The Lodge on Holly Road

by Sheila Roberts

  “We’ve got some places where you can get an Icicle Falls sweatshirt,” the man put in. “And a jacket.”

  Maybe he could wear them over his red pants.

  “But they’re closed now,” said Olivia. “And he could get coveralls at the hardware store but by now they’re closed, too. Wenatchee isn’t far, though, and tomorrow you’ll be able to find a store there that sells men’s clothing.”

  Brooke sighed. It looked as though they’d have to wait until tomorrow to get something for Daddy to wear. Tonight he’d be stuck in his room. Which would probably be fine with him. But it wouldn’t be fine with her. He could watch TV at home. This was Icicle Falls, for crying out loud. They were supposed to be having fun, making new memories.

  “You know,” Olivia said thoughtfully. “I might have something to tide you over until you can get to a store. Let me look around and I’ll come up in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, if you could, that would be great,” Brooke said. “Thank you.”

  “No promises, but we’ll see what we can do.”

  Brooke went back to the room to give the boys her good news and found them stretched out on her father’s bed watching some gory action movie. Oh, yes, this was how she’d envisioned their holiday getaway. Not.

  * * *

  “Where are you planning on finding clothes for this guy?” Eric asked his mother after their guest had gone back up the stairs. “If he’s hefty enough to play Santa, he won’t fit any of mine.”

  “I still have a few things of your father’s.”

  Eric looked at Olivia in surprise. “We took everything to Goodwill.”

  “Not everything.”

  She’d kept a pair of George’s slacks, a sweater, two of his shirts. Silly, she supposed, but seeing them hanging in her closet had made her loss seem less final. She’d actually taken his old red plaid flannel shirt to bed with her every night the first month he was gone, holding it close, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne. She’d kept back a half-empty bottle of the cologne, too, and occasionally dabbed some on the shirt. Eventually the cologne had run out and she’d hung the shirt back in the closet, resigned herself to her loss and picked up the pieces of her life. She’d reopened the Icicle Creek Lodge for business and moved forward as best she could. And with the help of her girlfriends, the LAMs (Life After Men), who were also dealing with life single-handed, she’d coped with widowhood. She could spare the pants and the red flannel shirt for a day.

  “Oh,” Eric said, obviously nonplussed.

  “You keep an eye on the front desk and I’ll bring a couple of things up to the Claussens. We still have the Spikes and the Williams family to check in.”

  He nodded, and she slipped through the door to the family living quarters before he could ask her any questions about why she was still hanging on to her deceased husband’s clothes.

  * * *

  Mom had kept some of Dad’s clothes? After more than ten years? This was news to Eric.

  In a way, it didn’t surprise him. They all kept reminders of Dad. Brandon had his old signet ring and it never left his finger. Eric treasured Dad’s old watch and his fishing pole, and every time he went fishing he thought of Dad and the conversations they’d had on the banks of the Wenatchee River, talks about girls and things a man shouldn’t do, not unless he wanted to go blind. Talks about how it didn’t matter whether you won or lost the basketball game, that what mattered was doing your best. His dad had taught him that the most important things a man could have were good character and good friends.

  Eric had his pals, but he’d lost his closest friend the day the old man died. What must it be like for his mom?

  She and Dad had been inseparable. And this lodge had been their big dream come true. Life had been blue-sky beautiful until the day Dad’s friends from the hiking club came and told Mom what had happened... She’d been in the kitchen, baking cookies to put out for some of the guests. She’d fainted and the baking sheet she’d been holding had dropped to the floor, raining chocolate chip cookies everywhere. They’d stayed on the floor for two days until Eric went into the kitchen and cleaned them up.

  The community had rallied around her. Dot Morrison had donated gift certificates to all the lodge guests for a free breakfast at Pancake Haus. The Sterling sisters had come in and helped with room cleanup. And the Geissels, who owned Gerhardt’s Gasthaus, had taken in guests who’d booked rooms for the following month. Her friends Pat and Muriel had raised enough money from community donations to cover the lost income. Eric had paid the bills and kept the books straight while his mother walked around like a zombie.

