A Small Town Christmas Part 64

Bob sat down at the table opposite his wife. "You saved me." It was a funny way to conduct a strike. And, c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he'd been, he hadn't deserved saving.

She nodded. "Yep. I did."

"I would have gone out and gotten the presents, you know."

"I know. But there was no need for me to get spiteful about the whole thing. It wasn't like you didn't try, after all."

He took a moment to digest that. It didn't digest well. He took a bite of his cinnamon roll and it was like homecoming for his taste buds. "These are good."

"No, they're fabulous," she corrected him.

"Just like you."

His words didn't have much impact. She simply murmured a polite thank-you and took another sip of her coffee.

The unspoken question hung in the air between them for several minutes. Bob finally voiced it. "So you're no longer on strike?" he asked casually.

She shrugged. "I gave up."

Those words didn't make Bob as happy as they should have. In fact, they pierced deeper than anything she'd said and done so far this season. "So, I'm hopeless, is that it?" Please don't say yes.

Her smile was tinged with sadness. He was a disappointment to her. All his earlier anger and resentment had been the feelings of a fool. No man should put that look in his wife's eyes.

"You're not hopeless," she said, "just different. I guess we'll always be two very different people. Anyway, everything doesn't always have to be done my way." Her gaze dropped to her coffee cup. "I've been kind of a brat, expecting you to leave your comfort zone just so I could be happy. I always figured that deep down you really enjoyed the celebrations, that you just needed a nudge. I guess it's hard for me to imagine anyone not wanting to live like my family."

Like everyone would want to be stuck in a never-ending holiday version of My Big Fat Greek Wedding with mobs of people coming and going all the time? What was it about large, loud families that made them think everyone wanted to be just like them? Bob wisely didn't ask. Why his wife thought the way she did didn't really matter. She was who she was and he loved her. And he wanted her to be happy.

"I should be glad you even come to my family's," she continued. "And I'll settle for any kind of party you want. I just don't want us to grow apart. I don't want to experience important events by myself. I don't want you to draw away."

She was regarding him earnestly now, waiting for him to a.s.sure her that he wouldn't.

There was nothing he would like better than to pull free of her obstreperous family, to never again have his house full of noisy people during the holidays. If he could he'd whisk her off to a desert island every holiday season where he could have her all to himself, where she would laugh and sparkle for him alone. But the best setting for all that sparkle was a social one. He'd always known it. She lived for her friends, her family, her parties. And this time of year was her time. Anyway, he'd been wrong to be so stubborn and vindictive when she was trying desperately to make a point. She spent eleven months of the year working on making his life good, doing everything from cooking his favorite food to running interference for him at book signings and chatting up the customers. Surely, for one month he could try to do whatever made her happy.

"I'm not going to," he promised, and patted her hand. "Don't give up on me yet. I can be taught." And one thing he'd learned was that having a few holiday traditions was good for the soul. He smiled at the memory of his adventures in the kitchen with Melia, and of how funny Hank and Linda had looked at his party in their crazy costumes.

Now Joy was smiling, too, looking at him with tears in her eyes, and he leaned across the table to kiss her. She met him halfway.

Just then Bobby sauntered back into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a sweater, his hair still damp. "Hey, you two. Get a room."

Bob chuckled and went to pour himself some more coffee. Everything was right with the world again. At least for him. He hoped the other men in Holly were doing okay.

Glen had already gotten into a tug-of-war at Toy Town over the last Shopping Babe doll. She came complete with shopping cart, purse, and charge card, and after the costume screwup at the school concert, getting her was penance he had to do. He'd won, but the goon had actually threatened to sue.

Now he'd nearly gotten into it at Hollyworld with a guy wearing a baseball cap and a kill-you look over the last chick flick DVD on the shelf in the movie section until he realized it was Pete Benedict.

"Go ahead," Glen said, letting go of the prize. It was a consolation prize, anyway. He'd been everywhere looking for the Smoothiccino maker Laura had wanted and he'd come up empty.

"Sorry, man," Pete said. "But I had to come through with something good."

"I don't know," Glen said, scratching his head. "I don't think a movie's gonna do it."

