Unexpected Encounters [FICTION]

I leaned back to take in the last rosy moments of the sun settling into the ocean. I deserved this moment of peace and beauty. I earned every second of my three day vacation. My boss filled every workday with a million little tasks. Most of them were performed by me, but the intent was to take her beyond our small town six o’clock news hour. She was so close to her goal that I needed this recharge before she launched her spring season of sensational sightings. I took a deep breath and another sip of lemonade and let the warm, salted breeze blow all thoughts of work from my mind. Moments later, my eyes opened as a sharp noise pulled me from reverie.

My eyes rested on a couple sitting three tables away. The contrast between their heights and her blond hair and his dark locks struck me first. Then I noticed how they smiled at each other as they held hands. 

They turned to observe the glorious sunset over my shoulder. I gasped as recognition gave name to the woman—Kelly Ripa, the television personality my boss wished she was. Her eyebrow raised as our eyes met like she recognized me as well. She frowned. At least, her ingratiating smile flattened a little as she looked at me. (I am not sure she knows how to smile, which is one of many reasons she is perfect for her job.) She leaned in to whisper to her husband. His eyes surveyed me quickly and turned back to her as he leaned in to whisper emphatically in her ear. Her eyes met mine again as she shook her head in disagreement to whatever he said. With one more glance over his shoulder, he took her hand and guided her out of the restaurant.

Shaking my own head, I closed my eyes and went back to soaking the last warm rays of the day into my skin. When I opened them a half hour later, I blinked in surprise to find all light gone from the sky. My phone pinged to remind me that I had signed up for a night tour of the bay. I rushed to the nearby dock, joining the queue of tourists. Most held hands with the one by their side, but I felt no shame in taking this romantic ride alone. You gotta love yourself before you can love anyone else, right?

Two stewards in carefully pressed white uniforms helped us into life vests before allowing us to step onto the gangway. As we boarded, the captain suggested we stand along the railings, so we could see the city lights better. Surrounded by swooning couples, I kept my eyes on the shoreline, watching the lights bob up and down with every swell of the tides. As the boat drew further from the shore, the couple to my left stepped away from the railing. I glanced up curiously as another couple shifted into that space. My mouth dropped to find Kelly Ripa and her husband now standing at my side. He smiled politely. Her eyes narrowed for a second before she turned back to the view. I frowned but decided to ignore it. 

“And now a special surprise,” the captain announced.

All necks swiveled curious eyes toward him. He pointed up at the starry sky above. As our eyes followed his direction, the sky exploded in blossoming fireworks. Gasps filled the air between pops of promised color. As a particularly colorful spray filled the sky above us, the water swelled and the boat  bucked under our feet. I reached for the railing, but a body slammed into me before I could get a good hold, knocking me over the rail.

A familiar voice called out anxiously, “Woman overboard,” as the sea rose up to meet me and pull me under.

I sputtered in fear before realizing the buoyancy of my life vest had lifted me back to the surface. I took in deep breaths, trying to calm myself, while I waited for rescue. The stewards worked together to pull me back on board the boat as the last of the fireworks lit up the ship. Shivering and dripping brine, I scanned the faces of my fellow travelers. Most stared back at me with concern, but my attention fixated on Kelly who seemed to be arguing with her husband.

The stewards wrapped me in a thick, coarse blanket and held me steady as the captain turned the boat around. I heard voices around me, but none of the words broke through my suspicion that my dip in the bay wasn’t totally an accident. Upon arriving on shore, the stewards rushed me to a waiting ambulance to be checked out before returning to help others disembark. As I got poked and prodded, I watched my fellow passengers—most of whom failed to conceal their own attention to my condition.

As Kelly’s husband guided her down the gangway, two pairs of eyes lighted unabashedly on my bedraggled person. Arm in arm, they slowly approached. As the paramedic turned to them, her jaw dropped.

“Kelly Ripa?”

