Chapter Six
Inside I notice everything I missed in our mad dash to get the puppy out to the backyard. Coffee is brewing. Conversations are taking place in the kitchen. Even my brother, who is always the last person to wake up on pretty much every occasion, has made it to the main house wearing something other than pajamas. Both he and Thomas Hightower, who are in the kitchen munching on coffee cake and cinnamon buns, look up and offer to go wake up Sydney.
I remind myself that it’s Christmas, but the dregs of my nightmare are still with me and there’s an internal clock I can’t seem to turn off that’s counting down the days until we have to turn our home over to some stranger.
“Go get dressed. Everybody will be here in an hour.” My mother hands me a cup of coffee and points us toward the back stairs. “I put your favorite pants and sweater on your bed, Dustin. Do you want me to help you get dressed?”
“I kin do it.” Dustin is already scooping the puppy up into his arms, and I am forced to accept that there’s no way on earth I’m ever going to convince Dustin to give him back. He’s barely let go of him since Santa delivered him. “We’re going to have to figure out what to call him,” I say as we tromp upstairs. “And we’re definitely going to have to potty train him.”
“Like me!” Dustin beams, still proud to have graduated to big-boy underwear.
“Right.” Dustin pretty much trained himself, but I don’t think dogs are motivated by the chance to wear Thomas the Tank Engine underwear. “We’re going to have to make sure he understands that if he needs to go to the bathroom he has to do it outside.”
He nods solemnly though neither of us have any real idea how to make this happen.
“If I get dressed real fast kin I jes open a little present?”
I give him the raised eyebrow Mom is so good at.
“Peeeassse. . . .”
I try the other eyebrow. “Everyone will be here soon to open presents.”
“But I wanna . . .”
It’s clear the eyebrow thing needs work, so I simply shake my head and turn my back. He’s still protesting as I duck into the master bathroom to shower and dress since both my mom and Will are downstairs and Sydney has already commandeered the second bathroom. I’m done and heading back downstairs before Sydney shows herself, but then I didn’t put on makeup or blow-dry my hair. Even back when I had no one to think about but myself, I wasn’t thinking about those things.
My thoughts circle back to Daniel and I catch myself wondering just how diverse his taste in women really is. I mean, Sydney and I are friends but it’s not because we resemble each other in any physical way. And neither of us looks remotely like Tonja Kay, which I guess is the point. Ugh. I do not want to spend Christmas morning thinking about Daniel, Tonja Kay, or any of the decisions I need to make. So I follow Dustin’s voice to the kitchen where he’s “helping” Geema and lobbying to open just one “teensy weensy” present and practically inhale a cinnamon roll and a glass of milk, hoping the sugar rush will put me in a more festive mood. Alas, it appears there’s not enough sugar in the world, or at least in Bella Flora, to make my thoughts completely Christmas-worthy. I nonetheless work my way through two and a half cinnamon buns and a Christmas cookie trying, and am licking the sugar off my fingers when Sydney strolls into the kitchen in a clingy red dress looking as if she’s been in hair and makeup.
It’s a relief when the doorbell rings at nine o’clock sharp. Six or seven rings later the celebration kicks into high gear and Bella Flora is bulging at the seams. The Hardins and Giraldis are all here along with octogenarian Realtor and friend John Franklin, his wife, Renée, and her sister, Annelise, the original owners of the Sunshine Hotel. All twenty-three of us press into the salon, twenty-five if you count the twin babies that everyone takes a turn holding. I lift my video camera to my shoulder as the present-opening begins with Dustin’s stocking and escalates into a gift giving and receiving free-for-all that is not for the faint of heart.
Everyone has brought a present for Dustin and by the time he’s done, a wall of gifts that’s almost as tall as he is has risen around him. I can’t help smiling at his pure unadulterated joy as I go in for a close-up.
“Is all for me, Mommy! Lookit what everybody gived me!” He buckles on the new tool belt from Avery and the Hardins, plucks the strings of the guitar that Will promises to teach him to play, and shrieks with excitement when Joe Giraldi wheels a shiny red bicycle complete with training wheels and a matching helmet out of the hall closet and helps Dustin on it.
“Thank you! Thank you!” He kisses cheeks and gives and receives high fives with a blissful smile that makes my heart swell. He’s thrilled with everything, but there’s no question which gift he prizes most. He doesn’t let the puppy out of his sight and neither does Sherlock, though in Sherlock’s case it’s more about self-preservation and fending off the puppy’s overly enthusiastic stealth attacks of affection.
