Christmas in Wine Country (7 page)

What did Annie know about heartbreak? Lila thought miserably as she made her way further down the street. What did Annie know about making it on your own? Lila
dug her hands, clad in matching green mittens that her Gram had knit for her, deep into her pockets.

Crossing the street away from the shops, Lila walked along the side next to the ocean. Gray mist snarled among the waves, crashing up and swirling among the rocks. She paused to stare out moodily into the deep. What she needed was some sort of cape to complete the picture, black and swirling around her. Someone could see her from a distance and ask, “Who is that woman in the cape?” Another would answer, “That’s old Spinster Clark. She lives out on Point Doom with 13 cats.”

With embarrassment, Lila remembered she’d actually worn a cape on a visit to Annie a couple of years ago. She’d deliberately chosen the most ‘city’ outfit she had, all black with skinny jeans, spiky black heels and a cape she’d found on the sale rack at Saks that still had cost a small fortune, black with scarlet satin trim. She’d wanted to look the cool and clever big-time big-city advertising executive and had made quite a show of having her iPhone out the whole time in case she’d been needed. Annie had been dressed like they were about to head to the library to study, in comfy sweatpants and a big sweater.

Which was exactly what she had on now, Lila realized, looking down at herself. Oh how the mighty had fallen. Her iPhone lay silent in her pocket as she resumed her walk along the seawall. Phillip hadn’t called once since he’d ended things. And she’d had such dreams for them. She could still see it, the two of them living in some chic apartment in a trendy part of the city with sleek, modern furniture without armrests and hard, animal print pillows. She’d be pouring them both Martinis—a drink she’d never
enjoyed but this wasn’t real life now was it—as he’d be loosening his tie and… asking her what the hell was she doing there in the apartment he was sharing with Axelle?

Heaving a deep sigh, Lila trudged slowly in the fog and wished she didn’t have to drive home that night. Thinking of it as home didn’t even feel right. Annie lived in a home, with Pete and Charlotte and cozy lamps and chenille blankets. Lila lived in a box with a futon and a wide-screened TV her roommates always had turned on to America’s Next Top Model. Which she had to admit she found addictive. But that was beside the point—the point that she was alone. Utterly alone. As she had been her whole life, she thought with another sigh, dredging up the cloak self-pity she kept for such circumstances. From somewhere in the misty sea, a fog horn gave a forlorn bleat.

Across the street a brilliantly lit store with gleaming wood floors cut into her gloom. “Cover to Cover” read the sign above the door in burnished gold letters embossed on weathered wood. The bookstore drew Lila like a tractor beam. Crossing the street, she peered into the  windows framed with the little white lights of the season. The entryway had a couple of fliers advertising a local play and an upcoming New Year’s Eve block party plus a small hand-written help wanted sign adding just the right amount of clutter to make it homey.

Swinging open the heavy wood and glass door, Lila stood in the entryway taking in the local recommended authors section, the new fiction table, the bargain bin, and one overstuffed armchair that remained unoccupied. Grabbing a paperback with the classic pink cover with a pair of shoes on it signaling chick lit, she claimed the chair and
wondered what team of goons they were going to have to use at closing time to kick her out of the store.

Chapter 3: Take. These Broken Wings.

             
“Do you have a fire extinguisher?”

             
Lila considered just saying ‘yes’ to Gram, but her conscience won out. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

             
“Put the phone down and go take a look,” Gram instructed. “You need to have one. Check in the kitchen.” With a smile, Lila agreed and put the phone down to go check. Gram still lived in a world of phones with cords that needed to be set down while one went from one room to the other. She owned a cell phone, but it was usually turned off or the talk button eluded her.

             
Lila padded in her socks along the hardwood floor, walking the short distance from the living room to the kitchen, really one long room all together. In her new apartment. In Redwood Cove.