“Yes.” Kelly admitted with a shy smile before looking at me with wide, concerned eyes. “How’s the patient?”

Despite being star struck, the paramedic remembered herself, “I can’t really tell you that.” But she did turn pleading eyes to me, imploring me to let her answer the question anyway.

My eyes narrowed as I looked at Kelly, but I magnanimously offered, “You can tell me. If she hears…” I shrugged my shoulders.

“You seem to be alright, but I strongly suggest you get a round of antibiotics at the hospital,” she wrinkled her nose a little as her eyes roved over the wet hair plastered to my forehead and the newly unimproved color of my once white blouse.

“Is it okay if we have a moment with the patient?” Kelly’s husband asked as he turned a lovingly reproving look at his wife.

“Of course,” the paramedic eyed me with curiosity and envy before stepping away from the back of the ambulance to give us space.

I bit back the accusation building on my tongue as Kelly turned her eyes to me. Up close, they proved kinder than I ever imagined them while watching her show.

“I’m so sorry I knocked you into the water,” she offered softly.

My mouth dropped open, releasing a soft squeaking noise.

“I recognized you from your picture on your boss’s social media and when the ship bounced, I thought you were about to attack. My self-defense training kicked in…” she wrung her hands as she gazed into my eyes.

“My boss’s social media?” My mouth and mind latched onto that part of her explanation.

“Yes, after she sent me a couple weird letters, I looked her up.” Kelly answered defensively.

“She sent you letters?”

“Yeah. Talking about how she couldn’t wait to take over Live and meet so many important and famous people.”

Marc nodded his head. “The first one was awkwardly flattering, but the three that followed sounded a little scary.”

“Hence me reviewing my self defense training,” Kelly smiled at me for a moment before she turned downcast eyes to her feet, encased in sparkling blue heels.

I stared at them for a moment while I processed all of this. “Usually, I send out her letters…”

“I don’t think she would want someone else to read these,” Marc put an arm protectively around Kelly’s shoulders.

As I looked at them questioningly, they exchanged a glance.

“After they make sure you are okay, come find us in room 212. We will show you what we mean.”

~~~

That’s how I met one of my boss’s heroes, who had a restraining on her for reasons validated by the stack of letters they handed me in room 212. That is also how I ended up quitting my job and searching for a new one. Something tells me the resume and letter of inquiry I sent to Live with Kelly Ripa will go straight to the trash can, but maybe I will be wrong again.

~~~

Not sure why I have been struggling with my posts the past couple of weeks. Maybe I need a writer’s vacation? Want to help me fund one?

Troubles With Old Friends [FICTION]

The right or wrong number can change your life. You realize it when you balance your checkbook or get your math test back. But most people concern themselves more with the numbers we dial to reach the people we love. In my case, I dialed a number I used to know by heart.

As it rang, I held my breath. Would she answer? Would she sound the same? Would she remember me? If so, would she be happy to hear from me?

“Hello,” a familiar voice asks disinterestedly.

“Nessa?” my voice trembles.

“That’s me. Can I help you?”

“It’s Opal.”

Nothing. I clear my throat and wait.

“Wow! Girl! I haven’t heard from you in forever.”

Now I say nothing. Has she forgotten me? Was our big fight only on my side? What are the odds another Nessa has this number now?

“Opal? You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you just call to hear my lovely voice or was there another reason?”

“Well, we haven’t talked in a while…”

“Twenty years, girl. Twenty years.” She sips something and I picture her leaning back with her legs propped up and her beverage of choice in hand as she casually takes a dainty drink as if we talk every day and nothing has changed. 

“Yeah. About that…”

“Are you doing a twelve step program or something?”

“Um…no…” Her forward acceptance of my call leaves me stalled out.

“Did you call to make amends?” She inquires as she takes another tiny sip and smacks her lips together.

I cringe as much from the lip smack as from the implication that I owe her an apology.

