Castle Juliet

by Brandon Berntson

  Back inside, Jack helped set the table with a dish of celery, carrots and ranch dressing. It was close to six o’clock when headlights illuminated the yard out front. Jack frantically helped Alice put the rest of dinner together, screaming in high drama, as though being chased by a serial killer. He calmed down, however, and his eyes lit-up when he saw the hearty grilled-cheese sandwiches Alice was making. Piled between the bread—along with three slice of cheese, she’d doled out a generous amount of sautéed onions, peppers, garlic, and mushrooms. Jack had never seen a grilled-cheese sandwich like the ones Alice was putting together. It wasn’t so much a grilled-cheese, he thought, as it was a cheesy vegetable sandwich. She’d also found some crackers for the soup. Jack’s belly rumbled at the sight of it all.

  “My stomach says, smack-dabalicious, Alice, and highly approves. My eyes are bugging out of my head. I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh yeah, Dad just pulled up.”

  “Eeek!” Alice screamed. “You stall him Jack and get him to sit at the table!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jack said, and snapped his heels together. He did the perfect salute, an about-face, and marched out of the kitchen, looking more like Frankenstein than a soldier.

  In the next instant, the front door opened, and Jack’s father stepped inside. He brushed snow out of his hair, off his coat, and hung it on the rack beside the door. He turned and looked at Jack.

  “Hi, Dad. How was work?”

  Phillip smiled and looked at his son. He held up three fingers. “Three things,” he said.

  “Lay em on me one by one, Pop,” Jack said, nodding.

  “I like the sign with the snowman,” Phillip said. “Made me feel all cheery when I stepped out of the truck.”

  “That was my plan of attack, sir,” Jack said.

  “Second thing…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You shovel that walk?”

  “I sure did, sir. Wanted you to have a nice welcome and not trip in the snow.”

  “You succeeded, my boy,” Phillip said, leaving his boots by the door. “That was the cleanest, smoothest walk I’ve ever had to the front door in every winter I’ve lived in this house.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Jack?”

  “Does that bring us to number three?”

  “It sure does, son. I didn’t know which one to approach first. But I have to ask…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What in the name of Sweet Elizabeth is that delectable smell?”

  “Alice is here, Dad. And she is cooking us dinner! What, in Sweet Elizabeth, do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s gonna bring a tear to my eye is what I think,” Phillip said. “I’m speechless. Just speechless. I mean…I don’t…what do I…Man, that smells good!” Indeed, Phillip did not seem to know what to say, because he didn’t say anything at all. He took in the entire scene, the setting on the table, the Christmas lights, the fire. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squinted his eyes, and smiled merrily.

  “Come on, Dad,” Jack said, motioning him toward the table. “Sit down,”

  Alice stepped out of the kitchen, holding a large plate filled with a grilled cheese sandwich cut in half, a bowl of soup, and crackers on the side. Phillip sat at the head of the table. At the same time, Alice and Jack said, “Welcome home, Dad!”—though Alice substituted the word ‘Dad’ for ‘sir.’

  Phillip laughed and burst into tears at the same time.

  *

  “Well, I must say, I’m astounded,” Phillip said. “Astounded! I’d have never thunk it in a million years.” Pure delight shone from Phillip’s eyes. He was not lying, that was certain. “Like little cherubs, you are.”

  They all sat around the dinner table, each with a separate plate of their own. Alice had created a grilled-cheese masterpiece. It was by far more than just a cheese sandwich. It was a work of art. On thickly sliced bread, American, Sharp, and Swiss cheese melted and blended and dripped together. Piled atop this were the sautéed onions, peppers, garlic, and mushrooms. She’d cut the sandwiches diagonally, so they fit perfectly around the soup bowl, along with a slight garnish of crackers. Alice was proud of her accomplishment and sat dancing in her chair. Before partaking of the meal, however, Phillip looked at Alice, looked at Jack, smiled at each of them, and said: “Do you mind indulging me in a prayer?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Alice said.

  Each of them clasped their hands together, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads.

