{ 4 }
He blinked at her. Put his coffee cup down. “Go to Hawaii?”
“I was thinking that if you want to see your son and grandson that maybe you should go to Hawaii.”
She was appalled at her own boldness. What was she thinking? The poor man might not have any money to go to Hawaii. He could have a medical condition that prohibited him from flying. She suspected she’d lived in a small town too long where everyone knew and got involved in everyone else’s business. While he seemed to ponder her words, she said, “I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No. It’s kind of you to take an interest. And I did think of it, but you see, I believe if they had wanted me to go with them to Hawaii, they would have invited me.”
And of course he was right. His son, obviously concerned for his father on his first Christmas without his wife, had invited him. When dad refused, he was free to take the family to Hawaii. Without telling dear old pops.
“Well,” she said, “He’s going to feel pretty bad when he finds out you came all this way to surprise him.”
His meal arrived and he thanked the waitress politely, spread his paper napkin over his lap, and shook salt and pepper vigorously over his food without even tasting it. “I don’t want my son to feel bad.” He took a bite of lasagna. Chewed. Swallowed. “And you know, this isn’t a bad place to spend the holidays.”
“I agree,” she said.
By the time they’d both finished dinner, they’d shared the basics of their two lives. He was a former bank manager, retired for several years. He and his wife had had two sons, but one, a soldier, was killed in active duty. “My wife never got over Chad dying. Wasn’t long after that she took sick.”
“I’m so sorry.”
When they’d finished dinner, he said to her, “would you like to join me by the fire for a last cup of coffee?”
She hesitated. “What about a cup of herbal tea?”
“Much better.”
He called to the waitress. Made his request.
“Not a problem,” she said. “You go on over. I’ll bring your teas out to you.”
“Thank you.” He rose and politely waited for Sandy to go first.
When they were sitting opposite each other, in front of the fire, he suddenly said, “My goodness. I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Sandy,” she said.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sandy,” he said. “And I’m Earl.” He stood and extended his hand to her. When they shook hands she could feel the warmth of his skin.
“Well,” he said, “you know why I’m here in Blossom River. What brings you here?”
“I’ve run away from home,” she said.
He stared at her for a startled moment then threw back his head and laughed. He had strong teeth, she noted, clearly his own. He also had an infectious laugh and she found herself joining in. Laughing at herself which she thought she didn’t do enough of.
The waitress arrived with a selection of teas, two pots of hot water, slices of lemon and honey. She’d even put two cookies on a plate. Earl tried to sign the tea to the room but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay, honey. This is on the house. You two have a nice evening.”
“Well, that was kind of her,” he said. “Now, tell me about this running away from home business.”
So she did. She told him everything, from the awful Thanksgiving dinner, one in a string of disastrous family dinners she seemed to host. “All I really wanted was for someone else to put on a meal, just once.” She sighed. Sipped peppermint tea. “But instead they all tried to bully me or make me feel guilty. I got so mad I decided to run away instead. And here I am.”
Earl was a good listener, she noticed. He didn’t interrupt, kept his eyes on her as she spoke, and nodded in appropriate places. When she’d finished speaking he said, “Sounds to me like they’re a bunch of spoiled brats.”
It was her turn to throw back her head and laugh. “Oh, dear,” she said, when she could finally speak. “I shouldn’t laugh, but you’re right. Three grown men in their forties, a sister in her sixties, nieces and cousins galore. I’ve spoiled every one of them. But it’s my fault, you know. I brought them up. Now I’m paying the price.”
“I think,” he said after pondering for a moment, “That they love you very much. Otherwise they wouldn’t all turn up for every possible occasion. If they didn’t love you they’d make excuses not to come.”
She hadn’t really looked at things that way before.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“And maybe, now you’ve shown them you don’t want to be treated like a slave they’ll smarten up.”
“Do you think so?”
He shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Miracles have been known to happen this time of year.”
“What will you do now, for Christmas?”
“I’d like to have dinner with you, if you’d let me.”
“Oh.” She glanced over at him, found his cheeks slightly pinkened. “Are you asking me for a date?”
“Yes. I believe I am.” He seemed stunned at the notion.
Her lips twitched. “When’s the last time you asked a woman out on a date?”
“1961. No, wait, 1962. We were married in ’65.” His eyes twinkled when he looked at her. “Please don’t turn me down. It might take me another fifty years to work up my courage to ask a woman for dinner.”
She laughed. “Earl, I’d be delighted to have Christmas dinner with you.”
{ ♥ ♥ ♥ }
Christmas Eve and Wanatchee Mall was crowded with shoppers. Most looked harried, and she knew that’s exactly how she’d feel if she were home. Instead, she felt relaxed. Wickedly pleased with herself. She admired the decorations, the oversized candy canes and trees and so many blinking twinkling, flashing lights that her head spun. After a while she found herself in front of a spa. They were offering a special on manicures and pedicures. Sandy had never had either.
Her nails were blunt, used to cooking, gardening and doing housework. But she didn’t have to do any of those things for the next few days. And she had some time to kill.
She entered Penny’s Hair and Nail Spa and asked the young girl behind the counter about an appointment. “We can take you right in,” the girl said cheerfully.
An hour later, Sandy emerged sporting absurdly red nails. It was like having ten Christmas baubles on the end of her finger tips. She couldn’t stop looking at them. They were so festive.
And at the other end of her she had festive feet!
Not that anyone but she would ever see them, but it was lovely to know they were there.
Across the hallway from the spa was a lingerie place, the window filled with lace and silky things that matched her nails. She longed simply to touch them. So she walked in to the store and stroked the soft silk.
“Can I help you?” a chesty red head of about forty asked her.
Sandy yanked her hand away from the rack of nighties, feeling guilty. “No. I was only looking.”
“This set looks fantastic on,” the much younger woman told her. “And it matches your manicure.”
“I’d never wear anything like that,” Sandy said, shocked the woman would even suggest such a thing. “I’m seventy-two.”
The woman gazed at her for a moment. “Not to be rude, but are you recently divorced – or widowed?”
“Does twelve years count as recent?”
“Oh, honey.” She ran a professional eye up and down Sandy’s frame. “Size ten?”
“Usually.”
She found a hangar thrust her way, the red night dress waving from it like a banner. “Try it on.”
“But I’m too old,” she protested.
“You’re mature, not dead. Go try it on.”