“Opal?” She asks.

“Still here,” I mutter.

“So, why did you call?” A tense edge hovers around her words.

I pause, debating if it is worth it, before finally softening my voice and continuing, “I guess you haven’t heard about Al?”

Her voice hardens, “You mean Al and you?”

“There was never an Al an I!”

“Right.” I swear I hear her eyes roll. “So I didn’t see you kissing him.”

“He was kissing me,” my voice rises and I take a deep breath, knowing she won’t believe anything I say about that night, “But none of that matters now. My mother just called…”

Silence falls for a few minutes before her subdued voice struggles through the air between us, “And?”

“She just talked to his mother. Nessa, Al died…” The calm in my own voice surprises me.

She chokes out, “How?”

“Car accident,” my voice lowers so much I worry she didn’t hear me.

“Was he…?”

I know the words she can’t ask, “No. He’s been on the wagon for years. He hit a patch of black ice and flipped his car.”

She clears her throat in an attempt to hide her feelings, but they still seep into every word. “So did you lose a bet or something?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you calling me instead of his mom?”

I take a deep breath before confessing. “I thought it would be better to hear it from a friend.”

“Are we friends?”

“We used to be…”

Silence fills the distance between us.

I finally break it with pleading words. “Maybe we can be again.”

“Maybe.” She sounds doubtful. “When’s the funeral.”

“Next weekend…”

“I’ll see you there?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye.”

The line goes quiet and my mind races, wondering where this leaves our friendship.

~~

I know I keep writing these pieces that leave a million questions and probably beg to become a longer piece. If I filled out some of these and published them, would you buy it?

Change Your Life [FICTION]

High grass in the middle of winter. Perhaps there is some truth to global warming after all. Two weeks ago, I celebrated a white Christmas with my closest friends and now I don shorts to push a lawn mower around my house. As I turn around the back of the house, I stop short. Since the last time I mowed the grass, in September, something changed.

At the base of a large oak tree, a hole large enough for me to mow my way through gapes open between the roots. I stop the mower and slowly approach the hole. It doesn’t disappear , so I peer into it. I can’t see anything, so I lean in, holding onto the tree trunk. 

“That’s odd.”

Nestled among the tree’s twisted roots, my bedroom in my parents’ old house begs me to step through the hole. My desk, which succumbed to water damage many moves ago, holds a familiar array of college acceptance letters. On top of the pile, the one closest to home already bears my signature. The rest would end up in the trash by the end of the week though a college in the Midwest offered the most comprehensive scholarships.  

I step forward, expecting to snap out of the memory any moment now. As I draw closer to the desk, the papers flutter. I reach for the top one, surprised to feel it in my hand. Looking down at it, I wonder for the millionth time, “what if?”

I shuffle through the acceptance letters and move Midwestern Professional University to the top. I roll my eyes at myself. Changing a memory has no effect on my life. I turn back toward the hole and climb back out into the sunshine.

—

Light bounces off of glittering blankets of snow. Blinded, I don’t see the snowball until it bounces off my face. As I hold back tears and confusion, the world around me makes sense. And the handsome midwestern bear of a man kissing me better between apologies doesn’t get slapped. After all, he has been my husband since shortly after we graduated from Midwestern Professional College.  As he kisses me again, I look down to see two little girls ministering to my bruised face by hugging and kissing my snow pants clad legs.

My phone rings to announce my mom calling for our weekly chat. I put her on speaker.

“Honey, you are going to totally regret not moving back home. It is 75 degrees. In January. Your father is outside showing off his pasty legs in shorts while he mows the lawn.”

“I dunno, mom. I am pretty happy here, but we miss you and dad.”