  Phillip cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly in his seat (no doubt it had been a long time since he’d done this) and began, quite simply:

  “Dear Lord. A little token of surprise has brought us here before you. I’d feel slightly unappreciative if I didn’t at least bestow my thanks in some way or another, despite my beliefs, but the situation calls for it, I think. I want to thank you for these young, happy angels at the table. Bless them as they have blessed me. We give thanks and kindness to this meal before us, this selfless act of pure giving. For Jack and his making my home always bright, cheerful, happy, and warm. I would not be the contented and happy man I am without him in my life. For Alice and her mature, matronly devotion, making certain we are well fed this evening. Her parents must be proud. I feel like she belongs here, and it is very natural to have her. So, thank you. God bless and keep her. She has blessed this meal with her pure hands and wholesome heart. To Jezebel, Jacky-boy’s mother, who is comforted and at peace in the healing arms of Heaven, who would be delighted, I’m sure, by this scene. We love and miss you, dear. God bless this meal and the thanks we have for it. I hope and pray we will always continue to make this a happy home. Thank you, dear Lord, for this day. In the name of Heaven. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Jack and Alice both said at once. They looked at Phillip, who—though his eyes were watery—seemed perfectly at peace and content at his place at the table. Phillip had never looked more genuinely happy.

  Jack sniffed but blamed it on the pepper in the soup. Alice dabbed at her eyes and blamed it on the brightness of the fire.

  “Thanks for mentioning, Mom, Dad,” Jack said.

  “I figured it was a long time coming,” Phillip said, placing his napkin in his lap.

  “That was a beautiful prayer, Mr. Bristol,” Alice said.

  “I think it was the beautiful meal that inspired it, my dear. And call me Phillip.” He grabbed his sandwich, looked around, and smiled. With resounding merriment in his voice, he said, “I think the meal has cooled enough. By golly, let’s eat!”

  CHAPTER X

  ALICE MAKES TRACKS

  Christmas came to the Skylar home, and joy came with it. No commercialism here. The holiday—the season itself—spread its wings wide over Storyville. Holiday revelry, feasts, and merrymaking embraced the neighborhood streets and businesses. Trumpets sounded. Christmas arrived, and with it, cheerful, holiday smiles. Shadows cowered. Darkness skulked, beaten by glistening tinsel.

  “There,” people would say, “is the Skylar home. Christmas resounds all year round. The lights, the holly, and mistletoe! Hold your glasses high! Let us raise a glass in good cheer! Even the snow glistens deeper!”

  This was the Skylar house on Christmas day, and still the snow continued to fall. Thick, wet, and sticky, it descended slowly, piling high, layer upon layer across Storyville. It piled on rooftops. Every branch on every tree bent under its weight. Storyville was a winter-like seascape of snow for as far as the eye could see.

  Inside the Skylar home, it was warm, cozy, and cheerful. Lanterns and candles glowed. A fire crackled bright and hot in the fireplace. A childrens’ choir sang Christmas songs from a nearby radio. Jane had put her heart into the décor that year. The Skylar home had transformed, relocated from the North Pole, as if Santa had deliberately sent his elves to help Jane with the decorations. Red and green pillows layered the couch, each with a different scene: leaves of Holly, sleigh rides in the snow, bright stars on a winter night. The table cloth was similar, the
knick-knacks throughout the house. The dinnerware, the glasses, napkins—all the same. Every individual item, knick-knack, pillow, and piece of décor—in some way—denoted the season, whether it was a simple word or phrase: Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, or a picture depicting a life-like snowman, a jolly, plump man in a red suit, a red-nosed reindeer, or nativity scene.

  Jane was busy as usual, and Alice was helping in the kitchen, preparing the Christmas feast. Everything was bounteous, colorful, and steaming hot. Jane was perspiring, her forehead beaded in sweat, and dressed exceedingly fashionable in her best Christmas dress. Alice was the same. She wore a green headband, keeping her thick, red hair out of her eyes. Alice was especially pretty on Christmas day in her red and green dress, white stockings, and black shoes. A mix of succulent aromas wafted from the kitchen and throughout the rest of the house. Steamed and buttered vegetables had been cooked to crisp perfection, along with the sweet potatoes and rolls. The tinge of peppermint cocoa hung in the air, which Alice was relishing with zeal, making one delicious cup after another. She’d noticed, as she was placing items on the table, that her mother had set the table for six instead of five.

