Chapter 6

6

Stef refused to sit home on a Saturday night. She'd rounded up a cou ple of friends and gone to Carol's Place for those sliders and peppermint martinis. They'd stuck around for part of Christmas karaoke and made fools of themselves, singing Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas Is You." Two tipsy men took the song to heart and offered to buy the women drinks, then wound up at their table. They were loud and obnoxious boors. In fact, one of the boors Stef knew on sight. He worked in the frozen food department at the grocery store.

"You're the hottie from the store," he'd declared. "You can melt my frozen corn dogs anytime."

This was what came of putting yourself out there on a karaoke stage. The jests had gotten stupider and cruder, and she'd remembered she had work to do at home. Those bozos confirmed it; every man in Carol was a loser.

So, now here she was, parked on her couch with a latte, a pile of handwritten letters and her laptop, pulling together the next edition of the Carol Clarion 's Letters to Santa page.

She loved doing this page, although it did make her a little wistful. She'd envisioned herself helping a child or two of her own write a letter to Santa by this point in her life.

Richard had stalled and stalled. She'd finally convinced him they needed to get moving. They didn't move far. She'd miscarried. Sometimes she told herself it was for the best. With her twenty-twenty hindsight, she could see Richard would have made an awful father.

But she would have made a good mother, she was sure of it. She was a good aunt, after all. A great aunt, no pun intended. Natalie's son, Warner, adored her. Or course, Warner adored anyone who would build LEGO creations with him.

She had a job she loved and a great family. Maybe it was time to forget the man quotient and start her family by adopting. There were plenty of kids in the world who needed a good parent.

Meanwhile, back to work.

She giggled as she went through the latest batch of letters. A couple of them were silly and obviously sent in by children who had passed the age of believing but weren't too old to enjoy a prank. Yo, man, I want my two front teeth , wrote one. I been waiting for years. When are they coming?

Snort. Some smart-ass's grandparent had inspired this letter with that old song. Front-tooth dude's letter probably wouldn't make the cut. For sure the letter that begged Santa to run over Grandma wouldn't. Tacky. Besides, there were too many earnest little kids out there, hoping to see their letter on the Santa page.

Pleez bring me a pink instant camera so I can take pictures on Christmas Day , wrote a little girl named Claire.

I want a Legos Avenger Tower!!!!! wrote another child. With all those exclamation points, Stef hoped little Tommy got it.

I want a bow and arrow , wrote another little boy. I promise not to shoot my sister with it.

Please bring me drums , begged ten-year-old Jordy. I asked for my birthday, and Mom and Dad said no. Poor Jordy. Stef suspected Santa wouldn't be able to come through on this request, either.

Dear Jordy, she typed, Santa loves to bring presents to children, but I will have to check with your mom and dad before bringing you drums. They know best. There. Put it right back on Mom and Dad so Santa didn't take the heat.

She had room to answer one more letter for Monday's page. What would be a good letter to end with? She thumbed through the stack, casually reading. Most of the kids wanted toys.

But then she came to a letter that broke her heart.

Der Santa, I wrot last year abot bringing me a new mommy but daddy furgot to mal it. Aunt Jenn is going to for me. Can you bring me a mommy for Christmas? Thank you.

Sincerly,

Corcoran Marks

P.S. I am in second grad. I am geting better at spelling.

She put a hand to her heart. How sad and sweet was this? Of course Corcoran would get to see his letter in the paper.

Dear Corcoran , she began.

And stopped. She tapped a Christmas red nail against her teeth, thinking. What on earth did you say to a child who wanted a mommy? Where was Mommy? Had she run away? Was she dead?

Stef suddenly thought of the old movie Sleepless in Seattle . It was one of Adele's favorites, and it had become one of Stef's, too. The little boy in that had wanted a mommy, and in the end, he found one as Daddy met his future love at the top of the Empire State Building. Stef loved the scene where they all walked happily back to the elevator to go down to a new and wonderful life.

Sigh.

But that was the movies. She frowned. What to do with this letter? It was certainly beyond Santa's powers to bring the child what he wanted. Corcoran's daddy needed to have a long, comforting talk with his son.

This was another case of taking Santa off the holiday hook. She began to type, her fingers flying over the keyboard faster than the old guy's sleigh.

Dear Corcoran, Santa would love to help you, but there is no room in my sleigh for a mommy. Why don't you ask Daddy to find you a mommy? I'm sure he'd like to help Santa out.

She reread her answer. Yes, that was the best possible reply. Maybe Corcoran's dad would read it and...take a trip to the Empire State Building. Or whatever. Her job was to respond in a way that let children know they'd been heard.

