He was looking good himself, wearing his blue sweater over a shirt casually unbuttoned at the neck. And he was in jeans. Arnie never used to wear jeans.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “What are you two doing?”
“Looking at our pictures from the cruise,” Dot said. “Talk about a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Huh, Arnie?”
“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed.
“I’m ready to do another cruise,” Dot went on. “How about you?”
“Definitely,” he said.
“Together?” Muriel couldn’t help asking.
“Why not? We both got some onboard credit for the next one,” Dot said. “We’d be crazy not to use it.” She flagged down one of her waitresses. “Bring Muriel her usual omelet, will you?”
The girl nodded and departed.
“I see you two didn’t wait for me,” Muriel said, pointing to the plates of half-consumed pancakes.
“I guess we should have,” Arnie said.
But they hadn’t. Why had Dot invited her to come for breakfast if she wasn’t even going to wait for her? To torture her, obviously. The present had just been an excuse for Dot to rub her new relationship with Arnie in Muriel’s face.
“So, here’s your other present,” she said, sliding a wrapped package over to Muriel.
Arnie didn’t say anything about a present. So much for bringing her back something from Germany. Not that she’d needed anything. It was the thought that counted. Obviously, he’d stopped thinking about her once he and Dot got together.
Muriel took the gift with a frown. Unwrapping it, she found a handcrafted leather-bound journal with superfine paper. It had probably cost Dot a pretty penny.
Too bad Muriel didn’t have a pretty attitude to match. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“Don’t you like it?” Dot asked.
“Of course I like it. It’s lovely. It was very thoughtful of you,” Muriel added, trying to infuse more gratitude into her voice.
Dot’s brows drew together and she cocked her head. “Are you okay?”
Why did Dot have to keep asking her how she was? “Of course I’m okay,” Muriel insisted. A little more forcefully than necessary. All right, a lot more forcefully than necessary.
Dot cocked an eyebrow at Arnie. Cute. Now they were developing their own special communication. That observation cemented the scowl on Muriel’s face.
She was being a brat—she knew it. But everyone should be allowed an ugly-tree moment once in a while. “You know, I forgot I have an appointment.” Surely she had an appointment somewhere. “I need to run.”
“You haven’t even had your breakfast,” Arnie protested. Surprising he even noticed, considering how taken he was with Dot.
“Sorry. I’m not very hungry.” She scooted out of the booth. “Thank you again for the journal, Dot.” After she’d gotten control of herself, she’d write something nice in it.
“I’ll come by later this week,” Arnie called after her.
If you can spare the time. She kept the catty remark penned inside her mouth and managed a polite wave.
Once outside, she left her car parked at the curb, determined to walk off her bad attitude, and hurried down the street, oblivious to the snow that had started falling, barely responding as people called hello. Her cell phone summoned her. She left it in her purse.
What was she going to do? How was she going to cope with this? She had to find a way. She was a mature adult, not a spoiled child. These were her friends.
She had just passed the bookstore when Pat called to her. She pretended not to hear and kept walking, picking up her pace. The last thing she and her bad attitude needed was to talk to her old friend, who would be too perceptive for Muriel’s comfort. And if one more person asked her if she was okay, she was going to scream.
Feigned deafness didn’t work, which was probably a good thing since Pat caught up to her and grabbed her arm just before she stepped off the curb and into the path of a turning SUV. “Muriel! What are you doing? You almost got hit.”
Muriel put a hand to her heart, which was now in overdrive. Amazing how fast a broken heart could still beat.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“Were you?” Muriel hedged.
“Yes. I just tried to get you on your phone, too. I got in some more orders for your book and they need to go out today. Can you sign them? It’ll just take a minute.”
“Of course,” Muriel said and turned back with her. She’d sign the books. Then she’d get her latte. After that she’d go home and eat the leftover peppermint cupcakes, all four of them.
“Are you all right?” Pat asked.
Don’t scream right here in the middle of town. “Yes, I’m fine,” Muriel said between gritted teeth.
“Where were you earlier? Why weren’t you answering your cell?”
“I was at Pancake Haus with Dot and Arnie.” She couldn’t resist asking, “Do you think they’re a couple now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Does the idea of them being together bother you?”
“No. Of course not.”
Pat gave her a knowing look. “Muriel Sterling-Wittman, we’ve been friends for too many years for you to be able to lie to me.”
Muriel kept her mouth shut.
“You had your chance with Arnie, many times over.”
“I know.” Did she have to rub it in?
“The man waited a lifetime for you. The least you could do is to let him enjoy his last few years with someone who’ll appreciate him.”
“I am.” Well, she was working on it and that had to count for something. “I want Arnie to be happy. I really do.”
“And Dot. Think how long she’s been widowed.”
“You’re right, I know. It’s just taking me a little while to get used to this new development. I do want them both to be happy, really.”
If only there could have been a way for them to be happy and not together. How was it she’d been able to see so much potential in a stupid tree and yet miss Arnie’s potential? She didn’t deserve him.
