Death Comes For Christmas

Chapter 7 ~ December 19

Chapter 7 ~ December 19 Favorite ThingsEven as she got ready to go out, Freda was still feeling a bit off from last night’s dizzy spell. The Feast of the Seven Fishes and Christmas dance was the annual event at the Italian club, and she intended to dazzle Arthur. She hoped the substantial dinner menu would see her through the evening.

Freda lightly applied a bit of blush, making sure she looked naturally sparkling, unlike some of the old dears. Freda had become more austere in her later years, and it pleased her to be one of the most elegant in the room.

She suddenly felt dizzy again.

What the devil is going on?

She’d had just a splash of rum last night, but it left her feeling very strange. She still felt foggy and her heart was racing a bit, but it wasn’t enough to keep her away from this romantic night with Arthur. She took a sip of water as her mobile phone chirped. A message from Rita, her eldest.

We’re bringing wine for the Boxing Day party. Is one case enough?

Freda counted family members in her head. She’d confirmed everyone except Tony. She doubted Kenna's ex would show up and rather hoped he didn’t.

I count 19 so a case should be plenty. thx

As she dabbed Chanel No. 5 on her neck and wrists, Freda wondered if Arthur would propose tonight. He’d been hinting at it for weeks, but she’d studiously pretended not to notice. If he were to ask, Freda would say yes. Emphatically, enthusiastically yes. But was he really looking for love? Or was she nothing more than a dinner companion?

She pulled pantyhose over her bony knees. Yes, she was almost 85, but there was lingering evidence of her former beauty: a full sweep of wavy silver hair framed a strong jaw and high cheekbones, large sapphire eyes were accentuated by expertly tinted brows, and an overbite made her smile expansive. She fastened herself into a long-line bra and stepped into a full slip, then pulled her new holiday dress up over her shoulders: a buoyant sweep of pale chiffon topped by a shimmering rose gold metallic knit that hugged her frame and flattered her pale skin.

Freda took a deep breath and another drink of water to quell the lingering wooziness.

If Arthur did propose, she would likely sell this fussy old house. His penthouse condo overlooked Arboretum Park to the north and the old Hillsdale neighborhood to the south. It was a perfect perch to watch the seasons pass, and a clean break from the hoard of memories tucked into every crack and crevice of the Crescents house.

She’d spent her entire lifetime in this house, years that showed in the curve of her shoulders, the splotches on her hands, and her pure silver hair. At least she was still fully in control of her mind and body.

Thank god I’m not going senile or banging a walker into the walls the way my mother did those last couple of years.

Freda liked her independence, living among her cherished things, but she had been snared by her own clever plan. She’d invited her youngest to move in to recover from her car accident, but it was also a bulwark against the rising tide of Freda’s own advancing age. Then came the surgeries—Kenna’s shoulder, then her left knee and ankle—all fraught with complications, and now... well, now it seemed that Kenna was never going to get off the couch and get back to living her life. She hated to admit, even to herself, that inviting Kenna to move in had been a mistake. It had seemed like a smart solution to the question of what next because Freda had no intention of moving into a senior home, no matter how much her dear friend, Harriet Johnson, cajoled.

Although she would happily accept Arthur’s proposal for only one reason—love—joining him in his condo gave Freda a perfect escape from the tiresome drain of her youngest daughter. It irked Freda that Kenna had the gall to play the victim when the accident was completely her own fault, and she was damn lucky she wasn’t in prison for drunk driving. It also irritated her that she had become Kenna’s caregiver, instead of the other way around, without so much as a word—or dollar—of thanks.

Not that supporting Kenna was a crippling expense. Freda had plenty of money. More than any of them knew. Even Kenna didn’t know the extent of it. Freda had added her to one of her bank accounts as a precaution because she knew Kenna wouldn’t dare touch a penny without permission. But if she married Arthur, maybe he should be the one named on her bank accounts. After all, that would be proper. Freda considered the ramifications as she spritzed a little hair spray and took one more turn in front of the mirror. She smiled at her own image, then grabbed her evening bag. It was going to be a magical night, she could feel it.

Freda called out to Kenna as she headed downstairs.

“Arthur will be here soon. Can you zip me up, dear? And I’m going to have a glass of wine. Will you join me?” Freda asked, already knowing the answer.

Kenna never turned down a drink. Freda had yet to fully confront her about draining the bottle of Hennessy XO, an indulgence Freda reserved for special occasions. She didn’t believe for one minute that Kenna poured it down the sink.

Honestly, the nerve of that child.

“In here, Mum,” Kenna called from the kitchen. “I was just mixing a drink. Do you want me to pour your wine?” Kenna said.

“Yes, a glass of the burgundy. There’s a bottle open, unless you dumped that out, too,” Freda answered, enjoying the little stab.

