An Island Christmas (11 page)

Lauren absolutely glittered with satisfaction. “And I’ve got something more.” More rustling of tissue paper, and Lauren lifted out a red velvet cape with a red velvet hood. And then, a muff of white faux fur.

When Felicia looked skeptical, Lauren laughed. “You won’t want to be cold on the ride in the horse-drawn carriage from the church to our house.”

“I thought we were going in cars, or walking if it’s a nice day,” Felicia said.

Lauren shook her head. “You are SO not walking in your wedding dress! Anyway, it’s all arranged. I’ve spoken with Travis Cosgrove and reserved an open carriage and two horses. And guess what! The horses are white, and their harnesses will be red leather with golden jingle bells!”

Felicia glanced at her mother. Jilly looked as if she were floating on a cloud on her way to heaven.
It’s only one day
, Felicia thought, and said, “Thank you, Lauren. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“The children will be so excited to see the horses!” Jilly exclaimed. “I wonder if there’s a way they could ride in the carriage with you.”

“Mom, don’t be daft. Why would a couple who just got
married have two children with them?” demanded Lauren, rolling her eyes at her mother.

“I think it’s a darling idea,” Felicia said. “I’d like to have the kids ride with us.”

“All right, then,” Lauren relented. “That’s really nice of you, Felicia.”

“Let’s see your dress, and the children’s clothes,” suggested Jilly.

For the next hour, Lauren slipped into her green velvet matron of honor dress, and Jilly put on her red silk suit, and the three women took turns admiring themselves and one another in the mirror.

They didn’t notice that day had turned into evening until Jilly cried, “Gosh, look at the windows. It’s dark out there already.”

“I’d better go see what the kids are doing,” said Lauren.

“I’d better go start dinner,” said Jilly.

“I wonder where the men are,” said Felicia.

The women scurried around, carefully hanging their dresses on padded hangers and sliding them gently into the closet. Lauren returned the thousands of sheets of tissue paper to the suitcase, closed it, and shoved it beneath her parents’ bed.

“I’m getting an ominous feeling,” said Jilly anxiously as they went down the stairs. “We stayed up there too long.”

“Oh, dear, I hope the children haven’t been peeking at the presents,” said Lauren.

But they found the children happily stuck to the sofa, watching cartoons on television.

“Is the movie over?” Lauren asked.

“It was over a long time ago, Mommy,” Portia replied, not taking her eyes off the TV screen. “We’re watching the Cartoon Network.”

“How did you know how to work the remote controls?” Lauren asked.

“Duh,” her son muttered, shaking his head.

“The main thing,” pointed out Jilly, “is that everything is all right.”

And then the door opened and the men came in.

13
 

The three men stood shrugging in the hall like schoolboys outside the principal’s office. George’s right ankle was splinted and wrapped in a protective blue boot. He leaned on crutches.

Jilly rushed to her husband. “George! Darling, what happened?”

“Wiped out on a moped,” George told her, unable to wipe the pride off his face.

Jilly slammed to a stop. “A moped? What were you doing on a moped?”

“I wanted to show Archie a lot of the island and while the weather is so nice I thought it would be fun if we rode mopeds. You can see a lot more that way.”

“But, George, you’ve never ridden a moped before.”

“So what?” George spoke as if he were wearing a Tarzan leopard skin and beating his manly chest. “It’s easy.”

“Then how did you end up on crutches?” Jilly inquired, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I went around that curve on the parking lot at Jetties
Beach, hit some shells, and wiped out.” George seemed to take pleasure in saying the words “wiped out.”

“How badly are you hurt?”

Shyly, George lifted his left hand. “Sprained wrist, sprained ankle, nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? How are you going to walk your daughter down the aisle on crutches with your hand in a bandage?”

Lauren interceded smoothly before her mother’s voice rose any higher. “Dad, let’s help you into the living room where you can sit down.”

In an awkward cluster, the men removed their hats, coats, and gloves. The women stayed close to George, ready to support him as he hobbled into the living room. He fell into a chair. Felicia took his crutches and leaned them on the arm of the chair next to him in easy reach.

“Are you in any pain, Daddy?” Felicia asked.

“A little, perhaps,” George admitted with a brave smile.

“Can I fetch you a drink, Dad?” Lauren offered.

“If he’s on medication, he shouldn’t drink,” Jilly pointed out.

“They only gave me ibuprofen,” George told them. “A nice big scotch would help a lot right now.”

“A scotch?” Jilly’s voice went soprano again. “Since when do you drink scotch?”

“Archie bought a bottle of single malt.”

Archie held up the bottle. “For medicinal purposes,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll have some, too,” Porter announced, dropping into a chair. “We’ve had a dramatic afternoon. A scotch will go down well.”

Jilly took a deep breath as her nurturing instincts overruled her desire to lecture her husband. “You’re probably hungry, too. I’ll bring you some munchies.”

“We’ll help,” Lauren said, pulling Felicia along.

In the kitchen, Lauren gently pushed her mother into a chair. “Sit down, Mom. We’ll fix the snacks. You have a glass of red wine. You’re shaking.”

Felicia poured the wine and set it before her mother. “Dad’s going to be fine, you know, Mom. He’s okay. He’s not badly injured. You shouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Jilly admitted, “I’m furious. What the hell did he think he was doing, riding a moped two days before your wedding? I’m sorry, Felicia, but I can’t help thinking it was Archie’s influence.”

Felicia snapped, “Mom, that is so unfair.”

