Christmas in Wine Country (18 page)

“Yeah, my brother Oliver’s kid, Emma.”

“You’re taking her to storytime?” Lila asked, her brain apparently only working well enough to repeat his words.

“I’m out of town a lot so I don’t get to see her much,” he explained. “I try to do something with her when I can.”

“Cat lady!” One of the children spotted her and yelled with glee. Other children joined in with “Cat Lady! Cat Lady!”

“Emma’s been talking about this Cat Lady.” Jake looked around the room.

“Right,” Lila said, struck for the first time with the full realization of exactly how crazy the title sounded. The Cat Lady. She had truly become one. Much like an old lady living with twenty cats in a shoe—or was that the old lady with too many children? She couldn’t remember, but she could see it vividly, her hair wild and frizzy and gray as she cursed the meddlesome kids brave enough to run up to her dilapidated porch…or shoe.

“This crowd is getting restless,” Jake observed, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looked out over the teeming sea of preschoolers. “Cat lady better show soon or we’re going to have a riot on our hands.”   

             
Reaching for her basket, Lila grabbed her cat ear headband, placed it on her head and turned toward Jake, daring him to say something.

Jake’s eyes widened as he glanced up at her head, now sporting black, furry ears. His mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “And so you are she.” 

             
“I am she,” Lila nodded, placing her Mr. Meows cat puppet on her hand.  

             
“There! There she is!” one of the children yelled. Some clapped while others yelled “Yay!”

             
“All right,” he said, nodding. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Gauntlet thrown down, Lila knew she had to rise to the challenge. It was time for her and Mr. Meows to get their show on. 

It only took a few pages into Cinderella to get in the swing of things. The story practically begged for Mr. Meow’s color commentary. Never one for quiet, well-behaved listening, Mr. Meows was prone to frequent interruptions, offering his side of the story and making sure the kids didn’t fall for any baloney.

As she reached the fairy godmother transformation scene, Mr. Meows interrupted with his signature, “Hold on a minute,” sending kids rolling with laughter in anticipation. “Are you trying to tell me,” Mr. Meows asked, ever the realist, “That she turned a pumpkin into a coach?” As Lila tried to calmly explain to him that this was a fairy tale and that’s the sort of thing that happened, Mr. Meows interrupted again with, “and what’s a coach, anyway?” Laughing herself at the kids’ roars of laughter, Lila knew whatever she did in the future she’d never find a better audience. As one of the girls yelled out, “What’s a coach anyway?” Lila realized she just didn’t care how stupid she looked or how ridiculous Jake thought her; she was having fun. Turning it up a notch, Lila made Mr. Meows heave forward, hacking and wheezing because the only thing funnier than Mr. Meow’s interruptions were the occasional hairballs he had to work out. Boys especially loved that.

The next time she looked up at the large black and white clock above the register, she was shocked to see it was nearly eleven already. Of course, she hadn’t looked up past the kids at all during story time, not wanting to derail her train with a glimpse of Jake, whose arms were likely crossed against his chest in derision. Closing the last book—Snow White, with a lot of exasperation from Mr. Meows when she kept opening up that front door—Lila announced it was question-and-answer time. The kids loved wrapping things up with some Q&A, generally taking it as an opportunity to make declarative statements regarding their lives and accomplishments. 

Nodding with interest at one boy’s account of how his baby brother had taken his favorite Spiderman cup, Lila noticed chunky Emma raising her hand. Always one to reward a raised hand, Lila called on her. “Yes, do you have a question?”

“My Barbie has two puppies,” Emma announced with gravitas.

After a few seconds wait to see if that was all, Lila thanked her for sharing and glanced up at Jake. Fist at his mouth, he was clearly struggling to keep his laughter in check. The task grew harder for them both once they each realized the other was also trying not to laugh. It only lasted a moment, though, before a girl quite insistently—and literally—pulled Lila’s attention away with an urgent need to discuss her stuffed bear.

