Drowning in Christmas (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (23 page)

S
o
it came to pass that two days after Christmas, surrounded by friends and family, two cats, my ex-husband, and a lot of complete strangers, Armando and I ate, drank—and were married. After all the complications of the preceding week in other areas, there was only one minor hitch in these proceedings, and we all agreed later that it was well worth it.

When Julie got to the point in the ceremony where she asked the assemblage if anyone present knew any reason why Armando and I should not be legally wed, I whispered in Armando's ear, “This is where I'd expect Strutter to make some smart-ass remark.” Then I stared at him, stricken. “Strutter!” I blurted to Margo and Emma, who stood close by.

They both got it immediately, as did Armando. Julie was understandably bemused. “Just a minute, please,” I begged her. “This is so important.”

“No problem,” she assured me and stood waiting calmly.

In one smooth movement, Emma fished her cell phone out of her blazer pocket and handed it to Margo. She punched in Strutter's phone number and passed the phone to me.

“Putnam's House of Germs,” Strutter answered dully. “Plenty for everyone, no waiting.”

“Try to pay attention,” I pleaded with her, “or you're going to miss the whole thing, and trust me, this is one wedding you don't want to miss.”

“Kate? I'm sure your nephew and his fiancée are as cute as they can be, but I've never even met them.”

“Not Jeff and Donna,” I hissed. “Armando and I. The kids both got sick with the same thing you have, and we have all this food and champagne, and everyone's here. We've been talking about getting married for more than a year now, and today, it just feels right somehow.” Armando nudged me, and I became aware of sixty pairs of ears hanging on my every word. “It's a long story, too long to go into at the moment,” I concluded hastily. “The point is, we're standing in the living room getting married right now, but I just can't do it without you.”

There was a moment of silence as Strutter tried to decide if I was playing a joke on her. Then, “Where are you exactly?”

“In front of the fireplace. Well, in front of Julie, who's the Justice of the Peace, but she's in front of the fireplace.”

“Who's there besides Julie?”

I looked around, smiling. “Emma and Joey, Justine, Margo and John, Michael and Sheila and Sheila's mother Mitzi, our neighbor Mary …”

“Hi, Strutter,” each one called out in turn.

“Michael is there?” she gasped.

“Well, of course,” I confirmed. “It's his nephew's wedding, or at least, it was supposed to be.”

I heard Strutter sigh. “Only you could get married with your ex-husband standing in the room. Never mind. Go on.”

I named all the names I knew for the faces in the crowd, ending with, “and of course, Henry Kozlowski and his staff.”

“You mean Henri from the gala? That's amazing,” Strutter murmured. “Okay, I'm up to speed. Give the phone to Margo, and let's do this.”

I complied happily and took Armando's arm.

“Okay now?” Julie asked.

“Good to go,” I assured her. Relieved laughter rippled through the room, and half a minute later, Armando and I each said, “I do,” while Margo held the phone up in the air so Strutter could hear us. It wasn't the same as having her there in person, but it was way better than not having her there at all.

After five minutes of hugs and kisses, I insisted that luncheon be served. To Henry's great relief, his menu had held up beautifully despite the protracted delay, and the cheerful clink of silverware on china replaced much of the conversation as hungry guests dug in.

I hadn't seen him arrive, but Margo assured me that John had made it in time to see the ceremony. As soon as I decently could, I buttonholed him in the front hall to see how things had gone with James O’Halloran.

“Okay, I think. Margo put Mary in touch with an attorney who specializes in involuntary manslaughter cases, and from what I know of this case, it definitely qualifies. James might have to do a little time in a minimum security facility, but I really doubt it. He'll also get some help from a professional therapist who can help him deal with the consequences of his actions over the years.”

“What about Mary? How's she doing?”

He chuckled. “She's a real bulldog, that one. It sounds like a funny thing to say, under the present circumstances, but O’Halloran is one lucky guy.”

“So are you, you know. Margo might kill you herself one of these days, but she will also move heaven and earth to keep anyone else from hurting you.”

He grinned at me. “As you would for Armando and as Strutter would for her husband. It's called love, Lady.”

Late in the afternoon, most of the young people drifted out the front door and back to their lives, after assuring Armando and me that the unexpected substitution of bride and groom had been, as one of them put it, “a real hoot.” As Henry/Henri refilled my champagne glass, I looked around at the eclectic group of family and friends who still mingled contentedly in the living room. Armando had put a match to the logs in the fireplace, and Emma and Margo had set out every candle they could find in the house. Added to the glow of the Christmas tree, the effect was warm and mellow.

Across the way stood my brand new husband, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and a plate of wedding cake in the other. Emma and Joey, friends again, kidded each other good naturedly over who would be next to take vows. Full of shrimp, Jasmine dozed by the fire, blessed yet again by the deafness that allowed her to enjoy this moment without alarm, since Gracie still preferred the safety of Armando's bedroom.

In a corner of the dining room, my ex-husband and his new wife chatted easily with the remaining guests, all of whom seemed perfectly at ease with the surprising turn of events. Even Sheila's ditzy mother had found the perfect companion in our crazy neighbor Mary. The two cackled gleefully as they swapped stories on the couch near the fireplace.

Armando caught my eye and raised his glass. I blew him a kiss in return.
Today's extended family,
I thought.
Welcome to suburban America in the new millennium.
It might not work for everyone, but against all odds, it seemed to work for us. Throughout this bizarre holiday week, we had been with the people we cared about and who cared about us in return.

