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Days of
Auld Lang Syne
With the back of her
hand, Helen Belden brushed a bead of sweat from her forehead. Though the temperature
outside was below freezing, the kitchen at Crabapple Farm currently felt like
a sauna. To add to her already full plate, utter exhaustion knocked at her
door, but Helen stubbornly refused to answer. In a few short hours, she would
have the daunting task of hosting a New Year’s meal for her immediate and
extended family. What on earth
was she thinking a month ago when she invited everyone over? She had spent the previous evening baking a variety of pies, knowing
she would be too busy to do so today. Now, as mealtime quickly approached the
Belden household, Helen breathed a sigh of relief that she had been so wise.
The mercury in her internal thermometer was ready to explode, but if it did,
at least her family wouldn’t go hungry in her absence. “Having a hot
flash, Helen?” her husband asked teasingly as he sauntered into the room.
Flashing that impish grin so much like his sons’, he casually propped one
elbow on the countertop and leaned against the dark red Formica-covered
surface. Her china blue
eyes sparking with indignation, Helen silently walked past him, firmly
bumping into his shoulder, thereby knocking him off balance. She watched
innocently as he landed on the floor, his smug smirk strangely missing. “Oh, did I bump
into you, dear?” she asked sweetly, extending her hand to help him stand.
“I’m so sorry.” Wordlessly,
Peter accepted his wife’s assistance. Once he was on his feet, he didn’t
immediately release her hand, instead using it to draw her close to him. “Wicked wench,”
he murmured huskily. The twinkling in his chocolate-colored eyes made it
obvious he meant his words as a compliment. Helen’s breath
caught in her throat. Even after almost thirty years of marriage, this man
still made her knees weak when he looked at her in that manner. Suddenly, her
previous exhaustion vanished as wanton inspiration
struck. “Are you okay, Peter?” she inquired
solicitously. He winked at her
teasingly. “Nothing wounded except my
pride.” “Pity,” she
remarked nonchalantly as she gazed up at him through lowered lashes. “I was
hoping I’d get to play nursemaid.” “Surely you
aren’t flirting with me, Mrs.
Belden.” Peter gasped, feigning surprise. “Right this very minute, our living
room is full of guests, our youngest son is upstairs sleeping, and you have a
sumptuous feast to get on the table; surely you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.” “Why not?” Helen
stared down at the red blouse she was wearing as she nonchalantly brushed her
nails against it. “I daresay it’d be almost impossible to detach the kids
from the football game on TV, Bobby won’t stir until afternoon, and I could
certainly use a little break. So, maybe I am
thinking what you think I’m thinking.” Peter furrowed
his brow thoughtfully. “What time will the rest of our guests arrive?” “The Lynches
will be here at four, and Regan and Mr. Maypenny are supposed to come a
little later,” she told him. “So, we should have plenty of time for…whatever.” Peter waggled
his dark brows suggestively. “Exactly what did you have in mind?” “I thought maybe you might need me to kiss something and make
it better.” To emphasize her point, she barely grazed his backside with her
free hand and shifted a bit closer to him. “Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself when you fell?” “Well, now that
you mention it, I am a bit stiff,”
he whispered as he leaned down to nuzzle her ear. “Sounds like
somebody needs a massage,” Helen purred. She slid her hand under the bottom
of his gray wool sweater and lightly ran her fingers up his spine. She met
his glance, her blue eyes wide. “Where are you stiff, darling?” With a
mischievous smile, Peter lowered his head to hers until his lips were a
fraction of a millimeter from her ear and began whispering. “Peter,” she
almost moaned as she cupped his face with one hand and captured his lips in a
searing kiss. The soft
footsteps coming from the hallway into the kitchen went unnoticed as Helen
and Peter’s kiss became more intense. “Hey, Mrs. Belden, Mart wan—” Honey
was stopped short by the sight she beheld as she entered the coziest nook of
the house, which was currently downright steamy. “Ohmigosh!” she
shrieked, covering her already tightly-closed eyes with her slender hands.
“I’m sorry! I thought you were cooking!” The amorous
couple quickly separated. Helen took a deep breath and smoothed her tousled
curls before plastering a bright smile on her face, while her husband wiped
the lipstick smudges from his mouth and hastily faced the sink. “Why, Honey,” Helen greeted in an overly-cheerful tone. “We
didn’t hear you come in.” “Hey, Honey,” Peter called from his spot at the sink.
