A Cherry Cola Christmas (15 page)

19

Bonjour Cheri

E
vie Sparks noticed that her beloved poodle, Bonjour Cheri, was acting strangely on their evening walk along fashionable Perry Street. The dog was dawdling and whimpering where before she had always been straightforward about doing her business. She had already passed up two of her favorite spots on the sidewalk median strip close to the edge of the curb where Evie would always clean up after her with her pooper scooper and doggie bag. As Cherico's perennial First Lady, she had continued to be the impetus behind a beautification program that included dog-walking responsibilities and protocol, among many other trivial things.

“What's the matter, girl?” Evie had said more than once. “I know you have to go, so why don't you?”

But Bonjour Cheri continued to delay the inevitable, occasionally looking up at her mommy with sad eyes while refusing to sniff and circle.

“Come on, now, sweetie, you have to go. It's really cold out here tonight. No more nonsense, okay?”

Finally, Bonjour Cheri complied in a spot she had never chosen before. But the puzzling drama was far from over. All the way back home, she continued to whimper, going faster and faster and pulling on her leash as if driven by some powerful but unseen force.

“Slow down, girl! Stop it, now!”

But all of Evie's commands were completely ignored.

Once the two of them walked into the kitchen, Bonjour Cheri's agitation only increased, and Evie struggled mightily to unhook the leash from her collar as her pampered pet refused to sit still for a second. It was almost as if the ordinarily calm and well-mannered poodle was possessed.

“What in the world is the matter with you, sweetie pie? Mommy has never seen you like this.”

Bonjour Cheri started barking the way dogs bark when they spot a squirrel in the yard and then give chase. Next, she sprinted straight for the door to the den where she began pawing at it frantically. The sound of the dog's claws scratching the wood grated on Evie's nerves like the fabled fingernails across a chalkboard. It was almost too much to bear.

“My goodness, sweetie, I almost feel like we're in one of those
Lassie
rescue episodes,” Evie said, trailing after, as Bonjour Cheri continued acting completely out of character.

But Evie's fleeting moment of humor was quickly replaced by more troubling thoughts. She could not forget that her Durden had toyed with his food and then excused himself to do some work after hours. But she had never known him to bring the office home with him over the many years of his political reign in Cherico. She tried the doorknob and found that he had locked himself in. Meanwhile, Bonjour Cheri took her constant barking and whimpering and pawing to yet another decibel, another level of frantic activity.

“Durden! Durden!” Evie cried out, continuing to work the doorknob with one hand while she knocked insistently with the other. “Open up, please! Durden, you've got to open up!”

But there was no answer. The silence behind the door was frightening, causing her pulse to quicken even more.

“If you're playing some kind of joke, it isn't funny!”

The duet of urgency from both dog and wife was at a fever pitch now. It was difficult to tell who was more agitated.

“Durden! Can you hear me, sweetheart? Please, Durden, open up! What's going on in there?”

Finally, Evie broke away from the door while Bonjour Cheri remained at her post like the good, loyal dog she was. At that point Evie had only one thing on her mind—calling 911. Something bad was going on in her house, and she sensed that there was no time to lose.

20

Connie McShay and Cara Lynn Mayhew

T
o say that everyone in the library lobby was intrigued by the opening statement of Connie's presentation was an understatement. “I'm here tonight to tell you all a remarkable story of unfinished business that resulted in saving someone's life,” she had already told them all. She was careful to let everyone sit with that for a few moments before speaking again.

“Of course, I've seen my share of people leaving us, being the retired ICU nurse that I am. But this is about someone who stayed with us. I was always overjoyed when that happened, of course, and this particular recovery is one I was given permission to share a long time ago. Lucianne Connor was a patient of mine the one year I was transferred to the oncology wing of my hospital up in Nashville. I saw her during the period of time she was undergoing chemo, and, of course, it was difficult for her, as it is for everyone. Lucianne was an active, beautiful mother of two young boys and had just turned forty when she first got her diagnosis of ovarian cancer; and I was with her as she lost her lush brunette hair and the drugs began to distort her good looks.