But she hoped someway, somehow, little Corcoran got what he wanted for Christmas.

Frankie's cocoa was long gone, and the Christmas movie she'd streamed but paid no attention to was over. And she was still as grumpy as she'd been when she started it.

What on earth was wrong with her? She didn't really want to date Brock, and yet now she was determined to. She didn't want to squabble with Mitch, and yet she had.

She didn't want to be alone, and yet she was.

What she really wanted was to turn back the clock to the days when her life was as close to perfect as a life could get, and she'd thought she had all the time in the world to enjoy it with a wonderful man.

She closed her eyes and envisioned Ike and herself in the living room, slow dancing to Boyz II Men, him singing "I'll Make Love to You." They had just bought the house and were so happy, their future laid out like the yellow brick road.

But then the flying monkeys had come.

Frankie grabbed a sofa pillow and hugged it, sobbing for what she couldn't have. Sometimes loneliness blew in like a biting cold wind, and no matter what fires you built from memory, they weren't enough to keep it away.

"All you have is today," she reminded herself with a sniff as she went in search of tissue. Wasn't that what Adele always said?

So Frankie's today wasn't the romantic, picture-perfect story that yesterday had been. It was still good. And really, yesterday hadn't always been perfect. Grief had encouraged her to paint it that way.

Like all couples, she and Ike had had their share of arguments over the years. He sure hadn't been supportive when she'd shared her dream of opening the shop, had predicted it would be a bad investment. He'd eventually come around, but not before a couple of big-time shouting matches.

He had been glad to be proved wrong, though, and she was glad he'd lived to see her succeed. She was also thankful he'd been around to walk his daughter down the aisle and meet his first grandchild. But sometimes she couldn't help it; she resented the fact that he'd been snatched from her so suddenly.

She wanted him back. She wanted them back. They'd never celebrate a fiftieth wedding anniversary, never take a fancy river cruise like they'd talked about, never sit together in the bleachers at their grandson's baseball games—all those experiences that she'd taken for granted would be there for them in the future had been aborted.

She found a tissue and blew her nose. Dried her tears. That was enough self-pity for one night. Time for bed.

Before turning out the living room lights, she gave her street one last admiring look. There was something so comforting, so all-is-right-with-the-world about the sight of snow-topped houses with colored lights. She could see TVs still glowing behind a couple of living room windows—neighbors finishing up holiday movies. The Martinsons down the street had several cars parked along their curb, a sure sign that they were entertaining their pickleball friends. Mrs. Fortunata's lights were out. At ninety-six, she was an early-to-bed kind of girl.

Adele's lights were still on, and an SUV was parked along her curb, almost in front of the house. Drop-in company? That was hardly surprising. Adele had plenty of friends and was happy.

She'd experienced her share of hard times, though. She'd struggled to cope with widowhood and finish raising her two daughters, impulsively picking a spot on the map and moving them to the town of Carol after Dad died from prostate cancer. With Stef coming along so late, he never lived to see most of the important moments in her life—first date, prom, wedding. Divorce. (Probably a good thing he'd missed that. Richard may have come to bodily harm.)

Adele had struggled but eventually pulled herself out of the deep well of grief and done her best to give Stef, if not a perfect childhood, at least a happy finish in her teen years.

She'd jumped into small-town life with a vengeance, finding a church that she attended when it suited her, taking up line dancing at the grange hall, starting a bunco group. She loved working at the store, baking cookies for regular deliveries to the town's nursing home (and usually drafting Frankie's help) and hosting regular coffee klatches with the neighbors. Then there was the weekly family Sunday dinner gathering after the store closed. Adele always had something in the Crock-Pot, ready and waiting. Over the years, she had pulled busyness around her like Superman's cape, making it her superpower.

Frankie once asked Adele if she didn't have times when she still missed Dad. "Of course I do," she'd replied. "You never stop missing the love of your life. But I can't be like Lot's wife, just standing in place, looking back. There's no rewind in life, Frankie. All we have is forward."

Mom was right. All Frankie had was forward, so forward she would go. And maybe she would go forward enjoying some fun with a sexy younger man.

But she knew she'd never be able to totally commit. She never again wanted to experience the kind of grief she'd felt when Ike died.

Meanwhile, she had enough to keep her busy—Christmas festivities to plan and a shop to run, a daughter and grandchild to enjoy, friends to help.

And a busy day ahead of her.

She took a warm bath to relax herself, then climbed in between the sheets, where she slept well until around midnight, waking up for no good reason.

She wandered down to the kitchen for some warm milk. She needed to get going and bake some cookies soon. Milk without cookies was naked.