Thankfully, it was full of sudsy water and dirty dishes, so after a hasty
wave to the newcomer, he quickly grabbed a pot and pretended to look busy. “I
was just… helping Helen clean up some of this mess.” “That’s… umm… very nice of you,” Honey stammered, her cheeks
blazing a brilliant red. “Why aren’t you watching the big game with the others?” Peter
inquired, still scrubbing the exact same pot. “It’s supposed to be a good
one.” Honey blinked a
few times, as she tried to think of something tactful to say. When that
failed, she settled for something semi-intelligent. “I…uhh… don’t really like football…” she
stuttered nervously, wondering if her cheeks were as scarlet as Helen’s. Of course, mine are red because I’m embarrassed, Honey thought to herself. Hers are red because they were getting ready to… Much to her chagrin,
she felt her cheeks brighten to an even deeper shade of crimson as she put a
clamp on her thoughts. Her hazel eyes darted anxiously around the room while
she tried to remember why on earth she had gone into the kitchen in the first
place. “The guys were just complaining about your TV not being big
enough,” Honey finally managed. “I mean, it’s not that your television isn’t
big, because you have a really nice television. It’s just that Dan keeps
standing in front of it while he’s yelling at his team to get their butts in
gear, and Brian keeps getting annoyed and starts yelling at Dan.” She took a
deep breath, reminding herself to not speak so quickly, and then continued
her speech at a more normal speed. “Jim suggested that if dinner wasn’t going to be ready for
awhile, we could go up to our house and finish watching the game on Daddy’s
60-inch high-definition plasma flat-screen since they’re away.” Helen’s mouth pursed thoughtfully. “You’ll still eat dinner
with us, won’t you?” “Of course we will!” Honey nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll come
back down to Crabapple Farm as soon as the food’s ready. After we eat,
Trixie, Di, and I can clean up for you so you can relax while the boys go
back up and finish overdosing on football.” “I don’t understand why men can’t watch normal-sized
televisions anymore,” Helen commented in an offhand manner. “Who really cares
what size the screen is, how flat it is, or if it has plasma in it?” “I do,” Peter piped
up with a raise of his hand. Helen smirked over at her husband. “Keep washing your pot,
darling.” “Yes, dear.” Honey smiled wistfully, finding the exchange between the older
couple very cute. Much cuter than
finding them in a lip lock, but that
was another story… “Daddy insists that watching the game on his plasma HDTV
is just as good as being in the stands.”
“I told you that we
need one of those wide-screen TVs, Helen,” Peter pointed out, his back still
turned to Honey. “It’s just like
being there; Matt Wheeler said so.” Helen grinned over at her husband. “Darling, once we get Bobby
out of college, you can buy the biggest, flattest, plasma-iest
television you can find.” “Great, that means I’ll never get one,” Peter muttered
forlornly. “How about we get your TV the same time I get my dream vacation
to the Bahamas?” Helen offered. Peter exhaled loudly, noisily splashing the still-unclean pot
back into the dishwater. “I told
you I wasn’t getting one.” “Mr. Belden, after we eat, you can go up to Manor House with
the rest of the guys and watch the game with them,” Honey suggested brightly.
“And Daddy would be more than happy to invite you up to watch football with
him anytime you’d like.” “Thanks, Honey,” Peter said with a
pout. “I’m glad someone is able to
buy a man-sized television. Unfortunately, I’m stuck shelling out thousands
of dollars of tuition so Bobby can pursue a degree in sleep deprivation and ‘hottie’ wooing.” “Speaking of tuition, dear,” Helen began, “we just got the bill
for next semester in the mail.” “D’oh!” Peter slapped his head in his
best Homer Simpson impersonation. Helen ignored her husband’s grumbling, and shifted her
attention to Honey, who was still giggling at Peter’s antics. “About you all
leaving… You’re sure you’ll be back in time to eat?” “Of course we will!”
Honey assured her. “Why, your cooking is famous in Sleepyside. People would
line up for miles outside in the snow to get a taste. Why, as much as Mart
loves football, I’m sure he’d leave in the middle of the ninth inning to eat
one your home-cooked meals!” Peter raised an eyebrow at the phrase “ninth inning”, but
didn’t bother to correct her. “Why, that’s very sweet, Honey,” Helen murmured, her cheeks
flushed with pleasure. “Dinner won’t be ready for a couple hours, so you
should have plenty of time to finish the game. Just please be sure to be back
by “Mother and Daddy are just sorry that they couldn’t make it,”
Honey remarked. “Mother especially. She thought it would be a good
opportunity to talk about the wedding. She’s very excited about it, you
know.” “We all are,” Helen agreed, smiling. “We are?” Peter inquired, his dark eyebrows knotted together in
skepticism. “Yes, we are,” Helen
told him firmly. “You heard her, Honey,” Peter stated. “We’re looking forward to
this wedding. Yes sirree, Bob.” “Peter, you knew you’d eventually have to give your princess
away. Now, behave yourself,” Helen scolded gently. She turned to her
daughter’s best friend. “Where did your parents go on vacation, Honey?” “Last night after the party at the Country Club was over, Tom
drove them to the airport. Bob immediately flew them to Paris for a week,”
Honey explained. “The trip was Daddy’s New Year’s gift to Mother.” “How lovely,” Helen murmured wistfully. “I know I could use a vacation, especially
after the hectic holiday season.” “You definitely could!” Honey agreed adamantly. “We all know
how hard you’ve been working today…” The dark crimson stain along her cheeks
blazed hotly as she recalled exactly what the Beldens had been doing when
she’d surprised them. Helen had the grace to blush. “I’m sure Peter and I will take a
trip soon by ourselves.” “That would be nice,” Honey replied, brushing her sweaty palms
against her neatly-pressed chinos. She remained planted to the linoleum,
trying to remember the inquiry she was supposed to make. “Do you need anything else, dear?” Helen prompted kindly. Honey nodded, keeping her gaze focused on her designer loafers.
“Yes, but I forgot what it was.” A knowing smile parted Helen’s lips. “Let me take a wild guess.
Knowing Mart as I do, he’s probably dying of hunger and sent you in to do his
dirty work, since he’s cuddling with Di on the couch?” Honey giggled, her former embarrassment slowing fading away.
