Songs of Christmas Page 2

  When Amanda returned to the kitchen, it was much quieter and practically empty. Most of the staff had pulled off their aprons and headed home. The few left were busily cleaning, eager to take off after this last task was done.

  The second van stood by the back door, every inch filled with boxes. Molly held the clipboard of orders, along with her keys. “Grab your things, honey. Time to go.”

  After calling out a few final instructions and good wishes to the lingering crew, Molly jumped behind the steering wheel and started the van. Amanda sat on the passenger’s side and quickly fastened her belt. Molly was a good driver, but she was in a hurry, and Amanda knew this could be a wild ride.

  A few minutes later, they were navigating the winding streets of Cape Light. Amanda held the list of orders in her lap and kept track of their deliveries, checking off each one. The streets seemed so quiet, with few people out besides dedicated joggers and dog walkers.

  After living in the city, the town looked different to her. Even more charming. A perfect New England village, like something out of a travel guide or picture book. She hadn’t appreciated it as much while growing up. While she definitely didn’t want to be stuck here forever, there was something comforting about the maze of treelined back streets—the rows of old homes, many true Victorians or vintage cottages—so quaint and impervious to change.

  Molly had held many jobs before starting the catering business, including driving a taxi and a school bus. She knew every street and crooked, curving lane, and she practically knew all the house numbers of her customers by heart.

  When they finally reached the bottom of the list, there were a few boxes left in the van. But those were for their own Thanksgiving dinner. Molly was making the turkey at home. They had so many people coming, they needed two. But all the side dishes and desserts were coming from the shop.

  “If I sell it to other people, it should be good enough for us to eat, too, don’t you think?” she had said to the family.

  Of course, many of their guests, like her aunt Jessica and Grandma Marie, would bring their own special dishes to the dinner. There was never any lack of food at their family parties, that was for sure.

  “Mission accomplished,” Molly announced, taking a turn out of the village center toward the development of newer homes where they lived. “Right on schedule, too. I bet you didn’t believe me when I said we’d be done by noon, did you?”

  “To tell you the truth, when we were all up to our ears in cranberry sauce . . . I did have a few doubts.”

  Molly laughed and patted her shoulder. “Thanks for helping me today. I love this business most of the time, but the holidays get too crazy. Or I’m getting too old for it, especially with Betty away. I do love having you at the shop right now, sweetie, even though it’s just a lily pad for you.”

  “A lily pad?” Amanda laughed and glanced down at herself. “Did I turn into a toad or something? I know I need a shower.”

  “You know what I mean. You’ve been a good sport. But I know working for me is just a temporary thing, a resting spot before you take another leap. Even if you don’t find an opening with an orchestra right away, there must be some job around here that suits you better. More related to music, I mean.”

  “I hope so.” Amanda didn’t mind icing cakes and making gourmet sandwiches, but she didn’t expect to stay at the shop forever either. A job in music, even a temporary one, would be an improvement. Though she had no idea what that job could be. She had studied performance and didn’t have a teaching certificate. She’d considered going back to school to get one but dreaded the thought of more classes, papers, and exams. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to be a teacher. She wanted to play her cello. She didn’t want to just fall into some career path accidentally—or out of desperation. Not yet, anyway.

  “Don’t worry. Something will turn up.” Molly’s words cut into her rambling thoughts, as if her stepmother had read her mind. “We want you to just relax and enjoy the family time. I love having all my girls home. Your father does, too. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. Me and my big mouth, right?”

  Amanda smiled at her. Restraint had never been Molly’s strong suit. “It’s okay, Mom. I know what you’re trying to say.”

  “Do you, honey? I guess what I really want to say is that I understand that this is a hard time for you. We know how dedicated you are to your music, and we know you feel discouraged right now. But it will all work out. You’re so very talented. Anyone can see that. You just need a break. Just one good opportunity. You’ll see.”

