A Slice of Life Christmas, page 1
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Also By Margaret Lake
A SLICE OF LIFE CHRISTMAS | A novelette by | Margaret Lake
DESCRIPTION
CONTACT
COPYRIGHT
Further Reading: A Slice of Life
Also By Margaret Lake
A SLICE OF LIFE CHRISTMAS
A novelette by
Margaret Lake
Author of
historical, contemporary,
and fantasy romance
illustrated children’s books
graphic novels
DESCRIPTION
It’s Christmas and there are wedding bells ringing around Coulter’s Restaurant as they prepare to celebrate Rosalie and Michael’s wedding. But the bride is hiding something, a secret that she won’t even share with her fiancé, and that secret has Rosalie calling off the wedding. Can Grace, her best friend, intervene in time to save Rosalie from making the biggest mistake of her life?
It was less than a week until Christmas, and Grace was on her way to Coulter’s Restaurant, loaded with shopping bags. She was glad it promised to be a white Christmas for little Henry Coulter Watson’s first holiday, but the wind swirling snowflakes around her frozen face did nothing to improve her mood.
Time was when Grace wouldn’t have been in any kind of mood at all (except scared and shy) and she sometimes wondered if coming out of the iron-bound shell she’d been in most of her life was a good thing. But those times were rare, now that she had a family of her own.
Mandy, her nine year old stepdaughter, although it was impossible to think of her as anything but her own little girl; Coul with his sweet, toothless, baby smile; and Hank. Dear, dear Hank, the husband she’d never dreamed she’d have in a million years.
That’s what Grace would usually do when she was upset about something; think about the joy her life had become. But not today. Today Grace was hell-bent on a mission, and if Rosalie Downs knew what was good for her, she’d listen to every word Grace had to say.
Grace had met Rosalie when she’d ridden Hank’s bus to collect recipes for her now famous cookbook, A Slice of Life. That’s where she’d met Hank, too, and Rosalie’s fiancé, Michael Josephson. Michael had been covered in dreadlocks and a scruffy beard when she’d first met him, but he finally realized if he was to get Rosalie’s attention, he’d better clean up. What had emerged from all that hair was a very handsome, young, black man that Rosalie fell for on sight.
But they’d waited to get married, at Michael’s insistence, until both had finished college and he, at least, had a job good enough to support them. From the unconventional to the ultra-conventional, Michael’s transformation had been as great as her own, from shy recluse to outgoing wife and mother.
The wedding was due to take place on Christmas Eve followed by a reception at Coulter’s, but for some reason, Rosalie had dug in her heels and was refusing to take any further part in the preparations. She’d even refused to talk about the wedding, and everyone was afraid she was getting ready to call the whole thing off. But not if Grace had anything to say about it!
Grace charged into the restaurant, but her mother stopped her near the front. Evie Coulter knew why Grace was so steamed up. They’d discussed it on the phone last night and decided that Grace should be the one to talk to Rosalie since they’d been close friends ever since they’d met on the bus.
“Hi, sweetie. Let me get you a cup of coffee,” Evie soothed her daughter. She wanted Grace to talk to Rosalie, not chop her head off.
“Thanks, Mom. I could use a cup,” Grace sighed. She understood why Evie had slowed her down and she was right as usual. Grace needed to be reasonable, sympathetic even, if need be. Whatever the problem was, it had to be bad if Rosalie wouldn’t even talk to Michael about it.
“Thanks for watching Coul while I shopped. Did he behave himself?” she asked, while taking off her coat and gloves.
“Of course, Grace,” Evie laughed. “How much trouble can a four-month-old baby get into?”
“You never know,” Grace replied darkly. “I see an awful lot of mischief lurking behind those bright blue baby eyes.”
Grace wrapped her pale, cold hands around the mug of hot coffee her mother handed her.
“Mmmm, just what I needed,” she sighed, taking a sip. “Where’s Rosalie?”
“She’s in the back folding napkins.” Evie paused, shaking her head. “Honey, I think it’s getting worse. She’s hardly said a word all day.”
“Rosalie?” Grace’s eyes went wide at the thought. Rosalie was never at a loss for something to say. She could chatter on for hours.
“What are you going to say to her?”
“I’m not sure, but the subtle approach hasn’t worked. I guess I’ll just come right out and ask her.”
“Okay, honey. But don’t let her out of that room until she tells you what’s wrong,” Evie ordered.
“Sure, Mom,” Grace laughed. “I’ll just handcuff her to the fridge if you think that’ll stop Rosalie from running out the door.”