“Bring those kiddos home to see grandma soon. We’ll save some sun for them.”

~~~

When I wrote this in November, how did I know this crazy weather would be making me question what season I am in on a regular basis. Sorry this offering is so late, but it has arrived, so no pitchforks, please.

Sibling Snow Secrets [FICTION]

My brother takes mere seconds to open the door and usher me impatiently into his warm house. I glance over my shoulder at the snow fluttering to the ground. Then I follow my grunting sibling into his living room where his two sons stare out the window in wonder.

“Snow, snow, come and stay. We’ll go to school another day.” They chant happily.

“The magic still works.” I smirk.

“There is no such thing as magic,” he mumbles distractedly. “Just people beating the odds to make hard things happen.”

“What crawled up your butt?” I ask as he brushes past me.

He rolls his eyes but otherwise disregards my question. “Thanks for watching the kids. I’ll try to be home as soon as possible.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You have a top secret government job, so you can’t let me know when you’ll be home.”

He grins at me. “Thankfully you don’t have an important job. Otherwise, who would watch the kids?”

“Hey now,” I search for a defense, but he has already slipped out the door and slammed it in my face.

I shake my head and turn my attention back to my niece and nephew. After having a door slammed in my face, I think the children need to learn how to aggravate their father. I doubt my old tricks will work for them, but surely we can come up with something. 

Unfortunately, his children aren’t as keen on diving him crazy as I am. I guess I will have to wait until they hit their teens. As they try to convince me to let them watch a show I know they shouldn’t, an unfamiliar ping breaks up the conversation.

John looks toward the sound anxiously, “Uh-oh!”

“Is that an alarm of some kind,” I leap from he couch and prepare to hustle the children out the door.

“It’s dad’s phone, and he is always on it for work…” Alan reassures me, reaching out to pull me back down onto the couch. “Don’t worry. He’ll realize and come back for it.”

One ring gives way to more demanding rings. I peer down at the phone where a red-faced man glowers under the name Boss.

“I better explain that Davey left his phone,” I whisper to the kids as I pick up the phone and use my most professional voice. “Davey’s phone.”

“Jones, stop trying to sound like a woman and get yourself over here.” He includes a few choice swear words, but my brain edits them out.

“Jones?” I ask. “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”

More curses greet me. “…serious business…people are in danger and he is playing…games. I never dial the wrong number. Who is this?”

“I am not sure I should answer that,” I walk away from the curious eyes of my two nephews, lowering my voice as I step out onto the screened in back porch. “My brother has you listed as boss on his phone, but his name isn’t Jones.”

His gruff voice softens, “Ah. You must be Matilda. Where is Davey…Davey Jones, get it?”

“Um. No.”

“You really are young aren’t you?” He coughs. “Stop screwing around and tell your brother to take the phone.”

I clear my throat. “He forgot it at home.”

“Then where the h…” he edits himself this time, “is he?”

I shrug then remember he can’t see me and squeak, “Hopefully coming back to get it.”

He offers more curses to the air and then hangs up on me abruptly. I put the phone in my pocket and hurry back inside to thaw out. My nephews watch me anxiously.

“Is Daddy getting fired?” Alan asks.

“Not as far as I know,” I pat my pocket.

“But he left his phone and he can’t get updates from his boss if he leaves his phone,” his dark eyes widen with concern.

“Yeah. That does seem odd.” I pull my own phone out of my other pocket and click to call him.

After a couple rings, his voice greets me as if from a tunnel. “Can’t really talk, sis. Driving in a snow storm. Are the boys alright?”

“You just said an awful lot for someone who can’t talk,” I can’t help myself.

“Sis?” He asks anxiously.

“Yeah. The boys are fine, but your boss called on your other phone.”

“What?” My ears ache from his scream and the ensuing tire screeching. “Please tell me you didn’t answer it.”

“Well…” As I search for the right words, it rings again from in my pocket.

“Do not answer it.” He mumbles something I can’t understand and then continues. “I’m headed back to the house.”

He begins yelling at another driver as he ends the call. I sit down on the couch next to John who gives me a hug. The phone rings three more times before Davey gets back. I have just handed him his phone when loud banging on the door makes everyone jump. Both nephews jump into my arms, pulling me down onto the couch. 

“Jones, you better open this door or your neighbors are going to hear some things you’ll be ashamed of,” his boss’s now familiar voice booms.

“Thank so much for answering my phone, sis,” Davey glares at me as he opens the door.

The red-faced man fills the doorway, nodding at me curtly before reaching out a huge hand to pull Davey out onto the porch. The boys cuddle into me, terrified as the door slams closed.  Despite the door between us and what I assume are his version of hushed tones, the boss’s voice carries through.

“I told you not to go out on your own.”

We can’t hear Davey’s reply but his boss clearly doesn’t approve of it.

“We can do more than fire you, Jones. This is treason.”

I gasp. The boys cuddle closer to me, turning their little faces upward to silently plead for me to make it better. I hold them tighter and try to guide them from the door. Both voices have hushed since the word treason hit our ears. I’ve never been so transfixed on a closed door in my life as I am right now. When it finally opens, I jump. My nephews jump with me.

The red-faced man steps through the doorway and extends his hand to me. “Sorry to be meeting under these circumstances, Matilda.”

I take his hand but don’t even search for words because his intense expression speaks of more words to come and intolerance of interruptions.

“Your bother tells me you love spy novels?”

I glance at my brother trying not to glare at his him as I gage his response. He shrugs his shoulders and puts his hands in his pockets. Alan and John rush over to him as the boss turns his attention back to me.

“Would you mind stepping outside?”

I look at Davey, hoping he will save me, but he offers nothing but a pleading look, so I turn back toward that angry red face and nod in agreement. This time, I grab my coat and slip my feet into my boots before stepping out onto the front stoop. 

After furtive glances up and down the street, the man takes my hands with unexpected gentleness. “Your brother is in a lot of trouble. From what he has told me about you in the past, you just might be able to help us…”

I open my mouth to speak, but he shushes me. “It could be dangerous, so before I say anything else, you decide if you are willing to take the risk.”

“Without knowing what you expect me to do?”

“Sorry. That is often the way things work in this business.”

“What business is that?” 

“Are you interrogating me?” His lips quirk upward, but his smile looks like a snarl.

I shudder but straighten my shoulders. “I have a feeling more is at stake here than my brother’s job…”

He eyes me warily for a moment as he chooses words. “Let’s just say you’d be keeping a lot of people safe.”

I sigh. “Like many reluctant heroes before me, I accept.”

He reaches out his hand to shake mine. “Come on then, girl. Tell your brother you’re fixing the problems he’s made and let’s get you ready to save the world.”