Once inside the bookstore, Sienna cornered her, anxious to tell her the many ways she’d been bringing joy into her life—everything from tea at Bailey’s tearoom to giving herself permission to splurge on a pink glass cake platter at Timeless Treasures. “And my cousin and I gave each other manis and pedis,” she concluded, showing off her red nails tipped with tiny snowflakes.
“I’m glad you’re getting so much out of the book,” Muriel said as she signed her last copy. She should go home and read it herself before she turned into a grinch. Oh, wait. She already had.
She left the store and went to Bavarian Brews to self-medicate with an eggnog latte. The latte helped not at all, but seeing poor Hildy Johnson coming into the coffee shop in a cast, her eyes still black-and-blue, was a good reminder that her own life wasn’t so bad.
“How are you doing?” she asked Hildy.
“As well as can be expected,” Hildy replied. “A car accident right before Christmas, just what I always needed.”
“You’re lucky you’re alive,” Muriel told her.
“So’s the drunk who hit me,” Hildy said with a frown. “He walked away without a scratch.”
“At least you’re still here,” Muriel said.
“Yes, there’s always something to be grateful for,” Hildy said.
Muriel bought Hildy a latte, then mulled over her words as she made her way back to her car. Yes, there was always something to be grateful for. In her case, much. Her children all lived nearby, she’d seen several books published and she had encouraged many people. She’d been loved by two wonderful men. She didn’t need to be greedy. And really, it wasn’t as if Arnie would be disappearing from her life. He and Dot would still remain her frien
ds.
If she stopped acting like she was twelve.
Mountain Jewels was coming into sight. She loved jewelry.
She reminded herself that she was trying to stay on a budget and she had plenty of jewelry, anyway. Still, it was always fun to window-shop. She stopped in front of the window.
There at the ring counter stood Arnie.
Chapter Fifteen
Christmas is a perfect time to tell that someone special how you feel.
—Muriel Sterling, A Guide to Happy Holidays
Muriel practically galloped down Center Street, but no matter how fast she moved, she couldn’t lose the image that was now embedded in her brain of Arnie looking at diamond rings. I think I’m in love, Dot had texted. Obviously, so was Arnie. This was...
No, not terrible. This was wonderful for both of them.
Keep your smile no matter what, she told herself. Who was the idiot who’d said that?
Her. Well, what did she know?
She got in her car and started off down the street. Okay, she was going to have to bring out her better self. She’d host a celebratory dinner party for the happy couple.
And poison Dot.
No, no, no! Where did these awful thoughts come from? This was not like her.
But maybe it was.
That thought was more upsetting than all the others that had preceded it. She’d always thought of herself as a kind and generous person. It looked like she’d thought wrong. She was...a bitch.
She needed to get home and have a good cry. She stepped on the gas.
Why wait to start the pity party? She began to sob.
“Stop,” she commanded herself. “You’re bigger than this.” Yes, she was. Okay, back to the dinner party. She’d invite Pat and Ed, and Olivia and James, Tilda, of course, and her husband.
Oh, no. Speaking of Tilda, here she was again in her patrol car, flashing her lights. Honestly, did she have nothing better to do than follow people around? Was there no real crime in Icicle Falls?
The answer to that, of course, was no. Other than mailbox baseball and the occasional brawl at The Man Cave or graffiti adventure at the high school, the town was a quiet one.
Muriel put the brakes on the sobs, gave a final sniff and pulled over. By the time Tilda came to the window, she’d wiped her eyes and already had her driver’s license and registration ready.
“Mrs. Sterling-Wittman, do you know how fast you were going?” Tilda asked, her expression stern.
“No, Tilda, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Tilda went from stern to scary. “This is a school zone.”
All the children were presently in the school but Muriel wisely kept that observation to herself.
As if reading her mind, Tilda continued, “I know all the kids are in school, but if one of them happened to come out, happened to walk out on the street, would you have seen that kid?”
It was a sobering thought. She went from feeling sorry for herself to feeling ill. Thank God there had been no children around. “You’re right. I was driving irresponsibly.”
“You were,” Tilda agreed. She took the driver’s license and registration and walked back to her patrol car to write up the ticket she’d threatened on their last encounter.
“You’ve got to be more careful,” Tilda said when she returned.
“Yes, I do,” Muriel agreed. “I’m afraid I was upset and not paying attention.” She seemed to be very good at not paying attention. She certainly hadn’t paid proper attention to Arnie all these years.
“Then don’t drive when you’re upset.” Tilda gave her a curt nod, then returned to her patrol car.
“Better yet, don’t get upset,” Muriel told herself and put the car in gear. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the whole family were out to get her.
* * *
The Icicle Creek Lodge had only a few guests—the lull before the next weekend storm, when they’d be back to no vacancy—and there wasn’t much happening, but someone still had to mind the reception desk. Today that someone was Meadow, and she was multitasking, trying to finish the scarf she’d started for Brandon.
“I gotta get this done today so I can start one for my mom,” she told Olivia when she stopped by to see how everything was going. She held it up. “Look. No more dropped stitches.”
