A Christmas Arrangement (2 page)

Randall’s mouth twitched as if to speak but he must have thought better of it.  His eyes zeroed in on mine and it felt like he could cut me in half with his glare.  I thought I might lose consciousness, but I stood my ground.  He paused for one last excruciating second, then turned and left.

Alex followed, stopping only at the doorway of the screened-in porch.  He waited until The Ex drove away, then closed and locked the front door. 

“Babe, you were awesome.  You okay?”

I sucked in a ragged breath and shook my head.  I collapsed into him and he held me tight.  He helped me to the couch and sat with me.  I buried my face under his chin and sobbed.  His shirt was wet with my tears.  After a few minutes I got control of my breathing. 

Alex gently tipped my chin up so I could look at him.  “I’m sorry I was such a jerk,” he said softly. 

“You weren’t a jerk—well, maybe for a second—but you redeemed yourself.”

He laughed and then rubbed the liquid from my cheeks with his thumbs.  “
You
were—
are—
incredible.  I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, about the divorce, especially in front of your ex-husband.”

I managed a quiet laugh.  “You mean my current husband.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”  He kissed the top of my head.  “So, before he showed up we were…”

“Having an extra-marital affair, I guess.”

***

“I have to go back,” I said, seated on the couch in my living room.  The phone was pinched between my ear and shoulder while both hands were occupied tying ribbons onto candy canes for an event at my flower shop. 

“Back where?  What are you talking about?” Alex asked.

“The judge wants to see us since it took so long for the divorce papers to be signed.  He wants to know why.”

A flash of headlights illuminated my living room curtains as I heard a car pull into the driveway. 

“You have to go back to where you lived with him?” he asked.

“Back to where the courthouse is, yeah.”

“When?”

An unintentional sigh escaped from me.  “I don’t know yet, my lawyer’s going to let me know.  I just got the
wonderful
news today.”

“Sorry I’m not there, babe.  He hasn’t bothered you anymore, has he?”

“No, everything’s been very civil.  All through the lawyer.  Very unlike him.”  I grimaced and dropped the strip of ribbon I’d been tying, to shake out the charley horse in my fingers.  It wasn’t entirely true that my almost ex-husband hadn’t tried to contact me a couple of times since he’d dropped the “We’re still married” bombshell.  But Alex had other things to worry about.  He was on assignment in southern Idaho for work and didn’t need to focus on something as trivial as my idiotic ex-hus—almost—ex-husband.

“Let me know as soon as you find out when your court date is.  I’ll make sure I can come with you.”

I smiled at his attempt at chivalry.  “What about work?  Are you even supposed to be talking to me now?  You’re under cover.”

He laughed and my insides flip-flopped at the sound.  “I’m not under this time.  I’m helping set up a training program for the task force.  I’ll be home in a couple days.  Oh, hey, my parents are calling again.  I’ve got to take this.  I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Alex’s parents seemed to be on the same wave length as me.  Every time he and I were on the phone together during this last trip of his, they called and interrupted.  He did have a scary job, so I didn’t blame them for wanting to keep in touch with him. 

I went into the kitchen to get something cold for my cramped fingers.  I opened the freezer and pulled out the ice cream.  Best physical therapy I could think of.

The back door opened and Allie walked in. 

“Just in time,” I said, holding up the container of ice cream.

“No thanks.  I don’t feel like eating.”

“He was that bad?”  I followed her into the living room.

“Words can’t describe,” she said as she flopped onto the couch.

“What happened?”  A small part of me would always be afraid every time my sister went out on a date.  Her taste in men had been equal to my previous experience.  I wanted her to find someone like Alex and break the cycle like I had.

“Where to begin?  I met him on the LDS dating site, we’ve emailed back and forth a few times.  He asked me what night I might be free for a date, so I told him tonight and he said great.  He asked me if I could meet him where he works.  We could go to dinner.  Sure, I said.”  She stood up and took the ice cream carton out of my hands.  “I guess I do want some after all.”  I followed her into the kitchen.  “What’s with all the candy canes?”

“They’re for the open house.  I’ve got to tie a little card with all the sponsor names to each one.  My hand muscles spasmed into a claw so I had to stop.”