             
It had all happened quickly. Her head was spinning from the cavalcade of recent, massive changes in her life. It had begun at the bookstore, the one with the gleaming golden wood and gorgeous chairs. She’d settled in as planned, finding unexpected happiness in a used book section. The store carried a surprisingly large number of P.G. Wodehouses in paperback, making Lila exclaim in delight and gather three back at her chair to page through.

             
The owner, a matronly Brit named Marion, had stopped to chat about the Wodehouse, apparently a personal favorite she felt was overlooked in the literary
canon. Lila wholeheartedly agreed and together they were off discussing favorite characters and settings and Lila found herself answering the benign question, “What brings you to Redwood Cove?” with an unintentionally honest, “I lost my job and my boyfriend but decided to come along up here on a holiday by myself to see my old friend Annie.” Which, in turn, prompted a little chat about Annie, known and beloved by Marion in their small town, working just a few shops down on Main Street. And led to Marion pausing, giving her a quick but serious appraisal, and then asking “I don’t suppose you saw the help wanted sign in our window?”

             
Lila had, indeed, seen the sign and though she hadn’t considered it personally at the time, it suddenly made perfect sense. After some more conversation about her English degree from Colgate and her previous experience in client relations and database management, Lila had been hired on the spot.

             
“I’ve got a good feeling about you,” Marion had said as they were saying goodnight. Lila had been tempted to ask “Did I have you at Wodehouse?” but guessed Marion wasn’t the type to get references to big Hollywood movies.

             
A quick phone call to Annie and Lila had a lead on what she described as “the perfect apartment.” Five blocks from Main Street and the coast, the apartment was the fourth floor of an old Victorian home converted into units. From just the right angle in the kitchen, she could see a patch of ocean and rocky coastline.

             
Gazing out at it from the window in her new apartment’s kitchen, Lila felt excitement bubble up into a smile across her face. It was, clearly, insanity taking over.
Her roommates back in San Francisco had nearly checked her into a mental hospital. Or, they would have had they cared much. Instead, they made a few remarks about needing to go see a therapist or taking a valium and posted an ad on Craig’s List for a new roommate. Adding, this time, ‘must like to party!!!’

             
She had to agree with them that it made no sense, leaving her career in advertising—which had, admittedly, hit a bump but no doubt could be resumed elsewhere—to become a low-level service employee ringing up sales at the cash register. In an independent bookstore, no less; what could be more on the fast lane to extinction? She couldn’t explain about the gleaming wood and the Wodehouse and huge red wrapped box in the corner with a gigantic silver bow, a symbolic Christmas present to the town for all the gifts bought for boys and girls. Marion had explained that each year the bookstore asked local kids whose families didn’t have much for the holiday what kind of book they’d most want. Marion then made ornaments for a big Christmas tree they kept in the window, each one with a child’s first name, age, and book request. Every year they managed to give hundreds of books away for Christmas.

             
Under the sink of her new apartment, Lila found a small, shiny red fire extinguisher. Picking up the phone again with Gram, she reassured her.

             
“Good. Keep it there, perfect if you end up with a kitchen fire,” Gram advised. Lila didn’t have the heart to tell her she had barely cooked once in the past year. But, then again, maybe in her new life she’d start cooking, too.

             
“Gram, I can see the ocean out of the window in my kitchen!” Lila felt like a little kid, telling her about a star she’d gotten on her spelling test.

             
“Oh, this is so nice! And you’ll be so close to Annie!”

             
“Just a couple of miles—not even a ten-minute drive.” Annie’s husband, Pete, had been a godsend with the move, bringing over a couple of guys he worked with to help carry boxes up the four flights of stairs and assemble her bed. Her belongings had fit into a 17-foot UHaul. A couple of things for the bedroom and a coffee table, very little furniture to speak of. The bulk had been clothes and shoes, boxes which she wished she’d labeled less conspicuously. On the third trip up the stairs with boxes labeled “sweaters” the guys had started teasing her about her priorities.

