The Stroll
The Parsons family and guests ran their errands and agreed to go their different ways and meet at the pier when Santa arrived at noon.
Florie and Daniel walked to the corner of Orange and Main, where the bookstore was.
They squeezed through the crowd and headed up the stairs to the second floor.
Daniel looked at books about the island’s history and Florie investigated wedding planners and organizers.
She wanted to talk to Mabel, but not while she was strolling.
Stroll made her happy. Mabel and her secret baby made her distracted. Better not to mix the two.
“I’m going downstairs to check the mystery section,” she told Daniel. She gobbled up cozy mysteries and never had enough.
She was standing by the hardback fiction, lost in the delicious trance of choosing a book, when someone next to her said, “Ghosts are always good for Christmas. Just ask Charles Dickens.”
A chill ran down her spine. She knew that voice. She’d spent her senior year of high school lost in love for the voice and the man who was speaking.
“Johnny!” She turned to look up at him, all lanky six feet, his thick blond mop of hair partially hidden by a red-and-white striped elf’s hat, the tail hanging over the shoulder of his worn leather jacket.
“Hey, Florie,” Johnny said, “you’re looking good.”
Florie almost lifted off the floor with happiness. Here he was, this gorgeous man, and she appreciated his entire gorgeousness, but she didn’t feel a twinge of lust or longing.
“I’m feeling great,” she told Johnny, and held up her left hand to show off her ring. “I’m engaged!” For a moment she was pleased at how disappointed Johnny looked at her news, but then she remembered what a con man he was. “How are you?”
“I’m good. You know. One more year and I’ll be working here as a certified vet.”
“Congratulations!” Florie said.
“Johnny Stanley, you rascal!”
Was she hallucinating? No. Her sister really was right there, physically yanking Johnny away from Florie.
Johnny laughed and put his arms around Lydia. “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”
“Johnny, Johnny,” Lydia said in a regretful tone. “When are you ever going to learn to turn it off?”
Johnny grinned evilly. “Baby, I haven’t even turned it on yet.”
“You’re such a phony,” Lydia told him, then darted into the crush to grab Florie’s hand. “Did you show Johnny your ring?” Without waiting for an answer, Lydia said, “Florie’s engaged to an absolutely brilliant man! He’s a poet and a professor and he’s already won prizes!”
Johnny didn’t miss a beat, and it seemed to Lydia that he looked at Florie with real affection. “Congratulations, Florie. I wish you and your poet the best.”
Lydia didn’t wait for Florie to answer. She circled her sister’s hand with her wrist and dragged her toward the street. “Come out here with me. I want to show you something.”
“But—” She wanted to tell her that Daniel was still upstairs.
“Come on.” Lydia tightened her grip.
Florie followed her sister out the doors and onto the crowded brick sidewalks. She waved at Jari, who was standing on the curb watching people and dogs and a clump of women in purple sweaters and matching beanies with very large Stroll shopping bags in their hands.
“What do you want me to see?” she asked Lydia.
“Nothing,” Lydia told her. “I wanted to get you away from that asshole.”
“He’s not an asshole,” Florie protested weakly.
“Florie, you cried for months after you found out he was secretly seeing Diana. I don’t want to go through that again.”
“I’m so over him now,” Florie said. “But you’re sweet to care about me.” Florie hugged Lydia. “You’re such a good sister.”
The crowd around them and in the street was surging away from the shops, down toward Straight Wharf.
“Santa’s coming!” Lydia said.
“I’ll get Daniel,” Florie told her. “We’ll see you and Jari down there.”
—
Brick Three pulled on his camel overcoat and stood very still as Jane fastened a sprig of holly onto the lapel. Jane wore a scarlet overcoat and a matching cloche hat with a sprig of holly attached to the band.
They stood side by side, assessing themselves in the mirror.
“You know what? We look fabulous,” Jane said.
“You look fabulous,” Brick Three said. “But you always do.”
Jane felt all silly-girly at Brick’s unexpected compliment. Often, when she thought they were only an old married couple, he’d say something sweet like that. And they still had some heat between them. Her pregnancy was evidence of that.
“Are you okay?” Brick Three asked. “You look constipated.”
Jane burst out laughing. And that, my friends, is marriage, she thought. “I’m fine. Come on. I don’t want to miss Santa.”