“Well, he is complaining about being
hungry, and I think Di is on his
lap, but as I said, I don’t really care for football, so I didn’t mind asking
for him. But how’d you know where Mart and Di were sitting?” “You said earlier that Dan was standing in front of the TV,”
Helen explained, showing where Trixie had gotten her prowess for solving
mysteries. “Unless Diana was perched on Mart’s lap, he would’ve been
stampeding beside Dan. I’ve watched a bowl game or two with him, and I know
how excited he gets.” “You’re very shrewd, Mrs. Belden,” Honey commented. “Hey, Honey,” Peter called from his post at the sink. “Speaking
of the game, you wouldn’t happen to know who’s winning, do you?” “I’m not sure,” Honey answered, frowning. “I think the blue
team is, but the man wearing the headphones said the players in the yellow
costumes were ‘knocking at the door’, although I’m not sure why they aren’t
trying to score some points of their own instead of rapping on somebody’s
door. Apparently, the yellow team has to hurry because there’s ‘only a buck
fifty until halftime’. Of course, I may
have heard him wrong because that doesn’t make any sense at all. What in the
world does a dollar and fifty cents have to do with football?” At that moment, Peter was very glad his back was still turned
to Honey. Trying hard not to laugh out loud, he explained, “Actually, that
means there’s only a minute and fifty seconds left until halftime, and the
men in the yellow uniforms are
almost ready to score a touchdown.” “Oh,” Honey responded flatly. If her tone was any indication,
she wouldn’t be committing any of that terminology to memory. “Why didn’t the
man wearing the headphones just say that to begin with?” “That’s a very good question,” Peter hedged. “Well, I hope the blue team wins,” Honey commented. “I like
their sparkly helmets.” Peter cringed as he rinsed the pot he had finally washed. “Enough about football,” Helen said, smiling in amusement. She
walked over to the breadbox and pulled out a loaf of freshly baked pumpkin bread,
ensconced in saran wrap. She quickly put it on a plate, placed a dull knife
on the side, and then handed it to Honey. “Here you go. This should tide Mart
over until we eat later.” Honey leaned down and inhaled the delicious aroma. “Thanks,
Mrs. Belden. It smells heavenly.” “You’re most certainly welcome, dear,” Helen responded. “Are you sure you don’t need help in the kitchen?” Honey
offered. “I could stay here and wash dishes or something.” Helen’s china blue eyes, identical to her daughter’s, twinkled
merrily. “I think Peter and I have everything under control.” “If you’re sure, I’ll tell the others that we have time to run
up to Manor House,” Honey replied, trying hard not to imagine what her best
friend’s parents would probably do once they all had left the house. “I’ll see you a little before “See you later, Mr. Belden,” Honey called. Still laboring at the sink, Peter glanced over at her and said,
“Bye, Honey. Let me know if the blue team wins.” “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that they score a goal,” Honey
promised with a giggle before quickly making her exit. Once alone, Peter and Helen turned to each other and burst out
laughing. “That poor girl knows absolutely nothing about sports,” Peter
said with a chuckle. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her that you score
goals in hockey, not football.” “Hockey players aren’t the only ones who can score,” Helen
commented airily. “Rumor has it that bankers can, too.” Peter cocked one dark brow. “Is that so?” “Mmm-hmm,” she murmured. She walked
over to the sink where her husband was standing. “Why, Peter, I can’t believe
how rude you were to our guest. You kept your back turned to poor Honey the
entire time she was here. Why in the world did you do that?” Peter’s eyes darkened as watched the provocative way Helen’s
hips swayed as she moved closer to him. “You know why,” he murmured. Once she
was at his side, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her close
against him. “And it’s all your fault.” “I take full responsibility,” Helen whispered softly. “And now
that we’re alone, how about we finish what I started?” “What if Mart needs some milk to wash down his pumpkin bread?” Helen wiggled out of her husband’s embrace and pulled her
husband towards the laundry room. “The kitchen is temporarily closed. Let him
go to his own house to find something to drink. Besides, as embarrassed as
poor Honey was, I seriously doubt she’ll return to the kitchen without being
invited. So, how ‘bout you give the cook a massage?” “Sounds good to me,” her husband murmured huskily as he placed
a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck.
“Halftime!” Dan whooped loudly. “Ladies, just so you know, we
have twenty minutes until the third quarter begins. That means you have exactly
nineteen-and-a-half minutes to initiate any meaningful conversations you wish
to have until we tell you to shut up.” He quickly looked at his watch. “Your
time starts now!” Diana made a face at him. “When I think of something
meaningful, you’ll be the first to know.” “I wonder what’s taking Honey so long,” Mart commented as he
glanced towards the hallway. “I’m starving.” “We can just find something up at the Manor House,” Brian
suggested. “Sorry, man, but the kitchen’s closed up there,” Jim informed
him. “The new cook gets mad when she’s not there and we mess something up.” Mart grinned wickedly. “Well, the staff has the day off, so
what the new cook doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.” “She’ll know,” Jim insisted. “We think she installed a secret
camera in one of the cookie jars so she can keep an eye on her domain. Even