"The movie's part of the package. I'm getting chocolates and bath s.h.i.+t, too."

Another husband of one of the strikers walked by just then, his jaw clenched around an unlit pipe. Jack Carter, Glen remembered. "Sorry," he said. "The bath department's cleaned out. I got the last bottle."

"Try getting a gift certificate to that nail place," Glen advised. "That's what I did."

"You'd better get over there fast," Carter said. "I was there half an hour ago, and it's a zoo." He shook his head. "You wouldn't think it would be so hard to get a few presents would you? And so expensive. My G.o.d, I had no idea."

Pete nodded. "Things go a lot better with my wife in charge."

There was an understatement, thought Glen.

"I better get going," Pete said. Then, clutching the DVD, he hurried off down the aisle.

From two aisles over, Glen could hear raised voices. "Hey, where do you get off reaching over my shoulder?"

"You didn't want it."

"I was looking at it."

"Well, too bad. p.i.s.s or get off the pot."

A new shopper had joined Glen on the movie aisle. He saw the empty shelf and burst into tears. Glen decided it was time to go. Anyway, he still had to hit the hardware store and the grocery store.

The hardware store! Maybe, just maybe, Hank would have a Smoothiccino maker.

Don't get your hopes up, Glen told himself. About the only food-related merchandise he'd seen in Hank's were George Foreman grilling machines and barbecues. But it was Christmas, and maybe he'd brought in some extra stuff for his ha.s.sled customers whose wives were on strike.

Hank's was a zoo, too, with guys lined up for gift certificates. Glen decided a gift certificate would be great for his father-in-law. But first, the small-appliance aisle.

Hank did have a few more items than usual: a mixer, a blender. And, whoa, what was that? It sure looked like the Smoothiccino machine Laura had been drooling over in that catalog. Glen picked up his pace. Yes, it was. One left.

And then he saw the guy coming from the opposite end of the aisle. Oh, no. He couldn't be. No sense taking any chances. Glen broke into a trot. The guy saw him and bolted for the machine.

"Not that one!" Glen made a flying leap, but he was too late. The other guy was hunched over it, hugging it like a quarterback would a football.

"I saw that first," Glen snarled.

"Get away or I'll call the cops," the guy threatened.

Glen resorted to pleading. "Come on, man. I really need that."

"What? You think I don't? I've looked all over town. I've even been to the mall. This is the last one left anywhere. I'm going to be sleeping on the couch if I don't come home with this." He hauled it off the shelf and hurried away like a troll with treasure.

"Yeah, well I hope it breaks," Glen called after him.

The guy gave him the one-fingered salute and scurried around the end of the aisle.

Glen leaned his head on the shelf and tried to collect himself. n.o.body liked to see a grown man cry.

"Okay, shake it off, pull yourself together," he muttered. It wasn't like he'd gotten Laura nothing. He'd get a rain check for the Smoothiccino maker and slip it into the envelope along with the certificate for the nail place and hope that would be good enough. Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?

At least he could get his father-in-law's present here. He joined the long line at the checkout counter. The Smoothiccino maker thief was standing three guys up, clinging to his prize. I hope you choke on the first frappe you drink, Glen thought sourly as Hank rang up the purchase. He gave the guy a dirty look as he pa.s.sed. The creep pretended not to see.

Finally, Glen reached the counter. "I need a twenty-five dollar gift certificate."

"I'm out," Hank said.

"How can you be out of gift certificates?" Glen demanded.

"You saw the line. All you last-minute idiots cleaned me out."

"Whoever heard of being out of gift certificates," Glen said.

Hank scowled. He grabbed a steno tablet, flipped to a fresh page and started writing. Then he ripped off the paper and pushed it across the counter. "Okay. That'll be twenty-five bucks."

Glen looked at the green, lined paper with its barely legible pencil scrawl. "Oh, yeah. That's impressive."

"It'll work. Do you want it or not?"

"No, and maybe you should stock up for the holidays better. You're out of Smoothiccino makers, too."

