An Island Christmas (12 page)

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Pat. “I apologize for showing up at your house like this, but no one met my plane and I couldn’t wait to see everyone.”

“We’re so glad you came,” Jilly told Pat. She set the bowl of nuts on the table and rose. “We’ve had a rather disorganized day because the men went off on mopeds and George had an accident.”

Pat turned her vibrant green eyes toward George. “An accident!” Pat said the word as Jilly would say
“chocolate.”
“How exciting. How did it happen? Were you on a dirt road? Was it hilly?”

George shrugged carelessly. “I hit some grit and wiped out.” He sounded as if this happened every day.

“Did you have to go to the hospital?” Pat asked hopefully.

“I did,” George announced triumphantly. “Porter and Archie were on mopeds too. They helped me onto the back of Archie’s moped and took me to the hospital. Of course we had to take a taxi home.”

Jilly was torn between guilt at not having asked George how he got to the hospital, and concern that three mopeds were dispersed around the island, driving up the charges on George’s credit card.

“Did it hurt terribly to ride on the back of Archie’s moped after your fall?” Pat inquired.

Proudly, George nodded. “I knew I’d done something pretty bad to my ankle because I couldn’t move it without pain, and the same thing with my wrist.”

“I’ve heard that a sprained wrist can hurt more than a broken one,” Pat said with sympathy.

Oh, brother
, Jilly thought. All the others had settled back into their seats to sip their drinks and listen to George’s dramatic account of how he had “wiped out.”

“Pat,” Jilly asked, “may I get you a drink?”

“That would be nice,” Pat said. “Could I have a Manhattan?”

Jilly froze. She didn’t know how to make a Manhattan and she was wondering where she had put her cocktail recipe book and whether she had the ingredients for the drink in the house.

Fortunately, Archie came to her rescue. “Mom, no bourbon. We’ve got wine and scotch.”

“No bourbon?” Pat asked, surprised, as if her son had told her they all drank out of jam jars. Then, without waiting for an answer, she said, “Scotch on the rocks would be perfect.”

“Coming right up,” Jilly said cheerfully.

As she prepared Pat’s drink in the kitchen, Rex swaggered out of the laundry room, rubbed against her ankles, and meowed. He’d had his dinner, but Jilly opened a can of Fancy Feast and gave him a tiny bit more.

“Obviously we’re not going to the Howards’ party now,” she whispered to Rex. “I’d counted on everyone enjoying
the Howards’ gourmet canapés and returning to the house stuffed to the gills. Instead, I’ve got to prepare some kind of dinner.”

Rex meowed again. Jilly thought he sounded concerned. “I do have the makings for sandwiches, of course, but I don’t want to serve them to Pat, especially since we forgot to pick her up at the airport. Pat seems remarkably good-natured about this. If she’s going to be Felicia’s mother-in-law, I want her to feel welcome and comfortable here.” Rex left the food bowl to wind around Jilly’s ankles, purring. It was as if he were saying:
I feel comfortable here. I’m sure she will, too
. Cats were remarkably sensitive creatures.

In the freezer, Jilly had a lasagna she’d made for one of the evenings after Christmas when Lauren, Porter, and their children were still here. She took it out, microwaved it for a couple of minutes, then put it in the oven.

Rex watched thoughtfully. “It will be ready in thirty minutes,” Jilly told him. “I’ll serve a green salad with it and dessert can be—”

“Mom, what are you doing in here?” Felicia stood in the doorway. “You’ve been forever fixing Pat’s drink.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Jilly said, hitting herself on the forehead. “I thought I would start dinner–”

“Give me Pat’s drink and I’ll take it in to her.”

“No, no, I’ll take it in.” Jilly didn’t want to be rude, hiding away in the kitchen. Carrying the drink to the living room, Jilly thought:
Broccoli? Green beans?
Lauren’s children
hated salad but Lauren insisted they eat one green vegetable at every meal.
Broccoli
, Jilly thought, she would sauté some broccoli.

