Chapter 4
Four
C hristmas Eve dawns foggy and cool—which, I have to say, is pretty typical for this time of year. I’m sure there are other places in the world where last minute shoppers are rushing frantically around in a state of near panic, but not here, not in Oberon. The world around us feels very peaceful, hushed and quiet, as we drive out to the nursery to pick up our tree. We’re not driving my Porsche today—for obvious reasons.
I mean, where the hell would we put the tree?
Instead, I’m driving Scout’s older model SUV that she bought when we were expecting Cole, figuring it would be more practical than her Mustang. Which it definitely is.
The radio is playing nonstop Christmas carols—also typical for this time of year. Cole hums along with the songs that he knows and tries hard with the ones he doesn’t. Right now, he’s essaying Jingle Bells with some success. Scout and I share a smile of wonder as we listen to him mangle the lyrics. How did we get so lucky, I think to myself. And I’m pretty sure she’s thinking the same. But seriously—how? How did I even get here?
I spent years (more like decades, really) wishing for nothing more than this. And now, after all of my wishes have come true… could things really have gone so wrong that I’m at risk of losing everything? And I’m only now noticing it?
I don’t want to believe that’s possible, but the closer we get to our destination, the more I feel Scout slipping away into worry once again. By the time we reach the nursery she’s fidgeting anxiously.
I don’t know what’s going on here. Is it morning sickness, motion sickness, an inner ear imbalance? Or something more serious?
I can’t begin to understand what’s bothering her, because she won’t tell me. And I can’t understand why she won’t level with me, because she almost always has before. The trouble could be as simple as too little sleep while she was in LA, or too much caffeine since she’s been back. Or it could be as serious as…well, a heart attack, or something along those lines.
There are, however, a couple of things of which I am sure. I am in love with my wife. I’m in love with the life we’ve built together. And I will do anything—everything—whatever I can, or whatever I have to do, in order to keep this dream from ending.
“Hey,” I urge softly, as I pull to a stop in the nursery’s parking lot. “Talk to me. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Scout replies perfunctorily, and (I’m fairly certain) fictitiously. Before I can pursue things further, she’s pushed open her door and jumped down from the cab. “Everything’s fine, Nick. Now, c’mon, let’s go.”
I remember a night, nearly five years ago now, when Scout, heavily pregnant with Cole, wearing an evening gown and heels, nearly tumbled out of the passenger seat of this very same vehicle. Luckily, I was there to catch her then. I want so much to tell her that I’m here to catch her now, too—that I always will be—if only she’d trust me. But she already has the back door open and is lifting Cole out of his seat, and the moment is lost.
Cole is on his best behavior as we cross the parking lot, holding onto both our hands instead of running ahead. Just as we reach the door to the nursery, the door opens and a squabbling couple emerges, nearly barreling into us on their way out.
“Careful,” I admonish, scowling after them.
“Ow. Mommy,” Cole whines. “Let go.”
Turning back to my family, I find Scout frozen in place, her eyes unfocused, her expression bleak, clinging tightly (too tightly, apparently) to Cole’s hand. And, seemingly, obliviously to his distress.
“Scout?” I say carefully. “What’s going on? Are you ready to go in now?”
She startles and makes an obvious attempt to shake off her odd mood. She smiles and apologizes to Cole. Then brushes off my concern by saying. “It’s nothing. Déjà vu,” A non sequitur if ever I’ve heard one. “I’m just anxious to see Lucy.”
“Good luck with that,” I whisper beneath my breath as I follow her inside. I’m pretty sure my cousin isn’t here today. But what do I know? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had made plans without telling anyone else.
Just as I suspected, however, my cousin is nowhere to be seen. I quickly spot Dan, however. He’s chatting with a couple of his employees, beside a table laden with cookies and cakes, coffee urns and chafing dishes and every manner of Christmas-themed goodie imaginable.
“Nick! You made it!” he says when he catches sight of me, waving me over with a cheerful grin. “Are you here for your tree? ’Bout time, bud! I was about ready to sell it out from under you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I tell him. “You’d have Lucy to answer to. But hey, sorry about crashing your party. I forgot it was today.” I don’t know which of us is more surprised, my memory’s usually better than that. But this is just more proof, in case I needed it, that this thing with Scout is messing with my head and throwing me off my game.
“Don’t talk crazy,” Dan says, waving that away, as well. “You’re always welcome. You know that.” But then his gaze slides over me and lands on Scout. His eyes widen. “Hey, Scout. You got back, huh? How’re you feeling? You’re looking good. Everything all right with you?”
I scowl at him, trying to send him a message to cut it out, because he’s studying Scout closely and curiously—far too obviously trying to determine if Lucy’s guess is correct. And if he doesn’t stop it right the fuck now, Scout is going to tumble to the fact that something is up. That we’ve been talking and speculating about her in her absence. In her present mood? I can only imagine how well that will go over.
Or maybe I can’t. Because, apparently, I’m wrong yet again. A quick glance in my wife’s direction shows me that she’s studying Dan, too. Just as closely. And not all that happily.
