Page 56 of The Forever Christmas Tree

Eliza groaned. “Look how well that’s gone so far.”

“Let’s pray, then.”

“Praying for sex? Do you think that’s a sacrilege or something?”

“Who cares!”

Chapter 14

Oh, the plans we weave . . .

Ethan noticed something strange when he was getting ready to go out that evening.

First of all, the house was unusually quiet, his grandmother having acted on a sudden desire to see the Winter Lights at the Elizabethan Gardens in Manteo with a few friends, an overnight trip that would involve some last-minute Christmas shopping in the morning. And she’d dropped Cassie off at her friend Melanie’s for a sleepover.

When he’d gotten home from the Patterson house, he’d been surprised to find his grandmother in the kitchen with an overnight suitcase packed for herself and a sleeping bag with PJs and assorted toiletries laid out for Cassie. She’d been dressed in a blue pantsuit, the one usually reserved for church or weddings.

“Why, all of a sudden, are you taking off? It’s not like you haven’t seen the Winter Lights before.”

His grandmother had put hands on both her hips and glared at him. “Didn’t you tell me just yesterday that I should take time off?”

“Well, yes. I mean, of course, you should go if you want to. I’m just surprised.”

“Maybe you’re in for a lot more surprises,” she’d snapped back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“It meant something, for damn sure.”

“Don’t swear in front of your daughter.”

Cassie, oblivious to their conversation, had been picking up the items that her great-grandmother had laid out on the kitchen table and putting them in her backpack, along with a Winnie the Pooh storybook that he hadn’t seen since she was about five years old. And that friggin’ yearbook, too! Why was she taking that? To show her friends?

Meanwhile, his grandmother had been on a tear. “You can make your own supper, can’t you? Or will you be eating over at that newspaper party? No, they usually just serve picky food. Better make yourself a sandwich. You remember how to do that, don’t you? I’m taking my Volvo, but don’t you dare drive that truck to the newspaper party. Use your car.”

“Why? What difference does it make what vehicle I use?”

“Don’t argue. Just do as you’re told.”

“Huh?”

But that wasn’t the strange thing that he was noticing now as he finished showering, his grandmother and Cassie long gone. The bathroom that adjoined his bedroom was sparkling clean, smelling of cleanser and air freshener, and newly laundered towels. There was some super fragrant Axe body spray sitting on the counter that he wasn’t about to use; he’d bought it last summer to douse Harvey when he’d encountered a not-so-friendly skunk. No, good old Mennen Speed Stick deodorant would do him just fine.

Going into his bedroom, he noticed the smell of lemon furniture polish, and he saw that the coverlet had been turned down on the bed, showing the edge of what looked like ironed, crisp, white cotton sheets. Ironed sheets? Did people really iron sheets these days?

Now, he was no dummy. He paid a cleaning lady to come in every two weeks to help Nana with household chores, but he was pretty sure Alice had come a few days ago. And he could only imagine what Alice would say if she was told to iron sheets. What was his grandmother doing with this sudden cleaning urge? Was it one of those Christmas/Easter/Spring cleaning kind of frenzies that hit women sometimes? Or post-menopausal hormones? Or this stupid grinch business affecting her, as well as the whole town? Or . . . oh, my God!

She’s setting me up.

My seventy-two-year-old grandmother is preparing what she considers the perfect sex den.

For me!

Like I can’t make my own arrangements!

I’m thirty years old, not a kid!