Milk heated, she wandered back into the living room to turn on her tree lights. Might as well enjoy them as much as she could. No TVs were glowing behind living room windows now, and the neighbors had all turned off their Christmas lights.

Except for one. Frankie pressed her face against the glass, trying to get a better look at her mother's house. What were Adele's Christmas lights doing on at this hour? Her friends were usually done partying by ten, eleven at the latest. A light was on in the living room, but the drapes were drawn. And whose SUV was that still parked at the curb? Most of Adele's friends drove smaller cars.

Frankie found her phone and called her mother.

"What's wrong?" Adele answered. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Then why on earth are you calling me in the middle of the night?"

"I got up and saw your lights were on." That sounded...snoopy. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine, daughter dear."

"You still have company?"

"Yes, I do. It's a myth that all seniors go to bed with the birds."

Frankie had to chuckle. Adele always had a smart remark ready to dish out. "Okay, I get the message. Have fun."

"And go back to bed, or you'll never make it up in time for early service. At your age, you need your rest."

There was no point trying to come back with a clever quip. Adele would always have the last word. Maybe by the time Frankie reached her mother's age, she, too, would be partying at midnight.

But who the heck was Adele partying with?

"Your mom is a party animal," Viola joked when Frankie saw her at church the next morning. "How did things go with Brock?"

Frankie stared at the coffee in her disposable cup. "The pizza was good." Beyond that, it was hard to put into words how the evening had gone.

"He seems nice."

"He is. But, really, the age gap. Mitch as much as said I wouldn't be able to hold him."

"He did? The stinker! And listen, girlfriend, you got what it takes to hold any man you want."

"I have half a mind to give him a chance," Frankie said. Of course, the other half was solidly against it.

Viola studied her. "Because you're into him or because you've got something to prove to Mitch?"

"I don't have anything to prove to Mitch," Frankie insisted.

"You know he's bound to be jealous."

"That's ridiculous. There's no need. Me seeing Brock wouldn't affect our friendship."

"Yes, it would. You start seriously dating Brock, and things will change between you and Mitch, mark my words."

Frankie didn't want things to change between her and Mitch. She liked what they had and valued his friendship. "Nothing's going to change between us, no matter what," she vowed.

"Okay," said Viola, but she didn't sound convinced.

Adele waltzed into the shop her usual ten minutes after their Sunday 11:00 a.m. opening time.

"Thought I'd see you at church this morning. Did you still have company?" Frankie teased.

Adele didn't take the bait. "I just took my time over breakfast." She pulled her apron out from under the counter and started tying it on. "How was your date last night?"

Frankie would much rather have talked about her mom's social life. "It was okay," she said, and started fiddling with the little display of Natalie's candies near the cash register. She wished she had something to unpack, but Elinor was already on it upstairs, unloading the last of the ornaments they'd gotten in. Maybe a customer would show up.

No customer entered, and Adele was far from finishing this conversation. "Just okay? He seems like a nice man."

"He is. But there's such an age gap. I don't know."

"So what? He's not that young, and you're not that old. Get out and have some fun."

Fun was one thing, but letting her emotions get all tangled up was another. "Speaking of fun, I'm going over to The Coffee Stop. Want a latte?" Frankie asked, putting an end to the conversation.

"Sure. Make sure they give me a double shot of caramel," said Adele, accepting defeat.

"Will do," Frankie promised, and made her escape.

When she returned, Adele was helping a customer, which meant Frankie was safe from motherly lectures. Elinor returned from upstairs a minute later, and Adele thankfully turned the spotlight on her as their shopper left the store with a bag full of goodies.

"Did you do anything fun last night, Elinor?" Adele asked.

"I started that book you loaned me," Elinor replied. "It's really good. I loved the scene where Jock first sees Amanda in the sexy red dress."

Adele nodded. "So true to life. Men often have to see us in a new light—or a new dress—before they really see us."

"I loved the makeover scene," Elinor said, nodding.

A hot dress and some equally hot lipstick, and Elinor would become a whole new woman. "My offer of a shopping spree still stands," said Frankie. "Have you ever had a makeover?"

Elinor's cheeks turned pink, and she shook her head. "I really appreciate the offer, but I don't think I'm the makeover type."

"Everyone's the makeover type," Frankie assured her. "Come on. What do you say? I bet you'd look awfully cute in something Christmassy."

"Oh, I don't know," Elinor began.

"Look. The store's closed tomorrow. I think an employee bonus is in order. Come on. How about we go shopping?"