“How many do you have to do?”

“Twelve-hundred.”

Her eyes got big.  “Sheesh.  I’ll help you when we’ve finished off this carton.”

“You were saying…”

“Yeah.  So I said I would meet him where he works.  Ask me where he works.”

“Where does he work?” I said with mock enthusiasm.

“At the mall.”

“Okay.  The mall’s not so bad.  Where in the mall?”

“He works at a cell-phone kiosk near the escalator.”

“Okaaay and...”

“It gets better.  My car broke down earlier today, so I had to get a ride from Mom.”

“Uh-oh.  Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were busy.  Besides.  I didn’t have to tell her it was for a date.  I was just meeting my friend at the mall.  Innocent enough.”

Our mother, while very well-intentioned, mind you, was a bit of a snoop.  Okay, so she was the head of the MLM, short for Mormon Ladies Mafia.  She controlled a vast spy/gossip network comprised of sisters from church, neighbors and old friends from school that canvassed the entire county for gossip intelligence.  Her own children were frequently the subjects of their investigations.  I had never left them wanting for juicy morsels to share at their monthly Daughters of the Utah Pioneers meetings or their daily phone calls, which were organized in a way that rivaled the National Intelligence Agency in efficiency and extent of coverage.

“So Mom dropped you off,” I prodded.

“Then I went to the cell phone kiosk.  As soon as he saw me, his eyes travelled up and down then landed on my chest and never left.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dave—something.”

“And where did you and Dave of the phone-hut go for dinner?”

“To the food court.  The Hot Dog on a Stick, to be precise.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud.  “I hear they have great lemonade.”

“Oh, I had some lemonade, and a Cheese on a Stick too.  He told me I could order whatever I wanted—within reason.”

“He said that?”

She stared at me and nodded slowly.

“After we sat down, I put my purse on the table in front of me.  It blocked the view of these,” she waved her hand in front of her ample chestage (which was pretty amazing, speaking as a jealous sister), “and he was forced to look at my face.  After that, he couldn’t wait to get out of there.  He endured me for fifteen minutes while he downed four Dogs, some fries, some funnel cakes, and a large lemonade, then said ‘I’ve got to bounce.  They need me back at The Hut.’  That was the longest string of words he put together the entire time.  It was awful.”

“I’m so sorry, Al.  What a jerk.  And an idiot.  You’re gorgeous—every bit of you.” 

“Thanks.”

“How did you get here if your car was broken down?”

“I ran into a guy from my history class.  We’re in the same study group.  We got talking and I told him about my date and he offered to drop me home.”

“At least it didn’t end too terribly then.  Silver-lining and all that?  Is he cute?”

“I don’t really think of him that way.  I mean I guess he is.  Cute—I mean.  But he’s younger than me.  I don’t think he’s interested in dating.  Maybe I shouldn’t be either.  I should just finish school and worry about being an old maid after that.”

“You’re not going to be an old maid—unless you want to,” I said.  “Are you still crashing here tonight?”

“Yeah, is it still okay?”

“Always,” I said.  “Why does Mom have her quilt framed in your bedroom again?”

“It’s closest to your room.  Which is the temporary sewing room.”

“What about her sewing room?”

“Dad’s got all of his music stuff in there.”

I shook my head.  “That makes no sense.”

“Apparently it does to them.  I kind of volunteered my room anyway.  I like staying here once in a while.”

Our parents had been separated when our father went on tour to California with his bluegrass band.  The tour had been indefinite until Dad showed up at home a few months ago.  Since then, our parents had patched things up and were rekindling their romance.  It was both cute and sickening at the same time.

“Well, I’m stoked that I’ve got help with these candy canes.  With the two of us, we might finish as early as one in the morning.”

CHAPTER TWO

It had only snowed once that November, and just a pitiful dusting at that.  And at this particular moment I was very happy for our unseasonably dry weather.  I was climbing down the wrought iron ladder attached to the back of our hundred year old building.  The ladder didn’t touch the ground, it ended a few feet above my head, which didn’t make much sense to me.  But it was the quickest way to access the roof. 