Kenna didn’t respond, but the clinking of bottles carried her tension. Freda didn’t care.

Let her stew.

Kenna stepped into the living room, handed Freda her wine glass, and lifted her own highball.

“Cheers!”

“Salute!” Freda said, clinking Kenna’s glass.

“Now, turn around and let me get you zipped. Is this new?”

“Yes, I picked it up at that little boutique over by the salon. Isn’t it lovely?” Freda said, smoothing the skirt.

“Yes, very pretty. Must have cost a fortune,” she said, fingering the fabric. “By the way you’re dressed and the way you’re acting... do we need to talk about the birds and the bees?” Kenna gave Freda a lascivious grin.

“What... Kenna Anne! Why would you say such a thing? Do you have to be so vulgar?” Freda asked, her cheeks reddening. “And you act like affection between people over 40 is unheard of. For god’s sake, Arthur and I’ve been seeing each other for months. At our age, we don’t have time to burn.”

Kenna laughed, spewing a fine spray of her drink. She wiped rye and Diet Coke off her chin with the back of her beringed hand. “So, I guess that’s a yes?”

“As for your crude suggestion, I think not. But if Arthur were to ask me to marry him, I would accept. Frankly, I would welcome the companionship,” Freda retorted sharply.

“Oh, so I’m not your companion now? Remember me? Your daughter and best friend and caregiver?” Kenna said.

Freda raised an eyebrow, but didn’t rise to the bait. “You and I are family. Arthur is my beau, and that is completely different. Besides, I’m referring to romantic companionship, something that wouldn’t hurt you, either.” She sipped her wine and sniffed. It tasted strange, with a metallic tang at the finish.

For pity’s sake, it’s oxidized already?

“Yeah, right. Because men are just lined up at the door. But, really, Mum, marriage? At your age? What’s the point? I mean you could live together... unless he’s just after your money,” Kenna said.

“I have never lived with any man other than your father, and I don’t intend to start being a loose woman now! Arthur and I are adults with reputations to consider. As for my money, that’s my concern,” Freda said.

This was not going as planned. She assumed Kenna would be happy for her, or at least have the courtesy to act like she was, but Freda should have known better. Kenna was not exactly Miss Manners, despite a lifetime of Freda harping on about social graces.

“I don’t think anyone would think twice about you living wherever you want. But since you mention it—do I need to start packing?”

As usual, Kenna’s focus was selfish. In that instant, any lingering qualms Freda had about abandoning her old house in favor of Arthur’s condo vanished, if for no other reason than to put her grasping, greedy daughter in her place.

“We’ll either live here or there,” Freda said, gesturing vaguely east. “But you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself since the man hasn’t proposed. If we marry, I think I would prefer to move into his condo—it’s perfect for the two of us. But let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not jumping anywhere with this knee. It just seems strange that I barely know this guy, and you’re gonna up and marry him. And this late in the game?” Kenna said.

Freda’s cheeks flushed red with anger. “You barely know him because you haven’t tried. You never invite us to join you, not even for lunch. I thought you would be happy for me despite the eleventh hour.”

“Of course I’m happy for you. And don’t worry, I can always move, or we could all live here together—the house is big enough—or whatever you want,” Kenna said, a tone of conciliation softening her voice. “I’ll still love you even if you run off with a strange man,” she said, winking.

“Well, there’s a thought. Arthur and I can elope!” Freda said, laughing, enjoying her wine a bit more now that the initial bitterness was gone. “Now don’t go spreading gossip before it’s happened. But if he asks, I’m saying yes.” Freda said, a satisfied smile lighting up her face.

“As you should, Mum. And don’t tell Ben I said so, but we could use a man in the family,” Kenna said.

Headlights swept the big picture window and lit up the driveway. “Oh, that will be Arthur now,” Freda said, as she rose to answer the door. She felt a bit unsteady on her feet, almost drunk, and abruptly sat back down. “Can you greet Arthur, dear? I don’t want him to think I’ve been waiting by the window with bated breath.”

Freda pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to orient herself and push away the dizzy spinning in her head. She heard Arthur and Kenna talking in the front hall.

“Come in, Arthur, I’m just finishing up a glass of wine,” Freda called out.

Arthur stepped into her line of sight and pointed at his boots. “Shall I come all the way in, or wait here, darling?” he asked, the remnants of his native tongue weaving in and out of his words. Then he stopped, crossed his hands over his chest, and smiled. “My word, Freda, you are an absolute vision of beauty. I’ll be the envy of all the men tonight! But we should go soon, if you’re ready. You know how crazy the traffic is.”

“Of course, of course. Let’s get this party started,” Freda exclaimed, feeling radiant under Arthur’s gaze.