Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Jingle All the Way

T ime flew by once Halloween hit the calendar. It felt as if someone stomped on the gas pedal, and before you knew it, Thanksgiving was just a gastronomic memory, and Christmas was staring you in the face.

Amy was usually the first one to arrive home at the end of the day. She was in a tizzy trying to get her holiday plans nailed down and her shopping finished when she realized, "Oh, geez . . . my passport expired!" She had exactly three weeks to get it together. According to the website, she could get it expedited within fourteen days of travel, which meant she needed to get on the stick, pronto.

Peter walked through the front door and could hear Amy stomping around upstairs.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called out. No answer. Still stomping. Peter looked down at the two felines that were staring at him. "I don't suppose you guys know what's going on." Blinky and Gimpy gave him the equivalent of a cat shrug. Peter set his briefcase down on the bench and then proceeded to climb the stairs. "Amy? Everything alright?" He stepped into the craft and puzzle room and spotted Amy sifting through a pile of papers, files, and receipts. A large brown-paper grocery bag sat crumbled next to her.

"My passport. It expired." She wasn't quite on the verge of tears, but close enough.

"Take it easy. You can go to the passport office tomorrow. Bring your ticket, your expired passport, your driver's license, and your birth certificate."

"That's what I'm looking for."

"Which one?"

"Birth certificate." Amy's face was beet red.

"Okay. Don't panic."

"It's got to be here somewhere," Amy whined.

"Give it here." Peter reached out his arm so she could pass one of the files to him. He slowly and carefully separated the dozens of papers. "Does it say ‘Certificate of Birth'?" He bit his lip, trying to keep from smiling.

"Of course! What else would it say?" She was one second away from hysteria.

"It could say, ‘Proof of an Absent-Minded Professor'." He handed the document to her.

Amy shrieked. "How? But . . . but I went through those already."

"Well, the last person who touched this had something sticky on their fingers. See?" He showed her the smudge that had glued her certificate to an appliance manual.

Amy's eyes fluttered. "Oh, fudge."

"It's okay, honey. It was easy enough to overlook."

"No, I meant it was fudge." She licked her thumb and tried to rub the crusted sugary substance off the document.

"I'll tell you what. After we get back, you and I will go through this mess and separate everything into folders that will be appropriately marked and catalogued."

A tear ran down her cheek. Peter lifted her chin. "Everything else okay?"

Amy let out a big sigh. "Yes. I guess I'm just nervous about everything."

"The trip?"

"Yes, and Christmas, and all of it. I was going to do some holiday shopping for the girls tomorrow, and now I have to spend the day at the passport office."

Peter glanced at the mess on the floor. There was a small stack of photos lying in the corner. "What's that?"

"Pics of us from the reunion, cruise, and Tahoe," Amy said with an air of distraction.

"How about this?" Peter took her by the shoulders and helped her up. "I'll make copies of the photos, and you can make little scrapbooks for everyone. Julia is going to the office supply store tomorrow. I'll ask her to pick up four books. We can go to the website, and you can pick out what you want. Then we can put them together once you get your passport situation taken care of. This way, you won't have to stress out about shopping."

"What about my parents? Your parents?"

"Gift cards to their favorite restaurants. We shall give them an experience instead of a thing." He used air-quotes for thing .

"That's a great idea. Everyone has pretty much everything they need." She gave him a big hug.

"You are so smart."

"Well, you ain't no dummy, professor. Just a little . . ."

"I know," Amy interrupted. "Absent-minded. Sometimes I think brains and common sense are mutually exclusive," she said pensively.

"And that's why you have me," Peter chuckled.

"Who'd have thought I'd fall for a compulsive, organized, numbers geek?"

"You mean there's another man in your life?" Peter feigned a double take.

Amy rolled her eyes and then stared at the mess she had made. "Well, I know Nina is as disorganized as I am."

"Really?" Peter was skeptical. "But she's a writer."

"Her thoughts might be organized, but her office is usually a hot mess. At least from what I've seen during our Zoom calls."

"Interesting." Peter closed one eye and gave it some thought. "How do you suppose she keeps track?"

"She has what she calls her ‘Murder Board.' It's actually a whiteboard, but it's how she plotted the sitcom she was working on. It's kind of genius, if you think about it."

"True. I suppose when you consider writing, it's either on paper or on a computer."

"But it's a process. Having visual cues is very important. I learned about it when we were in high school, and I was working on the school plays."

"Maybe that's why you and Nina bonded. You both needed direction. No pun intended."

Amy laughed. "I think we all need direction from time to time. And look, you gave me direction."

"How so?"

"The scrapbooks." Amy picked up the pile of photos. "Oh, dear me."

"What now?"

"Dear. Me. My purple hair, goofy glasses, and that outfit. How did anyone let me leave the house looking like that?"

"You were in Silicon Valley. You blended right in." Peter chuckled. "The real question is, how did I fall in love with someone who looked like that?"

Amy laughed. "I know. Right? Thank goodness for Marilyn. She peeled off those layers and outfitted me with new ones. It's uncanny how she knew intuitively what I would like."

"Marilyn is worldly and astute. She tuned into your spirit."

"Whoa. Are you waxing philosophical?"

"Am I? My mistake," Peter snickered.

Peter shuffled through the photos. "You are the only one who looks different. Frankie still has the long dark ponytail."

"And the big doe eyes," Amy added.

"Nina, with the headwrap, and Rachael with the pixie hair."

Amy stared at one of the photos from the cruise. "Hmmm."

"What?"

"Someone else has changed a bit." She patted his stomach with the back of her hand.

"Are you saying I've gained weight?"

"Me? No." Amy crossed her fingers behind her back; a little fib wouldn't hurt.

"Huh," Peter snorted. "According to my doctor, I have not gained any weight in the past year."

"That may be true. But this photo"—she held it in front of his face—"was taken two years ago."

Peter put his hands over his ears, pretending he didn't hear her. "What do you say we leave this mess and order something to eat? And, no, not pizza. I want a clean palate for Italy."

"And by the looks of it, you don't need any more dough." She patted his stomach again and giggled.

After careful consideration, Rachael and Randy decided to fly out of New York on the twenty-sixth, arriving in Rome the morning of the twenty-seventh. They would spend two days visiting the usual tourist spots and then take a train to Naples, where they would meet up with Amy and Peter and Giovanni and Frankie. Giovanni arranged for a van so everyone could ride together, and they would pick up Nina and Richard in Pompeii and then head to Baronissi. Once everyone was settled, Giovanni would take them for the "best-a pizza in all the world!"