Images from the past few days chased each other through my mind. Sister Marguerite and the good folks at the UCC struggling to tend to those in need … Margo and Strutter dropping everything to help out at the gala … Armando appearing on Christmas eve with a stray cat under his coat … the swelling organ music in the cathedral … dear John guiding us through the O’Halloran situation … the coyotes feasting on our ruined turkey … Strutter's mom flying straight to her daughter's side in her time of need … James O’Halloran, willing to vanish into exile to spare his wife one more moment's pain … Mary O’Halloran standing on tiptoe to cuss out her husband and then hug him … the burly truck driver who stopped traffic to allow a goose to cross the road … Emma and Joey squabbling, then making up … and now this surprising gift of a new beginning with a man I adored.

John Harkness had been absolutely right, I decided as I gazed at the dilapidated angel atop our tree. She had seen us all through half a century of good years and bad, and still she perched on the topmost twig, a little the worse for wear but still hopeful. Christmas wasn't always wrapped in holiday carols and tinsel. It didn't have to be roast goose and chestnuts on an open fire, however that worked anyway. It was about love in its many varieties, all of them wonderful and life affirming, and that spelled Christmas to me.

Saturday, March 20
^th

N
o
matter how long you live in New England, spring always comes as a delightful surprise. January seems to last forever, but suddenly it's mid-February, and you're not driving home from work in the dark anymore. March comes howling in, usually accompanied by a big, wet snowstorm. Then one morning, there's a softness in the breeze, and you notice that the robins are back. You can smell damp earth, and yes, the crocuses are pushing up on the sheltered side of the front porch. You find yourself smiling at strangers for no particular reason.
Made it through another one
, we say as we turn our faces toward the sun.

In precisely that frame of mind, Margo, Strutter and I sprawled luxuriously on the benches grouped to the side of the Keeney Memorial Cultural Center on Old Main Street. We all sipped at cups of hot coffee Margo had picked up at the diner for us. Baby Olivia staggered along next to her mother's bench, holding on for dear life and drunk with the power of being vertical. Rhett Butler, Margo's adoring chocolate Lab, looked on with appropriate avuncular attentiveness.

“For once, the first day of spring actually feels like it,” Margo observed. Her eyes were closed as she basked in the promising warmth.

“Mmmm,” Strutter agreed, “but I have more reasons than that to be happy this spring.”

Margo opened her eyes, and I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“For one thing, nobody in my house currently has the flu, and for another, I'm not nine and a half months pregnant like I was at this time last year.”

We agreed that those were excellent reasons for celebration.

“Besides, it's Margo's turn to welcome a new addition to the family,” she added.

My jaw dropped, but Margo remained composed. “Yup,” she agreed cheerfully. “Rhett here is goin’ to be a daddy, so to speak.” The dog panted happily at the sound of his adored mistress's voice. “I couldn't bring myself to go with John to the rescue center. I'd want to bring every one of those darlin’ puppies home. So John picked out our baby girl. At least, that's what he says, but it's my personal feelin’ she picked him out. She's a mixed breed with enough big dog in her gene pool to make her a good size when she's fully grown.”

“I hope they turn out to be better friends than Jasmine and Gracie,” I said, thinking of recent hostilities between my two felines. We had wanted to give Jasmine a new interest in life, but so far, her main interest in Gracie seemed to be hissing and spitting at the newcomer. “Well, at least Jasmine isn't sleeping twenty-four hours a day, and her appetite has certainly improved.”

Olivia lurched her way to the end of the bench nearest to me and held out one hand. Bits of leaves and twigs were clutched in her pudgy fingers.

“Ngah?” she inquired, staring at me intently.

“Very nice,” I agreed. “Go show them to Auntie Margo.” I helped her negotiate the turn, and she tottered laboriously in Margo's direction as Strutter chuckled.

I contemplated Old Main Street over the rim of my paper cup. The effects of the past year's disastrous economy were all too evident. Comstock Ferre, the gardening center that had anchored the little business district for as many years as I could remember, had closed its doors, as had Mainly Tea, our beloved tea shop. A Space to Let sign flapped forlornly in front of the Law Barn, the former home of MACK Realty.

Still, signs of hope were popping up all over town. A new pasta shop had opened on the Silas Deane Highway and seemed to be doing very well. The new owners of the Henstock sisters’ crumbling Victorian on the Broad Street Green had turned it into a breathtaking bed-and-breakfast that was enjoying good word of mouth. Abby Dalton, who owned the Village Diner, had taken on a new waitress to accommodate an uptick in business, and even now, painters were busy spiffing up the exterior of the drugstore down the block from us.

Of even more interest to the three of us, the real estate market, which had all but dried up in the past year, was finally showing signs of returning life.

“Wonder who has that listin’?” Margo peered at a For Sale sign in front of a genteel bungalow on Church Street across the way from us. “I can't quite see it from here.”

“Bet you could see it if you wore your glasses for once in your life,” Strutter told her. She wriggled around to have a look. “Prudential. Huh.” Her tone said it all.
Wish we had the listing,
was our common thought and was, in fact, the reason for our gathering this morning.

“So, do you think it's time to reopen MACK Realty?” I asked the question for all of us.

“Since we still represent Vista Views, we never really closed, technically speaking,” Strutter reminded me.

“You know what I mean.” I nodded in the direction of the Law Barn.

“It's too soon to risk the expense of rentin’ a big place like that, especially since Emma and Isabel have set up shop in that cute little place in Glastonbury,” Margo stated. “I think the two of you should look for a place like that. You know, small and manageable.”

Strutter and I exchanged a look. “The two of us?” I asked carefully.

Margo caught my tone and reached over to pat my knee. “Don't go getting’ your knickers in a twist, Sugar. I'm not abandonin’ ship. I'll still do Vista Views and take an occasional house listin’, but more than that would interfere with my campaign.”

Now she really had our attention. “Campaign?” we chorused, thunderstruck.