Regan’s scared of her.” “What a whack job.” Trixie giggled, and then clarified, “The
cook, not Regan.” “Why doesn’t your mom fire her?” Di asked. “Mrs. Wheeler
usually runs such a tight ship.” Jim shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only a matter of time before
Mother takes care of it. She’s really gotten the hang of hiring and firing
people since Ms. Trask left Manor House to become my assistant principal.” “Considering your luck with cooks, Mrs. Wheeler certainly has
had plenty of practice,” Brian commented. Mart groaned and rubbed his growling stomach, more concerned
about his current state of hunger than the Wheelers’ servant dilemma. “Where is Honey? Doesn’t she know I’m
wasting away in here? By the time she gets back, I’ll be skin and bones.” “If you’re so hungry, you should’ve gone yourself.” Trixie
smirked at her slightly older brother. “Shame on you anyway, sending Honey to
do your dirty work. Tsk, tsk.” “She volunteered,” Mart retorted. “Oh, hush,” Di scolded. From her perch on her husband’s knee,
she reached down and teasingly swatted him on the stomach. “After that huge
breakfast I made for you, I’m sure you’re not that hungry, Mr. Skin and Bones.” “You’re forgetting about that vigorous workout I had after we
ate, kitten,” Mart commented, an angelic expression on his face. “After all
that exercise, I’m famished.” Trixie rolled her wide eyes animatedly. “I’m not even going to
ask what kind of workout you had. Or why you call her…kitten. Blech!” “Hear, hear,” Brian added enthusiastically. “It wasn’t that kind
of workout, you whoremongers,” Mart corrected in a superior tone. “For your
information, I spent over an hour shoveling snow so my lovely bride’s feet
wouldn’t get wet as she boarded our humble carriage.” Trixie and Brian exchanged a look of relief. “You two should get your minds out of the gutters,” Di chided
reproachfully. However, before her siblings-in-law could enjoy their relief,
her lips parted in a mischievous grin. “We partook of marital relations before breakfast, not after.” “Ewww!” Trixie exclaimed, placing her
hands over her ears and scrunching up her pert nose in disgust. “After all
these years, you’re even talking
like him! Di, I simply refuse to believe that you actually have… relations with him. Ick!” “Well, we are
married,” Di pointed out in between giggles. “Married people do do that
occasionally.” Mart confirmed that was true with a devilish waggle of his
brows. “Indeed we do.” “Occasionally?” Trixie repeated with
upraised sandy brows. “Jeesh! When don’t you do it? I’m surprised I don’t
have fifty nieces or nephews by now!” Strangely, Diana’s laughter and Mart’s impish expression slowly
faded into matching frowns. Confusion filled Trixie’s eyes as she sensed the
tension her comment had evoked. However, none of the remaining three
Bob-Whites in the room seemed to pick up on the couple’s strained reaction. At that moment, a red-faced Honey bounded back into the den,
holding a plate of pumpkin bread in a vise grip. Her lips drawn downward in a frown, she
smacked the dish against Mart’s chest, almost dumping the loaf into his lap.
“Here’s the snack you requested, Your Highness.” “Hey!” Mart awkwardly caught the plate as it ricocheted against
him. “Careful with the baked goods; you’ll squish them!” A wince marred his
brow as he noticed Honey’s now-empty hands. “Uhh… where’s the milk?” Honey stepped a bit closer, leaning over until she was
nose-to-nose with him. “I purposely left it behind, hoping you’d choke on a
stray crumb.” “Jeesh, you couldn’t grab a juice box
or something on your way out?” Mart muttered under his breath. Honey exhaled loudly, rolling her enormous hazel eyes in an
overly-exaggerated exasperated manner. “Something wrong, Sis?” Jim questioned, amused by her
surprisingly un-Honey-like actions. Honey shot a murderous glare at him. “Why do you ask?” “Maybe because your face’s beet red, your back’s stiff, and
your jaw’s clenched so tight that I’m afraid you’ll break it,” Jim offered
wryly. Mart, unconcerned with Honey’s mood, picked up the loaf from
the plate and turned it over and over again, searching for the edge of the
plastic wrap. “How’s a guy supposed to break into this stuff?” “Here.” With a sigh of impatience, Trixie grabbed the pumpkin
bread out of her almost-twin’s hands and began examining it. Her sandy brow
furrowed as she failed to open it as well. “I can never get this stuff off…” Lips clamped tightly together, Honey snatched the loaf from
Trixie and ripped a hole in the saran wrap. “There,” she snapped crossly,
tossing the yummy-smelling food back to Mart. “Thanks!” Mart deftly plunked the bread back onto the plate,
and in a matter of seconds, had it sliced into several pieces. He selected a
hearty serving for himself and happily munched away, seemingly unaware he had
drawn the usually docile Honey’s ire. Trixie, however, was not distracted by food and felt the need
to pry. “Who peed in your Wheaties?” she asked her tawny-haired friend tartly, a
mischievous grin deepening the dimples on either side of her mouth. Honey cast her a withering glance.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she responded, nodding pointedly in the
direction of the kitchen. “Oh, c’mon, Honey,” Diana cajoled, her amethyst-colored eyes
twinkling merrily. “Please talk
about it? My brain is numb from all this football; I need a bit of juicy gossip to help me think again.” “Not here,” Honey hissed, jerking her head to the right a bit
more adamantly. “I really do—” Before she could finish her statement, she was interrupted by
the loud jangling of the telephone. It rang several times, and it seemed the
owners of the house didn’t intend to answer it. “I’ll get it,” Trixie said as she reached for the receiver.
