Between These Walls (34 page)

“What is this event, anyway?” asked Gabe.

Through her pasted smile, Ellen replied, “It’s an auction to benefit a charity in Cleveland, one that offers extracurricular programs for underprivileged kids.” With a gesture of her head toward the guests, she said, “See all those people sitting out there?”

Hunter and Gabe nodded.

“Most of them donate a lot of money to the place. Some don’t donate anything yet, but they’re wealthy enough to give a lot, so they got invited, too.”

“How’d they select you for this catering job?” Hunter asked.

“Brendan’s mom is on the charity’s board of directors and recommended me for the gig. I suspect she had an ulterior motive, though: I think she hoped to hear people rave about her future daughter-in-law’s cooking.”

As if on cue, a woman rose from one of the tables and made her way toward them, her hair a perfect shade of silver, wrapped in a bun fit for a gala. The woman wore a full-length gown and held aloft a glass of white wine in one hand.

“Speaking of my mother-in-law-to-be, here she comes,” Ellen murmured, donning a facial expression more chipper than she’d worn thus far.

As the woman drew near, a married couple approached her and engaged in a brief conversation before accompanying her to the buffet line. The couple looked close in age to Brendan’s mother, their demeanors modest.

“Hello, Ellen,” Brendan’s mother said. Her skin looked so smooth, it defied her age. Hunter wondered if her hair color was prematurely gray like Steve Martin’s.

When she and Ellen greeted each other with European-style kisses on each cheek, Hunter almost burst out in laughter. Oh, he could tease Ellen about this for years to come. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gabe, too, trembled from stifled laughter. Hunter nudged Gabe with an elbow to the ribs to get him to stop before it became contagious.

“Ellen, I’d like you to meet Ron and Julia Napoli,” said Brendan’s mother, a picture of graciousness. “This is my future daughter-in-law, Ellen Krieger.”

A cordial Ellen shook hands with the couple. “How nice to meet you! This is Hunter Carlisle and Gabe Hellman, friends of mine who offered their assistance tonight.”

“I’m Joyce Pieper,” said Brendan’s mother to Hunter and Gabe. “Thank you for taking care of my Ellen.”

Pleasantries and shaking of hands all around. When Joyce held her wineglass aloft, Hunter noticed lipstick marks on its rim.

“I’m going to boast a little about my future daughter-in-law,” Joyce said. “She designed the menu for tonight and prepared the meal.”

Ron and Julia responded with genuine
Ah!
expressions as Joyce beamed at their reactions.

“Have you been involved with this charity long?” Ellen asked the couple.

“We’ve supported it for the last few years. A wonderful organization,” Ron said. “You and I have something in common, Ellen.”

“Really? Do tell.”

Do tell?
By Hunter’s estimation, Ellen’s response to most people would have been “Get outta here!”, and chances were fifty-fifty she would have thrown in an expletive for good measure.

“I assume you began your catering business from scratch,” Ron said.

“I did indeed, sir.”

“I began my business from scratch, too. I used an old family recipe to create the pizza sauce.”

“Ron and Julia own the local Napoli Pizza restaurant chain,” Joyce chimed in.

Ellen blinked once, the way she did when someone had impressed her, but she kept her cool.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t put two and two together,” Ellen said. “I can only imagine how it must have felt to see your restaurant grow from one location to—”

“The second-largest chain in northern Ohio,” Julia said, her lips pressed together. “The opportunities for expansion are prime. I’d like to see us move quicker than we do. Ron prefers to keep the intimate, family feel.”

“So you and your husband make all the business decisions together?”

“Oh heavens, no, dear.”

“Julia involves herself in full-time charity work,” Joyce Pieper said. “In fact, she’s one of our most critical friends here. We couldn’t benefit the youth of Cleveland to the extent we do without her support.”

“So you volunteer with the children the charity helps?”

“Julia helps us make important decisions for how we
operate
the charity,” Joyce said. “We’d like to have her on the board one day, but I’ve yet to convince her.”

“How wonderful for you, Mrs. Napoli,” Ellen said with another winning, plastered smile. Julia pressed her lips together into a tight smile in return.

