An Island Christmas (15 page)

And imagine having your sister make your wedding dress without even giving your opinion on how it should look! Imagine not caring who attended your wedding and reception afterward! Felicia hadn’t arranged for flowers in the church or at home, or for music at the church, or for a
photographer. Jilly could foresee Felicia saying at the last minute, “Hey, Mom, grab my cell phone and snap a shot of me and Archie on our wedding day.”

Knowing that her second daughter was too busy barreling over life-threatening rapids, Jilly had taken certain matters into her own hands.

She had ordered masses of red and white roses and red and white carnations interspersed with evergreens in gigantic glass bowls to be set around the house. The church was already decorated for Christmas so she had planned no flowers for the church, but now she would take the two poinsettia plants to set in front of the altar. They would look jolly and the cat wouldn’t be able to reach them. For Felicia, she’d ordered an arrangement of white baby roses attached to Jilly’s mother’s white leather Bible to carry down the aisle. She had boutonnieres ordered for the men, including Lawrence, and a circlet of flowers for Portia who would be carrying a small Nantucket basket of rose petals and scattering them along the aisle. She ordered a white gardenia corsage to wear on her dress because she enjoyed the scent, and if the bride was going to be loosey-goosey, she could at least treat herself to a gardenia. She had ordered a small white silk pillow for Lawrence to carry as the ring bearer. It occurred to her she needed to speak with Archie about this; she could only hope they were going to exchange rings instead of tattoos.

She’d arranged for music. When she heard that Archie was going to wear his Galloway tartan kilt, she had spent
hours searching for someone who could play the bagpipes to pipe the newlyweds out into the world after the ceremony. She hadn’t found anyone, which turned out to be a good thing, because when she told Felicia on the phone she was trying to find a bagpiper, Felicia had cried, “Oh dear Lord in heaven, Mother, get a grip!” So Jilly had asked three talented young women, one who had a portable piano (an electronic portable piano! How fast the world was changing!) to sing at the ceremony. Laura, Susan, and Diane had consulted with Jilly, who suggested Pachelbel’s “Canon” and Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” The three women had called Archie and Felicia in Utah because they knew Lauren and Felicia and insisted it was only correct to consult with the bride. So of course everything changed. Jilly had to compromise. The three women were instructed to play Pachelbel’s “Canon” before the ceremony and Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” after.

Aerosmith! And the song was from a movie named, of all things,
Armageddon
. Jilly still couldn’t believe it. Her daughter was going to be married to the music of
Armageddon
.

At least she’d been able to arrange the guest list for the reception at the house. There would be the immediate family, of course, and Archie’s mother, Pat. Madeleine Park, who had been the girls’ favorite babysitter, would attend with her husband, Lloyd. Nicole and Sebastian Somerset, who were Jilly’s and George’s ages and their best friends on the island, were attending and so was Father Sloan, the Episcopal priest who would perform the ceremony
and who was recently widowed. He would provide a nice male counterpoint to Pat. Finally, even though they were slightly older than Lauren and Felicia, Jilly had invited the three women musicians, Laura, Susan, and Diane, and their husbands. Since Felicia didn’t want any of her old high school friends invited because Archie wasn’t inviting any of his, this made a nice full house with a mixture of ages.

Jilly was having Greta and Fred White prepare platters of delicacies for the late afternoon party at their home. She’d ordered a wedding cake from Wicked Island Bakery. The cake would be carrot cake covered with white frosting. In a moment of frivolity, Jilly had told Ronna to construct the icing like a slide down the four-layered cake, as if it were going over rapids with the bride and groom seated together at the top, ready for the ride of their lives. Jilly was actually quite proud of this idea.

