re leaving for Rothenburg.

  Muriel’s dream town. She’d seen pictures of the medieval town—surrounded by thick walls, crisscrossed with cobblestone streets and abounding in flowers in the spring and summer, glistening in white snow in the winter—and been charmed. One day, she’d promised herself, she’d go there.

  She co
uld have. She should have. And now Dot was there. And in love. In love with whom? The answer to that was obvious.

  Dot in love with Arnie, Dot and Arnie a couple. Muriel tossed aside her phone without answering the text. She had work to do.

  Her laptop mocked her. On me? You’re kidding, right? You’re out of good ideas.

  She had other work to do. She needed to clean her house. And she’d promised to watch Cecily’s children later that afternoon for her while Cecily put in some extra hours at Sweet Dreams. She got busy scrubbing her bathroom. The woman in the mirror didn’t look happy and no amount of glass cleaner or positive self-talk did anything to change her.

  Even time with the grandchildren didn’t help, and staying for dinner proved awkward. Cecily had a sort of sixth sense when it came to people’s feelings.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” she asked as they loaded the dishwasher together.

  “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem a little down,” Cecily observed.

  “No, I’m tired. That’s all.”

  “You looked really tired when I asked how Dot and Arnie were enjoying their cruise.”

  “Cecily,” Muriel said sternly.

  “They’re not a match, Mom. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried, and I don’t care if they are.” Liar, liar, panty hose on fire. “Anyway, it’s none of my business.”

  “I guess. When do they come back?”

  “Next week.” Not soon enough. Dot and Arnie had enjoyed quite enough time together.

  Muriel left after she’d helped her daughter with cleanup. “You need time with your family, and you and Luke definitely need a few moments alone.” She remembered how it had been when the girls were little. That small window of time she and Stephen had together once they were in bed had been more precious than gold.

  She’d had no idea back then how quickly their time would come to an end. The same thing had happened with Waldo. It seemed that one minute they’d been together and the next he’d been gone. Life went by so fast when you were with someone you loved. The days spun away, leaving you wishing you’d hung on tighter.

  Except time was the one thing you couldn’t hold. It was an antsy visitor, unable to sit still and taking with it both people and opportunities when it left. And now it had struck again, washing past her and moving Arnie and Dot into new territory where there was really only room for two.

  “You have no one to blame for this situation but yourself,” she muttered as she made her way home. That didn’t make her feel any better.

  Back in her little cottage, she started a fire in her fireplace, put on a CD of Christmas music and grabbed the book she’d been reading.

  “I never thought I’d find love again,” Jocelyn said with a sigh as she nestled into Gregory’s arms.

  “Me, either,” he said. “But how are we going to tell Amelia? She’s your best friend.”

  Muriel slammed the book shut. Why was she reading this ridiculous novel, anyway? She shut off the CD player, turned on the TV and searched for a movie on Netflix. Ah, yes, A Christmas Carol. Perfect.

  Except it wasn’t. Watching Ebenezer Scrooge make his foolish choices irritated her and she was in no mood to stick with him to the end of the movie.

  At last she gave up and went to bed, hoping to drift into a dreamless sleep. But Muriel was a dreamer and there was no drifting tonight. Instead, she found herself on a long ship all decked out with holiday lights, standing at the railing and watching a picturesque European town float by.

  She was enjoying the moment until Dot Morrison joined her. This was a new and improved Dot. She’d had a face-lift, and she’d filled out. She had cleavage now and it was spilling over the top of a slinky red sequined evening gown.

  “What are you doing here?” Muriel demanded.

  “Me? What are you doing here? You weren’t invited.”

  “I certainly was.”

  “Well, no one wants you here now.”

  “Arnie wants me,” Muriel insisted.

  Dot patted her blond curls. Since when had she become a blonde? “Not anymore he doesn’t, cupcake. You had your chance.”

  “Arnie’s always loved me.”

  “I don’t know why. You’ve ignored the poor man for years. You know what your problem is, Muriel? You’re a poor sport.”

  “I am not!”

  “Oh, yes, you are. And a fake. All those wise words, always so kind to everyone...except when you’re crossed.”

  “I am kind,” Muriel insisted.

  Dot leaned over, getting in Muriel’s face. “Deep down, you’re just like all the rest of us. A conceited, selfish little—”

  Muriel didn’t let her finish. With a growl, she gave Dot a push, sending her over the railing. Not so kind after all.

  Dot went into the icy water with hardly a squeak. “Bon voyage,” Muriel called after her and chuckled.

