Chistmas Ever After (5 page)

Richard was shorter than Jennifer. He was stocky and square, dressed in his usual dark suit, red business tie and cashmere overcoat. His dark eyes were earnest; his thin, arching eyebrows raised; his voice always low and instructive, as if he were teaching a seminar.

“Snow, snow and more snow is what they’re forecasting,” he said rubbing his leather gloved hands together.

A second attendant, loose-limbed and anxious, hurried over and took Richard’s car keys. He dropped behind the wheel, slammed the door and raced away.

“You coming or going?” Richard asked, his breath puffing white gusts of vapor.

“I’m…I have to leave. You know, business things.”

At 42, married and childless, it seemed that Richard played the role of father to nearly everyone in town, offering advice on everything from dating to hair styles to diets. Many people felt that Richard was more of a father confessor than the local priest, Father Abernathy, the only problem being that during the course of listening to one’s confession, Richard was apt to, and indeed often did, try to sell one an insurance policy.

“How’s the party?” Richard asked.

“Nice…real nice…festive,” Jennifer said, standing on tiptoes, looking for her car.

“How’s your business doing?” Richard asked.

“Incredibly busy.”

Richard gave her one of his fatherly looks. “Have you been getting to know any of the young men in our town, Jennifer?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“All work and no play is not good, Jennifer. You must have balance in your life. Balanced relationships, balanced diet and balanced work habits. These are all very important for a truly happy life. It’s the key to everything.”

“How is your wife?” Jennifer asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Oh, Molly is fine. Probably in the Hartman kitchen, getting in everyone’s way. But she just loves Christmas. She helped decorate the place. Hope it looks good. What do you think?” “Yes. Looks real…well like Christmas.”

Richard clasped his hands at his waist, shaking his head a little as a preamble to a serious subject. “Jennifer, I’ve been meaning to come by and talk to you about your insurance coverage. I was looking over your policy the other day and I’m a little concerned that you may not have all the coverage you need.”

“That’s nice of you, Richard, but I think I’m in pretty good shape right now.”

“Freezing temperatures, blustery winds, ice, sleet and snow can cause severe damage to your building and property, Jennifer. Consider the blizzard of 2009, which was the fifth most costly in the history of the United States. Did you know that?”

“No, Richard, I didn’t.”

“It caused an estimated $1.75 billion in damage.”

“That much?”

“Yes, that much. And then there was the storm of the century in 1993. Northern locations, like ours, are most likely to be hard-hit on a regular basis, so don’t underestimate our winter storms. I know you’re from Tennessee where you get the occasional storm, but nothing like the kind of devastating storm that can strike us.”

“So you want me to expand my policy, Richard?”

“Well, let’s consider it. Frozen pipes can cause a lot of damage, not to mention collapsed roofs due to the weight of snow, and interior water seepage due to blocked roof drains. Now, I know you’re a good business woman—an excellent business woman— and I respect that, I really do, so I think you should expand your policy to cover all the items I just mentioned.”

Jennifer thought it over for a moment. “Everyone says that January and February are the worst months for storms around here.”

Richard nodded. “That’s correct,” he said, suddenly distracted by an approaching limousine.

Jennifer followed his gaze. “Why don’t you come by after Christmas and we’ll discuss it.”

Richard brightened. “Wise, Jennifer. A very wise decision.”

The limousine drew up and stopped. The driver climbed out, circled around the back to the passenger door, and opened it.

Agnes Stanton emerged, slowly, surveying the area with a disapproving expression and a mumbled misery that no one could understand and didn’t wish to.

Jennifer whispered to Richard under her breath. “Don’t leave. She’s always coming into the shop and bawling me out for something.”

Richard whispered, “She was almost tolerable until her husband died. Now, she’s a nightmare.” Then as an afterthought, because he was concerned about his business image, “…But God bless her, Jennifer. God just bless her!”

Jennifer stared, doubtingly. “Yeah… right.”

