Page 36 of The Forever Christmas Tree

“I understand your feelings,” Gabe said, pushing a box of tissues toward the edge of the desk nearest Laura, “but I can only afford to take the tax loss for so long before throwing in the towel.”

“Aren’t there any alternatives to a firm like Benson’s, which you know will subdivide and commercialize?” Laura asked, swiping at her eyes.

“There might be. I have a real estate company looking into other businesses that might fit into this space. And I haven’t given up on bell making entirely, but it would require a total refab of the company’s operation, an adaptation to today’s market.”

“What can we do?” Ethan asked.

“Your town—the council, or some redevelopment body—could put out feelers for someone interested in taking over the building.”

“But for five million dollars!” Laura exclaimed. “No one except greedy developers with plans for condos or strip malls or boardwalks would be able to come up with that kind of cash. The bloodsucking creeps!” You could tell by the glance she gave Gabe that she put him in that same sleazeball category.

Gabe glared right back at her.

So, they were back to combatants, not potential lovers.

Oh, well!

“How much time do we have?” Tony asked.

“Let’s meet again next week after you’ve all had a chance to digest what I’ve told you. I’m going to be in town through the holidays, staying in my grandparents’ place.” He groaned. “That’s another thing. I’ve got to go through that big white elephant of a place to see what can be done. What a mess!”

“You would sell Chimes?” Laura asked, aghast. Chimes was the name given to the white-shingled Conti mansion on a man-made bluff facing the ocean, once home to the three Conti brothers, only one of whom had a wife. Probably another multimillion-dollar property.

“Why not?” Gabe asked, cocking his head to the side. “No one’s living there. It’s too big for one family. Besides, it’s kind of ugly architecturally.”

Laura inhaled sharply. “It’s beautiful, and it’s a historical treasure. I might not have a fancy degree in architecture, but I recognize beauty when I see it. Try to sell that house as a teardown, Mister Conti, and I’ll see you in court.”

Ethan wanted to warn Laura that this animosity was no way to win Gabe over to their side in saving Bell Forge.

But Gabe just grinned at Laura and said, “Game on.”

Chapter 9

Good friends, good food, booze . . .

The conversation around the dining room table that evening was wild, to say the least. Maybe it was the wine, or the bourbon in the dessert, which was aptly called Boozy Bread Pudding, or just the Christmas spirit, but everyone was feeling a little more relaxed and cheerful than usual.

Wendy and her aunt sat at either end of the long table, to which an extension had been added, with Aunt Mildred’s five houseguests on one side, and Wendy’s four Coronado friends on the other. While they ate Elmer’s delicious lasagna with a green salad and warm garlic bread, washed down with a bottle of red wine . . . or two, or was it three? . . . which Geek and K-4 had purchased after their lunch at the Cracked Crab, the subject matter went all over the place. Starting with sex. Yes, sex!

“Is it true what they say about Navy SEALs in bed?” Gloria, the longtime librarian, asked out of the blue. Aunt Mildred had warned Wendy that Gloria was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s and had good days and bad. She was going into an assisted-living facility as soon as a room was available after the holidays.

“Absolutely,” JAM, Geek, and K-4 said as one.

“I only ask because I read a book about SEALs one time. Apparently there are females, called SEAL groupies, who follow them around, just for that purpose. They’re called by the insulting name of frog hogs.”

JAM, Geek, and K-4 cringed.

JAM responded to Gloria’s jab, which she really hadn’t intended to be offensive, with utter politeness. “Ma’am, I never heard that term before,” which was a lie, “and if I have any groupies, I don’t know where they’re hiding.” He pretended to be looking under the table for hidden lurkers.

They all laughed.

“I don’t know,” Diane said. “In my limited experience . . .” She batted her eyelashes with mock innocence. “. . . that’s just a highly inflated rumor started by Navy SEALs themselves.”

“Ah disagree,” Claudette said, to everyone’s surprise. She hadn’t talked much so far. And to speak up now on such an intimate subject! In her deep Southern accent, she told them, “Ah spent an evenin’ one time in a Nawleans hotel with a Navy SEAL who had the stayin’ power of a Chattanooga race horse. He was Cajun, as well, so, that might account for it.”

Whoa! This is getting a little out of hand.

Instead of being embarrassed, the other senior citizens at the table offered their opinions. The consensus seemed to be that older folks could get away with saying whatever they wanted, just because they had those years behind them.