  Their first Christmas without his dad had sucked. Mom had managed to make some of the usual treats, but early Christmas morning, when they would’ve gathered to snarf down Dad’s pumpkin pancakes and exchange gifts, there’d been a big hole. Yes, Mom had made the pancakes, and yes, there’d been presents. But there’d been no joking, no big, booming laugh. No father.

  Life went on, but not always smoothly. The Christmas his mom had gotten a boyfriend was not good, and Eric and Brandon had succeeded in driving him away in a hurry. Needless to say, later he’d felt bad.

  He and his mother had talked about that whole incident a few years ago. “It’s just as well,” she’d said with a shrug of her shoulders. “He wasn’t your dad.”

  No one was. But now that he was older, Eric often regretted his youthful overprotectiveness. Mom was lonely. He saw it in her eyes every Valentine’s Day, when she watched lovers going off to their rooms. And he saw it at Christmas, when she watched couples kissing under the mistletoe and sighed. He wished she’d stop hanging the damn stuff. But, of course, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type to deprive others of happiness just because she was unhappy. Mom was the kind of woman who loved to do for people. Hell, she loved being with people.

  In fact, she worked hard to make sure she wasn’t alone, going to the movies with Dot Morrison or hanging out at Muriel Sterling-Wittman’s place, tagging along as a third wheel with Pat Wilder and Ed York. It was a poor substitute for having a man.

  If he hadn’t been such a shit when he was young and encouraged Brandon to follow suit, she might have married that guy who was hanging around after Dad died. Or some guy. Maybe even old Henry Figg, who liked to come in for the Sunday-morning brunches. It seemed that now she was trapped in the role of widow.

  Poor Mom. Brandon was already off living his life. What was Mom going to do if Eric found someone and moved out? Not away, of course. He’d never do that. Icicle Falls was his home and always would be. And he’d never leave her in the lurch to run the lodge on her own.

  At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t be moving out and setting up housekeeping anytime soon so it was probably moot.

  The image of the woman on the third floor, the one who was here with her dad and brother, came to mind. Long shiny brown hair, big brown eyes, great smile, equally great curves. And it wasn’t hard to tell she cared about her dad. He wondered if she had a boyfriend.

  He remembered his conversation with the guys at Zelda’s. Rob was right. There was no point in starting something with a guest. They never stayed. Home was somewhere else.

  The phone rang and he picked up. “Icicle Creek Lodge.”

  “Hey, bro.”

  At the sound of his brother’s voice Eric felt the usual mix of love and irritation. “You’d better not be calling to say you’re not coming home for Christmas.” Mom never pushed but he knew she looked forward to having Brandon home for the holidays.

  “Of course I’m coming. What kind of jerk do you think I am?”

  A spoiled one. But whose fault was that? Brandon was the baby of the family, good-looking, charming and popular. Growing up, everyone had adored him, including his big brother, who’d protected him from jealous school-yard bullies and gotten him hooked on skiing. That had
been a mistake. The sport became consuming. Brandon had done it all, from becoming an instructor to doing ski patrol. At one point he’d even dreamed of the Winter Olympics. He’d been good, but not good enough. Still, the addiction held, and it seemed he was always off somewhere, looking for new thrills. Or new women.

  Meanwhile, big bro held down the fort here. Not that he minded doing that. He felt about the lodge the way Brandon felt about skiing. Still, it would be nice if his brother could be content with skiing the Cascades and staying around to help more. Mom wasn’t getting any younger.

  “Then what’s up?” Eric asked.

  “I just wanted to let you know I probably won’t get in until late Christmas Eve.”

  “I hope you’re staying through Christmas Day.”

  “Ha, ha. I’m staying through New Year’s, so make sure you get us a table at Zelda’s for New Year’s Eve.”