They could hear the band frolicking through
Frosty the Snow Man
when Mrs. Stanton waddled over.

“Merry Christmas,” Jennifer and Richard said, affably.

She looked at Richard, with cool laser eyes, and just as he was about to initiate conversation, she threw up her broad hand, like a stop sign. “Don’t start with me, Richard Steady. I have all the insurance I’m ever going to get, on all my properties, cars and relatives, and on every limb of my body. I don’t want information, I don’t want advice, and I definitely do not want to be asked for any further referrals to any of my friends, whom you haven’t already pestered, perturbed or perplexed. Do not assume that just because this is the season of giving and goodwill, that I am willing to give you anything, now, or at any time in the foreseeable future.”

Richard didn’t blink or blanch. He ginned, genuinely, as if the full force of her insulting tone and acerbic words bounced off him like a BB off tin.

“Well, if you ever need anything at all, you just call me, day or night, and I’ll make sure that you’re taken care of, Mrs. Stanton. Are you going to taste the Hartmans’ famous eggnog?” Richard asked.

“Never touch the stuff! Way too fattening!”

“Only once a year,” he coaxed, lifting his eyebrows playfully, like Groucho.

“Don’t be patronizing, Richard.”

Richard shrugged, turned and retreated toward the house, while Jennifer watched him, feeling forsaken and jittery.

Mrs. Stanton rolled her eyes, exasperated. “The man is insufferable!” she snapped.

Jennifer finally saw her own car advancing through the parking lot. It wouldn’t be long now.

Mrs. Stanton turned her steely eyes to Jennifer. “Ms. Taylor, I’m disappointed in you! I am an early riser and always have been. I leave my house for my morning walk, which, as you know, is on Lincoln Street, at precisely 6:20. I pass by your card shop at 6:30. In the last two weeks, because it has snowed, I have nearly fallen twice in front of your shop. Your sidewalk has not been cleared of snow. It’s outrageous! It’s dangerous and it’s a hazard! If I ever do fall and break an ankle or a hip, I will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law!”

Jennifer took a step backwards. “Mrs. Stanton, I’ve hired one of the local high school boys to shovel the walk, but he doesn’t get there until 7:30 in the morning.”

Mrs. Stanton shook a threatening finger at her. “You’ve heard my warning, Ms. Taylor. If I were you, I’d heed it and take the necessary action.”

Jennifer shoved her hands into her coat pockets and began rocking impatiently on her heels.

Mrs. Stanton regarded her critically. “Are you leaving the party so soon, Ms. Taylor? Why it can’t be later than 7:30.”

Jennifer watched as her car stopped in the middle of the road, beside Richard’s SUV. The attendants were having an unhurried conversation. She wanted to scream. “Yes, I’m afraid I have some work to do,” Jennifer said, ignoring her.

“You can’t have stayed long at the party, not that I blame you. But what will people think? It doesn’t make a good impression, to leave so soon. Being new to this town and in business for yourself, you should want to make a good impression, Ms. Taylor, and I’m afraid this action runs contrary to that. I admit that J. D. Hartman can be a crashing bore and a big blowhard, but that doesn’t excuse you for your bad manners.”

Finally Jennifer’s car arrived. “Thank you, Mrs. Stanton; I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’d better do more than just keep it in mind! Once you make enemies in Willowbury, you’d better just lock your door and leave town!”

Jennifer slipped the attendant a dollar, and slithered behind the wheel of her car, closing the door in Mrs. Stanton’s starched and insulted face.

As she drove away and glanced at the rearview mirror, Jennifer caught sight of Mrs. Stanton staring at the fleeing car, her hands stuck on her bulging hips.

Back on the main highway, heavy flecks of snow crashed into her windshield, fell thickly across the shaft of her headlights and covered the road. Jennifer didn’t slow down. She kept the car plunging through the night. She shuddered, happy to have escaped the party and all those silly people, with their silly little Christmas outfits, frivolous Christmas jewelry and bogus Christmas spirit. Christmas spirit! What spirit? When you analyzed it in the full light of truth and didn’t “cook the books,” so to speak, you could easily see that their spirit was nothing more than self-aggrandizement.