“But don’t think you’re off the hook, missy. I’ll get back to you later.” Further threats ceased as
she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Hello?” Trixie smiled as the caller greeted her. “Hi, Mrs. Lynch. Yeah,
she’s right here.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Di, it’s your mom.” Diana’s brow wrinkled, and after a thoughtful pause, she
nodded. “I’ll take it upstairs, if you don’t mind.” “Okay,” Trixie answered with a shrug as her sister-in-law
quickly bounded down the hallway and then up the steps to the phone extension
located at the top of the staircase. “Mrs. Lynch, she’ll be here in a second…
Happy New Year to you also… Yes, Moms is looking forward to having your
family over for dinner, too…” Once Diana had picked up the other phone,
Trixie hung up the one in the den, and refocused her attention on Honey. “Now, where were we?” the curly-headed detective pondered
aloud. “Trixie, I really hate to spoil your investigation,” Brian
began, “but there’s only five minutes left until the third quarter. Is it okay
with Moms if we go up to Manor House, Hon?” His girlfriend smirked. “It’s a safe bet that she won’t even
notice we’re gone,” she responded vaguely. “Then I vote we head on up,” Dan remarked, quickly rising to
his feet. “Last one in front of the HDTV is a rotten egg!” Jim jiggled his set of keys. “Well, nobody’s going anywhere
until I start up the ol’ Suburban.” “Then let’s get the show on the road!” Mart hopped up from the
couch and quickly donned his winter coat. “What about Di?” Honey questioned. “Won’t she wonder where
we’ve disappeared to?” “I’ll run up and tell her,” Trixie offered. “I want to sneak in
and wake up Bobby anyway. Di and I will be up in a few minutes.” That settled, the men-folk hastened
the group out the door, none of them wanting to miss a minute of the second
half. Once alone, Trixie began climbing the stairs to the second floor so she
could tell Di that she’d be waiting for her in the car. However, as Trixie
neared the top of the landing, Diana’s side of the conversation caused her to
stop in her tracks. “—o, I still haven’t gotten it… Of course, I took the test… I got the same result as last time…”
Di released a heavy, labored sigh. “Yes, Mart knows… I know that, Mum… I got
the earliest appointment I could… Next Friday…Well, the doctor’s booked up,
and that was the soonest he could see me.” Trixie held her breath as she waited for Di to continue
speaking. A little voice in her head reminded her that she was eavesdropping
and should immediately go back down the stairs, but unfortunately, her wobbling
legs refused to cooperate. So instead, she concentrated on remaining
completely quiet. “No, I didn’t tell them last night at the party,” Di firmly
told her mother. “Mart wanted to, but it wasn’t the right time… No, I’m not going to today, either… I
know I have to eventually, but just not now… I will, just as soon as everything calms down… Please don’t, Mummy…
Please?” A sob ceased Diana’s pleas. Trixie’s conscience could no longer allow her to listen to what
was obviously an upsetting conversation for Di. Forsaking her earlier plan to
bug Bobby, she tiptoed down the staircase, carefully avoiding the squeakiest
spots of the wooden steps. Resorting to the large closet in the hallway, she
busied herself with bundling up for the bracing cold. Several minutes later,
she heard footsteps pounding down the stairs. “Hey, where is everyone?” Di inquired,
her tone suddenly cheerful. Trixie poked her head out of the closet. “In here, Di.” Di stood out in the hallway by the closet. “Where’s everybody
else?” “They went on up to the Wheelers’,” Trixie explained, trying
not to notice how puffy and red her sister-in-law’s eyes were. Instead, she
wound her powder-blue scarf around her neck. “The guys were afraid they might
miss a second of the game, so they went on up.” Di groaned. “I’m glad to know that watching a football game is
more important to Mart than chivalrously escorting his lovely bride up a
potentially icy hill. Remind me to strangle my beloved knight in shining
armor when we’re reunited.” “No worries,” Trixie assured her with a giggle. She bowed
gallantly in front of her oldest friend. “I am only too happy to escort you
up to the Manor House, m’lady.” “My hero!” Di cried dramatically, concluding her speech with a
dainty curtsey. “I’m afraid my noble
steed is in the shop, so we’ll have to take my Civic,” Trixie teased. “Is
that all right with you?” “Sounds good to me.” Diana reached over her sister-in-law and
got her black Burberry and coordinating purple and black scarf. “You’re a
prince among women, dear.” Trixie shifted away guiltily, turning her head so she couldn’t
look Di in the eye. “So, are you ready?” Diana nodded, discreetly wiping her eyes for any remaining
traces of moisture. “Sure am. Bring on the football.”
The cacophony emanating from the general vicinity of the
Wheelers’ recreation room told Trixie and Di that the bowl game had resumed.
The loud whooping and hollering let them know that somebody had done
something good. The girls giggled as they made their way down the long
marbled hallway. “I take it somebody scored?” Trixie inquired, plopping down on
the huge sectional sofa beside Jim. However, her question remained
unanswered. Honey, sensing the men were too busy to even notice Trixie and
Diana’s arrival, jumped in with an answer. “One of the men in the blue uniforms jumped on the grass at the
end of the field with all the writing on it,” she explained, obviously quite
proud of herself. “Then, the guy in the matching costume came out and kicked
the ball between the huge fork thing, and the guys haven’t stopped talking
about it.” Di smirked over at her husband, who was still yelling
congratulations to his team. “I haven’t seen Mart this excited since
Sleepyside got its own Subway restaurant.” “I wonder if they know that the guys on TV can’t hear them?” Trixie posed, rolling her eyes at Jim’s unabashed
jubilation. “Daddy said that watching
this TV is just like being there,” Honey pointed out, giggling. “Men are so dumb,” Di commented with a roll of her own eyes.