“Go on, now. You know we all love Rosalie and Michael, and this trouble between them is breaking our hearts.”
Grace leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek.
“I’ll do my best, Mom. Wish me luck!”
“Luck, honey.”
Grace hurried through the dining room, waving at the waitresses setting up the tables. They didn’t try to talk to her. They had it figured she was going to have a showdown with Rosalie, and they were all for it. Jeannie mouthed good luck as she passed by, and Grace gave her a grim little nod.
“Hey, Rosalie,” Grace greeted the girl softly, not wanting to startle her. As quietly as she’d spoken, Rosalie whipped her head around, dropping a handful of napkins, her eyes wide.
It was obvious that Rosalie had been deep in thought about her problems with Michael, and Grace became even more determined to get to the bottom of the matter and set things right.
Stooping to help Rosalie pick up the napkins, Grace asked her point blank: “Okay, Rosalie. What is going on with you and Michael?”
“Nothing, okay? Nothing at all. Michael’s fine,” she mumbled, crushing a cloth napkin in her fingers.
“All right. Michael’s fine, but you’re not. So tell me what’s going on.”
“I already told you. Nothing!” Rosalie replied fiercely, clutching the mangled napkin to her chest.
Grace reached over and took the girl’s hands.
“Sorry, Rosalie, that won’t do at all. If nothing’s wrong, then you come out front and help me make the rest of those Norwegian Christmas baskets to hang on the tree and give to the wedding guests.”
“No!” Rosalie shouted. “No baskets, no tree, no stupid wedding!”
Rosalie tore her hands away from Grace and ran out of the room, tears streaming down her face. Before Grace could stop her, Rosalie grabbed her coat off the rack and ran through the dining room, out into the cold, windy street.
“Okay. That went well,” Grace muttered to herself.
Jeannie came into the room, patting Grace on the shoulder.
“At least you tried,” she soothed.
“But did you hear her? That’s
“Maybe it’s just cold feet,” Jeannie reminded her. “I had them before I got married, and as I recall, you had a pretty bad case of the wedding jitters yourself.”
“No. It’s more than that,” Grace replied, shaking her head, although she had to smile inside at the memory of all those times she’d cried on her mother’s shoulder in the days leading up to the wedding. “She said there’s nothing wrong with Michael, so maybe I’d better have a talk with him.”
“I think Evie said he was upstairs in the apartment, painting.” Michael and Rosalie would be moving into the apartment over the restaurant where Grace herself used to live.
“Good. And if that’s where Rosalie went, I’ll be able to talk to them both.”
Grace hurried to the front to let Evie know what had happened. She was pleased to see her mother checking the reservation book, which promised another full house tonight. That’s the way it had been since her cookbook had come out. Once a week, they featured a recipe from the book with a giant picture of the person whose recipe it was on an easel in the front of the restaurant. On those nights, they had to actually turn away customers.
“How’d it go, honey?” Evie asked, a hopeful smile on her face.
“Not so well. Didn’t you see Rosalie run out the door?”
“Yes, I was just hoping everything was okay and she was running upstairs to be with Michael.”
“Hardly. She told me the wedding’s off. If she went up to the apartment, it was to tell Michael that.” Grace sighed, at a loss to understand Rosalie’s complete change of personality. “I guess I’ll go up there to talk to Michael. Maybe he knows something.”
“I doubt if he knows Rosalie’s not going through with it or he wouldn’t be spending his morning off painting.”
“So, if she’s not there now and she hasn’t told him yet, there may still be hope.”
“There’s always hope, honey,” Evie reminded her daughter. She’d spent many years herself hoping Grace would come out of her shell and find her happiness. It had taken a very long time, and sometimes even Evie’s legendary optimism failed, but it had finally happened.
“All right, Mom. I’ll be upstairs,” Grace sighed. Pulling on her coat and gloves, she looked out the window, where the wind was really beginning to kick up. She was grateful that she only had to walk to the end of the building to get to the stairs, but on a day like this, even a short walk would be disagreeable, to say the least.
Putting her head down, Grace concentrated on keeping her footing while walking against the wind. The weather wasn’t improving her mood any, and someone, namely Rosalie, would have to pay the price for that.
By the time Grace reached the top of the stairs, she was breathing hard, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this, and she took several minutes to slow her breathing. That’s how much this situation had gotten to her; that’s how much she cared about Rosalie and Michael. Finally, feeling more in control, Grace knocked on the door.
“Grace!” Michael smiled. “Boy, am I glad to see you. I can’t remember which color goes to which room, and if I get it wrong, you know Rosalie’s going to make me do it all over.”