  Amanda appreciated her stepmother’s words, though she secretly wondered if they were true. She had always believed she had the talent, skill, dedication, and discipline needed to be a professional musician. Lately, though, she’d begun to doubt herself. She always seemed to get so close only to learn that some other cellist had beaten her out for a good job opportunity.

  When Amanda didn’t answer, Molly glanced at her. “‘If a candle will doubt, it will go out.’ Someone really famous said that. I just can’t remember who it was right now. You don’t want to go out, do you?” she asked, her tone half-serious, half-teasing.

  Amanda shook her head. “No, that doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “Of course not. You’re just getting started.” They had reached the house, and Molly steered the van into the driveway. “I had some bleak times before I met your father. I’d been through a horrendous divorce and was supporting Jill and Lauren all on my own. Working two or three jobs at a time, trying to pay the bills and be a good mom and make something of myself. When I look back, I can see I was usually my own worst enemy.”

  “But you always tried so hard to get ahead. How were you your own worst enemy?”

  “My attitude, sweetheart. I acted very brash, but deep down, I was terrified. My flame was always sputtering.”

  Amanda laughed at the way Molly described herself. “So don’t sputter? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “That’s right.” Molly nodded. “You have all the right stuff, kiddo. No question. Shine on . . . Now, let’s get all this food in the house. We’ll be over twenty with the neighbors and all the Warwicks coming . . .”

  Molly paused and rolled her eyes at the mention of her sister-in-law Jessica’s side of the family. Aunt Jessica’s sister, Emily Warwick, wasn’t the problem. Amanda thought Emily was smart and fun, even though being the mayor of Cape Light all these years gave her a certain air of authority.

  It was Jessica and Emily’s mother, Lillian Warwick Elliot, who got under Molly’s skin. Amanda knew that Molly had once worked as a house cleaner for Lillian. She hadn’t won her approval then and barely did now. But it was gracious of her mom to entertain the snobbish old woman and her husband, Dr. Elliot. It was her father’s connection to Dr. Elliot that had brought them to Cape Light in the first place. Her father specialized in family medicine and had moved to Cape Light to take over Dr. Elliot’s practice when he had retired, which was over ten years ago now.

  Amanda well remembered that fateful day when she and her father had driven from Worcester to Cape Light. Molly had been hired to clean the house they were renting and had been a one-woman welcoming committee to the town, along with her two daughters.

  That was the day Amanda had met Lauren, who became her best friend, and Jillian, who became her little sister. That was the lucky day for everyone, the day their new family had come together for the first time under one roof . . . though they had no way of knowing all that was to come.

  Dr. Elliot was then, and remained, as friendly and obliging as his wife was snobbish and critical. Somehow they balanced each other, and Lillian wasn’t too hard to take at a big party. Amanda knew Molly could handle her.

  “I see your sisters at the window. Tell them to come out and help carry.”

  Amanda waved to her stepsisters, Lauren and Jill. Lauren was her own age and was working in a Boston art gallery after finishing her degree in art history, and Jillian was in her second yea
r of college in Philadelphia, still trying to figure out a major.

  “I hope they set the table and basted the turkeys, like I told them.” Molly jumped out of the van and pulled open the sliding side door. “And I hope they kept an eye on Betty,” she added, mentioning her youngest daughter. “I never know what that child is going to get into.”

  Amanda laughed. Betty was a sweetheart but very mischievous. Named after Molly’s best friend and business partner, Betty Bowman, Betty was six years old and in the first grade. That had been the best thing about moving back home, the chance to spend more time with her. And her other sisters, too, who were just home until Sunday but would be coming back soon for Christmas.

  “So, how’s it going? Any disasters to report?” Molly asked when Lauren and Jill hurried toward them.

  “Everything’s under control, Mom. No worries.” Lauren stepped up and took a box, then turned to Amanda. “Hmm . . . Is that a new perfume you wearing—Eau de Giblets?”

  Amanda couldn’t help laughing. “You’re wasted at the art gallery, Lauren. You should try stand-up.”

