Page 85 of Christmas in Coconut Creek

In the kitchen my mother had covered every flat surface in some sort of plastic wrap or tinfoil, and pots and pans were piled on top of one another like Jenga. The pungent aroma of fish in the oven assaulted my senses, and I was hit with the nostalgia I’d missed all those years I’d spent deployed.

It happened like this every time I came home. My mind turned into a highlight reel of the childhood I spent in Coral Grove and what I wouldn’t give to have another morning around the dinner table, just the four of us again.

“Francesco!” The delicate, relieved sound of my mother’s voice welcomed me from across the room. She floated toward my sister and I with a soft smile and a streak of flour across her cheek.

“Mama.” I kissed her clammy forehead, squeezing her way too tightly for comfort.

“Look at this face.” She rubbed her thumbs through my thick brush of facial hair and then over the mustache on my upper lip. “You look homeless.”

“I think I look rugged and sexy.”

“You look like a hipster.”

Addy cackled behind us, tugging at the ends of my hair like she did when we were kids. “You go to Colorado for a week and now you’re turning into a mountain man.”

“So you’re saying I’d fit in?” A foreign feeling tightened my chest at the mention of Colorado. Subsequently Ophelia found her way to the forefront of my thoughts, like she’d been doing all day. I’d made it halfway to Miami on the car ride down before I realized I hadn’t even turned on the radio, too busy replaying the several times I’d almost had her and lost out to a technicality.

That was never going to happen again.

“Have you heard any news?” my mom asked excitedly.

“Nothing yet. But if I left Florida, who would make me clam sauce on Christmas Eve?” I walked over to the kitchen table and tried to dig my fingers into the uncovered bowl of calamari my mother was filling and got a swat on the hand instead.

“You worked so hard, Francesco. Your back is better. The doctor said you’re brand new, didn’t he?” She rubbed her dainty fingers down my spine and gave me a good pat right above my tailbone where there was a small, faded pink scar.

“Something like that,” I deflected. “Like I said, I haven’t heard anything yet, and I might not be the right fit for the program anyway. I haven’t flown since…”

“You’re the best fucking pilot,” Addy cut me off.

“Adriana!” My mother swatted her then as well and I stuck my tongue out.

“You two will be the first to know,” I promised them, squeezing each woman into my side and kissing them on the top of the head. “Now, put this down for a minute and come outside.” I helped my mother out of her dusty apron, throwing it haphazardly onto the counter. “I have gifts.”

Thetailgateofmytruck dropped open with a creak and I was pleased to see my jigsaw puzzle of potted plants and bags of soil weren’t scattered across the bed. Some petals were a little worse for wear but what was nature if not a little wonky?

Addy whistled lowly, the corners of her lips tugging into an impressed smile as my mother followed her down the driveway. Not many things in life stuck so solidly in my memory as my mother’s happiness. Especially in the years since I joined the service. Every time the soft wrinkles around her eyes creased, and the honeyed hazel of her irises brightened, I cataloged it like a scrapbook page.

“I figured we could get the garden planted again.” I gestured to the truck. “I’ll do the dirty work, of course. We still have some shovels in the shed, right?”

“Yes,” Mom murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You picked all the best ones. The pentas are my favorite; they attract the butterflies.” She dipped her head and stuck her nose into the star-shaped pink and red flowers, smelling the nectar. “I love it so much, honey.”

Her glossy gaze penetrated a locked chamber of sentiment inside me, stinging my nose with unshed emotion. I cleared my throat, trying hard not to give in to the weaker, hidden side of my grief before it reared its head.

“I’ll get started after dinner. Should only take a few hours. I brought some old newspaper and cardboard boxes I’m finally getting rid of from back when we bought the house.”

“You should keep those handy,” Addy suggested. “To pack away all five of your shirts and the one hat you own for Colorado.”

“I’ll just wear them all on the flight. Problem solved.” I hooked my sister’s elbow and deposited her in front of the truck’s rear door. “I didn’t have time to wrap anything,” I said. “Save the fucking turtles or some shit though, right?”

She pushed up on her tiptoes, trying to see over my shoulder into the cab.

I turned back around with an arm full of oil paints and a rolled palette of expensive hog bristle brushes. Then went back for the several different-sized canvases that had done all they could to prevent me from using my back window on the ride to Coral Grove.

“It’s nothing crazy,” I said. “I figured you were probably due for some new stuff.”

My mother and sister stared at one another with the same owlish commiseration. Their eyes held a secret conversation that I was lost to. Eventually, Addy turned her attention back to me and grinned. “What’s her name, Frankie?”

“What?” I choked on a laugh, looking away.

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