~~~

The real world warmed up so much that I almost thought it was spring this week, but who doesn’t love a story about snow, right? At some point, I might need to clear up my “to do” list and try to expand some of these stories. Should this one be one of them?

Always the Baby [FICTION]

My nose wrinkles as the sound of a tongue slapping against moist lips breaks into the twilight haze before wakefulness. Then I stop clinging to hopes of slipping back into my dream as that same slobbery tongue finds my face and begins avidly running up and down my face. I squeal in protest, raising my hands up to protect my face. 

“Jacque, we know you love the baby but let her sleep.” 

If my eyes weren’t already wide open, they would be at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby. Mama’s here. Did Jacque wake you up?” Then she is lifting me into her arms and smothering me with kisses.

But I am too big to be lifted by anyone but a bodybuilder and too old to be called baby. On top of that, it has been years since my mother tried to kiss me and decades since Jacque crossed the Rainbow Bridge. While I am still trying to wrap my mind around what must be the wildest dream ever, my father comes into the room.

“There’s my pink pumpkin and her lovely mother.” 

He leans in to kiss my mom, and I know my eyes are bulging out of my head. They divorced before I turned six. And I have zero memories of seeing them kiss. My therapist assures me that is for the best because those kinds of memories would have only given me hope that my parents would end up together. In this moment, I understand why she said that because my heart flutters a little as they linger with their lips locked together. Then they return to cooing over me.

