A Crafty Christmas

“Well, here we are on a Saturday night, three days before Christmas, like none of us have anything else to do,” DeeAnn said, as she slipped her scrapbook out of her bag and onto the table in Sheila’s basement. This was her spot. The spot she sat in every week to scrapbook and visit. She then pulled a tin of cookies out of another bag. “Sugar cookies,” she said. “You know, sometimes I think there’s nothing better than a simple sugar cookie.”

“Oh yes, especially with tea,” Sheila said. “Anybody want some hot tea?”

“I think only booze for me tonight,” Paige said after a moment. There were murmurs of agreement. Sheila poured the wine and Annie dumped a bag of pretzels into a plastic bowl as Paige laid out pumpkin squares and brownies.

Paige took a sip of wine and sniffed. “Lord, it’s been a week like no other. It’s like one minute you’re in the tropics and the next home where it’s colder than a witch’s you-know-what. No wonder I’ve gotten a cold.”

“I guess that’s better than being sick on the ship,” Sheila said, and smiled. “Paige had one too many and spent the night heaving.”

“And part of the day, as well. Drinking and sailing? Not a good combination,” Paige said as the others giggled and started scrapbooking. “What do you have there, Annie?”

“This is my Hanukkah album. I need to finish it up,” Annie said. “But this is the book I’m most excited about.” She pulled out her new art journal.

“What is that?” Sheila said, leaning across the table.

“Oh my God, these pumpkin bars are a-mazing!” DeeAnn said. “I want the recipe.” Then she turned her attention to Annie’s journal. “Wow. Annie, you’re an artist.”

Sheila surveyed the book. “She certainly is,” she said. “I love this page.” Sheila ran her fingers over the flowers that Anne had painted. She had written the words “Nourish your spirit with inspiring things. My inspiration: poetry, my boys, brownies, my friends, my pink kitchen.”

“I’m having a lot of fun with it. Don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Annie said.

“Art journaling is the new craze,” Sheila said. “I’ve been reading about it. Haven’t quite taken the plunge yet.”

“Wow, love this one, Annie!” DeeAnn pointed to the next page. “What’s in my head?” was scrolled across the page along with a black and white photo of herself in the center. She had printed out words and then cut them apart and glued them around the photo to create a frame of words.

The word “murder” stood out.

“Why is murder in your head?” DeeAnn asked.

“At the time I was thinking about the book I’m writing and about the murders on the ship,” Annie said. “Unfortunately there’s a lot of murder in my life.” Annie wilted. “I’m so glad I’m almost finished with this book.”

“Me too, Annie,” Sheila said. “I haven’t had as much experience dealing with murder as you have. But it’s unpleasant. I never want to trip over another dead body!”

Paige began to giggle nervously.”Only you, Sheila. Only you.”

The rest of them giggled, too. It served to clear the air. Who wanted to talk about murder on a Saturday night?

“So, Sheila,” Annie said, “do you have a new job?”

“Well,” she answered, opening her laptop. “I think I’m going to accept the position with David’s Designs. It’s a freelance job, but I’ll have to go to their offices once a month.”

“How exciting!” DeeAnn said. “What did Steve say about it?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Sheila said.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. “What?” Vera said, looking up from her page. “Why not?”

Sheila shrugged. “He missed me so much and keeps going on about how he didn’t like me being gone. I haven’t found the right time to approach the subject.”

Everybody went back to scrapbooking. DeeAnn was working on a Christmas cookie page. She had a cut-out green bowl with a spoon sticking out of it and a recipe card coming out of the top. She was working on the blank space where she’d place the photo at some point.

“I think you need to tell your husband soon,” DeeAnn said when she noticed Sheila was looking at her page.

“I think you need to make the frame red, not green,” Sheila replied.

“Steve’s going to be okay with it,” Vera said. “No need to make a big deal out of it.”

Sheila’s stomach sank. She was a modern woman, an artist. Why did it matter to her so much what her husband thought of this change?

“If this is something you want to do, I’m sure he’ll support you,” Annie said.

“It’s just that—”

“You’ve been home all this time,” Vera said. “That’s where he is most comfortable. But I’ve known him as long as you have. He’s going to be okay with this. He believes in you.”

Vera focused on her snowflake page. A photo of Elizabeth and her first snowman was in the center of the blue and white page. She had layered the background of the photos with silver paper and a bit of lace.

“I guess I’ve had other things on my mind,” Sheila said, handing Vera the blue-checked washi tape.

“Like what?” Annie said, and bit into a brownie.

“Like creepy guy from the cruise being in Cumberland Creek,” Sheila said.

The room hushed.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Vera said. “I’m sure whoever you saw resembled the creepy man. Anyway, why would he come here?”

“I saw him,” Annie said. “Or at least we think it was the same guy Sheila saw the other day. He was walking along Ivy. I asked him if I could help him and he said he was simply taking a walk.”

“Y ’all need to remember there’s a new B and B in town. Lots of guests stay there,” DeeAnn said. “You can’t go around accusing people just because they are not from around here and look a little strange.”

Annie laughed. “That’s true. And now there are those new apartments for rent over on Ridge Avenue. I suppose we will be seeing more and more new faces.”

Sheila wanted to relax. But the creepy guy on the ship was so unsettling, and so different, that he was hard to shake. Whoever the person was who had caught her eye the other day gave her the same feeling. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand.