Love Finds You in Holiday, Florida

by Sandra D. Bricker

  BY SANDRA D. BRICKER

  SummeRSIde

  PRESS

  Summerside Press, Inc.

  Minneapolis 55438

  www.summersidepress.com

  Love Finds You in Holiday, Florida

  © 2009 by Sandra D. Bricker

  ISBN 978-1-935416-25-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Scripture references are from the following source: The New King James Version (NKJV). Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission.

  The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

  Cover and interior design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group

  www.mullerhaus.net.

  Back cover photo of Holiday, Florida, taken by Jim Beck.

  Fall in love with Summerside.

  Printed in USA.

  Acknowledgments

  Love and gratitude to the folks at The Joy FM in Central Florida

  for always providing the soundtrack to my creativity

  and the encouragement to my spirit.

  Special blessings to

  the folks at Lost Angels Animal Rescue

  for bringing a real-life clown named Sophie into my life—

  and for the work you do on behalf of dogs like her

  every day of the year.

  Dedication

  Marian:

  I meant to make you laugh, not cry.

  But thank you for always thinking I’m brilliant.

  Special thanks to

  David, Debby, Jemelle, Loree, and Debra (my #1 fan)

  for feeding my confidence along the way.

  NESTLED NEAR THE BIGGER TOWN OF NEW PORT RICHEY AND the Greek tourist haven of Tarpon Springs, Holiday, Florida, is winding boulevards lined with tall palm trees reaching toward vivid blue skies and cotton-ball clouds; it is wildlife at its strangest, from snakes and frogs to flawless (albeit quite bold) white birds called egrets; and it is sleepy canals punctuated by lonely wooden docks. I live in Tampa, Florida, just half an hour away from Holiday, and while I was there soaking up the atmosphere, I saw things that really tickled my funny bone (a good break since I was writing a comedy!). Three elderly women power walked down the middle of the street in front of my car, all of them wearing neon spandex and sporting visors and fanny packs. I saw mailboxes fashioned out of fish faces, alligator jaws, and tree trunks; I encountered manicured gardens decorated with neon-pink flamingos; and one very talkative resident put the icing on the cake of my inspiration. In the ten years since I’ve moved here, I couldn’t count the times that I’ve compared Florida residency to life on another planet! I’m pretty sure Holiday proves that the comparison isn’t far off.

  Sandra D. Bricker

  Prologue

  Cassie rounded the curve of the street and pulled into the driveway, and there they were! Those horrible, neon-pink flamingos, grinning at her from beneath the palm tree in the front yard. Just that morning, she’d deposited them in the trash receptacle, hoping that would be the end of them. Though something told her she would never be rid of them.

  Oh, what a thought!

  As she climbed out of the car and stalked toward them, the horror of it buzzed around her like a swarm of gnats. The picture was a vivid one: sitting on the back deck in her old age, sipping one of those terrible Southern beverages Zan was always experimenting with, her silver hair standing on end and frizzy from the Florida humidity. And poking out from beneath the dock…or peering at her from around the side of the house…or possibly standing tall in one of the large flowering plants…those eyes. Those gawking black eyes, just staring back at her, mocking her with their presence.

  Cassie yanked the first one out of the ground, where its hard plastic spike anchored it to the front yard, and she tossed it on the grass behind her. Just as she wrapped both hands around the beak of the second one, Zan’s laughter taunted her from across the street.

  She turned her head slowly toward him, narrowed her eyes, and stared him down, the distance between them bridged by a look her husband had come to know all too well.

  “Hi, baby,” he called out to her, grinning as maniacally as those flamingos he loved so much. “Want some help carrying in the groceries?”

  Lounging on the front step of Millicent’s porch with his faithful dog, Sophie, at his side, Zan could surely be spotted from the space shuttle in that colorful Hawaiian-print shirt. He waved his arms at her, and the old woman in the rocking chair began to wave as well.

  “Hello, Cassie!”

  Cassie planted both feet and faced him, with her hands on her hips. “Alexander Constantine, I won’t have these horrible things displayed in the front yard. What will the neighbors think of us?”

  “Ah, come on, Mac. They’ll think we’re kitschy. Don’t you want to be known as kitschy?”

  “I certainly do not.”

  And with that, she turned her back on him and pulled hard on the beak of the second flamingo—so hard, in fact, that she fell right on her fanny when the bird’s spike broke free of the ground.

  Zan jogged across the street, laughing the whole way, with Sophie trotting at his heels and pitching out happy little fragmented barks as if they were playing a wonderful new game.

  Zan reached her in the next minute. “Come on, Mac. Have a heart. When in Holiday, do as the Holidaens do.”

  Cassie leaned back into the grass on both elbows and looked up at him, taking in that horrible shirt, the shorts to his knees, and the unmistakable bright blue rubber flip-flops.

  “I think you’re Holidaen enough for the both of us,” she remarked. “What were you conspiring with Millicent about?”

  “You know she’s my favorite girl after you, Deb, and Sophie.”