Mouthwatering smells emanate from the ovens as the morning flies by to a soundtrack of Christmas songs and happy chatter. Just after noon, my father carves the turkey while Will slices the ham. I make sure to capture this on video because only my mother could have two men who love her working so close to each other with knives. Then we fill the water glasses while Avery and Chase, who are definitely flirting with each other, open bottles of wine. Bitsy tries to help, but it’s clear she doesn’t have a lot of experience in anything but being served. My mother, always the diplomat, assigns her to help Dustin fill baskets with rolls and biscuits and then carry them to the table.
Finally we sit down to a beautifully set table that positively groans with food. Mom sits closest to the kitchen so that she can jump up as needed and orchestrate the meal. I notice that she’s glowing and capture it on video. There’s nothing she likes better than feeding the people that she cares about. And pretty much all of those people are in this room right now. We join hands and bow our heads as she leads us in a simple nondenominational prayer of thanks. This is our village, the family we’ve chosen. I look from face to face then take in the room, the feel of this house that we know so intimately and love so much. Even if we have to vacate Bella Flora for a while to save it, this is our home. The place inside me that has been hollow with panic begins to fill. I reach for my wineglass and without further ceremony we chow down.
We’re still eating when Dustin says he’s had enough and asks if he can go play with the puppy, who finally gave up on trying to convince Sherlock to play a while ago and is now curled up beneath Dustin’s chair.
“Don’t you think you should name him first?” I’m nursing a nice warm inner glow and I intend to do everything in my power to keep that glow going. “We have to call him something.”
“We do,” my mother says. “And it should be something special.”
“Well, don’t ask Nikki,” Avery quips. “It took her an inordinate amount of time to name her children.”
Nikki shoots her a look, but she doesn’t argue. One of the twins did come home from the hospital without a name.
“How about Snarls Barkley?” My brother the basketball fan asks. “Or even Bark Obama in honor of our former president.”
There’s laughter.
“Or maybe Bark Wahlberg.” This comes from the only one of us who resides in Hollywood and had a cameo on Entourage.
“Let’s not overlook the music industry,” Will says. “I kind of like Sinead O’Collar. Or Billie Howliday.”
“Those are female singers,” Thomas Hightower points out. “We need a guy name.” He grins. “How about Ozzy Pawsborne?”
“Or L.L. Drool J?” I throw out.
After that the suggestions come fast and furious.
“Jimmy Chew!” Bitsy throws in. “You know he’ll be eating footwear. It might as well be designer.”
“Bark Twain!” John Franklin goes for the literary.
“Sherlock Bones!” His wife Renée chimes in.
Sherlock lifts his head and snuffles while the rest of us laugh.
“We already hab a Cherlock!” Dustin says. I know most of this has to be going right over his head, but he’s enjoying the spirit of the conversation as well as the laughter.
“If we’re talking literature, I vote for J.K. Growling!” My mother, who loved the Harry Potter books as much as we did, says.
“Josh and Jason couldn’t get enough of those books,” Chase adds. “What do you think of Hairy Paw-ter?”
There’s more laughter.
“I kind of like the sound of Droolius Caeser,” Jeff Hardin adds.
“Anybody else like Anderson Pooper?” This comes from Joe Giraldi Sr.
We’re really cracking ourselves up.
“Is there somebody you’d like to name him after?” I ask Dustin, thinking he might want to choose something that has to do with Christmas. I’m about to suggest Santa Paws when he looks at me and says, “Can I name him after Max Nemorah?”
“You want to name him Max Menorah?” I ask.
“Jes Max.” For the longest time Max came out as “Gax.” He stops and smiles an incredibly sweet smile. “I wanna name him Maaaax!”
There’s a bit of a silence as those of us who knew and loved Max Golden blink back tears.
“I think that’s a perfect name,” my mother finally says, reaching for and squeezing Dustin’s hand. “Absolutely perfect.”
With that she directs the clearing of the table and all that is to follow. “Let’s just carry things into the kitchen. We can have dessert outside once we refrigerate the leftovers. It’s way too gorgeous to stay inside a minute longer than necessary.”
Only Nigel and his cohort Bill are still skulking about as we move outside. If I had the slightest bit of sympathy for them, I’d offer a plate of food or a selection of desserts, but the warning about feeding strays goes double for paparazzi.
On chaises near the pool, Thomas and Andrew hang around Sydney like the Tarleton twins in the opening scenes of Gone With the Wind. She’s polite, even friendly, but she’s flirting on automatic pilot. I see her relief when they leave her alone to toss a football with the Hardins. There’s talk of a flag football game down on the beach to make room for dessert, but nobody actually moves. If I could doze in a portable car seat like the Giraldi twins are or go back to bed right now, I would.