What the actual?
“I’m okay,” she tells him, after a notable pause. “A little tired. I wanted to say hello to Lucy, but I don’t see her anywhere. Do you know where she is?”
“Luce?” Dan frowns in confusion. “She’s not here. Why would you think that?”
“Why…?” Scout’s mouth drops open. She stares at him, aghast. “Why wouldn’t I think that? Where is she?”
“Home, probably,” Dan replies slowly. “’Least that’d be my guess. Probably cooking her little heart out. Same as always, right?” He shoots me a WTF look and I have no response but to shrug because when you’re right, you’re right. And he absolutely is.
“ Your home?” Scout asks insistently.
Dan’s eyebrows climb up toward his hairline. “Well…yeah. Last I checked, it was.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I remind Scout. “We’re going there for dinner tonight, remember? You know how Lucy always goes all-out on the holidays.” In point of fact, Kate’s probably there too, by now; visiting with her cousins, and the relatives from out of town. Helping with the cooking, part of the crew.
I just hope she had good luck with her shopping assignment, beforehand. “We’ll be doing the same tomorrow,” I say now, and wonder—yes, for the first time, because sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake—whether Lucy wasn’t right again. Maybe Scout isn’t feeling up to the task. “You don’t feel like we should cancel do you?”
“What? No. No, of course not,” she replies, then quickly excuses herself—letting Cole, who’s been trying to get her attention for the last few minutes, pull her away in search of Christmas treats.
“What the hell was that about?” Dan asks, once she’s out of earshot.
“Damned if I know,” I reply rubbing the back of my neck and sighing deeply. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on.”
“So, she hasn’t said anything yet?”
“No.”
“Okay then…do we think this means what we think it means?”
Oddly enough, I don’t need that cryptic question explained. Which goes to show how crazy I’ve become. “I don’t know what it means. With any luck, I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Unless it’s some kind of bad news , I think suddenly, momentarily losing my breath in the process. If that’s the case, then she might try and keep it a secret until after the holidays. That thought’s enough to turn my blood to ice. It also makes me twice as determined to cling to what we have, to protect her or us or…damned if I know. Whatever needs protecting, I guess.
“You know, your cousin gets some wild hairs up her butt, from time to time,” Dan says reflectively. “And I will admit that most of the time she’s right.”
“I know,” I tell him. To be honest, I’m kind of hoping this is one of those times. Because, at this point, a baby is the only positive explanation I can think of for why Scout’s acting the way she is.
None of the other ideas that are springing to mind are good at all. So, maybe I don’t want to know what her secret is. Maybe I do want the bliss that ignorance is offering me: One last, happy Christmas. One perfect, snow globe moment. Something that I can look back on and cling to forever.
Which is why it’s less than comforting when Dan continues, “I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m not sure this is one of those times.”
Which is just fan-fucking-tastic. “C’mon,” I say nudging Dan, who’s suddenly looking just about as glum as I’m feeling. “Let’s get that tree loaded, okay? I need to get home.”
Look, no one ever really knows what’s coming down the pike. And anyone who tells you otherwise, is lying. That’s why the Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t speak. The future is forever unknown.
The future’s unknown, the past is unchanging, but the present is ours to make what we will of it. And I’m determined to make this holiday—today, tomorrow, however long we have—the best that it can be.
Despite what I led Dan to believe, we don’t rush home once we leave the nursery. We take the long way around, instead. Because it’s scenic and less heavily trafficked, to be sure. But mostly because it’s filled with memories of yesteryears. That’s why we also stop at the Buena Vista diner. To get an early lunch, served with an extra helping of nostalgia.
There’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the entrance, and I make sure to stop Scout just as she walks through the doorway. It’s a short kiss, and relatively chaste since Cole is with us, still Scout looks pleased, and her cheeks pink up and I think maybe I’m making progress. I’m only sorry that I didn’t think to pick some up while we were at the nursery. So, I do the next best thing and shoot a quick text to Dan, placing an order and telling him that I’ll pick it up at his house, tonight.
The Buena Vista’s been around forever. Scout and I used to come here when we were dating twenty-five years ago. After a short and probably pointless discussion, we order the same thing we always get—burgers, fries and chocolate shakes, all around. With whipped cream on all the shakes and extra cherries on Scout’s.
I’m excited for Cole to be here, and happy to think that I’m introducing the next generation of Grecos to this special place. But my mood dims a little when I realize that Scout’s gone back to being quiet again, studying the faces of every server who passes by as though she’s looking for someone, or something—and maybe a little afraid of finding them.
“Been a while since we’ve been here, huh?” I say—when nothing more original comes to mind.
Scout laughs. “That’s funny. It feels like yesterday, to me.”
“Does it?” I glance around. “Well, it’s not like anything here ever changes, so maybe that’s why?”
“Is that really true though?” she asks, eyeing the single rose in the bud vase on the table. “I can’t remember any more. Were these flowers always real? Didn’t they used to be plastic?”