  Happiness won out over irritation and Eric smiled. The little pissant was going to stick around for a while. That would make Mom happy. It would make him happy, too. Brandon could help in the dining room on Christmas Day, and once the holiday guests had left they’d hit the slopes, hang out, take Mom to dinner. It would be good to have Brandon home for longer than a couple of days. Unless...

  “You bringing anyone?”

  “No,” his brother said grumpily.

  Even better. That meant they’d actually see something of him.

  “The women here are all, I don’t know, shallow.”

  Eric remembered the last woman his brother had brought home. She’d been a piece of work. “Well, we’ve got new people moving to town all the time. Maybe you’ll find some action here.”

  “I’m planning on it. Don’t forget to make that reservation, bro. See you soon.”

  “Yeah, see you,” Eric said, and hung up, still smiling. Mom might not get any romance under the mistletoe, but she’d have both her sons home for Christmas and that would be the next best thing.

  And knowing Brandon he’d meet some little honey to hang around with.

  Damn. Eric wished he was going to get some action. Too bad he was too old to believe in Santa. He’d ask the guy to give him a girlfriend for Christmas.

  * * *

  As Olivia walked through her living room, past the family tree decorated with ornaments from Christmases past, she was able to remind herself that she had a good life. Not ideal. Ideal would have included her husband, George, but he’d succumbed to a heart attack while out hiking with a group of friends. At least he’d died doing something he enjoyed. Small comfort, but better than none at all. She entered her bedroom and opened the door to the closet she’d stuffed with clothes. George would have been happy to see her helping strangers in need, she told herself. There, in the far corner, a hint of red plaid peeked out from behind a summer dress that she hadn’t worn in years.

  The dress was now two (okay, three) sizes too small but it was so pretty she kept it in the vain hope that she’d someday fit into it again. Could happen. If she stopped baking. If she had her lips sewn shut. Every time she saw that dress she wished she was forty pounds lighter and fifteen years younger. And that she wasn’t a widow.

  Never mind that now. She pulled out the shirt and then slid a few more hangers down the rack until she got to the pants, an old pair of khakis. She took them out and examined them. They looked as though they might fit Mr. Claussen. Maybe they’d be a little snug, but men didn’t seem to mind letting their bellies hang over their britches.

  Clothes in hand, she emerged from the apartment to find her son checking in a well-dressed couple in their late sixties. The Spikes, she concluded. The man was tall with salt-and-pepper hair. His wife was slender with silver hair and she dripped expensive jewelry. She was taking in the lodge with a jaded eye and a tolerant smile. Slumming for the holidays.

  Just wait till you taste my cooking, Olivia thought as she passed them with a smile and a nod. A couple of minutes later, she was knocking on Mr. Claussen’s door. His daughter opened it and, seeing the clothes on Olivia’s arm, smiled at her as if she’d come bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh. “You found something. Thank you so much.”

  “I hope they’ll fit,” Olivia said, handing over the precious bundle.

  Now Mr. Claussen was at the door, too. Oh, yes, he was a dead ringer for Santa with his husky build and round face and that handsome beard. “That’s very kind of you,” he said as his daughter passed them over to him.

  “It would be a shame if you couldn’t come down and enjoy our piano concert,” Olivia said. “These were my late husband’s and, well, it makes me happy seeing them put to such good use.”

  “Your late husband’s,” he repeated. “Are you sure you want to lend them to a stranger?”

  “People don’t usually remain strangers in Icicle Falls,” Olivia said. “Anyway, they’ve sat in the closet long enough. I know my George would have been happy to help Santa,” she couldn’t resist adding with a smile. “Do you think they’ll fit?”

  He held up the shirt and then checked the pant size. “I think so. My elves and I thank you,” he said, putting an arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

  “Yes, we do,” the young woman seconded.

  She was so sweet, just the kind of daughter Olivia would have wanted. Not that she had any complaints about her boys, of course. It would, however, be nice if they’d both settle down and give her some daughters-in-law, and maybe a couple of grandchildren.