  “Sorry, Manda Bear, I couldn’t resist. But you do you look cute in your uniform,” her sister teased.

  “Thanks. You can borrow it anytime. But it might be a little tight on you.” Amanda knew that last part wasn’t true. Lauren had a great figure. But she did love the reaction on Lauren’s face. The score was even now.

  “We had a little smoke in the kitchen,” Jill confessed, grabbing the last box and a bag of bread. “But we put the oven fan on. It’s fine now.”

  “Smoke? That doesn’t sound good.” Molly stopped in her tracks, looking alarmed.

  “We let Betty try the basting thing, and she shot turkey juice all over the place. I told Jill that would happen,” Lauren explained.

  Molly sighed. “As long as nothing is burned . . . Okay, troops, follow me. Let the games begin.”

  Amanda fell in line behind her mother and sisters. She had been tired in the van but now felt a burst of energy. Being around her sisters was like downing a double espresso.

  There are lots of good things about moving back home, Amanda decided as she carried the box of aromatic food into the house. She would try to take her parents’ advice and enjoy being here for the holidays. And not worry so much about finding her dream job.

  At least, not today, Amanda promised herself. Though she did plan to make a grab for one end of that wishbone.

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK, LILLIAN? RED POLKA DOT, OR THIS YELLOW number with the fleur-de-lis?” Dr. Ezra Elliot lifted his chin, waiting for his wife’s opinion on his choice of bow tie.

  Lillian was seated at her dressing table, putting on her earrings. She glanced at him. “The red looks like Christmas, and the yellow one is positively blinding. It’s Thanksgiving, Ezra, not the Fourth of July.”

  Ezra laughed. “I can always count on you for an honest critique, dear. I must say that.”

  “If you don’t want my opinion, why ask at all?”

  Ezra had expected that reply. He heard it at least once a day. “Point taken. So, I’m zero for two. What do you suggest?”

  “The brown or burgundy. Either would match your shirt and vest much better than those two.” She flipped her hand at his closet, then turned back to her reflection in the glass.

  He walked over to his wardrobe, where his ample collection of bow ties hung from a rack. “I can’t find the brown . . . Maybe Mrs. Fallon removed it. I think it had a stain.”

  Their devoted housekeeper, Mrs. Fallon, who cooked, cleaned, and took care of just about everything in Lillian’s huge house, had left a few days ago to visit her family in Connecticut. Her daughter had recently given birth to triplets, and this was the first big family holiday since the babies were born.

  He and Lillian had to muddle along on their own for a few days. They managed, but just barely. Ezra, for one, looked forward to Mrs. Fallon’s return on Sunday night.

  “Well . . . the burgundy one, then. Something more subdued,” Lillian suggested, working on her second earring. She put on her reading glasses in order to undo the clasp. “Where did you get that polka-dot number? At a street fair?”

  Ezra nearly laughed aloud. Calling anything a purchase from a street fair was Lillian’s idea of a very low blow.

  “I think you gave it to me, dear. For Christmas one year.” He knew that wasn’t true, but just said it to rile her a bit. It was really so easy. He had to purse his lips to keep from laughing as he watched her reaction in the dressing table mirror.

  “You are very much mistaken. I would never buy such a thing.” She shook her head, a hairpin at the back of her French twist coming loose. She quickly reached up to fix it. “I’ve never purchased a polka-dot item of clothing in my life. Swiss dot . . . maybe. It was very much in style at one time. But that was long ago.”

  He finally laughed, looking over his bow ties again. “I am joking, Lily. I bought it for myself. In a daring mood. I’ll wear the burgundy today, though. It will do just as well.”

  “Don’t wear it on my account,” she returned, opening a velvet necklace case. “I wouldn’t dream of squelching your spirit.”

  He yanked off the offending neckwear, flipped his collar up, and replaced it with the burgundy. “You never squelch my spirit, Lily. You keep me at the top of my game. Top of my game,” he repeated, winking at her.