             
Sitting down between two boxes, both labeled “sweaters”, Lila listened as Gram filled her in on local news. A neighbor had had her gall bladder removed. The daughter of a woman from church had had a baby boy, 9 pounds 5 ounces, named Liam. Then she moved to weather disasters; Gram always seemed to know them all, especially if they were in California. Lila had given up trying to explain that California was a huge state and a mudslide or an earthquake in San Diego or Eureka had as much to do with her in the SF Bay Area as something going on in Maryland did to Massachusetts. Besides, there was something a little comforting in knowing her Gram was watching out for her, even if it made no sense.

             
Both needing to take care of things, they got off the phone. Gram had to tidy up, though Lila would have bet her life’s savings (not much since she was actually in debt)
that her tiny salt box was neat as a pin. Lila needed to unpack. Nothing but boxes in her living room. Opening one up to her right, she took out the silvery grey cashmere sweater wrap on top, perfect for foggy mornings.

The phone rang again. The caller ID read: mother. Stabbed with a shot of guilt and anxiety, Lila wondered if she could let it go through to voicemail.

“Hi, mom,” she answered, bracing herself. They typically corresponded through email; Lila knew her mom must really be upset to pick up the phone.

“How are you going to live on a bookstore clerk’s salary?” her mother began. Lila could almost see her pacing in her apartment outside Boston.

“Well, I think—”

“Aren’t all independent bookstores going out of business?”

“Um…”

“And, really, Lila. A small tourist town on the coast? Didn’t you learn anything from my mistakes?”

“It’s not a—” Lila began protesting while realizing that that description fit Redwood Cove perfectly.

“It’s exactly like Hyannis. Nothing but a tourist trap.”

“Listen, Mom.” Lila sat up straighter and found herself insisting that this was actually a well-thought-out move and career change for which she was prepared and planned.

“You’re prepared for this move?”

Seizing upon the first things she saw, Lila offered them up as evidence. “I bought really warm fuzzy boots because I know it gets chilly up here on the coast. And, I bought these tall rubber boots because it’s also pretty rainy.”

Her mother didn’t even have to say anything in response for Lila to realize how stupid that sounded. But Lila didn’t know what else to say. How much dumber did it sound to try to explain that the air in Redwood Cove felt good? She liked looking at the waves. The bookstore felt like home. Sometimes back in SF when she left her building during lunch hour she felt like she’d stepped into a marching band on parade when really she wanted to sit somewhere quiet.

Lacking the words and, perhaps, the confidence to explain what even she didn’t quite understand, the conversation continued to deteriorate. Her mom lobbed more worries and difficult questions. Lila metaphorically stomped her foot with adolescent absurdity and insisted that, yes, mom, she did have on her headgear.

Finally hanging up, Lila realized that the hardest person to convince that she had everything under control was herself. Honestly, she felt like she’d been spat off of a fast-spinning carousel. There she sat, amidst the boxes, dusting herself off and wondering what, exactly, had happened and where, exactly, was she now?

Pulling her hair up into a ponytail she decided: time for tea. Picking herself up off the floor she headed back into the kitchen. It easily outsized the living room and had to be double the size of the bedroom. The owner of the building had described it as an “Italian kitchen,” the heart of the apartment.

With a mug of English Breakfast tea, Lila sat in one of the new kitchen chairs she’d acquired, again thanks to Annie and her knowledge of second-hand shops in town. Sparkly red vinyl and metal, the chair would have been right at home in a 1950s soda shop. Positioned at just the right angle, she tucked her feet up, rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm and gazed out at the gray girth of ocean.

And couldn’t help but think of Phillip. While he’d certainly be appalled by Redwood Cove’s lack of cutting edge Asian-fusion cuisine, he’d have to appreciate the beauty, so misty and sleepy and yet surrounded by the rugged violence of the rocky surf. At least it was raining. Nothing worse than feeling blue with a gorgeous sunny sky to remind you that the problem really was you. Lila realized that if she were a cartoon character, she’d have a dark cloud drawn over her head. Gratefully, in a show of solidarity, Redwood Cove had its own dark cloud up above and a steady stream of slate gray rain perfect for a good funk.