“Trixie, are you sure you want to
marry one?” Trixie stared at her fiancé, who was currently doing a victory
dance which was a strange cross between the Tequila and the Macarena. “At
this moment, I really can’t say for sure. Jim doesn’t even know I’m here.” “True,” Di agreed. “We could give a hula recital in the buff,
and I don’t think Mart would even flinch.” “I know Brian wouldn’t,” Honey stated wryly. Her mind drifted
back to the scene in the kitchen at Crabapple Farm, wondering how Brian
missed inheriting Peter’s amorous genes. With a shake of her head, she
quickly refocused her attention elsewhere. “Are they always like
this, Di?” Trixie inquired, feigning fear. “Sadly, yes.” Di inhaled deeply, a frown marring her delicate
features. “Mart practically smothers me with attention except for certain
holidays: college football bowl games, the NBA playoffs, the World Series,
the Super Bowl, and hunting season.” Honey furrowed her brow inquisitively. “Those aren’t holidays.” “Not to you,” Di
corrected. “However, to those of the male species, those are the most
important dates on the calendar. Today, some people are celebrating the birth
of a new year; others are celebrating the Sugar Bowl. Alas ladies, our
significant others are among those celebrating the Sugar Bowl.” “I’m tempted to hit the breaker and make them think there’s
been a power outage,” Trixie said, smiling tartly. “I think Daddy has a generator, purchased for that specific
purpose,” Honey remarked. Trixie snapped her fingers in disappointment. “Curse Mr.
Wheeler and his blasted foresight!” For some reason, that statement made Di double over with
laughter. “At first… I thought…” she gasped, trying to catch her breath, “I
thought… you said… ‘blasted foreskin’…” Trixie and Honey simultaneously joined in the uproarious
giggling. The noise apparently was loud enough to make their presence known.
A chorus of “shushes” came from in front of the giant television. “Speaking of foreskin,”
Trixie muttered in a threatening tone, “I wonder how they’d like theirs
forcibly removed.” Her comment only served to make the girls chuckle harder, which
once again drew the boys’ ire. “Shhh!” Dan demanded angrily. “If you
girls want to giggle and gab, go somewhere else!” “You’re not telling those scantily clad cheerleaders to shush, and they’re louder than we are,”
Trixie pointed out snippily. “Well, they’re
yelling about something important— this football game!” Jim retorted. “You’re
squawking about something I probably don’t want to know about.” Trixie gave a saucy grin. “Probably.” “I think the answer to that one would be ‘definitely’,” Honey
amended coyly. “Maybe we should squawk about something else,” Di suggested in
an offhand manner. “Like why Honey was so embarrassed after she came back
from the kitchen at the Farm.” Honey shot her ebony-haired friend a dirty look, which Trixie
intercepted. “You walked in on Moms and Dad making out, didn’t you?” Trixie inquired, her expression a mixture of disgust and
curiosity. Still silent, Honey’s scathing expression spoke multitudes. Her
golden-brown eyebrows were closely drawn together in a knot of frustration.
Her large hazel eyes had hardened into shards of amber, virtually shooting
sparks of fire as she glared at her best friends. The only noise she made was
a loud huff as she exhaled loudly through a protruded lower lip. Never in a
million years would her friends understand that she wasn’t upset about being
embarrassed; her frustration was due to something much more personal. “You did! You walked in on the Beldens getting busy!” Di
hooted. As quickly as it had started, Diana’s merriment ceased. A serious
expression, marred only by a set of sparkling violet eyes, clouded her pretty
features. She leaned forward slightly towards Honey and whispered
conspiratorially, “What’d you see?” “Diana!” Trixie exclaimed, covering her ears in an attempt to
shield them from hearing the answer. An angelic smile spread across Di’s full lips. “What?” she
questioned succinctly. “Those are my parents you’re talking about!” Trixie snapped
gruffly. “They aren’t my
parents,” Di corrected with a snicker. “So dish out the dirt, Honey.” Mart looked up from the television, which was now broadcasting
a commercial. “What on earth are
you girls yakking about?” “What your mom and dad were doing when Honey went in there to
get your snack,” Di responded, smiling tartly. She crossed the floor and
climbed into her husband’s lap. “And I just informed your sister that Peter
and Helen aren’t my parents, so I want details.” “They’re your parents by marriage,”
Mart pointed out firmly. “And as your husband, I order you not to talk about it anymore.” Di crossed her arms, her chin lifted as she proffered a
challenge. “You what?” “I… uhhh… beseech you, for the sake
of all that is good, holy, and pure, to pretty please with sugar on top not
talk about this subject anymore, unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Mart
gulped loudly, and then added in a small voice, “Please, kitten?” “Way to stand your ground, Mart,” Jim said, sarcasm dripping
from each word. Mart merely snorted in response. “Sure, you talk big now, Jimbo. Let’s see what you have to say when you’re wearing
the world’s tiniest handcuff.” He held up his left hand as an example of said
“handcuff”. He promptly found a fist, one finger of which bore the handcuff
that matched his, rammed firmly against his gut. The force was firm enough to
let him know she meant business, yet gentle enough not to damage him
permanently. Mart, always the ham, doubled over, pretending to gasp for
oxygen. “What he means is,”
Di said sweetly, her vocal tone the epitome of demureness, “is that once
you’re enjoying matrimonial bliss, Jim, your priorities may change. After you
become half of a whole, you realize that just because something isn’t
important to you, it may be important to your other— and
dare I say— better half. You’d be
wise to learn this lesson now before, say, you end up sleeping on the couch
for the next week.” She ended her tirade by standing up and hurling a
murderous glare down at her husband. From her vantage point several feet away, Trixie hooted
uproariously. “You tell him, Di!” Mart warily stood upright, keeping one eye on Diana to see if
she was going to sock him again. He coughed slightly, acting as if his lungs
were adjusting to fresh oxygen. “Honey, help stop the violence,” he playfully
rasped. “Could you please tell us