Announcing the official end of storytime, giving the moms who needed to get going the entrée to do so, Lila found herself swamped like a celebrity by five or six toddlers who weren’t ready to go. A girl on each leg, she opened Cinderella once more and let them page through as two of the moms chatted with her about maybe doing an extended storytime next week.

“An hour would be great,” one of the women sighed. Catching herself, she added, “for the kids, I mean. They’d love an hour.”

Agreeing to think about it, Lila filed the idea away for the business plan for the bookstore café. She and Annie wanted to make the most compelling case possible to conservative Marion, recognizing her support—as the owner of the bookstore and only one with enough cash to lease another storefront—was the cornerstone of the plan.

By the time the crowd had cleared, Jake and Emma were gone.

CHAPTER 7: Hit Me with your Best Shot

The late June day was blessed with clear, blue skies reaching the low 80s, perfect for Charlotte’s 2
nd
birthday party. Mr. Meows made an appearance and remained on his best behavior with the exception of refusing to use a fork to eat his cake. Face first, he attacked his frosting with the ferocity of his jungle cat ancestors, much to the delight of the squealing toddler party guests.

Lila did her best to create diversions as Annie needed a distraction; her imperious mother was making a rare appearance up in Redwood Cove for the party. Having disapproved of Annie’s choice in a husband, she didn’t visit that often. A social climber, she didn’t see Annie’s little cottage and contractor son-in-law as movin’ on up. Thankfully, they day had passed without anything said on the subject and Annie and Lila decided that night they’d have a celebration of their own.

The evening continued on unusually warm and fog-free with stars twinkling overhead. Lila still had on the spaghetti-strap tank top and jean mini skirt she’d been wearing that day and wasn’t tempted to add a layer. A typical Redwood Cove summer day could swing as much as 30 degrees from high to low, but it was already seven at night and still mild and balmy. The warmth reminded Lila of evenings back on the Cape growing up, hanging out on the beach or on the porch. It made her want a big, fat ice cream in a homemade waffle cone. Comforted by the fact that she had something just as delicious in her hand, she took another sip of her mojito. 

Windows flung open to the warm early evening summer breeze, Lila, Annie and Zoe were joined by Madonna as they danced around making mojitos in Lila’s kitchen.
They were off to Ted’s later that night, but not before the all-important pre-party. Lila had bought fresh mint for the occasion and now was pleased she’d made the extra effort.

             
“It’s the little things,” Lila said, savoring her drink. “Fresh mint in your mojito. Cilantro in your salad.”

             
“The hint of fresh grated orange in your dark chocolate,” Annie added.

             
“Or when you can really catch hold of your toes in a full pigeon twist,” Zoe said.

             
Lila watched Zoe cross the room and wondered if she was about to demonstrate. Instead, Zoe stood at the window sill, took a deep breath of ocean air and declared, “This, my friends, is summer.”

             
“Yes it is!” Annie exclaimed and they all three joined at the window.

             
Pat Benatar came on the iPod singing, “Well you’re a real tough cookie with a long history”, prompting Lila to begin strutting around the kitchen and singing along. By the chorus, all three were yelling “Hit me with your best shot!” and adding the requisite pantomime. At “Fire away!” Lila blew the tip of her imaginary gun and placed it back in its holster.

“This song is so cool,” Annie said, pouring herself another mojito. Thanks to Lila’s persistent DJing—car and apartment always outfitted with 80s hits—Zoe and Annie were beginning to fully appreciate the breadth and depth of the genre. Between the dentist drill beats of Venice and Valerie’s Euro techno and the continuous loop of lite
saxophone in Phillip’s smooth jazz, Lila was DONE with music she didn’t like. Now, it was 80s all the way, baby. 

“Mo-Mo-jito!” Zoe exclaimed with appreciation for the fine drink. Lila clinked glasses with her. She had to admit, this batch had come out great. Maybe this summer would be about signature cocktails? Enough with the soups and pastas. It was time to mix it up.