“Really?” Jilly shot back. “Do you think
Porter
came up with that idea? Porter’s hardly the type to take a ride on the wild side.”

“Hey!” Lauren hurried to Porter’s defense. “I’ll have you know Porter can be WAY wild when he wants to.”

“Do tell,” Felicia teased.

Jilly interrupted. “Never mind who started it, your idiot father went along with it and now look at him. You children have to remember he’s not a young man anymore. He can’t keep up with your husbands. He knows better than to
ride a moped, especially before your wedding, Felicia. I truly want to
shake
him, I’m so angry.”

“Calm down, Mom.” Felicia emptied a bag of chips into a bowl and spooned salsa into a smaller bowl. “Here. Cut some veggies into strips for the hummus dip.” She put a chopping board, knife, and fresh vegetables in front of her mother.

“I’m going to have to phone the Howards to give our apologies.” Jilly forcefully beheaded some celery. “They have the best parties, too. But I can’t have George weaving around on crutches, getting in everyone’s way.”

“You go, Mom,” Felicia said. “We’ll stay home with Dad.”

“I just might do that,” Jilly said, vigorously beheading a carrot.

Lauren took a plate of veggies in to her children, who were still captivated by the television. She returned to the kitchen, dumped a can of mixed nuts into a bowl, and joined her mother and sister as they carried the snacks into the living room.

“… fishermen dump scallop shells down by the jetties,” George was saying, obviously unable to urge his mind off the awesome moment when he wiped out on a moped. “It’s a gritty, uneven surface.”

Settling into chairs and sofas with their glasses of wine, the three women listened patiently to George recount his drama. Finally Jilly couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know, George, we’re going to miss the Howards’ party tonight.”

George frowned. “What a shame. They always have great food. Perhaps you can go with Felicia and Archie, Jilly.”

“I think I will,” Jilly said. “Would you mind being in charge of Lawrence and Portia? Do you think you could manage them? We’d only be gone for an hour.”

“I’ll read to them,” George said. “We’ve got lots of good books.”

“But, Dad, will you be okay without someone to help you?” Felicia asked.

“Of course I will,” George huffed.

A knock sounded at the front door.

“Who can that be?” Jilly wondered aloud.

“The police, to arrest Daddy for reckless moped driving,” Lauren joked.

Felicia went to the door. A short, lean, tanned woman stood there, shivering in a zip-up golf jacket.

“Is this the Gordon house?”

Oh my God! This was Felicia’s future mother-in-law! “Yes,” Felicia managed to say. “Yes, it is.”

“I’m Pat Galloway. Archie’s mother.”

“Oh!” Felicia held the door open. “Please! Come in! Oh, man, we forgot to meet you at the airport! You see, we’ve had a bit of a drama this afternoon—” She stopped, took a deep breath, and composed herself. “Mrs. Galloway, I’m Felicia. Archie’s fiancée. I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“I’m thrilled to meet you at last.” Pat Galloway leaned forward to kiss Felicia on the cheek. “You’re as pretty as your pictures.”

“Thank you. Let me take your coat.”

“Not yet, if you don’t mind. I’d forgotten how cold it is up here in the north.”

Felicia ushered Pat Galloway into the living room.

Archie jumped up from his chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Mom!”

All heads turned as Archie strode across the floor to hug his mother. With his arm wrapped around her shoulders, Archie announced proudly, “Everyone, meet my mother, Pat Galloway.”

14
 

Jilly greeted the tiny, shivering woman and brought her to a chair close to the fire. Of course she was cold, the woman was all skin and bones and muscles. Not an ounce of fat on her. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut sensibly, rather like Derek Jacobi as Brother Cadfael. Her skin was as tanned as one of Jilly’s favorite Coach bags; no doubt Pat came from Florida. That also explained her choice of clothing, Jilly assumed. While everyone else wore turtlenecks and wool sweaters, Pat wore tartan golf slacks, a long-sleeved rugby shirt, and the ridiculously inadequate windbreaker. Instead of winter boots, she wore high-topped sneakers. Those at least would be practical on Nantucket’s uneven brick sidewalks.

Jilly was so busy gawking at her daughter’s future mother-in-law that she failed to notice how her husband was struggling to stand up to meet Pat. George gripped one of his crutches, leaned on it, and rose shakily. He bent to grasp the other crutch with his bandaged hand, teetered, tottered, and fell back onto the sofa, his crutch hitting the
brass bowl of chestnuts, walnuts, and pecans still in their shells on the coffee table. Everything flew. The nuts barreled across the floor like large marbles.

“George!” Jilly ran to help him wobble back into his chair.

“Sorry.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Jilly asked.

“No,” said George, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’m all right.”

All the others were gathered around Pat, everyone talking at once.

“Stay there, please, George, and don’t move. I’ve got to pick up all these nuts before everyone else trips over them and we’re
all
on crutches.”

Jilly quickly sank to her knees—not as easy a movement as it used to be—and began to gather up the nuts and return them to the bowl. She had collected most of them when she heard Felicia say, “Mom, what are you doing on the floor?”

“Gathering the nuts,” Jilly answered factually, realizing as she spoke that this made her sound slightly demented. A childish part of her wanted to make sure everyone knew the scattered nuts were George’s fault, especially because as she looked up she met the sensible green eyes of Archie’s mother.

“Hello up there,” said Jilly, trying to make a joke out of it. “The bowl of nuts got knocked over and I wanted to
pick them up before anyone tripped on them.” There, she thought, she hadn’t mentioned George’s clumsiness.