“Very good,” Olivia said.
“I think it’s long enough now. Right?”
More than long enough. A giraffe would have tripped over it. “Yes, it is. I think you can finish it off now.”
“How do I do that?”
Olivia came around the desk and showed her how to cast off.
“Shit,” she muttered as she attempted to mimic what she’d just seen.
“You’ll get it.” Olivia demonstrated again.
This time Meadow caught on. “This is awesome,” she said happily. “My first scarf done. I hope Brandon will like it.”
He’d certainly appreciate the thought behind it. Meadow had worked hard to master this skill. “I’m sure he will,” Olivia told her. “I’ll get some scissors to cut the yarn.”
At that moment Brooke came up. “I’m on my way to Safeway. Is there anything either of you need?”
“Eggnog,” said Meadow. “I’m dying for eggnog.”
“Cravings, huh?” Brooke said.
“I guess,” Meadow said and smiled.
“How about you, Mom?” Brooke asked.
“I think I’m fine. Oh, wait, on second thought, I could use some more coconut oil. I’ve run out and my poor fingernails are getting brittle.”
“Oh, your scarf’s done,” Brooke said, catching sight of the giraffe scarf.
“Yep. I just finished it,” Meadow said proudly.
“And I need to get those scissors,” Olivia said. “I can get some money for you while I’m at it,” she told Brooke.
“Don’t worry about it,” Brooke said with a wave of her hand.
“I have to duck into the apartment anyway, dear. I’ll just be a minute.”
She hadn’t quite shut the door that led to her little apartment in back of the reception desk when she heard Meadow say, “I wish she’d call me dear.”
Dear. The word came so naturally when she was with Brooke. She wanted it to do the same with Meadow. She didn’t want to play favorites.
Once she was back with the scissors and Brooke had left on her errand, it was just her and her new daughter-in-law again. The scarf was finished. “You did a lovely job,” she said to Meadow. “Would you like me to help you start another one?” Dear. Say it.
She couldn’t. Meadow would know she’d overheard and the word would be meaningless.
How did one work one’s way to that point in a relationship where an endearment came easily? She needed to figure it out for Meadow’s sake.
Who was she kidding? She needed to figure it out for her own sake.
* * *
Arnie stopped by Muriel’s house on Saturday evening unannounced. She’d been parked on the couch in yoga pants and a ratty sweater, trying to get into a mystery novel that she’d checked out from the library. Sadly, she simply didn’t care who’d bumped off the spoiled, rich heiress.
“Arnie,” she said in surprise when she opened the door and found him standing on her front porch. Why hadn’t she bothered to put on makeup?
“I should have called,” he said, stepping inside. “Were you busy?”
“No, not really. Come on in. Would you like some huckleberry liqueur? I’m afraid I don’t have anything good to eat in the house.”
She’d consumed all the leftover cupcakes and gained two pounds in the process. There would be no baking for her until Christmas Eve, when she’d make the requisite red velvet cake for the family gathering at her
house. Although she was longing to self-medicate with a hit of sugar and carbs.
“That sounds good. I love that stuff.” He held out a wrapped box. “I brought you back something from Germany.”
“Oh, how sweet. I’ll just put it under the tree.”
“Open it now,” he urged.
“All right.” She fetched him his drink and then they both settled on the couch. “It was awfully sweet of you to think of me,” she said.
“I’m always thinking of you,” he replied gallantly.
Not so much lately. She opened her present to discover a box of hand-painted glass ornaments. “‘Baumschmuck,’” she said, reading the package.
“Tree jewelry,” he translated.
“They’re lovely,” she said and gave him a hug. “Thank you.” Then she screwed up her courage and casually asked, “Speaking of jewelry, did I see you in Mountain Jewels the other day?”
His face flushed. “I was just looking around.”
“Were you looking for something in particular? For someone in particular?”
He studied her. “Why do you ask?”
The flush seemed to have migrated from Arnie’s face to hers. She could feel her cheeks heating. “I just wondered. I mean, you and Dot...” How to finish this sentence? She didn’t.
“Dot and I?” he prompted.
Her face was on fire now. “Well, you seemed to have a wonderful time on that cruise.”
“We did,” he agreed and took a drink of the liqueur. “This is really good. I hope you’ve saved out a bottle to give me for Christmas.”
She made the liqueur every fall and always saved out a bottle for Arnie. “I suppose now you’ll be sharing it with Dot.” She sounded like the world’s sorest loser.
But so what if she did? Losing at cards or bingo or in a raffle drawing was one thing. Losing in love was quite another. She could feel his assessing gaze on her.
“What?” Now she sounded petulant. Well, she was.
“Muriel, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were jealous.”
Sweet Muriel disappeared and bitchy Muriel surfaced to take her place. “All right. Maybe I am. You and I have been friends since junior high, and here Dot comes to the party later and all of a sudden she’s... Well, what is she, Arnie? Do I need to be offering you congratulations? If so, then congratulations.”
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