Page 26 of Christmas Cove

“Nothing,” Leo laughed. “Just something she said.”

“She makes you happy. I haven’t seen you light up like this...ever.”

“Well.” Leo walked with Edwin back around to the front of the building, all the while thinking about the cause of his happiness. Or better yet, what had been making him so unhappy that a few laughs and a smile were so surprising to those around him. “She’s special,” is what he landed on, and it was enough for now.

Waiting for him on the front steps of City Hall was his someone special. Beaming with delight and clapping her hands together, she ran to him, and he caught her in his arms. He swung her around and put her down. Her arm remained circled around his neck, and she planted a fast kiss on his cheek.

“You fixed it!” America applauded.

CHAPTER15

Main Street was wellon its way to becoming the wonderland America had imagined. But while the others continued stringing the lights, Edwin gave her an important task. Though she knew she was up to the challenge in theory, she ambled with a degree of uncertainty to the end of Main Street furthest from Town Hall where, by all accounts, Scrooge McCarol would be waiting and, according to Edwin, would let her displeasure be known of the sprightly turn of events currently taking place alongherstreet.

America steeled herself for the inevitable blowback she fully expected to encounter as she knocked on the lady’s front door. No answer. Looking down the block, she spotted Leo and gave him a sharp shrug with her hands out. He motioned with a flick of his wrist for her to try again. If she hadn’t been the one to ask for all this, she would have turned around that instant and bolted for the nearest highway. But, as it was, she had indeed asked for everything she was about to get. With the truth fueling her, she positioned her hand to knock once more, and the door flew open.

“What do you want?” the lady barked, and America understood why Edwin had called her Scrooge.

“Um, hi. My name is America—”

“I don’t want whatever you’re selling,” she said and closed the door.

America promptly slid her foot in the crack and leaned in. “I’m not selling anything. Can I please have a moment of your time?”

“I don’t read the Bible. I don’t like strangers, and I don’t want to talk.”

“Please. Is it Miss McCarol? Edwin sent me to speak with you. He thought if we two could—”

America was cut off again, only this time the voice that spoke back had changed, softened a little. “Carol. My name is Carol. I don’t know why that insufferable man insists on calling me Scrooge McAnything. He’s one to talk! I haven’t seen the geezer smile in years.”

Carol opened the door and nodded to the side. America accepted the shaky invitation and followed her inside the darkened sitting room. She watched as Carol shuffled her feet across the threadbare oriental rug to the window, where she threw open the shutters. Light flooded in and bounced off the brocade golds and pale blues that defined the room.

“You can sit down, if you like,” she said. “I’ve not had company in a while. And I’ve never met anyone named America before. Quite unusual.”

What was unusual was how honest and free speaking the woman was. The kind of freedom that comes with age and temperament, America supposed, and wondered whether she would ever get to the point in life when self-censoring for others’ sakes would rank lower on her priority list.

“I was named after my great-grandmother, America De Rosa. Her parents had hoped she would be the first of the family to immigrate to the States, but she never made it here,” America explained. It felt odd to tell the story to a perfect stranger, but no one else ever asked. It was doubtful, in a place as small as Christmas Cove, that there were many exotic names to be found.

From her position on the worn jacquard sofa, America took stock of the framed photos scattered on every horizontal surface. Some were black and white, while others had the grainy look and washed out feel of a more serene time. “Your home is quite pretty.”

“It’s seen better times. Tea?” Carol asked.

“Thank you. Hot tea would be lovely,” America said. “It’s getting chilly out there.”

Carol shuffled to the kitchen, and America was unsure whether or not she should follow, but Carol went right on speaking from the other room. “This house isn’t the only thing that’s seen better times. The town certainly has. My jawline too,” she sniggered. “And this darn kettle. I can never get the thing to work when I want it to.”

The distinct sound of metal being whacked with a wooden spoon rang in the air, and America rushed to Carol’s aid. Upon entering through the swinging kitchen door, America became aware that the kettle was not the recipient, but the stove top itself was taking a spanking. “Can I help? It would be no trouble,” she offered to prevent a murder.

Carol stepped aside. “It’s the gas. I can’t see the thing so well anymore.”

America recalled a brief lesson her father had given her about pilot lights. She checked inside the cabinet for the valve and it glowed blue, just as it should. “This is right. Must be the stove.” She checked the iron stove grate’s placement, and then the flat disks that allowed for perfectly round flames, and spotted the problem. “The plate here is off kilter.” America shifted it back into position with her middle finger, the only digit long enough to reach through the iron grate. “Here we are.”

Carol stepped up to the stove, orange kettle in hand, and turned the knob. The flame clicked and sparked to life just as it should have, and America was immensely glad that she’d paid attention to her father’s lessons.

“I appreciate your help, and seeing as how I now owe you one, why don’t you tell me why Edwin sent you here.”

America knew this was it, her one shot at gaining the woman’s blessing for what they were trying to do. She hoped the small act of goodwill would stretch the chasm she was prepared to cross. Standing in her way was the fact that she knew nothing really about the town, and held no cards, and had no chips to play other than her cheerful personality. America knew Carol wasn’t a fan of Edwin, though she sensed there was far more to their story, and Leo was still a wildcard.

“Tell me, Carol, how do you like the mayor?”

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