"An excellent idea," Adele approved. "Getting a new look can be such a confidence builder."

At that moment, Mitch entered the store on the heels of a new shopper. He was carrying a cardboard tray with lattes in it, a man bearing a peace offering.

He took one look at the cups in Frankie's and Adele's hands and said, "Looks like I'm too late. Except, Elinor, you still need a peppermint latte, right?"

Elinor blushed and beamed and took one from the tray he was holding out to her. "Thank you. That's so sweet."

"I can be sweet," he said, winking at her. Then he looked at Frankie.

"When you're asleep," she said.

He followed Frankie as she moved away to see if she could help the newcomer find anything.

"Just looking," said the woman.

As the customer moved farther down the artificial Christmas tree aisle, Mitch lowered his voice. "You done being pissed at me?"

"I don't know."

"Think you'll be done in time for Cop Stop , or do I need to watch it by myself?"

"That depends. You gonna take back what you said?"

"I said a lot."

"Yeah, you did."

He looked heavenward, probably searching for help from whomever the patron saint of men with foot-in-mouth disease was. "I'm sorry I pissed you off. Come over tonight and watch Cop Stop. I'll make Parmesan popcorn."

Parmesan popcorn was his specialty, and it was hard to resist. It was also hard to stay mad at Mitch. He hadn't meant to offend her.

"All right. I'll be over after I'm done at Mom's. As long as you promise not to interfere in my life."

He half chuckled. "Said the woman who only recently was interfering in mine."

She frowned at him.

"Okay, okay. Not gonna say another word."

"Good."

"See you later."

He turned to leave.

"Where are you going with that coffee?" she teased.

"What was I thinking? I'll leave it with Adele."

She trailed him back to where Adele and Elinor stood, filling in a moment of downtime by assembling more of the shop's gift boxes.

"See you later, ladies," he said.

"Thanks again for the drink," Elinor said.

"Anytime," he replied.

Elinor sighed as he went out the door. "He's such a nice man."

"Yes, he is," agreed Frankie. Even though she'd decided it was just as well she'd failed in her matchmaking, it did seem a shame that she had. Men like Mitch were few and far between.

"Do you think Mitch would ever be open to...someone?" asked Elinor.

"I think Mitch already is open to someone," said Adele. "He's not bringing over lattes for me, that's for sure."

Elinor looked toward the door. "Frankie, is the offer of a makeover still good?"

"Sure," said Frankie. If they got Elinor all fixed up like a sexy holiday present, who knew what man might decide to take her home?

"Giving Elinor a makeover is a great idea," Natalie said approvingly. The women cleaned up the last of the family's Sunday supper while Warner and his daddy played with the LEGOs Gram Gram kept on hand for him. "She's not bad-looking."

"A better wardrobe and some makeup, and she'll be great," Frankie predicted.

Adele started the dishwasher. "You ready to make those snacks with Warner now?" she asked Frankie.

"Yep." Frankie moved to the counter where she'd set the bag with the goodies she'd brought over. "Warner, it's time to make treats," she called.

The little boy came racing over, carrying something that resembled an airplane, his father following behind. "Look what I made, Nana," he cried, holding it up for Frankie to inspect.

"Did you make that all by yourself?" she asked, bending over to examine it.

"He sure did," said Jonathan as he moved to the counter to get more coffee.

"The boy's going to grow up to design rockets," Adele predicted.

"Or maybe he'll grow up to be a baker," said Frankie. "You ready to help me?"

Warner nodded eagerly.

"Okay, then, off to the bathroom to wash your hands," said Natalie, herding him out of the room.

"You never did say. How are things going at work?" Frankie asked Jonathan. "Any better?"

He kept his back turned to them. "They're still laying off. I hope I'll be okay."

"I hope so, too," said Frankie. Even if Natalie came to work at the shop full-time, it wouldn't be enough for them to live on. "You know what they say, a good salesman is worth his weight in gold, and you're the company's top salesman."

"Life's always full of challenges," said Adele.

"At least you have each other, and that's nothing to take for granted," said Frankie.

Jonathan nodded but said nothing.

Stef filled in the silence. "I had an interesting letter for Santa. A little boy wrote in, asking Santa to bring him a mommy for Christmas."

"What happened to his mom?" Jonathan asked.

Stef shrugged. "Don't know for sure, but I suspect she's dead."

"What did Santa say to him?" Frankie asked.

"That Santa can't fit mommies in his sleigh. I think Daddy needs to have a talk with his kid."

"You've got to give the boy credit for working every angle," said Adele. "Children are good at trying different ways of getting what they want."