what you caught Moms and Dad doing before Di inflicts any more domestic abuse
on me?” “You’d better quit while you’re ahead, mister,” Di warned, “or you’ll be the one sleeping on the
couch. I’m already mad at you for leaving without me.” Mart lifted his chin proudly. “Well, I’ll have you know that
men like sleeping on the couch.” “Is that so?” Di queried, one ebony brow raised slightly. “Yeah!” Mart insisted. “Sleeping on the couch is like camping
out, but with TV.” Di snickered, obviously unconcerned with her husband’s feigned
bravado. “But Mart, darling, there’s no sugar
on the couch.” She paused momentarily, her long, sooty eyelashes lowered
flirtatiously as she continued in a husky voice, “Well, at least not when I’m
mad at you, that is.” “No sugar on the couch?” Mart asked rather pitifully. Di flipped her long, wavy hair off her shoulders in a discreet
yet sultry way. “Not even a pack of Sweet ‘n Low.” “Honey, please tell
us what happened!” Mart begged, staring at Honey with pleading eyes. “I need
my sugar. I need, I need!” A smile wiggled at the corners of Honey’s mouth. Although she
tried to keep her irritated expression intact, she found that to be
impossible. One could never remain annoyed when Mart and Diana Belden were
around to entertain. “Well, if you must
know, when I went in to get Mart a
snack,” —here Honey gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes— “apparently I
interrupted a little liaison
between Mr. and Mrs. Belden in the kitchen.” “Okay! I’ve heard enough!” Brian bellowed loudly. “Now let’s
talk about something else!” “But I’m not finished talking about this yet,” Di tittered prettily. “Go on, Honey.” The subject of his parents’ aforementioned liaison made the
ever-uptight Brian wiggle in embarrassment. “Mart, tell your wife to go home
and watch Oprah. We’re in the middle of a football game.” Mart snorted scornfully at his older brother. “You tell her! I’m afraid of her. She’s
already punched me in the gut and threatened to cut off my sugar supply.” “Too much sugar’s bad for you,” Brian lectured sternly. “Not the kind I’m getting tonight!” Mart waggled his sandy
brows suggestively. “Would you stop?!” Trixie ordered, not sure
whether to groan or to giggle. “You’re worse than Moms and Dad!” “Are you sure about that, Trix?” Jim questioned with a wry
smile. “At least Honey’s never walked in on Mart and Di getting busy.” Dan grinned wickedly. “No, but I have.” Brian reluctantly raised his hand. “I have, too.” “I can’t help it.” Mart gave a sniff of importance. “I’m a
Belden and it’s in my genes.” Diana smoothed her hair, which had been mussed a few minutes
earlier. “Since we’ve been married for five years, I consider myself an
expert on what’s inside Mart’s ‘genes’, and he’s definitely his father’s
son.” “Quit!” Trixie ordered, covering her ears and squeezing her
eyes shut. “I don’t know what’s in Mart’s genes, and I really don’t care to
find out!” “So Honey, what’s in Brian’s genes?” Di queried,
her expression the portrait of innocence. “Does he possess that particular
Belden trait?” “Hey!” Brian sputtered indignantly. “I’d rather not discuss
what’s in my genes in such a public forum.” “Why not?” Di’s smile was still angelic. “Don’t you have
anything substantial in there?” “My genes are quite substantial, thank you very much,” Brian
retorted. “Well, if you’re that
proud of them, you really should consider making that naughty scrapbook for Honey,”
Di said offhandedly, inspecting her manicure. “You know, Photoshop can be a very powerful tool.” A throw pillow promptly smacked Diana
upside the head, only serving to make her giggling start anew. “Are you finished yet?” Jim asked, his tone stern. “The game’s back on.” “Oh, waaa-waaaa,”
Di murmured. “I’ll need half a baby aspirin to get over that.” “Do you mind?” Dan sighed
impatiently. “Holly Rowe is on the sidelines, trying to tell us what’s going
on. You’re being very rude.” Trixie snorted in her most unladylike
fashion. “You don’t care what she has to say; you just think she’s hot.” “That’s beside the point,” Dan
hedged. “I merely want to hear what insight she has to offer about this
sporting event.” “Well, I’ve heard her speak from the
sidelines,” Di stated in an exasperated manner. “Once I heard her say that
WVU was located in ‘western’ Virginia. Since she isn’t even aware that there
are fifty states, what intelligent insight could she possibly have to offer?” “Shhh!” Dan
hissed, straining to hear the television, oblivious to what Diana had said. Trixie stood before the men, her
hands on her hips and her lips drawn downward in a frown. “You men-folk have
been watching bowl coverage since dawn; you need a break, and we do, too.” “Ooh, ooh!” Honey waved her hands in
excitement. “There’s a Cary Grant marathon on AMC! Why don’t we watch that
instead for a little while?” “Great idea, sis,” Jim said. “How
about you girls go in my study and see which Cary flick is on? Not that it
matters to any of you; you’ll all be drooling in a matter of seconds at the
mere sight of Mr. Grant…” “I know what’s going on here.” Trixie
stomped over to the couch and plopped down beside Jim. “You’re trying to get rid of us.”
“Of course I’m not,” Jim insisted. “I’m
watching my best team with my best girl. Who could ask for anything more than
that?” “I
could ask for some headphones right now,” Dan mumbled. “Or maybe some duct
tape…” Trixie stuck her tongue out at her
dark-haired friend. “Just for that, you
don’t get any of Moms’ apple pie. And it’s the kind with the crumbly top,
too.” “Trixie, I’m going to say this as
nicely as possible.” Dan spoke slowly and distinctly. “Unless you’ve
discovered a still-warm corpse in the formal living room, could you please
reduce the chatter to a minimum of one word replies? We’re trying to watch this game.” “Well, excuuuuuuse me,” Trixie drawled
out dramatically. “It’s not my fault you guys are so engrossed in such a dumb
game, and that I’m bored out of my gourd and forced to entertain myself by
whatever means necessary. Forgive me for trying to stay awake.” “To quote Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The
Premature Burial’,” Mart began grandly, “ ‘There
are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too
entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction’.” Trixie scrunched her
nose in confusion. “What is that
supposed to mean?” “It means to shut up
before I give you a premature burial,” Mart supplied helpfully, with a playful
shake of his fist. “Ha, ha,” Trixie snorted.
