A Cherry Cola Christmas (12 page)

“Yes—even if Evie decides not to come. And I promise I won't spoil things for you like I've done in the past. You've definitely made me a believer in the worth of the library with all that's happened.”

She smiled, feeling as if she'd won the lottery. “And that's all I've ever asked of you.”

12

Story Hour

I
t was remarkable how different the atmosphere was for this particular meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club. It had nothing to do with the cold temperature outside—typical of the first week in December in northeast Mississippi. At first, Maura Beth was puzzled by the heightened level of chatter and laughter around the lobby hung with big red and green bows and a small cedar that had been turned into a Christmas tree complete with bubble lights and a bright, blinking star at the top; but she finally figured it out when Stout Fella sidled up to her in the buffet line, and said, “I don't know about the rest of 'em, but I'm relieved I don't have to do a book report here tonight. For all the others I've been to—even
Forrest Gump
—I always felt like I was being graded.”

Maura Beth frowned right in the middle of helping herself to a large slice of the mouth-watering glazed ham James Hannigan had contributed. “Well, Justin, I can assure you I didn't mean to come off as a high-school teacher assigning too much homework over the weekend. I've tried not to be too structured—instead, I've stayed outside-the-box, as you know.”

“Oh, I didn't mean it to sound like criticism, Maura Beth,” he answered as he hungrily scanned all the food in front of him on the bright red tablecloth, choosing a baked chicken breast and a couple of deviled eggs for starters. “Matter-of-fact, both Becca and I are counting on this meeting to put us in the Christmas spirit. Maybe that big bowl a' eggnog and those sugar cookies with all the red and green sprinkles on 'em over there on the end will help. Fact is, I haven't sold a single house or a plot a' ground in months now, and the bigger Becca gets, the more uncomfortable she gets. We're a pair, aren't we?”

Maura Beth turned and briefly glanced at the former Becca Broccoli, who was already seated in the semicircle of folding chairs, balancing her paper plate on her protruding belly as a makeshift table. At the moment she had just finished spearing two grapes with her fork and was carefully maneuvering them to her mouth. Anyone with any insight and a grasp of the obvious could see that dropping them on the floor and then trying to bend over and retrieve them would have been an utterly lost cause.

“She almost decided to stay home with the cranky way she's been feelin' lately,” Justin continued. “But she said she was determined to overcome the trials and tribulations of pregnancy—as she put it—and put things in perspective, and your idea of ‘big picture' stories really sounded like something she needed to hear at this time in her life. In both our lives when you get right down to it. Once the baby comes, we know things'll be changed forever.”

They moved along the line and continued to help themselves to other goodies as Maura Beth said, “So, are either one of you planning to share a memorable story with us tonight?”

“Becca is. That's provided she can waddle up to the podium.”

Maura Beth stole another glimpse of the greatly inflated Becca and chuckled under her breath. “Oh, I expect we'll let her speak from her seat if she has any trouble getting up when the time comes.”

Then Justin turned and waved to his wife across the way as he spoke. “I know she'll appreciate that.”

“So, I keep forgetting. When is the baby due again? February?”

“Middle a' January or thereabouts, which sure can't get here soon enough for the both of us.”

Maura Beth gave him a gentle, playful nudge. “For the record, that makes three of us. Don't forget about your baby's godmother standing right here debating what to put on her plate next.”

Justin lowered his chin and his voice at the same time. “Really, Maura Beth, you were the only person we seriously considered. And we felt the same way about ole Doug McShay for godfather. Doug and I really got to know each other pretty well over beers out at the Marina Bar and Grill before it closed. He's good folks, and so is his wife. This baby sure is gonna have a lot a' special people in his life.”

“His? Then you definitely know it's a boy?”

Justin screwed up his face for an instant, looking slightly guilty. “Nah, could be a her for all we know. I still haven't caught on to all this politically correct his and her stuff you're supposed to use in every sentence these days.”

