Read Christmas On Nutcracker Court Online
Authors: Judy Duarte
Christmas On Nutcracker Court (8 page)
“You're right.” It hadn't been easy to lose a husband, either.
“Have you tried to find replacements?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, but we haven't had much luck. And now with Helen gone, there are only three of usâRosa, Lynette, and me. So we probably won't be playing much poker.”
“I'm sorry.” Maggie placed a gentle hand on Susan's shoulder. “It sounds like it'll be a lonely Christmas season for you.”
It would be especially lonely for Susan and Lynette. Rosa had a husband and children, so she'd never miss a beat. But rather than say anything that might result in sympathy or pity, Susan didn't comment.
After Maggie added tea service for Rosa and Lynette, she studied the mango-coconut cake. “That's so pretty, I'm going to hate cutting into it.”
A surge of pride welled up inside, and Susan was glad she'd gone to all the trouble.
“Helen keeps a sterling-silver cake knife in her hutch,” Susan said, pushing her chair away from the table. “I'll get it.”
But before she could take two steps toward the formal dining room, the doorbell rang.
“That must be the others,” Susan said. “I'll let them in.”
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Lynette Tidball stood on Helen's front stoop, her newly manicured hands lifted to protect the nails that had been polished a pretty shade of Christmas red, the tips trimmed with tiny stripes of green and white.
“Hey,” Susan said, as she swung open the door and stepped aside to let Lynette in the house. “You're late. But your nails look good, as usual.”
“I'm sorry,” Lynette said. “There was an accident on Seaview Drive, and traffic was backed up for blocks.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“I think so. Paramedics were working on someone, but I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman.”
As they crossed the living room and headed toward the kitchen, Susan said, “What did you do? Spend the morning at the salon?”
“No, just long enough for a manicure. I actually canceled my hair appointment so I could meet you here.”
“Well, I'm glad you were able to shuffle things around. And for what it's worth, I like the longer length of your hair.”
“Thanks,” Lynette said. “But I'm ready for something different. What do you think about me adding highlights and shortening it a couple of inches?”
Susan laughed. “Honey, you're too funny. You'd look good if you dyed your hair purple and shaved it into a Mohawk style.”
“Yeah, right.”
Susan clicked her tongue. “What are we going to do with you, Lynnie? You always look as though you just stepped out of a fashion magazine, and you've got more money than the Rockefellers. Yet you don't seem to realize just how much you have going for you.”
Lynette slowly shook her head, her mind flooding with thoughts, as well as an argument or two. Sure, she'd come a long way from a crummy childhood, but deep inside, she still felt like that geeky little girl from the other side of the tracks, the shy and awkward young woman who'd had crooked teeth and vision problems that had hampered her ability to read and learn in school.
Yet through some miracle of miracles, that mousy young woman with a slew of defects had somehow touched Peter Tidball's heart, become his wife, and entered his storybook world.
So wasn't it any wonder that she still had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming about the way her life had turned out?
“Have you heard from Rosa?” Susan asked, as they headed for the kitchen. “Is she going to be able to join us?”
“I'm afraid not. She has another commitment. Apparently, she and her husband deliver meals to housebound seniors on Wednesdays.”
Susan's steps slowed. “Since when? Is that a new project they've taken on?”
“Yes, I think so. It's so hard to keep up with all the volunteer work they do.”
As they entered the kitchen, the teakettle began to whistle, and Helen's cousin removed it from the heat.
After Susan made the introductions, Maggie reached for a pot holder.
Lynette tried to spot a family resemblance in the middle-aged blonde, but couldn't see it right off. Helen's hair was a bright Irish red, although the color came from a bottle these days. And Maggie's was the color of pale moonbeams.
“Have a seat,” Maggie said, as she carried the teakettle to the table.
As Lynette watched Helen's cousin pour hot water into the china cups, her gaze landed on the cake in the center of the table, and she turned to Susan. “Oh, my goodness. Did you make that?”
Susan smiled. “Everyone kept asking when I was going to whip up my mango-coconut recipe again, so I decided today was as good a day as any.”
“I'm glad you did. That cake is to die for.”
“With your sweet tooth, Lynnie, I'm surprised that you don't take some baking classes and utilize that fancy oven of yours.”
Lynette might have a state-of-the-art kitchen in her custom-built house, thanks to Peter's insistence, but she rarely used it. And for good reason.
But not one she wanted to share.
“Why should I go to the trouble of learning how to cook?” she asked Susan. “My best friends are all talented bakers and chefs. And they're more than willing to share the fruits of their culinary labors with me.”
As Lynette reached for a tea bagâsomething herbalâSusan crossed her arms. “Every woman should know how to cook and bake, Lynnie, especially you. What if you get married again and your new husband doesn't want to eat all of his meals in restaurants?”
Lynette had certainly lucked out when she'd stumbled upon Peter, no doubt about it. But what were the chances that she'd find another man who was so gentle, kind, and generous? One who understood her quirks?
One who'd become the father figure she'd never had?
“I'm not looking for a husband,” she reminded Susan. “But even if I was, I'd be as big as a barn if I spent too much time in my kitchen.”
“Cut it out, Lynnie.” Susan, who claimed to be about twenty pounds overweight, clicked her tongue. “You're the last one in the world who needs to diet.”
Oh, yeah?
Lynette had a natural inclination to eat her feelings, which was why, in high school, she'd weighed nearly two hundred pounds.
Lynette had a natural inclination to eat her feelings, which was why, in high school, she'd weighed nearly two hundred pounds.