  “Does Boxer get to eat at the table, too, Mom?” Alice asked.

  “Boxer?” Jane said. “Of course not. Boxer must be a good dog and lie in his bed. But don’t worry, honey, Boxer will have plenty to eat. It’s Christmas, after all.”

  “But you set the table for six, Mom,” Alice pointed out. Just to make sure, Alice counted everybody off on her fingers: Mom, Dad, Phillip, Jack, and herself. That was five, easy enough.

  “We’re having a surprise guest for dinner, Alice,” Jane said, blonde bangs hanging in her eyes, as she opened the oven door to peek at the turkey.

  “We are?”

  “Yes, dear,” Jane said, closing the door. She moved to the counter where she began to knead more dough for the rolls.

  “Who?” Alice asked.

  “Santa Clause,” Jane said, smiling, not looking at her daughter. She chuckled warmly.

  “Mom!”

  “It’s a surprise, dear. You’ll just have to wait.”

  “I don’t have a little brother by any chance, do I?” Alice asked. “Someone you’ve been keeping from me?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Jane said.

  “Mom!” Alice said, impatiently. “Who is it?”

  “You’ll just have to wait, Alice. Be patient, and help me with the rolls. And put on an apron. I don’t want you to get flour on your dress.”

  Alice resigned herself to the task of the rolls and grumbled to herself.

  Boxer was also enjoying the revelry, participating like any good dog will during the holidays. He wagged his tail with fervor, his barks excited and friendly. Boxer would yelp occasionally, wag his tail, adding his own thoughts and ideas to the holiday, and all he wanted in return was a pat of acknowledgment. Boxer was a good dog; he ate only when he was told, and he did not beg for food. Because of this, he was rewarded with a light snack throughout the day. Good behavior should go noticed—especially with dogs—and the case was true at the Skylar residence. He followed Jane throughout the house, or Alice, sometimes Gerald, who sat in the chair smoking his pipe and patting Boxer’s head.

  Gerald emerged from the living room. He’d been setting up the last of the Christmas décor, putting finishing touches on the tree, shoveling the walk for his guests, making sure there was plenty of wood for the fire, and being an overall child, as anxious for the holiday as everybody else. Gerald was dressed in a white shirt, holiday suspenders, his nicest trousers, and wearing a bright red Santa Claus cap with a puffy white ball on the end. He had on holiday slippers and a red bowtie. He looked ridiculously comical, clownish, like a very tall, rakishly dressed elf. Alice loved it. He reached up now, hanging mistletoe above the entranceway from the kitchen to the dining room, and was just finishing when he turned to Jane—as though just noticing the mistletoe, “Look, my little star-gazer!”—and pointed to the mistletoe. Gerald’s green eyes were vibrant, large, and bright.

  Jane turned, saw the mistletoe, and blushed. Alice looked and smiled.

  “Mistletoe!” Gerald said. “How did that get there?”

  Feigning ignorance, Gerald did not look his wife in the eye, but rocked back and forth on his heels, hands shoved deeply in his pockets, whistling nonchalantly, looking everywhere about the house except at Jane. When his eyes met Alice’s, he winked, and Alice giggled.

  “Gerald,” Jane said, wiping her brow. “Honestly, I’m really busy…”

  “I’m waiting,” Gerald said, hands still in his pockets, still whistling, still rocking back and forth, pretending not to notice Jane, the mistletoe, or anything except Alice.

  Alice moved to her mother and pretended to stumble into her, forcing Jane to take a step toward her husband. “Sorry, Mom,” Alice said. “Must have tripped on Boxer’s tail.”

  Boxer let out an excitable yelp, anxious to be involved, and was nowhere near Alice.

  Gerald, of course, was standing directly under the mistletoe, and—still acting like a schoolboy—motioned with his eyes toward it, then looked at Jane, who blushed madly.