  “Yes, I do, and I’m not sure about the order we place, either,” she said, glancing at the orange-and-golden-haired collie standing over her. Sophie wiggled her big ears that flopped over at the tips and wagged her large plumed tail at some hilarity only dogs and her husband could sense. “So what were you charming out of Millicent this time, Zan? A recipe for a kiwi mint julep? Pink lemonade with pineapple chunks?”

  Zan grinned as he stood over her, and he reached out for her hands. He planted a kiss on each one and then pulled her to her feet.

  “Please let me toss the birds in the trash, Zan.”

  “If you must.”

  “Really?”

  “Toss away, Mac.”

  Cassie narrowed her eyes and stared him down. It was almost too easy. But she wasn’t going to pass up a golden opportunity if, by some miracle, he was feeling charitable about her animosity for those horrible pink flamingos-on-a-stick.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  As she bent over to pick them up, Zan smacked her on the tush.

  “Sophie and I will unload the car,” he told her, before waving his arms over his head at Millicent. “Catch you later, Millie!”

  “Not if I see you first,” she teased.

  Happy 25th Anniversary to my Cassie. From your Zan.

  Chapter One

  4 ACROSS: Neat; tidy; organized

  “I know you, Mom, and I wanted to talk to you before you started the whole house decorating thing.”

  Cassie tapped the handset and turned serious. “What whole house decorating thing? Debra, I find it laughable that you think I’m so predictable.”

  “Oh, come on.” Debra chuckled from the other end of the phone line. “Tell me you haven’t already gone up into the attic and pulled out the bo
xes of ornaments and garland, or that you haven’t been sitting at the kitchen table making your list for Christmas Eve dinner.”

  Cassie set her coffee cup on the table with a thump and brushed aside the spiral notebook in front of her.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Zach is one of the wise men in the church play, and Jake is going to his seventh-grade dance with that little blond girl he’s had a crush on since the third grade. I just can’t make them miss any of it. Why don’t you come here for Christmas instead? You could see the play, and we could go shopping at the new outlet mall.”

  Cassie smiled. “I’ve been wondering about doing something different this year anyway. Like maybe going down to the house in Holiday.”

  Debra cackled. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Well, Daddy talked about going down there for Christmas every year since I can remember, and you wouldn’t hear of spending the holiday in 80-degree weather.”

  “Well, he loved to wear those horrible shorts when he went down to Florida,” Cassie explained, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t spend the Christmas holiday with your father walking around in those plaid Bermuda shorts.”

  “I can still hear him trying to talk you into it.” Debra chuckled. In her gravelly Zan impersonation, she added, “ ‘Come on, Mac. Just one Christmas out of all the others that we’ll spend in Boston.’ ”

  Debra’s laughter was lyrical, and Cassie’s hand floated to her heart as a mist of tears glazed her eyes. With a sniff, she fought them back. Zan had called her Mac since the time they first met. She was Cassie MacLean then, but the only time he ever called her by her given name was on the morning they’d recited their wedding vows and then once each year on their anniversary. The rest of their lives, she was just Mac. She’d almost forgotten, but Debra’s casual reference to the nickname brought Zan flooding back to her.

  “I’ve been thinking about selling the Florida house anyway. This will give me time to get it ready.”

  “Selling it? Really?”

  “Debra Constantine Rudolph, don’t you give me that weepy reaction to selling the Holiday house after all the years that have passed since you’ve been there.”

  “I know, I just…” She trailed off, and Cassie smiled.

  “I just, too. But it’s not practical. None of us ever go down there, honey, and the upkeep on a three-bedroom house in Florida that we never use anymore is just ridiculous. Your father was the one who really loved it anyway. I never shared his vision of walking the golf course on Christmas Eve or of draping colored twinkle lights on those awful plastic flamingos he put in the yard.”

  “He was a character,” Debra commented.

  “Yes, he was.”

  “So you aren’t too heartbroken that we won’t be coming for Christmas, then?”

  “Don’t be silly. You have your own family now, honey. You’ll make your own traditions. It’s the circle of life.”

  “Hakuna matata?” Debra laughed. “That’s very Lion King of you, Mom.”

  “Besides, I’ve hardly given any thought to the holidays yet.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Cassie set the handset on the table and leaned back against the metal scrollwork of the dinette chair. Sophie pattered across the kitchen floor with a section of silver Christmas tree garland in her mouth, dragging about three feet of it behind her. When she reached Cassie, she dropped the garland and sighed as she planted her chin on Cassie’s knee.

  “Thanks for understanding, Soph.”

  With another sigh, Cassie glanced down the hall at the traffic jam of cardboard boxes overflowing with Christmas decorations. She’d been in the process of sorting tree lights from outdoor strands when Debra had called.

  I’m absolutely humdrum, she thought, snagging a quick glimpse of the notebook with an inward groan. I’m just as predictable as they come!

  She looked down at the list.