Julia Napoli sent chills across Hunter’s flesh, and from the telling look in Ellen’s eyes, he suspected she affected Ellen the same way. The more Hunter listened to them talk, the more he realized Julia knew her husband’s business as well as he did. Much like a first lady married to a president—no official position, but perhaps greater influence than the most trusted advisors. For his part, though, Ron Napoli seemed rather kind, a grandfatherly type. Julia, however—well, Hunter couldn’t see kids as a thrill for her.

Hunter looked toward the floor and noticed Ellen’s foot squirming against the carpet, out of sight of her mother-in-law and the Napolis. If given the chance, Hunter knew Ellen would have bolted for the door.

“If I may inquire,” Ron said to Ellen, “where do you base your operations?”

“For my business? I handle everything at my home for now.”

“Nothing wrong with starting out in your home. Julia and I—this was decades ago—lived in a tiny apartment above our first little location in Parma. The pizza oven helped keep the apartment warm.” Ron’s eyes gleamed as he reminisced. “Those were quite the days.”

Hunter had no doubt Ron Napoli, a successful businessman, must possess a firm edge to manage his operations and employees while fending off his competition. Yet he also had an air of childlike innocence. Hunter wondered if Ron even suspected he had received tonight’s invitation due to his capacity to write a hefty check. His wife, on the other hand, appeared fully aware and absent of complaint.

“We should probably return to our seats,” Joyce cut in, checking her watch. “The program will begin in a minute or two.”

“In that case, I wish you the best in your endeavors,” Ron said, shaking hands with Ellen, then with Hunter and Gabe. His wife followed suit, switching her wineglass from right hand to left. Ron’s handshake felt warm and fleshy, while his wife’s felt wiry and cold, chilled by the glass of wine.

“It was lovely to meet you!” Ellen called as they parted ways. Julia peered over her shoulder and offered one taut blink of the eyes.

Once again, the room offered nothing but the loud hum of indiscernible voices. As she gazed upon the crowd, Ellen maintained her professional smile, which impressed Hunter.

“I hate games,” Ellen murmured. “I love to cook—that’s why I enjoy my business. But the fawning and behaving like someone I’m obviously not ...”

Hunter watched as Ellen examined from a distance her future mother-in-law, who floated from table to table, exchanging pleasantries. The tap on a microphone sent a low boom throughout the room and drew Hunter’s attention to the podium, where the host asked if everyone could please take their seats for the evening. He would announce the winners of the silent auction in a moment, but first, he offered a word of thanks to Joyce Pieper for organizing the event with such finesse. A polite round of applause followed, to which Joyce responded with her best Queen Elizabeth wave.

When Hunter returned his attention to Ellen, he found her stare frozen in place, a longing in her eyes, the longing of a child reaching out for help.

“This is my future with Brendan’s family. These are the games they’ll expect me to play for decades to come,” Ellen said to Hunter. “Someone shoot me in the leg right now.”

“Brendan isn’t like that, though, is he?”

“No ... but being expected to act that way to please my in-laws, to avoid embarrassing them at this function or that one—isn’t that living a lie? Trapped into being someone I’m not?”

Hunter gazed to his left, where Gabe had overheard Ellen’s words. His eyes darted from Ellen to Hunter and back to Ellen.

From the podium, the host continued with the results of the silent auction.

“The first item for sale was an original painting by a local artist ...”

CHAPTER 31

Hunter could smell the dampness of snow melting on his winter coat as he and Gabe stepped through the garage door and into Hunter’s kitchen, where they left their wet shoes on the doormat and tossed their coats on two chairs to dry. Both men shivered from the December cold. Once inside, Hunter felt his fingers begin to thaw.

They had returned from a Christmas Eve service at Gabe’s church, a large church like Hunter’s. The Presbyterian environment featured a culture different from that to which Hunter had grown accustomed over the years, but its traditional feel seemed a perfect match for Christmas. Hunter hadn’t recognized a soul there, and Gabe, the quiet type who tended to engage in social interaction only when necessary for business, had waved hello to a few individuals but engaged in little conversation otherwise. For those with whom Gabe had spoken, he introduced them to his friend Hunter. They had extended to Hunter an affable welcome absent of suspicion.