A couple of weeks ago she’d actually thrown a dinner party and made sangria with fat peaches and strawberries along with lemons, limes and oranges. Pete, Annie, Zoe and the surprise guest Godfrey had drank every last drop. It had taken some coaxing to get Godfrey to join; he didn’t usually go in for that sort of thing but Lila had been persistent, promising him a small group and assuring him that if he just had to leave he could do so at any moment by simply using the code phrase of his choosing: “My dog has fleas.” As the evening progressed and Godfrey met Zoe’s non-sequiturs with obscure Checkov quotes, Lila knew she’d been right—offbeat meets harmlessly off-his-rocker worked. She didn’t see them as Redwood Cove’s new hot couple—she still couldn’t tell whether Godfrey liked girls or guys or maybe just cyber versions of either one—but they certainly enjoyed each other’s company. Lila had grilled some fish and asparagus and topped it with fresh mango salsa, then served apple cobbler for desert, recipe courtesy of Gram. As the evening had ended with them all eating the wine-soaked fruit out of the sangria pitcher, candles down to the melty wax base, Lila had felt happier than she had in years. Maybe ever.

Signature cocktails, she decided over at the blender, that was the next step. Maybe it was time to get old school? She wasn’t sure what a sidecar was, but maybe it was time to find out?

“Don’t you wish we had some 80s outfits?” Zoe asked. “You know, big hoop earrings and maybe a ripped, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt like Flashdance.”

“I could see Lila in a killer side ponytail,” Annie said, enjoying setting her friend up for a scheme Zoe would most certainly want to execute.

“Not tonight,” Lila intervened. As much as she was getting into the “anything goes” Redwood Cove spirit, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hit the local bar in costume on a random night in June. If she did, though, she knew she was guaranteed to see Jake, but only if she dressed up in full costume, legwarmers included. “Too much effort,” she added. The answer seemed to satisfy Zoe, who spun off to examine some of the framed photos Lila had on her bookcase featuring Gram, her mom, and a few from college including one of Lila, Annie and a couple of other girls wearing snowshoes. Phillip had been fully purged; not that it was too hard when you only had three or four photos in your total collection.  

Striking a pose just as Madonna commanded in the next song, Lila wondered if she should suggest they just stay in tonight; sometimes the pre-party was more fun than the actual going out. Remembering her new silver strappy sandals she’d just impulsively picked up at the local boutique, she decided against it. She was ready for a night out on the town.

*
             
*
             
*

             
Music spilled out of Ted’s door as Annie opened it. The light was warm and the place was packed. Annie, Zoe and Lila filtered through the crowd. Thumbs hooked around the belt loops of her skirt, Lila stood on her tiptoes to try to get the bartender’s attention. Unfortunately, her cute silver sandals were flats and it seemed most everyone in front of her towered over her 5’5” frame.

             
“All right,” Annie said, materializing by her side and easily catching the guy’s attention. At 5’9” with a voice that could pierce through a crowded soccer game, Annie got noticed. After ordering, Annie turned to Lila and said, “We have an assignment for tonight.”

             
“We do?” Lila answered, wondering what kind of scheme Annie had planned.

             
“We do,” Annie confirmed, hand on her hip. “Planning Operation Green Light.”

             
With a laugh, Lila remembered. “Right!”

             
After several sessions, typing furiously on a laptop out on Annie’s porch swing or spreading out papers on her kitchen table sketching floorplans, they’d decided they had their act mostly together. Together enough, at least, to pitch the idea to Marion. She was the lynchpin in their bookstore café plans; the one they needed on their team to take this plan from fun idea to reality.

             
The problem was that Marion was no risk-taker. Hiring Lila on the spot was apparently the most spontaneous thing she’d ever done. She’d been wearing the same tweed and wool clothes for the past twenty years, living in the same cottage with the same partner for just as long, and running that bookstore for the past fifteen. This was
not a woman who liked change. She had porridge for breakfast—which Lila took to mean the British version of oatmeal, though she wasn’t exactly sure—and alternated turkey or ham with cheese on wheat with an apple for lunch every day. She even ate at the same time, 12:00, in the same spot in the staff room, using the same mug for her Chamomile tea.