Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
The first time Lizzie had made Christmas cookies with her mom was when she was three. She didn’t have any clear memory of it, but this tale was now the stuff of family lore. The story went that after insisting on breaking the eggs by herself, and being denied, she’d grabbed the carton and ran toward the dining room, tripping over Misty, their golden retriever, falling flat on the eggs, breaking them all covering herself and the dog with a sticky, gooey mess. Her mother sat down on the floor amongst the wreckage and explained to her that she would have done the eggs with her, but she ran off without listening, and well, look what happened. She had a little bit of history with impulsivity, never anything terrible, but she was passionate and strong-willed, something her parents always encouraged, and she’d learned how to rein in when needed.
“How do you want to do this, Mom?” Lizzie asks as she assembles the ingredients on the large kitchen island. Lizzie loved her parent’s kitchen. They had redone it several years ago and it was everything Lizzie would have wanted in her own dream kitchen. For years it had been the original farmhouse design with too little storage and too little space. It had been a major renovation sparked, Gabby openly admitted, by watching Nancy Meyers’ movies like Something’s Gotta Give and The Holiday, with their sumptuous, open, dreamy spaces where families gathered and things always ended well. “Should I do the chocolate chip and you do the sugar cookies and then we can both frost and decorate those? Or did you have another idea? You’ve always been better at the rolling out than me, you’re more patient!”
“That’s fine, honey, I am happy to roll away.”
Gabby takes her phone out of her pocket and syncs it up to the Bluetooth speakers and suddenly they are surrounded by Christmas music. Then, with a click of a remote, she turns on the gas fireplace in the corner of the kitchen, part of the renovation as well, setting a blissful stage.
“Okay, I want to know how you arranged all this, Mom. Cookies, snow, Christmas music...you must have put in an order for this day. I get it, Christmas in Cranberry Harbor is pretty perfect,” she laughs as she carefully measures brown and white sugars, and expertly cracks the eggs.
“The snow really puts it over the top, doesn’t it?” Gabby says, looking out the French doors that line the back wall of the kitchen as the snow accumulates on the patio. “Too much?” she laughs.
“No, it’s perfect.” Lizzie adds the butter to the mix, and while that's combining, grabs another bowl and mixes up the two kinds of chocolate. “I think this is kind of a genius idea,” she says as she adds them to the batter. “This will be our new thing, the difference that sets the Martin’s cookies apart from everyone else - semi-sweet, dark chocolate cookies will be our special brand.”
Hours later they’re making great progress with their trays and trays of cookies when Peter comes running in from outside, slipping a little with his snowy boots.
“Honey, take your boots off, okay? You’re getting snow and water all over the floor!” Gabby pleads, mid-cookie cutting.
“Oh, sorry!” He rushes back to the door and slips off his boots. “I left a notebook here I need, and Stan’s off helping put up Christmas lights at town hall, and I have to get to the fire station to take photos for the story he wrote about the toy drive for the festival, then meet the chair of the festival committee to interview them and get the schedule of events double checked…”
“Dad, can you take a break for a minute? You look so stressed, let me make you some tea, maybe a sandwich or something,” Lizzie says. “It’s not healthy to run around like this every day.” Without waiting for an answer she pulls out a stool at the island where they’re working and points to it.
“Lizzie’s right, honey, you need to take a break.” She fills the electric kettle, gets out some tea and a mug. Peter goes to reach for a warm cookie and Gabby slaps his hand. “Uh huh, not until you have something healthy. I’m going to heat up some of last night’s dinner for you, then you can have a cookie.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he jokes, saluting her.
The water is boiling in no time, “Mom, you want some tea, too?” Lizzie walks over and turns it off. “I’m going to have some.” Gabby nods as she prepares Peter’s lunch, and Lizzie takes out two more mugs and drops a tea bag in each.
“So Dad, is it like this every single day?” She slides a mug of tea over to him and he blows on it.
“Not always, I mean, it’s always a lot, but the festival puts a lot of pressure on us. It’s like summer, but it’s only a few issues of the paper where it’s this intense. The couple of issues leading up to it, doing all the press, and then the week of. The difference is we’re doing it without the college interns we have in the summer.”
Lizzie dunks a tea bag in her mug, Gabby continues to roll and cut her cookies while Lizzie waits for a batch in the oven. “So you still get interns? You mean people still actually want to go into journalism? I’m shocked,” she laughs.
“Believe it or not, yeah. Most have dreams of being famous authors, or writing for the Washington Post or New York Times, but no one wants to do what we’re doing, covering a small town in an independent weekly. It’s a dying newspaper model, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t know of a model that isn’t in crisis, Dad, it’s not just you. We used to have one of the busiest newsrooms in the country, and the company that bought us just keeps laying off more and more people. We have a managing editor, no senior editor, and all but two copy editors are gone, along with three quarters of the sports department and one person in arts and lifestyle. It’s so sad.”
The microwave beeps, and Gabby takes out the yummy smelling plate and hands it to Peter along with a fork and napkin. “Eat this sweetie, relax for a minute. Doctor’s orders.”