I realize why when I reach out a hand to put a halt to all the kissing. My hands are tiny and adorable. And my tongue won’t form the right sounds to say stop. The sound that does come out just elicits more cooing and kisses, so I decide to accept my fate. 

I sigh internally as I try to figure out how I ended up back in my tiny baby body. Before I come up with a valid hypothesis or figure out how to take advantage of the situation, my tiny body demands rest so it can grow into the adult body I remember so fondly.

When I wake, my cell phone demands attention. The ringtone I reserve for my mother blares on and on until I finally accept the call.

“Hey, mom,” I say more kindly than normal, still wrapped up in the memory of how she loved me at three.

“Hey, baby, I was wondering if you would want to come over for dinner tonight?” Her tone implies she has more to ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What else is happening at dinner tonight?”

She sighs. “I can’t fool you. Your father and I want to talk to you about something.”

“Dad? You’re talking to dad?” I squeak out as an image of their affectionate kiss dances through my mind.

“Yes, dear, we have been talking for a while.”

“About what?”

“Will you come to dinner?”

I release my own sigh. “I guess. If I have to…”

“That’s my good girl. Love you. See you tonight.”

She doesn’t give me time to back out. I roll my eyes as I set the phone down and get ready for a day that culminates in dinner with both my parents.

~

When I get to my mother’s house, I park in the empty driveway. I peek through the garage windows to see my mother’s car parked next to a muscle car that can only belong to my dad. As I slowly approach the front door, it opens and both parents stare out at me with trepidation on their faces.

“Come on, you guys, what is going on? Is grandma sick or something?”

They exchange glances and my mother speaks for them with a grin, “Something.”

“You’ll have to wait until after dinner. We haven’t got together in a while,” my dad’s words trail off.

I decide not to point out that I don’t remember us ever being together except when they traded custody of me, usually with unspoken animosity making the air around us crackle. I follow them into the house and find that my mother prepared all my favorite things. Conversation over dinner focuses on safe topics like the weather and what I am up to now. I try to broach the subject of this sudden interest in family time a couple of times, but they take turns diverting the conversation to other topics. I swear I see them exchange smoldering looks a couple of times but try to ignore it so I can keep my meal down.

Finally, huge slices of chocolate cake adorn the table. As I raise my first bite to my lips, I give my mother a pointed look. She sets her fork down. Dad reaches for her hand. Then they exchange another maddening look.

“Out with it, so I can eat my cake,” I set my own fork down, cake untasted.

“We’ve decided to get remarried,” my mother’s eyes widen imploringly.

“Pardon?” I scoop a larger bite of cake into my mouth, afraid that an unfull mouth might express too many of my initial responses.

“Your mother has agreed to give me a second chance.” My dad adds, his eyes softening like they had for my mother in the dream.

I hide behind another bite of chocolate cake, allowing its rich flavor to sooth my addled mind.

“Your dad found some pictures from when you were a baby and brought them over for me to see,” my mom continues, “And it reminded us both of what we had…”

“And I promise that this time I won’t mess it up.”

As they stare at me with imploring eyes, that kiss replays in my mind again. I sigh and set down my fork.

“You are adults. You don’t need my permission.” I finally mutter.

“So you’ll give me away?” My mother asks.