  Roasted turkey—at least twenty pounds

  Chestnut stuffing—leave out the celery for Jake

  Candied yams—get marshmallows for Zach

  Green bean and mushroom Casserole—will the kids eat pearl onions now?

  She hadn’t had time to complete it before Debra had called and accused her of making it. Cassie drew a large X across the page and turned the notebook facedown on the table.

  As she tucked the lights and garland back into their boxes and sealed the flaps, Cassie counted down the days until Christmas on an invisible calendar before her. With almost three weeks stretched out between lunch with Rachel that afternoon and a lonely Christmas dinner, Cassie began to devise a plan.

  A bold and unpredictable plan. Unpredictable was going to be the name of the game now. No more humdrum for this woman!

  By the time Cassie met up with her best friend, Rachel, at the restaurant two hours later, she’d already made plane reservations, reserved a rental car, and made an appointment with Tameka, the lovely real estate agent she and Zan had gotten to know in Holiday. She’d sold them the house, and they’d had dinner a few times with Tameka and her husband, James.

  “Are you ser–i–ous?” Rachel enunciated.

  Cassie emptied a packet of sweetener into her coffee and stirred it with an ornate silver spoon as she grinned at her friend across the table.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You’re going to Florida for Christmas.”

  “Well,” she said, tapping the spoon against the side of the cup and placing it on the saucer, “I’m going to Holiday to get the house ready to go on the market. That shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks. I should finish just in time to spend one Christmas there like Zan always wanted to, say good-bye to the house and all its memories, and come back to Boston just after the new year.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Yes!” Cassie exclaimed, nodding her head at Rachel. “I’m serious, already.”

  “I’m sorry, I just—” Rachel pushed her halo of ash blond curls back from her face and blinked her turquoise blue eyes at Cassie. “Do you think you’re ready for this, Cass?”

  Cassie reached across the table and took her friend’s hand between her own. “He’s been gone over a year now, Rach. I think I’d better be ready, don’t you?”

  “There’s no clock timing you on this. You’ll be ready when you’re ready.”

  Cassie wanted to reassure her friend. She wanted to declare that the time had indeed come, that she was more than…

  Well, there was something to be said for stepping out in faith and pretending she was ready, wasn’t there? Letting go of Zan and their life together, and moving forward with this new phase, was just not something she could plan out like the rest of the details she was so adept at organizing. And Cassie was a little out of her element there since she felt she could always depend on a good plan when nothing else in life was certain.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, remembering the folded sheet of paper in her purse. “Look what I found.”

  She dug into her bag, pulled out the paper, smoothed the creases, and laid the page flat on the table between them.

  “It’s the crossword puzzle Zan gave me on our anniversary, just before he…” Their eyes met, and Rachel cocked her head slightly and tried to smile at her. “You know.”

  “He was so good at that,” Rachel commented. “I’ll bet he made as much money selling his crossword puzzles as he did at teaching English lit.”

  “Not quite,” Cassie replied. “But he sure did love to dream them up. Crossword puzzles, word jumbles, searches…Zan just loved words.”

  “I always thought it was so romantic the way he would give them to you every year on your anniversary,” Rachel said on a sigh. “And they’d always describe the wonderful things he saw in you. Hey, let’s do it together. Do you want to?”

  “I thought I’d take it down to Florida with me and work it there. But we could start it.” She looked over the clue list and landed on one. “Wha
t’s a seven-letter word for neat, tidy, and organized?”

  Rachel paused and then grinned. “Cassie?”

  “That’s six letters.”

  Just once, she would have loved to come across a clue for a different type of Cassie.

  Dangerous.

  Rebellious.

  Spitfire!

  “Orderly,” Rachel blurted. “The seven-letter word for neat and organized. It’s orderly.”

  Orderly. Well, that figures.

  Cassie’s spirits deflated. She folded up the puzzle and placed it back into the front pocket of her purse.

  “I was Christmas shopping on my lunch hour the other day,” she said. “I came across the neatest little gift that I thought about getting for Debra, and now I find myself wishing I’d gotten it for myself.”

  “What was it?”

  “It’s called a ‘Surprise Yourself’ box. Have you heard of it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s a beautiful little cut-crystal box with a hinged lid,” she explained. “Inside are 365 cards, one for each day of the year. On the front is a scripture verse. And on the back is an instruction for that day. I think it’s about applying the Word to your everyday life because it will say something like, ‘Visit someone who’s sick’ or ‘Look for an undiscovered talent in yourself.’ ”

  “What a great idea!” Rachel exclaimed.

  “I’m sitting here thinking I should have that box. I’d like to do something to surprise myself—or to surprise others, for that matter. Rachel, I’m so predictable.”

  “This from the woman who just made last-minute reservations to fly to Florida for Christmas.”

  “The first unexpected thing I’ve done in twenty years.”

  “Cass.”

  “I know! Let’s do something crazy now,” she suggested. “How about a slice of pie?”

  “Want to split?”

  “Nope. I want my own. And I’m having…pumpkin!”