“She may have retired, Lizzie, but she’s in charge of me and my health. Yes, dear.” he smiles and takes a bite.
“Good,” Lizzie says, “We want you healthy and around for a really long time.” She takes a sheet of cookies out of the oven, places them on the island, picks up a spatula and begins to place them on one of the wire cooling racks.
Lizzie is pensive as she finishes that task and begins filling up the sheet again with rounded spoonfuls of dough. “Dad?” she pauses nervously. “I know you get offers all the time for the paper, do you ever think-”
“No way!” he loudly interrupts her, holding up his hand for emphasis. “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s just you know as well as I do what will happen. They won’t hire any reporters, they’ll run stories from their other papers, not even the other papers around here, it could be a story from Kansas for goodness sake, stories that have nothing to do with the Cape, with Cranberry Harbor, with our community.” He puts his fork down and takes a deep breath. “We have incredible things happening here, and we have really challenging things happening here, but you have to actually be here to see it. You have to know the community and care to tell the stories and help implement change.”
“I hear you Dad, but I just can’t help but wonder how much of this is tilting at windmills and fighting the inevitable.”
“Your dad has been fighting for what he thinks is right ever since I met him, honey. He’s not about to change now,” Gabby says, knowing he won’t ever give up.
“How is it going, financially?” Lizzie nervously asks.
“It’s never been a big money maker. You know that, Lizzie. Your Mom is the one who really supported this family. Smart move on my part, marrying a doctor,” he says smiling at his wife. “And she can make a mean fake pot roast to boot,” he says, finishing the last of his lunch. “I really do have to get back.” He stands up, takes his plate to the sink and runs some water on it.
“Just leave it, sweetheart, I’ll get it, I know you have to go.” Peter comes over and hugs her.
“How did I ever get so lucky?” he kisses her on the cheek, and then hugs Lizzie. “It is so damn good to see you here with your Mom, I almost can’t stand how happy I feel,” he beams.
“Me too, Dad,” she says as she kisses him on the cheek.
He walks over to the bench where they keep their shoes and slips his boots on. “I will see you two later,” he says and opens the door.
“Dad, I don’t mean to–”
“Honey, I get it, you didn’t say anything I don’t think every single day, I know everything you say is said with love and care, and I appreciate that. I’m just a stubborn old coot who can’t let the corporate world win and take over what I’ve worked at for over thirty years. Not yet anyway.” His cell rings, he takes it out of his pocket. “How’d that happen? But he’s okay?” Lizzie and Gabby look over at him as he’s listening to whoever is calling. “Okay, so Maggie’s with him?” More silence. “Well thanks for letting me know, I’ll go to the hospital later to see him. Thanks, John.” He ends the call and puts his phone in his pocket.
“What happened? It must be Stan, you mentioned Maggie, is he okay?” asks a very worried Gabby.
“Yeah, he’s fine, but he broke his arm. He was helping put up the Christmas lights at Town Hall, the ladder slipped in the snow and he fell. Luckily a couple of guys from the fire station were there too so they checked him out and got him to the ER.” He’s standing there looking stunned.
“I'm so glad he’s okay,” Lizzie says feeling relieved that it wasn’t her brother falling off a roof or something.
“Yeah, apparently he might need surgery to set it,” Lizzie and Gabby could see his wheels were turning. “He’s going to be laid up for a while.”
“Dad? What’s going on? He’s going to be okay, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, John was certain of it. He didn’t hit his head, he fell on the soft snow, he just landed wrong on his arm.”
“So what’s going through your head?” she asks.
“I have no idea how I can run this paper by myself for the next two weeks through the festival. He had a bunch of stories due, it’s going to set us back. He won’t be able to type, or take notes, it’s his right arm. I’m in big trouble.”
Lizzie reflects for a minute, not sure about what she's going to offer, but knows she has to help.
“I’ll step in, Dad. I can write some stories, I’d really like to help you,” she says.
“Oh honey, I can’t ask you to do that. It’s your vacation.”
“You didn’t ask me Dad, I offered. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than helping you. I mean it.”
“You’re sure? You’re really sure?” he says, quietly relieved.
“I’m really, really, sure.” she says, taking off her apron. “Looks like I have got to go, Mom, are you good here? The last batch of the chocolate chip are in the bottom oven. I hate leaving you to wrap them and clean up, if you can wait until I get back - ”
“Stop it! You two go. I’ve got this,” Gabby says.
“I’ve got my laptop upstairs, Dad, and some reporter’s notebooks, I’ll be right down.”
Lizzie runs upstairs and Gabby walks over to give Peter a hug. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve got an award winning journalist on the job now,” she jokes. “I’m just relieved Stan is going to be okay.”
“Me too,” he says. “That really gave me a scare.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you think–”
“Don’t go hoping she’s going to want to stay. Enjoy having her here right now, okay?”
“You’re right. I know you’re right, but a guy can dream. Maybe with her help I could keep this thing afloat, I’m not so sure otherwise.” Lizzie comes running down the stairs. “You all set, honey?”
“Yup! I am good to go. Let’s go tell some local stories!” she says, slipping on her coat.