Pat almost snatched the drink out of Jilly’s hands. “Thank you so much! I really need this after the day I’ve had. First my plane out of Miami was delayed, then we had to circle for forty-five minutes before we could land in Boston, and the flight from Boston to Nantucket felt like a roller-coaster ride.”

“Well, we’re so glad you’re here. Enjoy your drink. There’s more where that came from.” Jilly offered Pat the platter of sliced vegetables and dip.

“Thanks.” Pat picked up a carrot.

“Have you checked into the hotel yet, Mom?” Archie asked.

“I did. It’s great,” Pat told her son. “This seems to be a first class little village.” To Felicia, she said, “You grew up here, right?”

Jilly sank into a chair, took a sip of her own drink, and relaxed as the conversation flowed. Really, it was a splendid thing to have so many people she treasured gathered here together—even though she still thought George had been an idiot to ride that moped.

“What a divine house you have,” Pat told Jilly. “Your Christmas tree is like something out of a storybook. And look at all those presents!”

Pat’s praise and Jilly’s drink spread a warm sensation of satisfaction through Jilly. She felt rather earth-motherish,
capable of dealing with spontaneous events with aplomb. “I’ve put a lasagna in the oven. It will be ready in thirty minutes.”

“But, Mom,” Lauren objected, “I thought we were going to the Howards’ cocktail party.”

“I think it will be much cozier to stay here,” Jilly said, “and besides, I don’t want to put any stress on your father’s ankle. We’ll have to wait on him hand and foot for the next day so he can walk Felicia down the aisle.” She flashed George a loving look. He beamed with pleasure at her words. Jilly rested in her chair and studied the Christmas tree. It was glorious, as it should be, for she had spent hours positioning the lights and ornaments in the right spots. The appetizing aroma of cheese and tomato sauce drifted out from the kitchen. Her family was all here, safe and content.

This was turning into a perfect family evening.

15
 

In the living room of the house on Chestnut Street, Felicia surreptitiously studied her future mother-in-law. Quiet, Archie had described his mother.
Quiet
. Who could understand the male mind? Perhaps he meant that his mother was athletic, preferring golf, tennis, and swimming to conversation.

What did Pat think of Felicia? Did it matter terribly? Archie’s family wasn’t as close as the Gordons. Archie seldom visited his mother, although he often phoned her and sent her gifts from exotic lands.

Perhaps everything was all right. The wedding was in two days and then she and Archie would go on their honeymoon.

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Jilly, rising, “I need to prepare a few things for dinner.”

“I’ll help you, Mom,” Felicia offered.

“I’ll wrestle the children away from the television set,” Lauren said. To the room in general, she warned, “Prepare yourselves for screaming. Porter and I don’t let our children
watch television very often and they’ve been stuck to the TV practically all day. But they’re good children, I promise.”

In the kitchen, Felicia tossed a green salad while her mother got out a sauté pan. From the family room came the predicted sounds of anguished protestations, before Lauren, Portia, and Lawrence appeared in the kitchen.

“I want you to go out in the backyard and run around the yard six times without stopping,” Lauren told her children.

“Mom!” Portia and Lawrence protested simultaneously.

Lauren folded her arms over her chest and glared like a drill sergeant. “Do it, now, or no dessert.”

Heads hanging, feet dragging, the children went out the back door, down the stairs, and began to plod wearily around the yard.

“Lauren,” Felicia said, “shouldn’t your kids have on coats or hats in this cold weather?”

“My children are like little furnaces,” Lauren told Felicia. “And they’ll heat up even more—watch.”

Portia and Lawrence hadn’t made it around the yard once before they turned the run into a race accompanied by arm waving, war cries, and general screaming. This year, snow had come early and the snowy ground was already coated with a thick layer of ice. The kids slid on it, fell down, rolled around, giggling and whooping.

“You see,” Lauren said. “They won’t want to come in. They have no idea it’s cold out.”

Felicia and Lauren set the dining room table with their mother’s poinsettia place mats and matching napkins. Jilly also had an entire set of Christmas plates that they put around the table.

“Gee, Mom,” Felicia teased, “do you expect us to use regular silverware?”