“But despite all the nausea and everything else she went through, she never complained. I mean, not even once. Instead, she told me all the time how grateful she was that her cancer was being treated before it advanced to stage four, which gave her a fighting chance for the remission she eventually achieved. Ovarian cancer is extremely difficult to detect until it's gotten out of hand, but it's how hers was caught in time that makes her story so remarkable.”

Connie paused once again to let her last statement sink in, and she could easily see that she continued to have the entire gathering on the edge of their seats.

“At any rate, Lucianne was from New Canaan, a little town about halfway between Nashville and Clarksville. She was a regular library user there, which turned out to end up saving her life. Lucianne told me that the previous librarian who had worked there for many years—a sweet, dedicated lady who everyone simply called Miz Trilby—had the misfortune of waiting too late to go to the doctor when she discovered a lump in her breast; and when she finally did go, her cancer had metastasized, and unfortunately, she didn't make it.”

There were soft, sympathetic murmurings from the audience, and then Connie continued.

“But Lucianne visited the library quite often to check out the latest best-sellers. As it happened, she had to walk along a row of nonfiction on her way to the ‘new releases' display. The first time several books practically jumped off the shelf and landed in front of her feet, she said she picked them up quickly and stacked them neatly at the end of a row that had a little room. I guess she was just like me—always obeying those signs about letting the staff do the reshelving. That's sometimes a problem for you, isn't it, Maura Beth?”

“More than you know,” Maura Beth said. “We find our books in the strangest places all the time. But we just shrug and do our jobs. Emma and Renette can vouch for that, can't you, ladies?”

Both women nodded in agreement, and Renette said, “Even on our slowest days, someone always seems to come in and rearrange things.”

“I'm sure,” Connie added. “So, anyway, the next time Lucianne walked that way and those same books fell off the shelf at her feet, she was more than puzzled. This time, she paid more than passing attention to those titles as she picked them up. To her astonishment, they were all about some aspect of ovarian cancer. Lucianne said that one was even about the importance of early detection. It was then that she began to put two and two together, for lack of a better way to put it. She already knew what had happened to Miz Trilby, and this poltergeist effect that kept happening to her was just too weird for her to ignore. I imagine all of you can guess what happened next. She went to the doctor, told him what had happened at the library, and asked to undergo a battery of tests, and that was when they detected her ovarian cancer in the nick of time. It was one of those things that everyone around her called a miracle.”

Maura Beth was the first to sigh in astonishment. “Is Lucianne still with us, I hope and pray?”

Connie sounded as proud as a grandmother talking about her grandchildren. “She sure is. I just got a beautiful, newsy Christmas card from her yesterday. I thought to myself, ‘How perfect, since I'm going to be telling her story to everyone at the library tomorrow night!' More than anything else has, it has really put me in the Christmas spirit. Because no matter how hard we try, there are just some things that can't be explained in conventional terms, and I know I'm okay with that. I firmly believe we aren't meant to know the answers to everything.”

This time, it was Jeremy who spoke up, nodding approvingly. “You'll have to excuse me for being the English teacher that I am, but as William Shakespeare once put it: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' That old chestnut from
Hamlet
just seemed to fit in well here, don't you think?”

Connie flashed Jeremy her warmest smile. “I couldn't agree more, and Lucianne also mentioned in her Christmas card that she was thinking of trying to write a memoir called
Miz Trilby Saves the Day.
She said she's just not sure she can get the words down the way she wants, though. She has absolutely no experience writing anything more than a note to her sons' teachers, but she believes her story could help promote cancer awareness and prevention.”

“I'd like to offer to help her, then,” Jeremy continued, feeling suddenly inspired and generous. “I haven't made much progress on the novel I've been trying to write. Maybe she and I could collaborate on her concept. Do you think you could possibly put me in touch with her?”

“Well, I could tell her all about you, see what she says, and then get back to you, Jeremy.”

“That would be wonderful. The worst that could happen is that she'll say she's not interested, but maybe something great will come of this.”