They slipped out the front door and walked down the street along the brick sidewalks.
The sky was blue, the breeze was playful, and the temperature was certainly below freezing.
Jane’s cute red wool gloves weren’t as warm as her padded ones, but her friend Janet had knit them for her and Jane hoped she’d see Janet at the wharf.
They’d become good friends the moment they met and decided they were destined to become friends because they were both Janes only Janet’s had a t.
This close to town was called the historic district, and all the houses had been built in the early or middle 1800s. They seemed very Charles Dickens with their fresh evergreen wreaths on the doors and holly filling the window boxes.
Jane cried, “Oh, look!” about twenty times as she spotted an especially adorable Christmas decoration and Brick Three said, “We’ll miss Santa,” and tugged her along next to him.
As they drew close to Main Street, they saw other couples and groups of friends hurrying toward Straight Wharf.
Jane and Brick Three had come together to see Santa ever since they were teenagers.
The crowds had been smaller then, and not as many off-island people came, but over the years it had become a national holiday destination, and they were lucky if they saw someone they knew.
That didn’t really matter. What mattered was that they were there, together, holding hands, still deeply in love with each other, still exhilarated to be on this island for this celebratory day.
There had been times over their twenty-four years together when they had argued all the way into town and back home again during the Stroll.
And there had been times when Brick Three carried Lydia, and then Florie, and then Lucas on his shoulders to watch Santa arrive with the Coast Guard.
This was a ritual they would honor as much if not more than their wedding anniversary because it was a holiday shared with the entire town.
Jane knew that Brick was proud of his responsibility to the people of this island. She was proud, too, and happy to see so many people, young and old, in the crowd.
“Mom! Dad!”
Jane looked over to see Florie tugging Daniel through the throng to join them.
“Isn’t this spectacular?” Florie asked. “Look at all these people!”
But Jane could scarcely tear her eyes away from her child.
Her beautiful daughter, all grown up and now engaged to this rather extravagantly compelling man—a poet!
What an unusual man he was, and how kind of him, how darling of him, to propose right in the heart of their home, right in front of all Florie’s family, how understanding he was of Florie’s bond with her parents and siblings.
Jane leaned over, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Daniel’s cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here for the Stroll.”
His smile was absolutely lovely. “I’m so glad to be here,” he said. “You have a beautiful home and a gorgeous family.”
Before Jane could reply, more strollers crowded against her, trying to get close to the water to watch Santa’s boat come in. Jane was pushed forward, her hand in Brick Three’s, pulling him along with her.
—
Brick Three wasn’t the tallest person there, but he was tall enough to see that Lydia and Jari were standing next to Lucas and Sheila over near the ice cream shop that was closed for the winter.
Sheila didn’t really look that much older than Lucas.
She was certainly pretty. Was she responsible for Lucas turning his back on the family business?
He didn’t know her family. They didn’t live on Nantucket.
What was her deal? Was she one of those traveling nurses?
Would she want Lucas to travel, too, instead of settling down and making a home on the island?
Brick Three’s indigestion flared up painfully. It always did when he was angry. He wasn’t really angry—he was unhappy, he decided. He was sad, and afraid. What if none of his children ended up living here?
“Look!” Jane nudged Brick Three.
Brick Three looked. Speeding across the wide span of water from the Coast Guard station toward Straight Wharf was the Coast Guard boat, with several spots of red moving around, and as the boat came closer, the spots of red turned into Santa’s arms waving and Mrs. Santa’s arms waving and the crowd began to cheer and the breeze picked up, rippling the water and incredibly, magically, snowflakes began to drift down on them all as if God or at least the angels were watching and wanted to join in the fun.
The crowd went wild, waving, cheering, calling out, and then the adults all herded the children out to the front or put them up on their shoulders so the children could see Santa arriving.
Santa and Mrs. Santa stood on the forward deck, in their traditional red-and-white garb with orange life jackets strapped over them.
“He’s so fat,” Jane whispered to Brick Three. “How did they get a life jacket his size?”
Beside them, a young woman cried, “He’s the most perfect Santa Claus ever. He’s got jingle bells on his wrists and holly on his cap, and a pom-pom at the end! And look, the town crier is there with holly all around his top hat!”