Page 25 of The Forever Christmas Tree

The basement was half finished with paneling, used occasionally for parties by Wendy and her friends when she was growing up. Now it was a junk room with old furniture and boxes stored to the ceiling. Not a mess she wanted to tackle during this trip.

Wendy really needed to think about getting rid of this big elephant of a house, with all this space. It was something she would discuss with Aunt Mildred before she left. When her father was alive, he liked having those three rooms on the first floor for his home medical practice, and he had been a big man in stature who relished what he called “breathing room.”

One thing was certain; she wouldn’t sell if her aunt wanted to stay here. Money wasn’t an issue for Wendy. At least not at the moment.

About noon, Wendy showered and changed to black leggings and a fluffy soft, white cashmere mock-turtleneck sweater. She was going to meet her friend Laura Atler for lunch at the Cracked Crab. Before going outside, where the temperature had dropped to a low thirty degrees, which had everyone wishing for a white Christmas, even if only flurries, she grabbed her mother’s old red coat from the hall closet. She buttoned it and pulled the collar up, relishing the feel, almost as if being enfolded with maternal warmth.

I’m becoming way too sentimental. That’s what comes from returning home. She sighed and went out, telling her aunt she would be back about three or so. Diane had taken the rental car that morning to the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum on Hatteras Island where she planned to spend a few hours.

Laura was already at the restaurant when Wendy arrived fifteen minutes later after her brisk walk to town. She knew because she’d gotten a text message a few moments ago. The bell tinkled on the door when she entered, but the hostess was missing from the entry area, probably showing someone else to a table.

Wendy walked up to the reception desk to get a closer look at the big Mason jar sitting there with a poster behind it listing all the nominees thus far for Bell Cove Grinch of the Year. An amazing twenty-two names and twelve thousand dollars had been raised thus far, the proceeds to go for street lighting and other civic projects. Wendy recognized some of the names, including Ethan who was now number four. At the top was Gabriel Conti, whom she’d never met but assumed was one of the founding bell factory family members. But wait, she had met him long ago when she was a teenager and he’d sometimes visited his grandparents here during the summer months. But then, Wendy had eyes for Ethan only. Plus, she was often away being a swimming instructor at summer camps.

Looking around to make sure she wasn’t noticed, she wrote Ethan’s name on two of the slips of paper and dropped a ten-dollar bill in the jar. Immature? Yes. Satisfying? Hell, yes!

Laura was sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, which was surprisingly busy for this time of the year. If the delicious aromas of seafood coming from the kitchen were any indication, she could tell why.

They both laughed when Wendy took off her coat, revealing her white mock-turtleneck, and she noticed that Laura was wearing an almost identical one under a Christmassy green pantsuit. Some things never changed, apparently, including their shared taste in clothes.

After Wendy explained that Diane wouldn’t be joining them, having opted for the touristy day, she and Laura hugged warmly, each commenting on how good the other looked. Laura was a beautiful blonde, one of those women who came late into their beauty. Growing up, Laura had always been a little too pudgy, or suffered from acne, or hair issues, or chronic shyness. Now, she was petite, with clear skin and to-die-for long platinum tresses styled into a mass of waves. She couldn’t be too shy anymore if she was editor of the weekly newspaper where she probably had to do a lot of the interviewing herself.

Even though Wendy hadn’t come home much over the past twelve years, she’d kept in touch with her best friend by phone and email. Time didn’t matter with “sisters at heart,” which they had always proclaimed to be.

Tony Bonfatto, the owner of the Cracked Crab, came over to hand them menus personally. After introductions and some small talk, during which Wendy could tell that he had a thing for Laura, they placed their orders. Wendy would have a soft crab sandwich on a fresh-baked roll with a side of coleslaw, and Laura opted for lobster bisque, with a small baguette. Diet sodas for them both.

Before he left, Tony reminded Laura, “Remember the committee meeting over at the forge at two.”

Laura nodded.

The forge—Bell Forge, Wendy assumed—was located about five miles south of the town, beyond the Rutledge Tree Farm.

Wendy arched her brows at Laura after the restaurant owner went back to the kitchen to place their orders.

Laura understood Wendy’s silent question. “We’re on a committee of the town council, going to try to persuade the owner of the bell factory to keep it going. And, before you get any ideas, Tony is just a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Wendy said, unconvinced, at least from Tony’s end. The waitress brought their drinks and arranged some silverware before Wendy continued, “Anyone else special?”

“No one since I broke my engagement to Dane.”

Wendy arched her brows again.

“Turned out Dane was a dog. A horndog.”

“Enough said!”

“How about you?”

“No one special for me, either. A few possibilities over the years, but nothing lasting more than a few months. To tell the truth, I’ve been too busy for commitments of any kind.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

She and Laura looked at each other and burst out laughing. The too-busy-for-love excuse was bachelor girl bullshit, and they both knew it.

“Maybe we’re destined to be spinster ladies, as Aunt Mildred calls modern females who choose not to marry.”

“Yuck!” Laura said. “So, what’s going on out at Chez Geriatrics? Oh, that was mean!”

“Yes, it was,” Wendy said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.