I’ve just plopped down on a newly vacated chaise when my cell phone rings. I let it go to voicemail because my entire family and everyone I care about are here right now. Do call centers operate on Christmas Day?
My eyes are getting really heavy when it rings again.
“I think you might want to answer this.” My mother, who’s passing by with a plate of Christmas cookies, picks up my phone and hands it to me. “Caller ID says Deranian.”
I blow a bang out of my eye and wipe my free hand on the side of my jeans. Even with my mother watching I’m tempted not to answer. I’m still irritated at Daniel’s stunt last night. As cute as that puppy is, he shouldn’t have given it to Dustin without asking me. With Daniel it’s all about the drama, the grand gesture, without any thought about how the reality will play out for anyone else. I get up and carry the phone out to the seawall as I answer.
“It took you long enough.”
I almost trip over my feet when I realize it’s not Daniel, but his wife, Tonja Kay. “What do you want?”
I learned a long time ago that there’s no point in attempting to be friendly. Tonja’s never called for any reason other than to swear, threaten, or demand. I’m not in the mood for any of those things. I actually don’t know where in Orlando they’re spending the holiday. I’ve gone out of my way not to know. “I’m guessing you didn’t just call to wish me a Merry Christmas.”
“No.”
I say nothing. She’s the one who placed the call.
“I called to strongly encourage you to go ahead and officially commit Dustin to The Exchange.”
Once again I leave the ball in her court.
“We’ll make the experience comfortable for him. For both of you. You have my word on that.”
I remain silent. I know just how much her word is worth. She’ll go to the ends of the earth to make someone suffer for an insult or anything that smacks of betrayal, but make someone on her shit list feel good? I’m pretty sure that’s not in her wheelhouse.
“I assume you’ve considered how upset Dustin will be when he’s old enough to understand that you kept him from helping his father when he needed it most.”
Tonja’s mentioned this before. It’s the only argument that carries weight. She’s also made it clear that she’ll be the one who will explain my dastardly deed and monumental selfishness to my son.
“This is not the day to discuss this. Not that there’s anything to discuss, because I’m still thinking through my decision.” I watch the wake from a Jet Ski splash the jetty. A speedboat moves closer. My focus is on the sound of gnashing teeth on the other end of the line.
“The only things you should be thinking about right now are your friends and family.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing in particular. But everybody’s vulnerable, you know.”
I absorb the threat even as I turn my back to the speedboat now idling off the seawall. Better an unflattering butt shot than a frightened look that Tonja might one day see. Daniel’s wife is a predator. If she smells even a hint of fear she’ll come in for the kill.
“You really are a piece of work aren’t you?” I ask as if all I care about is getting back to dessert, which is currently being served on the loggia. “You don’t care who you hurt or what you have to do to get what you want.”
“I haven’t noticed you worrying too much about others,” she snaps. “Or you wouldn’t have wagered and lost the house Daniel bought for Dustin.”
I watch my brother fix a plate of dessert for Dustin and see Sydney pour him a cup of milk. Max wags his tail with excitement. I remind myself that this is real life playing out in front of me. The life she’s trying so hard to muck up.
“I’ve had enough of this, Tonja. I realize you don’t know me all that well, but the more you threaten me the harder it is for me to agree to anything,” I explain as calmly as I can. This is the truth. I’ve listened to my gut way more often than I should. But I have absolutely no talent for acting. If I end up on that set with Dustin, I won’t be able to simply suck it up and pretend that everything’s okay. What will that do to Dustin?
“I’m not threatening, I’m promising,” Tonja says in a saccharine-sweet voice that is far more frightening than her curses. “You blow off this film and you and everybody you care about will pay the price.”
We’re already paying the price. A week from today Dustin and I are moving into a tiny Sunshine cottage with my mother so that a complete stranger can move into Bella Flora. “We really don’t have anything left to discuss,” I say. “I’ll let Daniel know what I decide.”
“The answer better be yes. And it better be soon,” Tonja declares. “We need Dustin in Orlando on January fifteenth.”
I have nothing to say to this. I’m aware of their plans and their timetable. I just don’t want Dustin or me to be part of them. My stomach turns, and I know it’s not the Christmas dinner that’s to blame. I move toward Bella Flora in desperate need of the people who have spilled out of her. Everyone is scarfing up the desserts. Teams are forming for a game of flag football down on the beach. Captains Thomas and Andrew both try to draft Sydney.
Just before I disconnect the cursing begins. No one knows as many four-letter words as the angelic-faced Tonja Kay. No one. And I have the videotape of her shouting a lot of them to prove it.