But as usual, she let the comment go. The Lils had no idea how difficult it was for her to maintain her weightâor how important it was for her not to slip back into self-destructive patterns.
So instead of letting the conversation continue, she scanned Helen's cheerful kitchen, with its bright yellow walls and white eyelet curtains. The room had provided a great backdrop for girl talk over the years. And in spite of being a little outdated, it had a cozy, down-home feel about it.
As Maggie placed dessert plates on the table, Susan said, “I'd better get that cake knife.”
When she returned to the kitchen, she cut three generous slices for them to eat, then took a seat.
“Are you going to play poker with us on Thursday?” Lynette asked Maggie.
“I'm not really a gambler,” Helen's cousin said.
Neither was Lynette. Even if her accountant insisted that Peter had left her financially secure, she had a deep-seated awareness that money was hard to come by, especially these days.
She still remembered how little she'd had while growing upâthe hunger she'd felt some evenings when there'd been no dinner to be had, the uncertainty of where she'd spend the night. So she understood Maggie's concern.
To be honest, she sometimes had to force herself to cough up twenty dollars each week to buy into the poker game, but she was glad to be one of the Diamond Lils, and playing poker was a big part of who they were.
Besides, even if she never won a pot, the weekly investment was a lot cheaper than therapy.
“I'll put up the money for you the first time,” Susan told Maggie. “So you don't have to worry about gambling.”
Lynette didn't know why Susan didn't just drop it. Clearly, Maggie wasn't all that interested in playing, so Lynette added, “Poker is really secondary to us getting together on Thursdays.”
And that was so true. Lynette had come to see the Lils as her sisters, mothers, and friends.
Maggie added a spoonful of honey to her tea, then gave it a quick stir. “I'm sure you're missing Helen and your Thursdays together. But may I make a suggestion?”
Susan, who'd taken the cake knife to the sink and was rinsing it off, glanced over her shoulder and said, “Please do.”
“Why don't you do something different, something special while she's gone?”
Intrigued, Lynette sat up a little straighter. “Like what?”
“Like be a blessing to someone else, someone who's struggling and down and out.”
Susan took her seat at the table. “Who do you have in mind?”
“Well, there are a lot of charitable organizations that need volunteers, as well as donations,” Maggie said. “And it might give your group a whole new focus, at least during the holiday season.”
“You're probably right,” Susan said, as she opened a packet of Earl Grey and dropped the tea bag into her cup of water.
Lynette had to agree that the idea certainly had merit. While growing up, she'd benefited from various charitable organizations, as well as the church and school.
Susan glanced across the table at Lynette. “What do you think? Do you want to help the underprivileged this Christmas?”
“Are you talking about giving our time?” Lynette asked, knowing she had plenty of that.
“And money,” Maggie said.
The little girl inside wanted to hang on tight to what she'd managed to accrue as an adult, so Lynette was pretty selective with the checks she wrote.
“It wouldn't have to be money,” Susan said. “We can make Christmas cookies and deliver them to the soup kitchen.”
“I'm not going to bake anything,” Lynette said, “but I'd be happy to make the deliveries.”
Then, on second thought, she probably should offer to help Susan bake. The poor woman's dyslexia sometimes worked against her when reading a recipe.
Interestingly enough, Lynette thought, as she lifted her fork and dug into her slice of cake, Susan never screwed up that mango-coconut recipe.
Still there were other dishes and goodies, the recipes for which she hadn't committed to memory, that sometimes went awry.
Lynette wouldn't hurt Susan for the world, but once she'd made a salty batch of brownies that had made the Lils swear off chocolate for months.
Wouldn't it be awful to give a batch of cookies to the disadvantaged when the sugar and salt measurements had been transposed?
But as she opened her mouth and bit into the forkful of cake, and the moist and sweet tropical flavors blended in her mouth, she closed her eyes and savored the heavenly taste.
“Are you sure you can't spare even a little of your poker winnings for charity?” Maggie asked.
They probably could. They'd set aside a lot of money for that tripâmore than they'd need. Lynette couldn't be sure, but she'd tried to keep a mental count of the total over the years and figured that they'd accumulated close to five thousand dollars, although Susan, who was the group treasurer, would know the exact amount.
Either way, Lynette would hate to see them blow the whole wad on the trip. So she said, “Maybe, after we get back from Laughlin, we can donate whatever is left.”
Susan nodded in agreement.
As Maggie lifted her teacup, she glanced out the kitchen window for a moment or so, then she returned the cup to the saucer without taking a sip. “I understand how you feel, since you've been saving for so long. But my father once told me a story that changed my attitude about giving and doing for others. Would you mind if I shared it with you?”
Susan glanced at Lynette, then shrugged. “Go ahead. Let's hear it.”
Maggie smiled and settled back into her seat. “A long time ago, a poor man named Adam was out seeking work so that he could support his widowed mother and his sister. The taxes were due on the run-down cabin they called home, and the pantry was growing bare.
“So Adam walked for hours along a country road and talked to several farmers, asking for work. But he couldn't find anyone willing to hire him.”
Lynette glanced at Susan, who was studying Maggie with a furrowed brow and a quizzical look, clearly wondering where the woman was going with the story.
“Adam eventually grew worried,” Maggie continued, “so he took a seat on a large stump that sat at the side of the road. Then he bowed his head and prayed for a miracle. When an hour had passed without any sign that his prayer had been answered, he got to his feet. He was prepared to return home empty-handed, when he spotted an old man approaching. The gray-haired man carried a large sack over his shoulder, and he was noticeably stooped by the weight of his burden.
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