  “Into my arms, dearest,” Gerald said, his cheeks rosy from the heat of the kitchen or embarrassment. It was hard to tell. “And give your husband a Christmas kiss!”

  Alice smiled, nudging her mother closer to her father. Jane still didn’t know what to say. Boxer yelped again and wagged his tail.

  “Gerald,” Jane said. “My hands are all covered in flour. They’re sticky, too.”

  “You don’t need your hands to kiss me,” Gerald explained. “Unless you really want to put some ‘oomph’ into it.”

  “Gerald!”

  Alice laughed out loud, and Boxer barked again, more excited than ever.

  “Come on, love,” Gerald said, pulling his hands out of his pockets, and opening his arms. “Lay one on me! The mistletoe’s not getting any younger!”

  “Go, Mom!” Alice cried, cheering her mother on, and nudged her again. Once again, Boxer barked.

  “Even the dog agrees, ma’am,” Gerald said. “You’ve been out-voted.”

  “Oh, Gerald,” Jane said, looking as bashful as ever, but stepped toward her husband. “You’re worse than a kid.”

  “Worse, my butterfly?” Gerald said, opening his eyes wide. “I could say the same about you.”

  “Much worse,” Jane said, bending at the waist, careful not to get dough on Gerald’s shirt, and kissed him loudly on the lips.

  “Hooray!” Alice said, clapping her hands, also full of dough, which fell to the floor. Boxer barked again, hurried between everyone’s legs, and ate the fallen dough before anyone noticed.

  Gerald put a hand to his head, as if he were going to faint. “Ah,” he said, and smiled. “Christmas day is now complete. What a wonder! No other day could match it!”

  “Help set the table, Gerald,” Jane said. “Our guests should be here any minute.”

  “Of course, my light,” Gerald said, drunk with love under the mistletoe. He put his hand to his heart. “May I have another?”

  “Gerald, you’re impossible!”

  “I know, my dear.”

  “Like a child,” Jane said.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “I have work to do,” Jane said.

  “Couldn’t agree more.” But still Gerald was smiling, rocking back and forth on his heels, waiting for another. This time with his arms crossed.

  Jane leaned in again, and gave him another kiss, louder than the first, then sprinkled flour on his nose.

  “Magic powder!” Gerald said, and shoved his hands into his pockets, amused with himself.

  “More like a clown, I think,” Jane said.

  “A clown again?” Gerald said.

  “Clown, indeed!” Jane said.

  Alice laughed again; Boxer barked, wagged his tail, and that was when the doorbell rang.

  “Guests!” Jane exclaimed, out of breath, and put a
hand to her heart.

  “One more kiss, love?” Gerald said, pulling Jane close as she ran for the door. She only got so far. She twirled, as if doing the Salsa, found herself embraced by her husband, who placed a forceful smack louder than the previous two right on her lips.

  Alice was not only giggling now, but holding onto her belly, doubling over with laughter. Jane was blushing, giggling like crazy, trying to fix her hair but unable to do anything about it. Boxer stood up on his hind legs, as if wanting someone to pay attention to him, barking repeatedly, the entire scene meeting his approval.

  Finally, Gerald let go of Jane, and she went to the door. She put her hand to her heart, took a deep breath, smiled, and pulled it wide.

  “Merry Christmas!” Phillip and Jack both announced. “We bring tidings of great joy!”

  “Yippee!” Alice exclaimed. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down at the same time. “You guys should have been here two minutes ago! Ick!” Alice made a face like something had gone sour in her mouth.

  “Alice,” Jane said, fixing her hair, but Alice only chuckled.

  Boxer yelped, wagged his tail, and ran to the door where he greeted Jack and Phillip.

  “Come in! Come in,” Jane said, composed now. “Oh, it’s good to see you!”

  Jack and Phillip stomped off their boots while still standing on the porch and walked inside. Jane embraced them awkwardly, hands still covered in flour. Jack was carrying a blue and red package in his hands, wrapped haphazardly, slightly loose with a big red bow on top.