“I’ve looked in all the catalogs,” Jilly answered, taking Felicia’s question seriously, “but I haven’t found any Christmas silverware or utensils.”

Felicia and Lauren grinned at each other, as they had so many times in the past, silently mocking their mother’s passion for themed dinnerware.

“Has anyone seen Rex?” Jilly wondered. “He likes to hide in the laundry room. I hope he didn’t sneak out the back door.”

“I’ll get the kids in the house and have them wash their hands,” said Lauren.

“I’ll organize everyone in the living room to come into the dining room for dinner,” said Felicia.

“I’ll sauté the broccoli,” Jilly said. “Everything else is ready.” She poured olive oil in the pan, switched on the heat, and after a moment, added the broccoli.

Felicia had just stepped into the living room when she heard a commotion. She rushed back to the kitchen. Through the open doorway, she saw her mother kneeling next to an overflowing laundry basket. Jilly was petting Rex. At the same time, Lauren was holding the back door open to the mudroom which was at the far end of the laundry
room. Through the open door, her son and daughter burst into the house.

“Look! A cat!” yelled Lawrence.

“A kitty! Mommy, look, a kitty!” shouted Portia.

“Quiet voices, please. Use your quiet voices,” said Lauren quietly, as if to remind them what a quiet voice was.

As Felicia watched, the cat, half covered with laundry, froze into a physical red alert, ears back, eyes wide, aware of the sounds of a predator.

“Can I hold the kitty? Can I? Can I? Can I?” asked Lawrence.

“No, I want to! I want to hold the kitty first!” yelled Portia.

Jilly was attempting to gather the cat into her arms protectively, while at the same time she tried to rise from her knees and turn her back to the children.

Lauren awkwardly bumped into Jilly as she tried to squeeze past her mother to reach her children. She managed to grab Portia’s shoulder and Lawrence’s arm. “Settle down!” Her voice was less quiet now.

“Here, kitty, kitty!” shrieked Portia in her high, eardrum-shattering small girl’s voice.

“Children, please be quiet,” begged Jilly. “Rex has never met children before. He’s afraid of you. You have to be as quiet as little mice so he’ll like you.”

“I’ll be quiet!” bellowed Lawrence.

“Lauren, perhaps you could take the kiddies back outside for a moment,” suggested a slightly flustered Jilly.

Misunderstanding, Portia stretched her arms out. “I’ll take the kitty outside!”

“Kiddie!” Jilly snapped. “Not kitty, kiddie!” She’d never used an angry voice with her grandchildren before. It startled everyone in the room, including the cat.

“Fine, Mom, I will, as soon as I can move around you.” Lauren was also getting her dander up. She was mad at her children and not that thrilled with her mother, either.

Jilly backed against the wall, clutching the orange cat to her chest. Before Lauren could step past her, Lawrence wriggled out of his mother’s hand and squirmed to Jilly’s side.

“Hi, kitty kitty,” Lawrence yammered, reaching up a hand to pet the cat.

Rex shot out of Jilly’s arms like a squeezed banana out of its skin. In a flurry of orange and white fur, he streaked down the hall and into the living room.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Jilly. “Rex will be afraid of all those people. He’s not used to groups.”

Bumping into one another as they ran, Lauren, Jilly, Felicia, Lawrence, and Portia sprinted down the hall and into the living room.

Pat jumped to her feet, horrified. “Oh, dear, a cat!”

The cat had taken refuge behind an armchair next to the Christmas tree.

“He won’t hurt you,” promised Felicia. “He’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”

“I’m allergic to cats!” Pat proved her claim by exploding in a giant sneeze.

“We’ll get him, Grandma Jelly,” Lawrence said. The little boy dropped to his knees and crawled behind the armchair where his father was sitting.

Porter stood up, the better to observe his son. “Be careful, Lawrence, the cat might scratch you.”

Jilly said defensively, “Rex has never scratched anyone!”

Lauren hastened to back up her husband’s warning. “There’s always a first time.”

“He went behind the Christmas tree,” Lawrence reported.