“You two are certifiably insane,”
Brian remarked dryly. He stood up from the recliner in which he had been
sitting. “I’m going in the kitchen to get something to drink. I’m assuming
that Cook won’t have a problem with that?” “Just make sure to restock the
fridge,” Jim ordered. “And be sure there’s an even number of each thing in
there.” “This lady’s more anal than Brian!”
Di teased with an impish giggle. “Hey, I resemble that remark,” Brian
intoned. “Does anyone else want anything while I’m up?” Six hands quickly went up, followed
by six orders. “I’ll give you a hand, Bri,” Trixie offered, jumping up from her perch beside
Jim. She followed her oldest brother into the gourmet chef’s dream of a
kitchen. Brian had already opened the
industrial-sized refrigerator and was searching inside. “What did Jim say he
wanted?” “A root beer,” Trixie answered. “And
Di wanted a diet cola, Mart wanted a regular cola, Honey wanted a Perrier,
Dan wanted a Dr. Pepper, and I wanted a strawberry pop.” “How do you remember all that stuff,
yet manage to forget to cut the price tags off your clothes?” he inquired,
furrowing his brow thoughtfully. “I remember the stuff that really
matters,” was her clipped response. “So, do you remember where they keep
the microwave popcorn?” he questioned, pilfering through the many cupboards. Trixie promptly opened the correct
cabinet, pulled out a box of Orville Redenbacher extra-buttery popcorn, and
handed it to her brother. “Bri?” “Yes?” Brian was too busy opening the package of popcorn to
meet her troubled gaze. “Has Mart talked to you about anything lately?” she asked
softly. “He asked me to take a look at their Jeep Cherokee the other
day,” he responded. “He thought the engine was missing, but I changed the
spark plugs and took care of it.” Trixie shook her head. “No, I meant has he talked to you about
him and Di?” Brian gave a slight shrug. “He said they had a nice time last
night at the country club.” “Has he said anything about any problems they’re having?” “Nope, he hasn’t said anything to me.” Brian quickly finished
punching in the cook time on the microwave, and then looked at his sister.
“Which leads me to the conclusion that,
if there is a problem— and I did say if—
it’s not any of my business.” “Well, they’re our family, so that makes it our business,” Trixie pointed out with a sniff. Brian looked over at his sister quizzically. “You’re not
worried about them because of the handcuff thing, are you? They were
obviously joking about that, and you and I both know they won’t be eating
actual sugar tonight.” “I know. That’s not what I’m talking about,” she interjected
hastily. “Don’t you think Di’s been acting funny lately?” “Not any funnier than usual.” He leaned back and waited for the
kernels to begin popping. “Why? Have you
noticed something?” “Yeah, ever since I got
back from California,” Trixie answered with a frown. “Are you sure you haven’t noticed something?” Brian shrugged again. “Maybe. It’s hard to say, though. Di’s
always been emotional.” “She’d slug you if she heard you say that,” she commented with
a roll of her eyes. “That’d just prove my point.” He grinned over at her. “Listen,
Trix, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Every couple has their highs
and lows. Besides, if Mart and Di got along any better than they do now,
they’d have to be surgically attached at the hip. Those two are so in love
that it’s disgusting.” Trixie looked away in embarrassment. “Well, actually they’re
not as disgusting as they used to
be.” Brian’s dark brown eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “Dear
Lord in heaven; you’re becoming one of them. My little sister has been
replaced by a pod person.” “I’m not a pod person,” she said with a snort. “You are.” He nodded his head emphatically. “Soon you’re going to
be just as sappy and mushy as Mart, and only Bobby and I will remain.” Trixie giggled and teasingly gave him a gentle shove. “I’m
serious, Bri.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully to
one side. “Have you ever noticed that Diana always gets upset when anyone mentions
having a baby?” “Can’t say that I have,” he said matter-of-factly. “Of course,
it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve missed something obvious.” “Well, I’ve noticed
it.” Although the rest of the group was in the rec
room, Trixie leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in a whisper. “I think
she’s pregnant.” “You what?” Brian’s
thick brows met in the groove at the bridge of his nose. “I think she’s pregnant!” she repeated with a flourish. Once
she realized how loudly she had spoken, she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Why would you think that?” Trixie’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink. “Well, I kind of overheard her phone
conversation with her mom—” “You eavesdropped?!” Brian interrupted. “Sort of,” she admitted. “So you heard her say that she was pregnant?” “Well, not in those exact
words…” Brian chuckled. “I don’t think I’d make baby shower
arrangements yet, Trix. This wouldn’t be the first time you took something
you heard out of context.” “It also wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve figured something
out by jumping to conclusions,” she pointed out. “Besides, I’d already
suspected that she was going to have a baby. Before I went to California,
Mart mentioned he and Di wanted to start a family. Don’t you remember?” “Not really.” Not nearly as interested in this particular
subject as his sister, Brian checked the progress of his snack. |
New Year’s
Day at Crabapple Farm…