Maura Beth was greatly amused and flashed a wide grin. “Well, if that's your worst fault, Justin Brachle, Becca is one lucky woman!”

“Hey, I'm one really lucky man, too. Becca's stayed on me pretty good about my diet and my weight, and she's gotten me to slow down for real. That heart attack I had was my wake-up call, and now I've got a child on the way I need to hang around for. I've got something to live for besides making money. If I had a speech to make tonight, that'd be it in a nutshell.”

“Then why don't you get up and say it? It's right to the point and pretty inspiring in my book.”

He stayed quiet for a while but finally produced one of his big smiles. “I've got a lot a' competition tonight from some folks who know how to make fine speeches, but I'll give it some serious consideration.”

 

Maura Beth made a point of visiting with practically everyone who had shown up as they all settled into their seats with their plates of chicken, ham, deviled eggs, green bean casserole, and Miss Voncille's reliable biscuits. She was happiest to see Emma Frost had kept her word and brought her Leonard with her, even though the conversation with him was strained.

“And are you enjoying all that good food, Mr. Leonard?” Maura Beth was saying, noting that he and Emma were indeed a good match. The man was as plain and ordinary-looking as she was, but the blank look on his face told the tale of his ailment.

“I . . . uh . . . believe so,” he said, staring at her and then down at his plate as if it were about to speak to him.

“He really likes the green bean casserole,” Emma put in. “I really favor it myself. Who fixed it? Do ya know?”

“That would be Nora Duddney's contribution, I do believe. You'll have to tell her how much you like it when you get the chance. It's her first time to bring anything, so I know she'd appreciate the compliment. She's sitting back there with her gentleman friend, Wally Denver.”

Then Leonard spoke up after finishing off his helping of casserole. “Coudda . . . have some more?”

“Have all you want,” Maura Beth told him, gesturing toward the buffet table. “I could go get it for you.”

“No, I'll do it, Miz Maura Beth,” Emma added. “I was headed back for a second helping myself.”

Maura Beth connected with Periwinkle and Mr. Place next. “I guess you're both getting excited about Waddell Mack and his band having dinner at The Twinkle tomorrow night. What a great opportunity for you!”

“You bet we are!” Periwinkle told her. “Except Waddell Mack and his band are one and the same.”

Maura Beth's eyes shifted back and forth. “Beg pardon?”

“That's the name of his band—Waddell Mack. He named it after himself.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You should really download his latest album and listen to some of the songs between now and tomorrow night. You and Jeremy are still coming, right?”

“We're planning on it. By the way, what's on the menu?”

Mr. Place spoke up. “We were planning on our baked chicken and roasted asparagus until Mr. Mack texted us that he was in the mood for some fried catfish and coleslaw.”

“Well, I'm sure he'll love anything you fix him.”

A few minutes later Maura Beth found herself chatting with Marydell Crumpton and Renette Posey, who were sitting together in the back row. “Where's Mamie tonight? She's not sick, is she?”

“No, indeed, Maura Beth. She's still mad about my working here at the library. So she's boycotting the meeting tonight,” Marydell began, after sipping her cup of eggnog. “I know how her brain works. She's sitting at home right now, all dressed up with no place to go—imagining that everything is falling apart without her and that any minute now, we'll all be banging at the door and practically begging her to grace us with her presence. Ha!”

They all laughed, and Renette said, “Miz Marydell is such fun to work with. I get to hear all about the things Miz Mamie does.”

“I'm afraid my sister doesn't like sharing the spotlight with anyone, least of all me,” Marydell continued. “I know we're all better off not having her here anyway. I can't think of anything remotely inspirational she might have to say. She's good at nitpicking but not much else.”

Then Maura Beth continued making the rounds. “Tonight, I feel like I imagine a children's librarian feels all the time,” she was saying at one point to Miss Voncille and Locke Linwood, who were seated to her right while enjoying their potluck spread. By then, she found herself very much in her professional mission mode and was enjoying herself thoroughly.

