Christmas Eve. Luther and Nora slept until almost 7 A.M., when the phone awakened them. "May I speak to Frosty?" came the voice of a teenager, and before Luther could shoot back a retort the line was dead. He managed to laugh though, and as he jumped out of bed he patted his rather firm stomach and said, "The islands are calling us, dear. Let's pack."
"Fetch my coffee," she said and slid deeper under the covers.
The morning was overcast and cold, the chance of a white Christmas fifty-fifty. Luther certainly didn't want one. Nora would lapse into a spell of nostalgia if snow fell on Christmas Eve. She'd grown up in Connecticut, where, according to her, every Christmas had been white.
Luther didn't want the weather meddling with their flight tomorrow.
He stood at the front window, exactly where the tree would've been, sipped his coffee, gazed upon his lawn to make sure it had not been vandalized by Spike Frohmeyer and his band of outlaws, and looked at the Scheel home across the street. In spite of all its lights and decorations, it was a gloomy place. Walt and Bev were in there, having their coffee, sleepwalking through the motions, both knowing but not saying that this could be their last Christmas together. For a moment Luther felt a twinge of regret about eliminating Christmas, but it didn't last long.
Next door, things were certainly different at the Trogdons'. They followed the odd custom of playing Santa Claus on the morning of Christmas Eve, twenty-four hours before the rest of the world, then loading their mini-van and racing off to a lodge for a week of skiing. Same lodge every year, and Trogdon had explained that they had Christmas dinner in a stone cabin before a roaring fireplace with thirty other Trogdons. Very cozy, great skiing, kids loved it, and the family got along.
Different strokes.
So the Trogdons were already up and unwrapping piles of gifts. Luther could see movement around their tree, and he knew that before long they'd be hauling boxes and bags to the van, then the yelling would start. The Trogdon kids would be whisked away before they were forced to explain, how, exactly, they got such a favorable deal from Santa Claus.
Otherwise, Hemlock was still and quiet, bracing itself for the festivities.
Luther took another sip and grinned smugly at the world. On the morning of a typical Christmas Eve, Nora would bounce out of bed at sunrise with two long lists, one for her, an even longer one for him. By seven, she'd have a turkey in the oven, the house spotless, the tables set for the party, and her thoroughly defeated husband out in the jungle trying to beat last-minute traffic with his list. They'd bark at each other, face to face and by cell phone. He'd forget something and be sent back into the streets. He'd break something and the world would come to an end.
Total chaos. Then, around six, when they were both exhausted and sick off the holidays, their guests would arrive. Their guests would also be dog-tired from the frenzied ordeal of Christmas, but they would push on and make the best of it.
The Krank Christmas party had begun years earlier with a dozen or so friends over for appetizers and drinks, Last year, they'd fed fifty.
His smug smile spread even wider across his face. He relished the solitude of his home and the prospect of a day with nothing to do but throw a few clothes in a suitcase and get ready for the beaches.
They enjoyed a late breakfast of tasteless bran cereal and yogurt. Conversation over the Gazette was soft and pleasant. Nora was trying gamely to ignore the memories of past Christmases. She worked hard at being excited about their trip.
"Do you think she's safe?" she finally asked.
"She's fine," Luther said without looking up.
They stood at the front window and talked about the Scheels, and they watched the Trogdons move about. Traffic picked up on Hemlock as folks ventured out for one last foray into the madness. A delivery truck stopped in front of their house. Butch the deliveryman bounded out of it with a box. He ran to the front door just as Luther was opening it.
"Merry Christmas," he said tersely, and practically threw the package at Luther. A week earlier, during a less-stressful delivery, Butch had lingered a bit, waiting for his annual gratuity. Luther had explained that they were not celebrating Christmas this year. See, we have no tree, Butch. No decorations. No gifts. No lights on the shrubs, no Frosty on the roof. Just dropping out this year, Butch. No calendars from the police, no fruitcakes from the firemen. Nothing, Butch. Butch left with nothing.
The box was from a mail-order outfit called Boca Beach. Luther'd found them on the Internet. He took the package to the bedroom, locked the door, and put on a matching shirt and shorts outfit that in print had looked just a little offbeat, but now, hanging on Luther, looked downright gaudy.
"What is it, Luther?" Nora said, banging on the door.
It was a yellow, aqua, and teal print of marine life-large fat fishes with bubbles floating up from their mouths. Whimsical, yes. Silly, yes.
And Luther decided right there on the spot that he would love it and wear it proudly around one of the pools on the Island Princess. He yanked open the door. Nora covered her mouth and was instantly hysterical. He paraded down the hall, wife behind him in stitches, his brown feet and toes a sharp contrast to the khaki carpet, and he marched into the living room where he stood proudly at the front window for all of Hemlock to see.
"You're not going to wear that!" Nora roared from behind him.
"I certainly am!"
"Then I'm not going!"
"Yes you are."
"It's hideous."
"You're just jealous because you don't have this outfit."
"I'm thrilled that I don't have it."
He grabbed her and they danced around the room, both laughing, Nora to the point of having tears in her eyes. Her husband, an uptight tax accountant with a stodgy outfit like Wiley & Beck, trying his best to dress like a beach bum. And missing badly.
The phone rang.
As Luther would remember after, he and Nora stopped their dancing and laughing on the second ring, maybe the third, and for some reason paus............