"Poor little guy. I hope he gets what he wants," said Stef. "At least I've let Santa off the hook."

"Maybe you should have told the boy to come see Santa at the Santa Walk and bring his daddy and they could talk," suggested Frankie. Stef would be there, interviewing people and taking pictures for the paper. Who knew? Maybe she and Daddy would hit it off, just like in a Hallmark movie.

"I wouldn't want to put Mitch on the spot. After seeing Santa, the little boy would be convinced he'd be getting one, and I wouldn't want to disillusion him," Stef said. "Kids have to grow up too fast as it is."

Frankie knew she was talking about her own life; when she was five, Stef's daddy had disappeared from her life forever. She, too, had written to Santa, asking him to bring back her daddy. Adele had read the letter and sat Stef down at the kitchen table that very afternoon after school, explaining again about Daddy being in heaven with the angels. Frankie had pretended to be absorbed in her twentieth-century history book, but she'd felt herself tensing and listening.

"I don't want him to be in heaven," Stef had protested.

Adele had pulled her onto her lap and with tears in her own eyes said, "I don't, either, but that's where he is." She'd kissed the top of Stef's head, then set her back on her chair, given her a cookie and fled the kitchen, off to her bedroom to cry.

"Daddy can visit you in your dreams," Frankie had improvised.

Stef had looked at her with such hope. "He can?"

"Of course," she'd said.

Stef had nodded, her tears drying.

The next morning, she'd announced to Frankie that Daddy had visited her and said he loved her. Who knew whether she'd really dreamed about their father or imagined she had? Either way, it had helped. Their father visited Stef again in her dreams, a week later, the night Adele had called the real estate agent about putting their house up for sale.

The house had sold in January, and they'd moved in February, and it had felt like their father wasn't the only one whose life was over. Frankie had balked, and Stef had cried, but in the end, they'd found a new house in Carol, the one Adele still lived in, and life eventually turned onto a pleasant path. Paths never ran straight, though, and they never stayed smooth.

But you had to be grateful for the smooth parts.

Natalie returned Warner to the kitchen, all scrubbed up and ready to create treats. Frankie got her grandson busy taking the wrapping off Hershey's peppermint Kisses and balancing them on top of mini-pretzels.

As they worked, she kept thinking about the little boy who'd written the letter, and his father. If the man was on his own, maybe finding the right woman was exactly what he needed for Christmas. A man who came complete with a little boy—how perfect would that be for Stef?

So much better than Brock.

The treats were put in a warm oven for a couple of minutes, just long enough for the Kisses to soften. Frankie removed the cookie sheet, and with Warner standing next to her on a stool, she demonstrated how to gently press a Christmas-colored M&M into a melted kiss to spread out the chocolate. It took Warner a few tries to find his finesse, but he did.

"Now we'll put them in the fridge to harden, and soon you'll have treats to take home," Frankie promised as he hopped off the stool.

"Yay!" whooped Warner. He pointed to where the rest of the M&Ms sat. "Can I have some candy, Nana?"

"Of course." Frankie picked up the bag. "Hold out your hands."

The little boy held out two cupped hands and squealed in delight as Frankie emptied a small pile of candies into them. "These aren't as good as what your mommy makes, but they run a close second," she said.

"All that sugar—now we'll never get him to sleep," said Natalie as Warner stuffed the candies in his mouth. But she was smiling.

"'Tis the season," said Frankie.

She smiled down at the little angel with the same green eyes as her daughter's and those darling honey-colored curls. Here she was, surrounded by the people she loved. This was what a perfect day looked like. And days like this were what made life worth living—maybe it wasn't the perfect life she'd once envisioned, but it was darned close.

Yes, it was a good life, she thought later as she settled with a big bowl of popcorn into the corner of Mitch's leather couch that she had long ago claimed as hers.

"Glad you're not mad at me anymore," he said as the show started.

"I don't hold a grudge."

"Good. Anyway, you know I'm right."

Her brows pulled down, and she lowered her handful of popcorn back into her bowl. "Right."

"You ought to get busy and match Brock up with somebody."

"Somebody...younger?"

Mitch was too busy watching the car chase on the TV screen to see her frown. "Maybe Elinor. She's sweet. And isn't she about his age?"

There it was again, that insinuation that Frankie wasn't the right age, that she was past her prime. A fifty-year-old woman was not past her prime.

"What are you all of a sudden, Match.com?" she demanded.

He looked at her in surprise. "Just sayin'."

"You sure have a lot to say lately," she said. She stuffed the popcorn in her mouth and ground her teeth on it. Maybe Brock would like to try the peppermint martinis at Carol's Place.