Usually the Gordons had Christmas Day dinner in the evening, but because of the wedding, they would be eating catch-as-catch-can for lunch and reception goodies for dinner. December 26, they would sit down to their Christmas meal, and even the newlyweds would stay for that. Today Jilly had to pick up the twenty-pound fresh freerange turkey and a few other fresh items from Annye’s Whole Foods. She had already bought three pounds of chestnuts to roast over the fire after the wedding celebration, but she needed to run by the liquor store for the case of champagne she’d ordered. She’d counted on George
picking this up, but now of course with his crutches he was grounded. Jilly didn’t want to impose on Lauren and Porter because she knew they had a few things to get ready for Christmas for their children. Plus, Lauren had already helped so much by bringing down some casseroles for their holiday stay. Because tomorrow was Christmas when all the shops were closed, Jilly had to pick up the flowers and the cake today.

She also had to hurry over to Marine Home Center and buy a new pan to replace the one she’d ruined burning the broccoli.

What else? One thing eluded her … it was on the edge of her mind … she often wished someone would invent a kind of white board that attached to the shower wall so she could make a list while she showered, when her thoughts came more easily.

Yes! Photographer. Porter had an excellent camera with an infinite number of lenses and dials. He had volunteered to take photographs. So. Everything was under control.

Reassured by her thoughts and the peaceful moments in the shower, Jilly dressed in her favorite red corduroy dress that she took out especially for the Christmas season. She added a touch of cherry lipstick and inserted her adorable blinking light earrings.

George remained sprawled on the bed like a giant sea turtle, watching her with a pitiful expression on his face.

Proud of your glorious wipeout, are you?
Jilly wanted to ask, but sympathy won. “How do you feel today, darling?”

George rubbed his left arm. “Terrible. I ache all over. I can scarcely move. I don’t think I can even crawl out of bed.”

“Maybe you’ll feel better once you shower and dress,” she suggested cheerfully.

“Maybe. I certainly won’t be able to do it without some help.”

“I’ll find Porter.”

“Can’t you do it? I hate having a stranger see me in such a pathetic state.” George cocked his head to the side and gave her his best puppy-with-a-wounded-paw look.

Downstairs one of the children screamed, a normal playing scream. Somewhere in the house a door slammed. Wind battered the bedroom window with splats of snow. Voices scattered through the downstairs.

Jilly sat down on the bed. “George, it is the day before Christmas and the day before Felicia’s wedding. I have many things to do and my milk of human kindness has run dry. You have one perfectly good arm and leg, and your bruises may hurt, but you are not incapacitated by them. If you want to stay in bed all day, that’s your choice. If you want me to ask Porter to help you, it’s your choice. But I’ve got things to do.”

“Well, merry Christmas to you, too,” George muttered.

“Hello, everyone!” said Pat, breezing into the Gordons’ bedroom. Today she wore a violet-and-blue-striped turtleneck with her green tartan golf slacks. Perhaps she was
color-blind. “Sorry to disturb you like this, but Lauren told me to come on up.” Pat’s arms were full of packages. “George, I brought you some things.”

In a twinkling, George morphed from a pitiful old patient to a strong ex-soldier, maybe even a Navy Seal, as he pushed himself up against the headboard, yanked the covers up to his chest, and ran his hands over his disheveled hair.

Jilly looked on, astonished, as Pat arranged her bony athletic rear end on the bed next to George. “Now. Jilly, you might want to take notes.” She lifted several bottles out of the paper bag. “First, Epsom salt. Of course you know about it. Soak your body in a warm—not hot, warm—bath with two cups of the salt for fifteen minutes. Next, Burt’s Bees Muscle Mend. Rub it on wherever you’re sore. Next, I’m sure you’re taking aspirin regularly for the pain and as an anti-inflammatory, right?”

“Right.” George nodded. His eyes were bright and to Jilly’s eyes it seemed he’d grown younger right before her eyes.

“Okay, trust me on this. Google it if you want. These are Boiron Arnica montana 30c pellets. It’s a homeopathic medicine, made from mountain daisies. It helps your muscles mend, and so does this—blackstrap molasses. Pour a big helping of it into your coffee. You’ll heal faster.”

Jilly watched Pat with her face frozen in a look of—she hoped—interested gratitude, but what she felt was guilt.

What kind of wife was she to have so completely neglected thinking of how to make her husband, her darling husband of thirty-five years, feel better?