That tiny seed of hope I had during my episode the previous evening prompts me to agree.

~~~

Ever had a weird dream that seemed to somehow tie right into an unexpected announcement? It has happened to me a couple of times, but I never got to give anyone away. I do have two brothers though, who might be single. I don’t dare ask, but I could if you want to take them and get them to shape up. I know. I make it so tempting.

Holes In the Holidays [FICTION]

My shovel bites into the frozen, stony soil again. I lift the handle and toss a scoop of dirt over my shoulder onto the immense pile building along the edge of the hole. I pause to wipe sweat from my brow and survey my work. I sigh as I realize that in my excitement to dig deep and fast, I created a crater so deep I will have to climb out and might need a step stool, which is located somewhere outside of the hole. That realization prompts another. Why on earth I am I digging a ginormous hole in the ground anyway? It is Christmas Eve, I should be drinking hot cocoa and binging cheesy holiday movies.

I scratch my head, shuddering when I realize I no longer remember what prompted me to begin making this avenue to China. I lift the shovel up over the edge of the hole and take a deep breath. Luckily, my first attempt to lift myself out of the hole results in my clambering awkwardly back to high ground. The muscles of my upper arms ache from even that much extra effort. I roll over on my back, staring up at the sky as I heave deep breaths into my lungs. As I finally feel fortified enough to move, snowflakes dance down on me from the sky.

Distracted, I linger a bit before pushing myself up into the snow globe world. On my feet again, I look down into the depths of my new backyard hazard. I could easily bury my most annoying neighbor in there and not need to worry about them being unearthed by their own dog. But I know that wasn’t what the hole was for. As I ponder how I ended up here, the delicious smell of cinnamon mingling with sugar and butter wafts over me. I turn to face a plump woman with grey at her temples and dark chocolate eyes. She wears a somber brown dress underneath a flowing apron with “Me, Oh My, Pie” embroidered on it. A wave of steam wafts off the pie pictured beneath the words. She has a sturdy square bag in one hand also seems to be wearing a backpack.

“Done yet, darling?” She smiles sweetly at me. 

“Done with…?” 

“The hole for…” She looks down at my feet. “Oh yes. That should be more than big enough even for that fat man.”

My eyes widen in horror. How did I get roped into covering up a murder? She smiles and pats my arm.

“Here, honey. Have a piece of pie.” She produces a generous slice of pumpkin pie avalanched under an avalanche of whipped cream from her bag.

I know I should be suspicious of strange women bearing pie, but somehow I find myself reaching for the plate and fork. Then bite after glorious bite of perfectly spiced pumpkin confection slides over my grateful tastebuds. As the last forkful disappears, a sweet, familiar jingling turns my eyes skyward. I swallow that last bite just in time because my jaw drops to my sternum.

The shadow of a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer cuts across the moon. A large figure waves from high atop a giant bag of presents as if he knows I am down here. I wave back.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 tiny reindeer,” the pie lady counts, “And one big fat toy man, who can’t wait his turn.”

“Huh?” I forget to wave and my arm falls at my side.

As I drop my hand, the pie woman grabs it in her own, which is warm and soft. “Come along, dear, I need your help.”

“Uh-huh.” I reply, sluggish from pie.

I follow in her wake as she seems to borrow speed from cheetahs. If I weren’t so pied up, I probably would have noticed that I must also be running at superhuman speeds. When we finally stop, a two-story house looms above us with lights around every window and dangling from the eaves. 

“Wow. That’s so realistic.” I mumble as my eyes light on Santa and his reindeer upon the roof.

The pie lady snorts. “Should be. We finally caught up to the big man.”

I grunt in confusion and concern as she wraps her arms around me and fumbles with what appears to be a giant can of whipped cream on her back. We shoot up into the air, leaving a trail of creamy deliciousness in our wake. I just manage to land on the edge of the roof where my not so sweet friend pushes me forward toward the sled team of reindeer. They eye me calmly except for Rudolph whose nose seems to glow with alarm as we step closer.

“Don’t worry boys and girls. I brought you some carrot cake.”

