Winter Solstice (Winter #4)(10)
Mitzi breaks the spell of Kelley’s awful reverie. “I just had the best conversation with the caterer! This party is going to be So. Much. Fun.”
Party? Kelley thinks. What party? He wonders for an instant if Mitzi is already planning his funeral reception. Why else would she need a caterer? Then he remembers Bart’s birthday party at the VFW. Kelley tried to discourage Mitzi from planning this party. Why would she take on such an enormous project when her husband was dying and her son was depressed?
She looked at him as though he were a moron, and he realized that was the point. Kelley was dying and Bart was depressed; Mitzi needed a happy distraction. Still, Kelley worries the party will put too much pressure on Bart. He doesn’t like being the center of attention. He didn’t want any kind of celebration when he came home from Afghanistan, and there he was, a war hero. Kelley himself would have taken the Chamber of Commerce up on their offer of a parade, but Bart said he couldn’t stand to be honored when half of his fellow Marines had been killed by the Bely.
Mitzi was inviting everyone they knew to the VFW. It would be a Halloween version of their Christmas Eve party. Once Kelley realized that, he turned to Mitzi and said, “Why don’t we just throw our Christmas Eve party as usual?”
“But that’s so far away,” Mitzi said. Before Kelley could chide her for being as impatient as a child, she kissed his forehead and said, “And you’re feeling good now.”
That was when Kelley understood that Mitzi didn’t think Kelley would make it to the holidays. She didn’t think he would make it two more months. Wow. Well, he would show her! There was no greater motivation for doing anything—including staying alive—than being able to tell your spouse: I told you so.
There followed some days, however, when Kelley feared that Mitzi was right. He felt he could barely keep breathing for another hour, much less two more months.
Now he has decided to follow Bart’s lead and just nod along when Mitzi talks about the party. It will be fun. Sort of. Kelley will have to attend in his wheelchair, but if he takes pain medication, he should be able to stay alert. He won’t be out on the dance floor—yes, Mitzi hired a band, some operation called Maxxtone that Kevin recommended—but it’ll be fun to see people.
“The caterer suggested a mashed potato bar,” Mitzi says. “It’s a thing. They make a big pot of mashed potatoes, and then there are dishes of toppings—scallions, cheddar cheese, sour cream, bacon…”
“Bacon?” Kelley says, perking up. “You agreed to bacon?”
“I know it’s your favorite,” Mitzi says.
“Was my favorite,” Kelley says. Does he have to remind Mitzi that she forbids him from eating bacon—as well as sausage, ham, pulled pork, hamburger, meatballs of any kind, veal chops, marbled steak, dark-meat chicken, and “fatty” fish such as salmon?
“I’ve had a talk with Laura—” Mitzi says.
“Lara,” Kelley says. “Her name is Lara. Not Laura. You have to pronounce it correctly or she gets upset.”
Mitzi nods, though Kelley is certain she didn’t process the correction. “Laura seems to think it’s fine for you to eat the foods you love. She was very persuasive.”
“You mean, you agree with her?” Kelley says.
“Yes,” Mitzi says, and she gives Kelley another lovely kiss. “I want you to be happy.”
She’s given up on me, Kelley thinks. If she doesn’t care if I eat bacon, then I really must be a lost cause.
Maybe Mitzi has fallen in love with the caterer. Maybe the caterer is one of these hipster types with a man bun.
“There are going to be glass apothecary jars filled with candy,” Mitzi says. “Jawbreakers, caramels, Necco wafers, Pixy Stix. It seemed like a natural fit at a Halloween party.”
“But it’s not a Halloween party,” Kelley says. “It’s a birthday party. We aren’t wearing costumes.” He pauses. They had better not be wearing costumes! What would he go as? Man Sitting on Death’s Door?
“I might wear a costume, since I’m the hostess,” Mitzi says. She stands up. “I’d like to wear my gold roller-disco outfit, the one with the matching headband and wristbands. Do you know the one I mean?”
“Um?” Kelley says. He knows exactly the one Mitzi means, because it was this very outfit that Kelley set on fire in their bathtub after Mitzi left Kelley for George Umbrau, the Winter Street Inn Santa Claus, nearly three years earlier.
“You do know the one, right?” Mitzi asks. “I mean, I only had one gold jumpsuit.” She opens the door to their closet. “But I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it. Where could it be?”
Kelley is not too sick to recognize the right course of action. He leans back into his pillows, closes his eyes, and pretends to be asleep.
EDDIE
Finally Eddie’s job of working the phones pays off!
It’s the lowest job on the real estate office totem pole. On a normal day Eddie fields calls, each more inane and frustrating than the last. People call looking to rent a house for the first two weeks of August. They would like it to sleep eight and be on the beach or within short walking distance, and their budget is five thousand dollars. Total. On a good day Eddie responds to such a query with “Do you have any wiggle room with the price? If not, then how about the number of bedrooms or the location? I have a lovely upside-down house in Tom Nevers that sleeps six and rents for forty-five hundred a week. It’s a short drive from the beach. It just came on the market for the two weeks you’re looking at.” On his bad days Eddie says, “The kind of house you’re describing, ma’am/sir, would rent for nearly ten times your budgeted amount. Large beachfront rentals in August start at twenty thousand dollars a week. That’s where they start.” Eddie then pauses, waiting for the caller to hang up.