Now Hunter made his way to the living room, where he built a fire in the fireplace. Gabe retrieved from the pantry a jug of apple cider, which he emptied into a pot to simmer on the stove. After a quick search through the kitchen drawers, he found a ladle. When steam began to rise from the pot, Gabe fixed two mugs of cider and brought them to the living room, where a fire crackled to life in the fireplace.

Gabe handed Hunter a mug of cider. They settled onto the sofa, where Hunter grabbed the television remote and flipped through Christmas programs. From their view through the front window, where Hunter had opened the curtains, they watched snowflakes fall in clusters.

When Hunter came across
A Christmas Carol
with George C. Scott, Gabe put his hand on Hunter’s to stop him from surfing channels.

“I love this movie!” said Gabe. “George C. Scott is the ultimate Scrooge.”

Hunter couldn’t help but smile at Gabe’s childlike manner, the way his face lit up. “Is this your favorite Christmas movie?”

Gabe considered the question, then said, “I like the older version better overall, the one in black and white. It doesn’t get better than those old classics.” His visage softened as he peered into Hunter’s eyes. “Okay, your first-impulse answer: Favorite Christmas movie of all time?”

Hunter chuckled. “I’m more of a
Christmas Vacation
comedy guy.”

“What! That’s not a Christmas movie! I mean, it
is,
but not really.”

“It’s the best Christmas movie of all time!”

“Oh, please!”

“I’ll meet you halfway: Chevy Chase as Scrooge.”

“Now
that
would be awesome!”

With that, they shook hands to seal the deal.

“Is it strange not being with your family at Christmas?” Gabe asked.

“It’s different.” Hunter replied, then reconsidered his response. At first, he grew shy and had trouble meeting Gabe’s gaze, but when their eyes locked, Hunter found comfort. A desire to speak words of honesty rose within him. “It’s
better,
” he clarified.

Gabe’s eyes softened. “That was nice,” he said. Another beat, then he asked, “Didn’t your family wonder why you didn’t come along, though?”

“With the job loss, they know I haven’t been in a party mood. I told them I’d find a friend to hang out with.”

“You knew you’d spend Christmas with me before
I
did, didn’t you!”

“Yes.” Then Gabe’s question about family triggered in Hunter another consideration. “But what about your mom? Won’t she think it’s odd you didn’t spend Christmas Eve with her?”

“No, she won’t care. Mom never does much on Christmas Eve. Maybe it’s a holdover from losing Dad all those years ago, when she tried to get through the holidays without him. Maybe shortening the Christmas celebration into one day helped her cope. Anyway, with Mom, it’s all about the
actual day,
no previews. She’ll head to her church for a midnight service. She knows I went to my church tonight.”

They sipped cider and watched as George C. Scott spoke to a giant ghost adorned in a green robe and curly, shoulder-length hair, at which Hunter felt tempted to poke fun, but opted against it.

“Oh, we almost forgot!” Hunter set his mug on the coffee table with a clink.

“What?”

Scurrying over to the Christmas tree nestled beside the fireplace, Hunter sat cross-legged and waved Gabe over to him. “Gifts!”

Two wrapped gifts lay underneath the tree. One gift each, a twenty-dollar limit, as they had agreed upon a few weeks before. Hunter lifted one of the gifts and handed it to Gabe. The package was a small rectangle about an inch thick. Hunter tried to hide a smirk; he couldn’t have timed this better if he tried.

“Merry Christmas,” said Hunter.

Gabe took his time, running his finger along the edges before sliding it between the layers of paper. At the bottom of the gift, where Hunter had taped one flap, a bulge stuck out, soft as a pillow. Hunter had wound up with a bit too much paper and had tried to tuck it all in to make it look presentable.

“Nice wrapping job,” said Gabe with a witty purse of his lips.

“It’s not my forte.”

“Are these Christmas candles printed all over the paper?”

“You’re one of the most perceptive people I’ve met. They’re birthday candles.” Hunter shrugged. “I wrapped it right before you got here earlier. All I could find in my house was birthday paper. You’re lucky it was wrapped. Usually, I leave it unwrapped on the person’s table by accident and forget I left it there, then they find it and want to know why the thing’s sitting on their table. Kinda takes the fun out of the surprise.”

“I can imagine.” Gabe smirked and continued unwrapping his gift. When he discovered its contents, he rolled his eyes and laughed. “It’s scary how ridiculous you are.”