George was questioning Pat about each medicine. He and Pat went into such detail they sounded like they were prepping him for an Olympic event.

To her surprise, Pat stood up, straightened her shoulders, and announced, “Now. Jilly. How can I help you?”

Jilly was speechless.

“Do you have dinner organized for tonight? Because if you’re going to the grocery store, I could go with you. I’d like to buy some stuff and make dinner for everyone. I’m an excellent cook if I say so myself, and I do.”

“We traditionally have clam chowder for dinner on Christmas Eve,” Jilly replied weakly.

“I can make clam chowder,” Pat said. “Or you can make it and I’ll be your sous-chef. For sure I can help you carry groceries in from the car. That’s always such a pain.”

“Pat, that’s so nice of you.”

Pat grinned and flexed a muscle. “I’m small, but I’m mighty.”

Jilly’s spirits lifted. “But I don’t want you to catch cold. I have tons of sweaters. Tell me your favorite color and I’ll loan you one. Wool?”

“Wool’s not my favorite. Makes me sneeze. Got any fleece?” Over Jilly’s shoulder Pat spotted an orange fleece jacket. “There’s one. Perfect.”

Perfect
, Jilly thought, looking at Pat in green, violet,
and orange. “As long as you’re warm.” Looking at George, she said, “Are you ready for us to help you up and into the bathroom?”

George flushed bright red, obviously embarrassed to appear feeble in front of such a vigorous woman. “No, no,” he said brusquely. “You two go on. I’ll be there in a minute.” As they went down the stairs, Pat said, “Your customary Christmas Eve dinner is clam chowder, you said. What if I took over and made a Cajun seafood gumbo? It’s like clam chowder, but with spices and stuff in it.”

But this is New England,
Jilly thought,
appalled. This is our family tradition! “Well …”
she began.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lawrence and Portia barreled past them, knocking the mail off the hall table, screeching, “Where’s that cat? Where’s that cat?”

Lauren followed, looking exasperated. “Lawrence! Portia!” She disappeared into the kitchen.

On the other hand, Jilly remembered, the children didn’t like clam chowder.

Through the door into the living room, Jilly saw the Christmas tree, so oddly and rather revoltingly decorated after yesterday’s accident. It was a bizarre spectacle now, but it was certainly one unlike any other, and it was one she would always remember. She and George had caused it, in a way, by bringing Rex into the household. The cat had ripped the stuffing right out of her vision of a perfect Christmas, and for a moment Jilly flashed back to the days when her daughters were young, younger than Portia and
Lawrence were now. When wrapping paper and ribbons littered the floor and the children couldn’t sit still for a holiday dinner but wriggled and dropped gravy on the tablecloth and George gave her a new vacuum cleaner when she longed for a romantic piece of jewelry. Jilly smiled. Those days glowed in her thoughts. Family life was messy, Jilly realized, and no matter what Jilly had fantasized for her daughter, Felicia loved Archie. That made no-nonsense muscular Pat almost family. And frankly, it was pretty nice to have some help.

“I’d be delighted if you made your Cajun seafood gumbo,” Jilly told Pat. “We’ll pick up the ingredients when we go to the store.”

20
 

It was almost ten o’clock before the family in the house on Chestnut Street sat down to breakfast.

George had managed to bathe and dress himself, but Jilly had to change his bandage and Porter had to help George maneuver his bad ankle and his crutches down the stairs.

Portia and Lawrence, who’d eaten cereal earlier that morning when they woke, begged not to have to eat Lauren’s gourmet cheesy egg casserole; Lawrence said it looked like a snot pie. Desperate to have some adult time with her family and a nice hot cup of coffee, Lauren once again settled her children in front of the television set where they watched a movie appropriately named
Frozen
.

Surprisingly, Rex had developed an appetite for the children’s game of Chase the Cat, probably because they never could catch him. This morning he trailed the children from room to room, always keeping at a distance. He settled on an armchair in the family room facing Lawrence
and Portia as they faced the television. For a long time he watched them, prepared for any sudden movement on their part. Soon his golden eyes closed and he fell asleep.