I watch in wonder as more concoctions come out of her bag, “Are you related to Mary Poppins?”

She snorts as she offers tiny bites of carrot cake to each reindeer. “She’s got nothing on me. I don’t limit myself to a teaspoon of anything.”

As Rudolph tentatively accepts her offering, footsteps approach from the chimney. “Ho ho ho. Good evening ladies. Shouldn’t you be asleep, awaiting my arrival?”

My tongue ties itself in knots as I turn to face the very real, extremely jolly Santa Claus. The pie lady doesn’t seem as affected as me.

She leans in to whisper in my ear and I find myself repeating her words as tears flow down my cheeks, “Oh, Santa, you have to help me or Christmas will be ruined.”

His blue eyes lose a little of their twinkle as he leans toward me, placing a concerned hand on my shoulder, “What has happened, Bella, and how can I help?”

“Follow me back to my place. You have to see it to believe it.”

“Follow you,” he chuckles softly. “We’ll fly there. Won’t we, team?”

The reindeer toss their heads and stamp their feet in agreement. He lifts me gently into the sleigh and then lifts the pie lady, who smiles innocently at him. The desire to let him know this is all a ruse rises up in me, but one look from her has me lowering my eyes and feigning concern about impending doom to my holidays. I guess the feeling isn’t so false when it seems she wants to end Christmas for the whole world.

As Santa guides the sleigh toward my roof, a stomp on my foot prompts me to say, “Can you land at the side of the house, near that hole, Santa?”

“Of course, ho ho ho,” he looks at me out for the corner of his eye and I swear he sees right through me, but he lands right next to the hole anyway.

“You’ve been very busy, Bella, now tell me how I can help you,” he says as he helps me down from sleigh, but his eyes never leave my companion. 

As soon as he helps her down, she launches herself at him, “You took my holiday, I’ll take yours.”

 

He stands firm, laughing merrily as she bounces off his jelly belly without moving him an inch. “Now. Now. Surely, we can discuss this like civilized adults.”

“How civilized is it that I get to hear your greatness sung before my delicious pies even grace a holiday table? How civilized it is it that you get gratitude and no one even acknowledges me and my contribution to the wonderful aromas of Thanksgiving?”

“None of that is my choice.” He tells her. “And I love your pies. Can’t get in the mood for Christmas without a couple of slices of pie with my turkey leg.”

She eyes him suspiciously, pressing her lips together as she searches for her next argument.

“Ho ho ho,” Santa’s eyes twinkle. “Dear Pie Lady, you must come back with me to the North Pole and meet Mrs. Claus. She would love to bake some pies with you. Pie is as beloved for Christmas as for Thanksgiving—well, for all the good little boys and girls.”

“Really?”

“Of course. We believe in second chances. You don’t have to be on the naughty list every year, unless you really need the coal.”

“Oh, Santa,” her little pie heart melts into a puddle of undercooked lemon pudding as she throws her arms around him and cries for joy.

I look down at my feet, pondering what to do with this year’s lump of coal. 

“Of course, Pie Lady, you will have to do one things for me,” he looks at her sternly.

She cowers a little and timidly asks, “What’s that?”

“Apologize to Bella here for using your delectable pie’s power to rope her into this.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Bella. I should’t have used your love of pie against you. Can you forgive me?”

“I guess so,” I say.

“Oh good.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out an entire pie.

My mouth waters as the smell of apple and cinnamon pours into the air. “Yum. Thank you.”

“I have something for you, too, Bella.” Santa says.

“Oh?” I hold out my free hand to accept my lump of coal. 

Santa’s deep belly laugh causes me to grin, but he doesn’t place anything in my hand. “I see you have the start of a lovely pool, so my elves will finish that up for you and you should be able to enjoy your gift by Memorial Day. Now I have other gifts to deliver. Care to help?” He offers his elbow to the pie lady.

Soon they are perched on the sleigh and headed up and away.

They call out together as they fly away. “Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night…And Pie.”

~~~

I can’t help but observe that this particularly story strayed so far from the original prompt that even the prompter wouldn’t recognize it as such. But oh how I love it…and pie…mesmerizing, mind-bending, tongue-tingling pie.