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“Who’s the sleepy-head?” Parker queried with a crooked grin. Mary tittered and rolled toward her husband, who embraced her heartily.
“It’s going to be a great day, babe,” she said.
“I don’t doubt it,” Parker agreed, kissing her.
“Now you’re starting to sound like Jon.”
“Hey, don’t knock Jon. That man knows when to speak his mind and when to keep his mouth shut.”
“Hmm,” Mary meditated, trying to recall a specific time in which Jon had spoken his mind in any way that was contrary to his wife’s thoughts. “And when might that be?”
“Remember at our wedding rehearsal?”
Mary tried to read the memory in her husband’s tranquil eyes but drew a blank. “No, I don’t think I recall that. But I was a little preoccupied.”
Paula suggested adding some branches to the candelabra, and you were too kind to say that you wanted the full focus to be on the ribbon you had chosen and the colors of the individual candles. Paula was pretty animated, painting a picture for everyone of how wonderful it would look…”
“Oh, now I remember,” but I don’t remember it being a big deal.
“Well, it would have been, but Jon spoke up and said ‘Paula, let the bride decide what she wants—you had your day.’ I mean, he said it in the nicest possible way but with obvious resolve. I was quite impressed really.”
“Well, he always did try and look out for me.”
“Speaking of “looking out,” let’s check the view from the window.”
The two jumped up and rushed to the bedroom window, recalling the building snowstorm of the night before. A light dusting persisted, adding to the mounding heaps that had become visibly taller since they were last assessed.
The unmistakable smell of bacon drifted in from the kitchen, signaling the Malloys that breakfast was nearly ready. Margaret believed that every meal was important but especially breakfast and dinner. Breakfast was, after all, the most important meal of the day, and dinner was the final food impression of the day—it had to be superb. Breakfast, in addition to the sizzling strips she was now stacking neatly on a plate, included fresh fruit, French toast, and hash browns. Quite a spread.
Parker and Mary donned casual clothes and ventured out to the dining room. “Good morning, Mama,” Mary greeted her cherry blossom aproned mother, whose back was turned at the moment, making a lime and mint sprig garnish for the French toast. Margaret wasn’t just about taste but presentation as well.
Turning brightly, Margaret greeted the early birds. “Good morning, sweetie. Good morning, Parker.” Reaching up, she pushed a button next to the telephone. “Breakfast awaits!” she cheerfully announced into the intercom. All guests knew that meant “hustle.” When you stayed at the Johnstons’, you did not leave fresh food waiting. It was an unspoken, well-respected rule.
Once everyone had gathered, there was a breakfast blessing (Ted asked Parker to do the honors) and lots of syrup pouring and powder sugar sprinkling commenced. Paula only had half a piece of French toast, which Margaret noticed but opted not to draw attention to. Jon also noticed and whispered an inquiry to his wife as to whether she was not feeling well. “Not really,” she whispered.
It was December 22nd, day one of the three “visit days,” not counting Christmas, as guests would head home after the morning festivities. Responding to a few head nods and eyebrow raises, Daisy acted as spokesperson for the group. “Well, Mom, what do you have planned for today?”
“Oh, you’re going to love it!” Maragaret was just bursting to share what she had cooked up for the day and had only been waiting for someone to ask. Since the weather had them rather stationary, activities would take place indoors. There was to be cookie making, a Scrabble tournament, a slideshow featuring pictures of the previous Christmas, and a game involving socks.
Socks were first. After breakfast was cleared away and dishes loaded into the dishwasher, Margaret fetched a large basket. In it were six socks, none matching any of the others. These were the infamous “lone mates” Margaret had hung onto for such a time as this. She began to pass them out, explaining that the game was called Stuffed Stockings.
“Hey, how come most of these are my socks?” Ted wanted to know.
“Well, yours are the ones that keep getting either separated or too holey,” Margaret reasoned. Ted shrugged.
Once each person had received a sock, the girls receiving some of Daisy’s old singles, Margaret paused for effect. “Now,” she began. “Around the house, clues have been hidden. The first clue is inside your sock. It will lead you to the next clue. Some of them you will really have to give thought to. As you find each clue, there will be a wad of cotton stuffing along with it, to fill your sock with. The first person to present to me a stuffed sock and all eight of their clues will receive the top prize. “But” (as was to be expected from Margaret), “everyone will get a prize for participation.”
“Well, I’m really gonna sock it to ya all,” Jon punned.
“I’ll be darned if that’s the case,” Ted retorted.
“You can bet I’ll be the one stocking up on clues,” added Paula, always game for a good banter.
“Now don’t be such a heel about it,” Parker quipped, scolding his sister-in-law.
“Okay, now that’s enough sock jokes,” Margaret constrained. “Let’s get started.”
“But, Mom…” moaned Daisy, who hadn’t been able to get a pun out yet.
“Maybe next time,” Margaret insincerely soothed. “When I say “go,” let the games begin…ready, set…go!”
Family members spread out in all directions, each reading their first clues. Paula, who had been blessed with an eagerly competitive spirit, was soon in the lead.
It was on Mary’s second to last clue that she stumbled upon it. She opened a small linen closet—a wardrobe really—thinking that her clue may be directing her there. As it turned out, the clue she sought was on top of the wardrobe, easily visible if Mary had read the clue more closely, but once she realized that, she’d already seen it. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. But this one evoked only tears.
1 comment:
AAAH! Cliff hanger at the end! Way to keep your readers reading, mom! I can't wait for this to become a book!
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