Maura Beth shot her husband an understanding gaze. Only she knew how much he had been struggling with the manuscript he had unwisely tried to begin on their honeymoon. The newlywed distractions had been way too much for him, and perhaps he should have anticipated that. But, ah, to be young and very much in love! “Who knows what all we'll set in motion because of getting together and sharing these stories with each other?”

“All I can say is, I got the chills listening to Connie's story,” Nora Duddney added. “Actually, all the stories have made me think outside the box about my life. Sounds just like a typical Cherry Cola Book Club meeting, doesn't it? I'm practically addicted to our get-togethers.”

Maura Beth might have come up with something along those lines herself but was pleased that someone else had actually said it. It might have sounded too boastful coming from her. “This one is turning out to be even more special. Does anyone else have anything to say about Connie's story before we move on?”

Becca raised her hand, her voice suddenly stressed. “I did a few seconds ago . . . and I hate to interrupt this wonderful exchange . . . but right this moment, I think I'm having contractions.” There was a sharp intake of breath as she put her hand on her belly, and then her Stout Fella quickly stood up beside her, offering his muscular arm to help her up gingerly.

“I'm calling the hospital to let 'em know we're on the way!” he told everyone as he pulled out his cell phone. “I've been rehearsing this in my sleep!”

“Come on, Douglas, we'll follow them,” Connie said next, moving to Becca's side in a flash.

“I thought the baby wasn't due for another four or five weeks,” Douglas added, following close behind. “I've had it all marked on my calendar, since I'll be the proud godfather.”

“Looks like it's coming early, though,” Becca managed, obviously in pain. “These things happen.”

The meeting was put on hold until the Brachles and McShays had exited the front door to cries of “Text us!” “Call us!” and “Let us know what happens!” For her part, Maura Beth was genuinely conflicted since she was the godmother-to-be and felt more like going to the hospital herself. Once again, she faced the prospect of disbanding a book club event early, but she knew her mother and Cudd'n M'Dear had yet to speak.

Fortunately, Cara Lynn Mayhew seemed to be reading her mind. “Sweetheart, I'm wondering if we ought to call it a night with all this excitement. What I had to say, I can say to you in private. It was just a little essay I wrote about being thankful for having you in my life.”

Maura Beth was thrilled by her mother's words. “If the rest of you wouldn't mind, I'd love to hear what my mother has to say. I think it might be the perfect way to bring things to a close.”

Not surprisingly, Cudd'n M'Dear had other ideas, objecting immediately. “But what about my pitch for various charitable causes? Telethons raise a lot of money, you know. They can be very inspirational, and isn't that what we're here for?”

Maura Beth was able to think on her feet, however. “What I think you should do, cousin dear, is to leave all the contact information for your favorite charities, and I'll see that everyone here tonight gets a copy. That way, if they want to contribute, they'll be able to right away. I'm sure that's the important thing here.”

“Well, I suppose that'll have to do,” Cudd'n M'Dear said, though not looking particularly happy about it.

Maura Beth pressed on, realizing that indecision was definitely the wrong move with someone as unpredictable as Cudd'n M'Dear. “Then that's all settled.” She gestured invitingly to her mother, and the stylish Cara Lynn Mayhew was soon behind the podium with her reading glasses on and looking down at a sheet of paper.

 

 

As they had just before her wedding had taken place on the deck of Connie and Douglas's lodge, mother and daughter embraced warmly, now fully connected on every level. Then Maura Beth pulled back slightly and managed a halting, emotional response. “What you've said . . . means the world to me. Thank you so much . . . for coming all this way to say it.”

The rest of the gathering responded with applause and a sprinkling of “Awws!” as William Mayhew moved forward to put his arms around the two important women in his life.

“Photo album op, please!” he declared, handing over his smartphone to Jeremy after shaking his hand. “This is our payoff!”

Maura Beth allowed herself to bask in this special family moment. How things had turned around for her since the wedding! But it did not take long for thoughts of Becca and her baby to return. This latest meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club needed to be officially disbanded so she and Jeremy could lend whatever support they could to the Brachles at the hospital.