“In about fifteen minutes I'll be presiding over our little story hour—if you want to call it that. We librarians like to say the traditional kind is the first real opportunity to get young brains hooked on reading. Of course, I haven't been able to do story hour as often as I would have liked over the years, since I've worn way too many hats with not enough money to buy a one of them. But somehow I've still managed to find time to throw together a makeshift summer reading program for at least a couple of weeks. I'll start interviewing candidates for the position of children's librarian in January, and let me tell you—I can't wait to delegate that responsibility once and for all.”

“This truly is a thrilling time for you and the library,” Miss Voncille said, finishing up a deviled egg. “And I can't wait to hold my ‘Who's Who in Cherico?' meetings in that new genealogy room you keep telling me about. Maybe we'll finally attract some new members for the first time in years.”

“You'll have more room than you ever dreamed of, and we'll keep on expanding the genealogy collection and buy some genealogy software for you that's all the rage now. When the drywall is up next year, you and Locke must come out and I'll give you a little tour so you can get the feel of your new stomping grounds.” Maura Beth took a generous bite of her ham and a sip of her eggnog before she continued. “So, I'll ask you the same question I asked Justin Brachle a few minutes ago. Will either of you be sharing a story with us tonight?”

“We both will,” Locke told her with a noticeable excitement in his voice. “I think everyone will be moved by what we have to say.”

Miss Voncille took Locke's hand and squeezed it, but Maura Beth sensed the gesture was more for courage than affection. “I'm . . . well, I'm going to read one of my Frank's letters that he wrote to me from Vietnam a little before he went MIA. This was a very difficult decision for me. I've never shared any of them with anyone before—not even my Locke since we got married—but I think this is the time and place to do it. If we're supposed to talk about the ‘big picture' and inspire each other here tonight, then I know what I'll be reading will do the trick.”

“And I'll be sharing something Pamela wrote in her journal, which she turned over to me a few days before she died,” Locke added. “I really don't think I could have kept on going after her death if she hadn't left me with those words. They've been guideposts for me. I debated whether to share that or a letter she instructed me to open on the two-year anniversary of her death, but I decided on the journal. It's one of those short but sweet gems that will never leave you.”

“I know it will be full of Pamela's special insights,” Miss Voncille told him, still holding on to her husband's hand tightly. “She was a remarkable woman and a wonderful wife to you all those years.” Then she turned to Maura Beth. “Locke asked me if I wanted to read any of her journal, same as I asked him if he wanted to read this letter of Frank's before tonight, but in the end, we both decided to keep things fresh and surprise each other.”

“I'm very impressed,” Maura Beth said. “You two understand perfectly what I want to achieve here this evening. I'm convinced Cherico is going to bottom out of this spiral it's been in for a while, and I hope everyone leaves here resolving to help our little town do just that.”

“If you don't mind my asking, do you know how many others will be speaking?” Miss Voncille added.

Maura Beth put down her fork and began concentrating with a thoughtful squint, moving her lips as she counted up. “Well, so far, we have the two of you, Becca Brachle, Connie McShay, James Hannigan, Mr. Parker Place; and then, my parents are here from New Orleans, as you know by now, and my mother told me last night at dinner out at the McShays that she had something she wanted to contribute.”

“Please don't take this the wrong way,” Miss Voncille continued with a lighthearted flick of her wrist, “but I truly hope we're not here inspiring each other until Christmas Day.”

“I appreciate the humor,” Maura Beth said, smiling pleasantly. “But I did request that everyone keep their presentations to under ten minutes or so. The last thing I want to inspire here tonight is boredom and yawning.”

Miss Voncille quickly scanned the library lobby and lowered her voice. “What about that cousin of yours sitting next to your parents and your husband at the other end? She cornered me when I first got here, and I thought she'd never stop running on about how she was going to discuss the importance of telethons for good causes when it was her turn at the podium. I don't want to come off as catty here, but I really could envision her going on for days like an actual telethon would. She could end up putting a real damper on the evening.”