  “Okay, Daddy, hurry up and change so we can go take a walk in the snow and look at the Christmas lights downtown,” said the daughter as she stepped out into the hallway.

  Her father nodded. “Dylan and I will meet you in your room,” he said, and shut the door.

  “Thanks again for helping us out,” she said to Olivia.

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Olivia said. “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.” She’d be more than happy to help the gentleman with whatever he wanted.

  As she went back down to the lobby she wondered what had happened to Mrs. Santa. Was Santa in the market for a replacement?

  What a silly, unrealistic thought, she scolded herself. As if, at your age and your weight, you’re going to find someone new. She was no beauty like her friend Muriel Sterling, who’d never gone long without a man in her life. Even though Muriel was now a widow for the second time, her old friend Arnie was constantly taking her to dinner. And if she didn’t wind up marrying Arnie, some other man would come along. Other than one short-lived flame, no one had come along for Olivia after George died.

  But she’d been fine on her own. She’d known love and she had two wonderful sons. What more did a woman need?

  She thought of the mistletoe she’d hung up around the lodge and sighed. There was definitely something lacking in her life.

  Chances were slim she was going to get it, though. Right now it was time to set out the Christmas cookies for her guests. And steal a couple for herself. If a woman couldn’t have sex anymore, she could at least have cookies.

  * * *

  James was just about to go next door to Brooke’s room when his cell phone rang. It was his sister Georgia, not a call he could ignore and stay out of trouble.

  “How do you like your surprise?” she asked.

  “You knew about this?”

  “I did, and I told Brooke I thought it was a great idea. You needed to get out of that house before you started growing moss.”

  “Is that so?” Had his whole family been discussing him?

  She ignored his offended tone of voice. “So, what’s the town like? What have you done so far?”

  “Not much yet. I’ve been waiting for clothes.”

  “Nobody packed you any?”

  “It’s a long story,” he said, deciding to save his son’s reputation. “But we’re
good to go now.”

  “What’s on the agenda for tonight?”

  “I know Brooke’s anxious to get out and see the town, and then there’s a concert here at the lodge.”

  “It sounds lovely. Did she tell you? We were supposed to join you. I’m so disappointed my other half got this nasty bug. It simply won’t go away. Maybe next year, though. Maybe we’ll start a new family tradition,” she said cheerfully.

  “Maybe,” James said, and couldn’t help thinking how much he’d loved the old family traditions. But those days were gone, and all the wishing in the world wouldn’t bring them back. Suddenly the last thing he wanted was to wander around this town and take in all its happy holiday sights and sounds. But Brooke was trying so hard to make him happy. He couldn’t disappoint her. “Well, sis, I should get going or my daughter will be banging on the door, wanting to know what’s taking me so long.”

  “You have a wonderful time. We’ll get together in the new year.”

  The new year, he thought as he ended the call. There was nothing it could bring him that would make his life better.

  Bad attitude, he chided himself. Life was what you made it. Faith had said that often enough. She’d be very disappointed in this new, negative James. “I’m gonna try,” he said out loud. Then he said it again, like a mantra. “I’m gonna try.” And that was all any man could do.

  * * *

  Olivia was arranging cookies on a platter when her protégée, Bailey Sterling-Black, stopped by, carrying a plate of goodies.

  “I thought you might like to taste my latest creation,” Bailey said. “Eggnog scones.”

  Olivia took the plate. “They look yummy. Let’s sample them. Come on in and have a cup of tea.”

  Bailey stamped the snow off her boots and then entered, removing them at the door. “It always looks so pretty in here.”

  “I bet it looks pretty over at your house, too,” said Olivia as she went to the kitchen to heat water. Bailey had recently gotten married and was now enjoying her first Christmas with her husband, Todd Black. Together they owned two very different establishments: the Man Cave, a seedy tavern and favorite hangout of the men in town, and Tea Time, a tea shop that sold all manner of teapots and accoutrements and served afternoon tea.