  Lillian met his glance and shook her head. But he could see the color rise a shade in her pale complexion. He still got her blushing. And at their age. That was something. A bit of sweetness in his cup, to be sure.

  “Are you done fooling with that knot yet?” She turned as he twisted the silk into a taut, smooth bow, then flattened it with his hand. “Come here, please. Help me do this necklace. I can’t find the catch. My fingers are so stiff today.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I can get it.” He walked over and took the necklace of amethyst beads that matched her earrings and complemented her white hair, blue eyes, and lavender sweater set—cashmere, of course. A silk scarf with a pattern of lavender and pink hues sat on the dressing table, waiting to be draped around her shoulders.

  Lillian had always dressed with taste and elegance. Regally, in fact. She sailed through life the same way. That was one of the qualities that had first attracted him, so very long ago.

  “There you are; all set.” He stepped back once the necklace was fastened.

  She rearranged the beads a moment before drawing her mouth into a frown as she applied her lipstick. Then she slowly rose and checked their reflection as they stood side by side. “Well, here we are. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said decisively. Ezra took her arm and draped it through his own. “You look especially lovely in that color. It suits you.”

  “Really? I think it makes me look a bit anemic. But what can you do? You look smart. Sans polka dots.”

  He turned and smiled at her. “What would I do without you? I could barely dress myself.”

  “You know that’s not true.” She withdrew her arm and picked up her purse from the dressing table. “At our stage in life, we do need to pool our resources. What’s left of them.”

  A harsh observation, perhaps, but Ezra knew what she was saying. They were married late in life and they did rely on each other. More and more as time went on.

  “I think we do surprisingly well together. That’s the main thing I’m thankful for today, Lillian. Having you beside me, as my wife.”

  Lillian met his loving glance a moment and blinked, a sudden glassy sheen in her gaze and a twitch at the corner of her mouth the only clues that gave her away. But Ezra was adept at reading even these small signs. Her heart had been moved by his declaration. He was sure of that.

  She grabbed his hand and squeezed it just a moment. “Enough chatter. We don’t want to be late to the Hardings’. Though there’s always such a crowd at their parties, no one will notice if we’re missing.”

  Holiday parties at Moll
y and Matt Harding’s house were inevitably large, boisterous affairs. Ezra enjoyed them for the most part, though Lillian found them tiring. He would undoubtedly hear the usual critique later this evening.

  But he was pleased to be heading there on Thanksgiving. At his age, every day was a holiday of gratitude. He was thankful just to wake up in the morning, alive and well, and find he’d been blessed with the gift of another day. This day, out of all the rest, was the perfect opportunity to focus and meditate on those sentiments.

  * * *

  THE GATHERING AT THE HARDING HOME WAS JUST AS LILLIAN HAD expected. Too many people, too much food, and far too much noise. She was dismayed to find that the Hardings had acquired an even larger—and louder—TV. Most of the guests were gathered in the great room, off the spacious modern kitchen, watching a football game.

  Including her husband, who had parted from her soon after they arrived. When had he become such a big sports fan? She couldn’t imagine how that had happened. Unless there was something in the drink he had in hand. It looked like ginger ale, but you never knew. He did seem to be competing for the “Life of the Party” prize this afternoon.

  Lillian headed for the living room, hobbling along on her cane. She narrowly missed being knocked over by a pack of overstimulated children, led by that little wildcat, Betty. She looked like an angel with those blond curls, but she was a hellion. Took after her mother, no doubt.

  Lillian settled herself in an armchair tucked into a corner. She had barely gotten comfortable when her own daughter Emily appeared.

  “Are you all right, Mother? Can I get you anything to eat? The appetizers are delicious.”

  Emily offered to share her plate. Lillian waved her hand as if chasing off an annoying insect. “Oh, I can’t eat any of that. I’d be up all night.”

  Emily shrugged and smiled. “I’ll be in the gym all week. But it will be worth it.”

  “What about dinner? When will the real meal be served? I’m ravenous.”