“Peach for the kitchen and bathroom, dark green for the living room and dining room with a tan accent wall, beige for the guest bedroom, and she never did tell me what color she’d picked for the master bedroom.”
“Well,” Michael said, scratching his head, “I’ve got all those colors here, but the bedroom ... uh-oh, this must be it.”
Michael picked up the remaining paint can and looked at it with one eyebrow raised.
“She couldn’t. No, she wouldn’t.” Michael grimaced. “Fever Red?”
“I guess Rosalie plans on having some hot times in that bedroom,” Grace laughed.
“Yeah, whatever my lady wants,” Michael shrugged, but his smile turned warm at the thought of his bride-to-be.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about, Michael,” Grace said, getting back to business.
“I know. Rosalie hasn’t been herself lately. But, you know, the wedding and all, and she starts that new job at the hospital in January. There’s a lot going on right now. I’m sure she’s just feeling a little overwhelmed by it all.”
“Michael,” Grace said severely, arching her eyebrows. “Rosalie? Overwhelmed? Those two words do not belong in the same sentence unless she’s the one doing the overwhelming.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Michael replied, flopping down on a folding chair. “I don’t know what’s wrong and I don’t know how to get her to talk to me. I mean, when Rosalie gets upset, about a million words come flying out of her mouth and everybody in the neighborhood knows what’s going on with her. You’ve got to help me, Grace.”
“Oh, my,” Grace said, pulling up another chair to sit beside Michael and take his hand. “That’s why I came to you.”
“Did you try to talk to her?” he asked.
“Yes, and she said that ... that ... sorry, Michael. She said there wasn’t going to be any stupid wedding and then she ran out of the restaurant.”
“Oh, god,” Michael said, covering his eyes with his hand. “What am I going to do?”
“It’s what we’re going to do together that we have to figure out,” Grace replied, squeezing his hand. “Have you talked to Gran?”
“No. I didn’t want to worry her. She seems pretty distracted lately, and I figure she’s already missing Rosalie.”
“Well, then, that’s it,” Grace smiled. “Rosalie is worried about Gran. You know how close they are.”
“You think?” Michael asked, beginning to hope.
“Yes, of course. Gran isn’t all that old, you know, but I’ll bet Rosalie feels like she needs to be taken care of and she doesn’t want to leave her.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Simple. We make sure Rosalie knows that we’ll all be looking out for Gran ... as much as Gran will let us, that is.”
“You got that right,” Michael grinned.
“I’ll bet Rosalie’s home right now. Why don’t you go over there and tell her we know why she’s been so upset lately and how we’re all going to take care of her grandmother.”
“Aren’t you going to come with me?” Michael asked, hoping he didn’t have to face Rosalie alone. Not that he was scared of her ... most times ... but she’d been so emotional lately and it was hard to deal with her tears. It was easier when she was ranting and raving around. He just sat back and let her get it all out.
“I wish I could, Michael, but I’ve got to get Coul home and pick up Mandy from school. You’ve got my cell, right? Just call me when you can and let me know how it went.”
Michael walked Grace to the door, feeling better than he’d felt in a while.
“Thanks, Grace. You’re the best,” he smiled, kissing her cheek. “But I think I’d better do some painting before I see her. Maybe she’ll feel sorry for me when she sees how hard I’ve been working.”
“You know her best,” Grace laughed. “We’ll talk later.”
Grace felt better, too, and she couldn’t wait to tell Evie all about their plan.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Hank called as he walked in the door after work. It felt so good to be saying that again. It was no fun being a widower, but now he had Grace. Beautiful, warm-hearted, sweet Grace.
“Daddy!” Mandy yelled, throwing herself into his arms, while Sam, the family Beagle, tried to jump between them, begging to be petted.
“Hey, pretty lady. How’s my girl?” It felt good to say that, too. If it wasn’t for Grace, Mandy would still be hiding from the world.
The scars she’d gotten in the accident that killed her mother (and Hank still missed Anna, though he loved his new family with all his heart) had kept Mandy from a normal childhood. But Grace had changed all that. She’d helped Mandy confront her fears by sharing her own. Then she’d taken his little girl (theirs, now) to the best doctors and had her scars taken care of. Only a few still showed in the strongest light, and Mandy had virtually forgotten all about them.
“Mommy and I made pumpkin pie and Coul had some!”
“Coul got the first taste? Well, I like that; a man spends his whole day working hard and comes home to no pumpkin pie!”