Hank glared at him. "Yeah, well I get a lot of demand for those in a hardware store. What do I look like, anyway, Linens and Things? You clowns are lucky I even had one. Go get a hammer. I got plenty of those left."

"My father-in-law has three hammers already. What else have you got?"

Hank threw an arm in the direction of the shelves, stocked with a thinning selection of merchandise. "Go look for yourself."

Like he had time. Glen walked up and down the aisles, trying to make a decision. He couldn't. He hadn't been gifted with the shopping gene, and by now his brain simply refused to work. He finally grabbed some drill bits and marched back to the counter. He spotted a can of nuts and grabbed that, too.

"Big spender," Hank observed.

"Yeah, well, I'd have been a bigger spender if you had any gift certificates left," Glen growled.

He got to the grocery store in time to get the second-to-last turkey in the meat section. The thing was still frozen. How long did it take to cook a frozen turkey, anyway? Hopefully, not more than four hours. That was all he had left until the family arrived. Not for the first time he found himself wis.h.i.+ng he hadn't missed the deadline for getting the precooked turkey. He snagged a couple of boxes of instant spuds, some boxed stuffing, and the last two cans of gravy. Then he ended his shopping spree with dinner rolls and frozen peas. His mom had promised to bring cookies, so he was okay for dessert.

The checkout lines were long, mostly guys looking frazzled or ready to punch someone. Glen got behind one with a cart piled high with frozen turkey dinners. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"Good idea," he said to the guy. "Any of those left?"

"I got the last ones," the guy said, and put a protective hand over the pile.

You'd think it was the end of the world, Glen thought, looking around. That was when he saw the guy with six cartons of eggnog in his cart.

s.h.i.+t. Drinks! Glen pulled out of line and raced to the milk cooler, just as another shopper with a cart full of eggnog was taking the last one. What a hog!

"Hey, do you mind if I have that one?" Glen demanded.

"Sorry, pal," said his fellow shopper. "I'm buying for the neighbors."

Yeah, right, Glen thought bitterly. He settled for a gallon of chocolate milk, then went to the pop aisle. It had been picked nearly clean. He barely beat another frantic shopper to the last bottle of diet grapefruit, then wheeled back to the checkout.

The lines stretched halfway to the North Pole, and they were all moving at the speed of a glacier. He still had to get home, put this turkey in the oven, wrap presents, set the table, then make all the rest of the dinner stuff. Oh, G.o.d, just let me live through tonight. Please. I'll do anything. Anything.

Finally back home, he hauled the presents up to the bedroom, brought in the groceries, and stuck the turkey in a pan in the oven. Then he went in search of wrapping paper, turning his face from the clock as he pa.s.sed. The last thing he needed was to be reminded that everyone would arrive in less than three hours.

Bob was at the computer, trying to finish his surprise when Joy stuck her head around the door. "It's time to go."

He was so close. Another hour and he'd have it. "I'm not quite ready. Can we be a little late?"

"I guess," she said, disappointment plain in her voice.

"I just need a little longer."

"Bob, you can write all you want in just a couple of days."

"Not this. It's something I need to finish." He smiled at her over his shoulder.

She sighed and shut the door.

Half an hour later she was back again. "We really need to go."

"Okay," he said, typing frantically. "You and Bobby go ahead. Take your car. I'll meet you there."

"Promise?"

"Absolutely. I'm a changed man. Remember?"

"Okay." Her tone of voice said she was determined to believe him even though the evidence was shaky.

"You won't be sorry," he promised, and returned to his fever pitch writing pace.

"So, where's Dad?" Bobby asked as Joy came down the hall.

"Working."

"Working? On what?"

"On some kind of surprise." She went to the kitchen and fetched the fruit salad, then rejoined her son. "Let's go. Dad will show up later."

Bobby picked up the shopping bag of presents that had been set out to go to Al's and followed her out the door. "Maybe he's going to stay home and hide out so n.o.body gives him a bad time about the Internet scam."

"If he said he's coming, he'll come," Joy said.

They got to her big brother's front porch just as he threw open the front door. "Ho, ho, ho," he greeted them. He peered around Joy. "Where's Bob?"

"He's coming a little late," she said, and hurried past him.