The mayor and his wife were just playing politics. Richard Steady was there because it was good business and he might sell another policy while he sipped eggnog or danced or lingered under the mistletoe with some nasty widow like Mrs. Stanton. Speaking of Mrs. Stanton, her reason for coming to the party was obvious. Everyone there would bow down to her, even though she’d insult most of them one way or the other. She was certainly disliked, or even despised, by everyone in town, but who was going to turn their back on power and wealth?

The band was there because they were being paid to be there, as were the caterers and waiters and waitresses. She didn’t remember seeing any of them with happy faces.

As for the rest of the people, they got their chance to inflate their egos, rub shoulders with the influential and popular, and get free food and drinks in the process. More power to them.

As she approached Harvey’s Pond, Jennifer felt a sinking feeling in her chest. She didn’t want to go back to her lonely apartment, afraid that old Christmas memories would begin to close in on her from every corner.

She suddenly remembered that she had her ice skates with her! Jennifer had only been skating for a couple of weeks now. She’d never learned how to skate in Tennessee, but Willowbury had so many beautiful ponds, and ice-skating was such a large part of the culture, that Angela had finally talked her into it. Jennifer used to roller blade in Tennessee, so she didn’t think she needed lessons. Instead, she was trying to teach herself whenever she found the time. She was in desperate need of a distraction.

When Jennifer spotted the dark and narrow virgin snow-covered road, she took the turn a little too fast and the back wheels of the car skidded sharply to the left. She quickly recovered, spinning the wheel left gently and applying the brakes. After taking a little breath, she continued on, passing stately pines, newly sugar-coated with snow, until she finally arrived at a little wooden gazebo. No one else was there. One yellow spotlight atop the gazebo bathed the ice-covered pond. She parked and turned off the engine, listening to the deep silence. Finally, she got out and stepped around to the trunk to retrieve her ice skates.
 
She trudged through the squeaky snow until she arrived at the gazebo, happy there wasn’t any Christmas music playing. After slapping away snow from the wooden bench, she sat and laced up her skates. She looked around, feeling oddly heavy and out of place—not a part of the excruciatingly beautiful scene around her, a snow globe of tranquility and wonder. How was it possible, she thought, to feel like an alien—like a refugee without roots, without a home, without a beating heart—among such beauty?

She stood and gripped the wooden railing for a time, finding courage, and then ventured out, clumsily, onto the glistening ice that was covered with a thin layer of snow. She was already shivering from the frosty night air.

Her legs felt weak and shaky. Her breath came fast, in white puffs. She had the image of herself as an uncoordinated clown performing at a circus, scampering unsteadily across the ice, her jerky body lurching and bobbing, her hands reaching for an invisible support. It was a good thing no one was around to see her make a complete fool of herself.

She wobbled and skipped as she battled to stay upright. Her lungs began to burn from the cold. Halfway across the pond, she picked up dubious speed and then, suddenly, like an unlikely miracle, she hit her stride, finding the zone of tenuous balance and perilous freedom. It was wonderful! She was beginning to feel carefree. The wind across her face gave her a sense of elation, as she scraped a path across the ice, like someone seasoned and confident. If only someone could see her now, as she cruised the pond, like a woman in control, unhampered by doubt, suspicion and fear. If only she could hold the position forever, a person undaunted by the conspiring elements of sharp wind, slippery ice and corrupt balance. She wanted more. She lifted a shaky hand to try for some artistic form, to expand herself out, to fly like a swan across the ice.

That’s when disaster struck. Her feet began to take on a life of their own. They deserted her and slid away in different directions, like two trains: one traveling east, the other west. She watched, horrified and helpless, knowing that a train wreck was imminent. Panic burned her throat. The trains jumped the tracks.