Berried, page 25
part #6 of Charlie Cooper Mystery Series
Marge put both hands on her hips and studied the food my mother had set out on the counter. “Potatoes, pickles, eggs…sounds like potato salad.”
“I’m not sure what I’m going to mix in with these noodles,” Celeste said, “but I’ll have a look around. I think I’ll whip up some Alfredo sauce. Can everyone say yum?”
“Good news—I found some chestnuts,” my father said.
“Noooo!” Marge, Celeste, and I said at the same time.
“Put those down right now,” my mother ordered with a smile.
As Marge chopped some potatoes, she sang with the radio. “I love Christmas songs!” she said. “I could sing Christmas songs all year.”
“Except that I would kill her,” Celeste said as she stirred.
“What is Christmas without music?” my father asked as he pulled my mother into a waltz. He sang along with Marge.
“Jack, we have to cook,” my mother told him, laughing as she pulled away. “We have people in here who are hungry.”
“Yes, we do,” Brad yelled from the dining room.
Since I was apparently the worst cook in the world, I helped my brothers pull together tables by the window, so we could all sit together and watch the snow come down. The holiday decorations of nearby businesses blinked in green and red and silver. At the drugstore across the street, toy soldiers outlined in lights marched across the window.
We moved back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, gathering plates, glasses, and utensils. As we were setting the table, I heard a knocking on the window. I looked up to see two wrinkled faces peering worriedly inside. It was Mrs. Kansky, one of my mother’s elderly exercisers, with her husband. I ran to let them in.
“Is everything okay here?” Mr. Kansky asked. “We found it odd that there were lights on. We know your father always closes the diner on Christmas Eve.”
I told them our sad story.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Kansky said. Her hand flew to her chest. “All of that on Christmas Eve! Is there any way that we can help?”
“I think we’re good,” I told her. “But thank you for asking.”
“If you need anything, your mother has my number,” Mrs. Kansky said.
“Great. Perfect. Awesome.” I said. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kansky, and thanks for stopping by.” I didn’t want to be rude and rush the woman out the door, but it was time to eat. It was way past time.
Unfortunately, she was in the mood to talk. “Our Christmas Eve was grand,” she said. “We had such a lovely dinner, and a lot of the family came. We’ll be at my nephew’s house tomorrow. After everybody left tonight, we thought we’d take a little walk to see the Christmas lights, and well, there you were.”
“We’re glad everything’s okay,” Mr. Kansky said. He smiled and tipped his hat. “If there’s really nothing we can do, we’ll leave you to your dinner.”
After they left, my mother emerged from the kitchen with some candles that she’d found. “This will make it somewhat festive, even though our menu for Christmas Eve will include some oddities. Oatmeal and scrambled eggs instead of turkey and sweet potatoes.”
Marge came out with big bowls balanced on a tray, just like in her waitress days. “Scrambled eggs with Gruyere cheese and spinach,” she said. There was excitement in her voice. Or maybe it was hunger.
We gathered around the table and everybody filled their plates. We’d filled a nearby table with pasta, potato salad, green peas, and mashed potatoes. There were mini hot dogs too, one of the options for the Kids Fun Plates that were popular at Jack’s. There was a gigantic stack of waffles with hot maple syrup, and a host of other dishes were crowded on the table. Our chefs had grabbed whatever they could find, and they had made it work.
“Excellent,” Brad said.
“Waffles for dinner are my favorite,” my father said.
“Let’s do this every year,” Sam said.
“Not gonna happen,” my mother said, “but for now things worked out nicely.” She lit the candles and sat down.
Celeste eyed the table with our generous buffet. “I never thought I’d say this over dinner by candlelight on Christmas Eve, but would someone pass the box of cereal?”
It was so good I was amazed. We filled our plates once and then went back for more. My brothers didn’t stop there; they went back for thirds.
Just as I was digging into the potato salad, there was another rap on the window. It was the Kanskys once again.
Sam got up and let them in.
“Come in, come in,” my mother called out cheerfully, standing up to greet them. “Merry Christmas Eve!”
Their arms were full of food.
“Oh, Barbara,” Mrs. Kansky said, “Charlie told us all about the bad luck that you had today and it just stayed on my mind. We had so much left over from our dinner. We always make too much! We just had to share.”
“Well, isn’t that nice?” my mother said, helping them unload all the food onto an empty table.
We gathered around to look. There were Brussels sprouts, pigs in a blanket, roast beef, and eggnog too.
My mother ran back to the kitchen and grabbed two more plates. “You must sit down and join us,” she said to the newcomers. “Catch us up on the family and please have some food.”
“That is too nice of you,” Mr. Kansky said.