And why would I need the quickest way to the roof?  Why, in order to knock the side of the compressor to my walk-in flower cooler, of course.  That was my method for getting the motor started again.  It had been acting up more frequently lately.  But not enough to make it worth calling a repair company, not that I had the money anyway.

The descent from the ladder wasn’t so bad, I just hung from the lowest rung and dangled until I landed on my launch pad, which had spent a previous incarnation as a patio table.  Getting on the ladder was more of a trick.  I was quite proud of the way I bounded like a gymnast from the wobbly, old table and hitched my leg on to the bottom rung.

Having finished my climb and compressor handiwork, I was in a hurry to get back into the shop and working.  There was a lot to accomplish and not enough time to do it all.

It was the last day of November, and in the floral business the Christmas holiday was in full swing.  Despite the festive atmosphere in my shop, I was having a hard time getting into “the Christmas spirit.”  Maybe it was the lack of snow outside.  More likely it was the fact the open house for Rosie’s Posies, in conjunction with the town holiday celebration, was set to happen in a little over two weeks, so I needed to conjure up some holly jolly from somewhere.

“This is so fun,” K.C. said as I entered the design room.  “I love that I get to decorate for Christmas at work and at home.”  She looked down at me from her perch on the fourteen foot ladder.  She was adding finishing touches to the garland hanging around the interior walls of the shop. 

“This is my least favorite part of the job,” I said as I grabbed a box cutter to open packages containing the glass ornaments I had ordered back in January.

“Why is the open house so late in December?” Daphne, our newest floral designer asked.  “At the shop where I worked back in Florida we had ours in early November.”

“Aunt Rosie told me she started the tradition to get people in the holiday shopping mood and to show them what kind of holiday gifts to buy before they go out to the malls and department stores.  It used to be earlier in the season, but it became so popular all the other shops in town wanted to join in, and the date was moved to December where it was more of a community holiday celebration,” I explained.  “We still show off new holiday designs and give out ornaments, but now it’s more of a customer appreciation party.”

Now, our entire town participated on the night of the open house.  I was head of the planning committee, just as Aunt Rosie had been before me. 

"How many people are we talking?” Daphne asked.

“Nearly a thousand people will pass through our little shopping center here.  Not counting those who go to the other stores and restaurants all over town.  I don’t think my aunt Rosie had any idea it would be such a renowned event when she came up with the idea her first year.”

“Isn’t it exciting, Daphne?” K.C. shouted from above.

“Be careful, K.C.!” I called out.  She acted like a trapeze artist on top of the ladder.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Boss.  I’m doing just fine.  You know I worked for the telephone company when I was younger?  I climbed the poles for a living.  I was the first woman in the state to hold that job.  I’m very comfortable on top of a ladder.”  She climbed down and moved the ladder, then climbed up once more.  The ceilings in our shop were fifteen feet high.  It gave me the willies when she reached all the way to the top of the room to push in a fastener.  “Now, Boss.  Tell us, how come you’re such a Humbug?”

“I’m not a Humbug,” I said.  “I just dislike certain aspects of the holiday season.” 
Like decorating, driving in the snow to parties with relatives who don’t like you…
  “I
hate
cords and wires and the lights.  They get all twisted up, half of the strand stops working, but only
after
you’ve woven it through the branches with no possibility of ever detangling.  Blegh.”  I shuddered.  “It’s so busy during holiday times and with this big community celebration, and the committee meetings, by the time I get home, I would be happy if I never saw another Christmas decoration in my life.”

“Oh, Boss, you don’t really mean that.”

“Yes, I do!”  The truth was, I had always hated the empty feeling I got around the holidays—that is until I met Alex—of course.  The Christmas movies and stories made the holidays seem so romantic.  And when I held my life up in comparison, somehow it never measured up.  My oldest sister had always had a boyfriend growing up.  I would find her kissing him under the mistletoe my mother had liberally hung throughout the house.  Of course, I don’t think our mother ever imagined my perfect, never misbehaved older sister would take advantage of the old tradition.  I used to sneak peeks at Sandy then run up to my bedroom and copy what I’d seen with my pillow, imagining the cotton percale to be the lips of Johnny Depp or Patrick Swayze.