  “That wasn’t nice,” said a deep voice.

  She whirled around and saw two figures standing in the shadows. When they emerged, she saw that one was Santa Claus. His companion was a giant nutcracker complete with the big black Hessian hat and a face that looked just like...

  “Arnie?”

  Nutcracker Arnie didn’t say anything.

  But Santa did. “Do you know what happens to naughty girls?” Santa asked with a jolly smile.

  “No Christmas stocking?”

  “No. They have to leave the party.” The jolly smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. “Get rid of her.”

  “Arnie, you love me,” she protested as the nutcracker made his stiff way to her.

  “Not anymore,” said Nutcracker Arnie.

  He picked her up in his hard wooden arms and heaved her overboard.

  Nooo.

  She awoke right before she landed in the icy river, which was a good thing, since she’d always heard that if you didn’t wake up in time, you’d die in real life, too. Of course, no one had ever come back from the dead to confirm this but she didn’t want to test the theory.

  She put a hand to her chest where her heart was pounding as if she’d just run up Sleeping Lady Mountain, and her hair was as tangled as her blankets. What an awful dream. She didn’t feel that angry toward Dot.

  At least, not consciously.

  She looked at the clock on her nightstand. Good grief, it was only 5:00 a.m. She never got up this early. She was up now, though. No way did she want to go back to sleep and encounter Santa and the heartless Nutcracker Arnie, so she turned on the light, sat up in bed and grabbed her favorite devotional book.

  The day’s devotional was on showing love at the holidays. Love is not jealous, it reminded her.

  Love also didn’t dream about throwing friends overboard. Was there some symbolism in that dream? Would she want to dump Dot as a friend if she and Arnie became a couple? She hoped not. She hoped she was bigger than that.

  She sighed and slipped farther back into her pillows. She wanted what was best for her friends. She’d be happy for them. She loved them both. Well, Arnie more than Dot—Dot often had a gift for irritating her—but that was beside the point. They were friends. They were...

  Her eyes drifted closed and her subconscious came after her again. This time she was paddling around in frigid water, and there went the longboat she’d been on, cruising off down the river. She could faintly hear a choir singing “Joy to the World.”

  “Help!” she cried.

  “Ah, so you’ve joined me, have you?”

  Dot appeared like Aphrodite rising out of the water. Only she was no Aphrodite. She loomed above Muriel, gaining stature like some kind of Disney villain, her hair wild and her eye makeup running. “I knew you never really liked me, you fake. Well, guess what? I never liked you, either. And now I’m going to
get rid of you once and for all and Arnie will be mine at last.”

  With that, the evil Dot laid both hands on Muriel’s head and pushed her down under.

  Muriel woke up with a gasp. It was definitely time to get out of bed.

  Her horrible dreams dogged her all morning long, and getting a text from Arnie when she was at Safeway with yet another picture of him and Dot enjoying themselves didn’t improve her mood.

  It was a selfie. They were in the ship’s lounge, beaming happily. Dot was wearing a silver metallic top, a Santa hat and a big grin.

  It looks like you’re having a wonderful time, Muriel texted. I’m so glad.

  Yes, she was. She was not going to stoop to being jealous. She was bigger than that.

  Silver was not a good color for Dot.

  Muriel frowned. She was also not going to be petty!

  Resolving to have a good attitude and actually having a good attitude were not always the same thing, and her noble self and her less noble self battled as she made her way up and down the various aisles.

  She had to stop this—that was all there was to it. Dot and Arnie deserved to be happy and they also deserved to have their friends be happy for them.

  It was wrong to be jealous, she told herself as she drove home from the grocery store. She’d had a great life, and if she’d only take the time to count her blessings, she’d feel so much better. She’d had two wonderful husbands, her daughters were all lovely and accomplished, she had adorable grandchildren, she had enough money to live on, she had...

  A patrol car following her.

  And not only was it following her, it was flashing its you’re-in-trouble light at her.

  Muriel hadn’t had a ticket since she was thirty. What could she possibly have done wrong? At first she wasn’t sure. Then she remembered. There’d been that stop sign on the corner. She’d been so busy counting her blessings she’d failed to notice it.

  The driver’s side of the patrol car opened and out stepped Dot’s daughter, Tilda, the toughest cop in Icicle Falls. Grown men got stopped by Tilda and whimpered.

  But Muriel had known Tilda since she was a girl. Surely that counted for something.

  She let down her window and smiled up at her. “Hello, Tilda.”