“Oh, by the way,” Mrs. Kansky said as she settled into a chair with a plate of pasta, “Ida Eisler phoned to wish me a merry Christmas, and I filled her in on…Oh, never mind. Here she is right now.” She smiled and waved at a tiny gray-haired woman who stood at the door. In her arms she had a cake.
My father stood to let her in. “Welcome to Jack’s,” he said. “That cake looks mighty fine.”
My mother showed Mrs. Eisler where to put the cake and gave her a hug.
“Is that a red velvet cake?” my mother asked. “It looks delicious.”
Marge gasped in delight, and Brad was immediately beside the cake, looking for a knife.
“How was the rum?” Mrs. Eisler asked my mother. “Did you put it to good use?”
My mother glanced at Marge.
“Uh…yes,” my mother said. “Everybody loved the rum.”
As everybody got dessert, we heard a rapping at the door. It was a young couple with a small girl who looked to be six or so.
I went to the door again, making a mental note to leave it unlocked if this was gonna be a party.
“Are you open?” the woman asked. “Cara here was begging for a Kids Fun Plate from Jack’s. I told her Jack’s was closed, but then we walked by just now and saw all the lights and people inside.”
“I would like a hot dog, please,” Cara said politely.
My father threw back his head and laughed. “I do believe that we can find you one of those. It’s on the house tonight. Charlie, would you mind finding us more plates?”
As I walked toward the kitchen, my dad was telling the young couple how we had come to be at Jack’s that night. Soon they’d joined us around the table, and the mom was asking Marge if she could have the recipe for the potato salad.
“This is really nice,” she said. “We just moved to Springston, and our family on both sides is clear across the country. It will be just us for Christmas. Cara was complaining that Christmas needs more people, that our Christmas was too small.”
The child was giggling with Marge, who was telling her some story, complete with sound effects and gestures.
About fifteen minutes later a large, burly, bearded man peeped into the door. “Hey, Jack! I can’t believe you’re open.” It was Lloyd Moore, who ran the dry cleaners down the street.
“Lloyd! Come in.” My father stood to greet him. “We’re open for friends tonight, and I count you among that group. I’ll get you a plate. What are you doing out tonight? I thought everything was closed.”
“I was at a friend’s house for a little get-together,” Lloyd told him. “I’m popular this month, thanks to the beard and the big belly. I show up in a red suit and give them some ho ho ho’s. The kids all think it’s great.” He took off his coat to reveal a Santa suit.
“Well, look at you,” my father said. “That big belly is good for something!”
Both men were laughing like the cartoon Santa Claus I used to watch every year.
Cara’s eyes grew wide.
“Well, would you look at that?” her father said.
Noticing the child, “Santa” smiled and waved.
“Barbara, I just heard about what happened,” a thin blonde woman said as she rushed into the restaurant with foil-covered pie plates in each hand. “All the family came tonight and everybody brought dessert. We couldn’t eat it all so I brought you some.”
We’d barely said hello when two couples joined the group. Each of the men held bottles. One held up a chardonnay. “So a little furry visitor messed up your dinner plans? We thought you might need these.”
“Yes, please!” my mother and I said, almost in unison.
Just when I was about to open one bottle, I saw a flash of red outside. A fire truck stopped outside.
“Marge, what did you do now?” I teased, only halfway joking. I quickly checked the candles, which were fine. There was no smell of smoke coming from the kitchen.
Two firemen walked in. “Hey, someone said you were open,” the taller of the two said. “It stinks to work on Christmas Eve. Everything is closed. Can we get some takeout for the station? I can’t believe our luck.”
My dad explained the situation. The place, he said, was not exactly “open,” but we had roast beef and vegetables. We had cake and pie and waffles and peanut butter crackers and cereal. “I can get you some takeout boxes; you can fill them as you like. As you can see, there’s plenty.”
Soon the place was packed. My mother’s manicurist stopped by as the evening wore on. There were neighbors, my father’s dentist, dear friends of my parents, more of the exercise group, and people I didn’t know. Another fireman showed up to pick up extra food.
It was getting late when Marge came to stand beside me as I sipped a nice red wine and watched the snow sparkling against the streetlights.
“A Cooper Christmas Eve,” she said happily. “This Christmas Eve feels magic, like Christmas Eve should feel.”
“It was pretty awful at the start,” I said.
“Yeah, but you finished strong.” She took a sip of the eggnog she held in her hand.
We took a look around us. Nobody, it seemed, was ready to go home. Mrs. Kansky and Mrs. Eisner were teaching Cara how to do some twisty move they must have learned in my mother’s class. Santa was high fiving the fireman and telling stories as they both ate dessert. Everyone was laughing.
I didn’t have my phone nearby, but it must have been past midnight now; it must be Christmas Day.
“Merry Christmas, Marge,” I said.
She held up her glass. “Merry Christmas, friend.”
***
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