“I don’t think I ever noticed,” I tell her. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the decor.”
“Well, at least this one’s alive,” she says, gently touching a petal. And then, before I can ask what the heck that’s supposed to mean, she asks, “Adam and Sinead are still coming for dinner tomorrow, aren’t they?”
“Far as I know,” I tell her.
“And Marsha and Sam?”
I nod in response. “And all the kids. Including Jasmine’s boyfriend.”
“And Siobhan and Ryan?”
“Yep. All the usual suspects.” And then—because, at this point, I kind of have to say something—I add, “As long as you’re sure you’re feeling up to it? There’s no need to be a martyr, you know.”
“Of course, I’m feeling up to it,” she says frowning at me like I’m the one who’s acting strange. As if. “It’s Christmas! Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You’ve seemed a little out of it, since you got back. I thought maybe you were coming down with a cold or something.”
A frown appears, furrowing Scout’s brows. “A cold? No. I don’t know why you’d think that.”
“I just told you why!”
“Yes, and I told you . I’m fine. I just had a dream and it…it lingers. That’s all it is.” She smiles unconvincingly. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.”
Oh, if only that were possible , I think as I smile and lie right back at her. “All right. If you say so.”
Our drinks arrive then, interrupting us, and Scout takes the opportunity to end our conversation. She focuses her attention on helping Cole who’s coloring his Santa-themed placemat using the box of crayons our server has provided for just that purpose.
The boy loves to color and it’s possible that he’s inherited some of his grandfather’s talent. Although at four, his coloring consists of scribbling wildly and randomly all over the paper, ignoring the lines, disregarding the picture he’s supposed to be filling in. So it’s hard to tell how good he might end up being.
As I watch Scout work with him, patiently offering suggestions, and absently pursing her lips around the straw in her shake, I can’t help thinking about how her mouth must taste right now. Because, like I said: we’ve been here and done this a few times before. And I can’t help but remember a day several years ago…
I’d run into her— somewhat randomly, as I recall—at her stepbrother’s winery. Cole was just a baby, at the time. I kissed her, long and hard, because I could. Because I had to. Because there was no one there to stop me. And because, after all those years of not being able to, every time I kissed her now; it still felt like a miracle.
I kissed her until she was clinging to me for support. Until the weight of the sun beating down on our heads had begun to feel uncomfortable. Until Cole had begun to squirm and fuss—probably feeling as squished as those roses at the airport.
“Okay, I give up,” I said, finally coming up for air. “What the heck have you been eating?”
A smile played over her lips. “What are you talking about?”
“What have you been eating?” I repeated, kissing her several more times because…well, see all of the above. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Ohhh,” she said, smiling as understanding apparently dawned; and kissing me again just in cases I was unaware of the truth: She owned me. I was owned. Body and soul.
And…just for the record? I have never been unaware of that fact. I’ve never been that big a fool.
“You like that, huh?” Scout said, smiling smugly. “I stopped on the way out here and got a milkshake.”
“Chocolate?”
“Well, of course chocolate.”
“With a cherry?”
“Several, yes. And whipped cream, too. Is there any other way?”
Not as far as I was concerned. And what was true then, is still true now. And probably always will be. That taste—not just by itself, but on her lips, and in her mouth—is unforgettable, incomparable. And, if I have it my way, it’s the taste I want in my mouth when I die.
Which, I have to admit, when you hear it said straight out like that? Sounds morbid as fuck.
We spend the rest of the afternoon trimming the tree. Hanging ornaments—some that Scout and I bought together, others that she inherited from her stepmother and still remembers from her younger days. And then there are also the ones my mother passed down to me, and that I had during my first marriage. Which means we have memories from my childhood, and Kate’s as well, hanging from the boughs here. All of them together. All the individual parts combining to make one perfect whole.
Speaking of my daughter, I did check in with her to see if she wanted to come back and help with the tree. But she insisted that she was fine with missing it.
“I’m kind of in the middle of stuff here,” she tells me, sounding distracted and preoccupied—which I take to mean that she’s having too good a time hanging with her cousins.
She does have one piece of good news to impart, however. “By the way, I think I found what you were looking for,” she says, lowering her voice—although I’m not sure who she thinks might be listening in.
“I picked them up earlier and hid them in your bedroom closet,” she continues, still speaking in stealth mode. “I also got them wrapped, just in case you didn’t have time to do it yourself, and also so that no one could peek. They look great, though. I think you’ll like them.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “That’s awesome. I owe you.”
“Oh, I know,” my daughter says, laughingly. “And don’t you worry, Dad. I’m keeping a very detailed list.”
“Okay. You do that,” I tell her, signing off. “We’ll see you later.” And I go back to join Scout and Cole with the tune to Santa Claus is Coming to Town running through my mind. Only the words that I sing in my head are a little bit different. And, in that version, it’s Spicy Nick who’s coming…and it’s got nothing to do with town.
Awesome Christmas , I tell myself; awesome Christmas Eve. Let’s make it the best.