Page 11 of The Forever Christmas Tree

This style of artistic creation had been a favorite of Mildred’s since she was a young girl. She remembered the time the two of them . . . well, never mind. “There’s also a matching garland in my truck.”

Mildred just then noticed the black Rutledge Farm pickup truck parked on the street. If she’d seen it earlier, would she have opened the door? “But why?” she asked.

“It’s a peace offering, Mildy.”

Mildred had meant, why was she here, not why the gift, but she supposed they were the same thing. “Oh, Lize!” Mildred felt guilty then, that Eliza had been the one to make the first move. “I am so sorry, my friend.” Why was it so easy to say those words now when they’d been stuck in her throat for so long? It was like a Heimlich maneuver had been done on her body and all the pent-up emotion came spilling out.

“Me, too. Me, too.”

They were in each other’s arms then, hugging and sobbing, both of them murmuring disjointed words about missing each other and wasted years and such. But then, Eliza stiffened as she seemed to stare at something over Mildred’s shoulder through the still-open doorway.

There was a click, click, click sound, which Mildred recognized as tap shoes on hardwood floors.

“¿Que pasa?” Raul inquired of Mildred with concern as he came up beside her. “Have you had the bad news?”

“No, no, just good news,” Mildred assured him. “Raul, I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, Eliza Rutledge. She’s brought us a gift.” She pointed to the wreath in its hexagonal box, tied with a big red bow. “And, Eliza, this is my friend Raul Arias, who is visiting with me. He’s from Spain.”

Raul reached out and shook Eliza’s hand, saying, “¡Bienvenida, bienvenida! You have come for our samba party, yes?”

At first, Eliza didn’t answer, so disconcerted was she by the sight of Mildred’s companion, who was dressed for today’s gathering in a white ruffled shirt tucked into slim black pants with a wide cummerbund. Raul did have a nice figure, for a man his age. If not for the thick, wavy, white hair, which he cared for meticulously with expensive hair products he purchased online, he could have passed for forty, instead of sixty.

It wasn’t Raul’s physical appearance that had flustered Eliza, though, Mildred sensed. It was his mere presence at Mildred’s side, as if he belonged. Eliza had to have heard rumors, but Raul’s arm over Mildred’s shoulder was a clear signal of their relationship.

“Uh, no,” Eliza replied finally to Raul’s question. “I didn’t know about a party.” To Mildred, she added, “I can come back another time when you’re not busy.”

“No, no,” Mildred said, taking Eliza’s hand and drawing her inside. “This isn’t the usual Saturday Samba dance session, but a little social get-together to say good-bye to two of my houseguests. And it doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Go, go.” Raul shooed them. “I get the Christmas wreath for you, darling. I will put it in the garage for now.”

“Darling?” Eliza mouthed silently at Mildred.

Mildred just smiled and led Eliza into the entryway, closing the door against the chill. She took Eliza’s coat and hung it in the hall closet. It was hard to miss the sound of Julio Iglesias coming from the front parlor; so, they paused there, where Harry, in his wheelchair, was talking to Gloria. The other guests wouldn’t arrive for another half hour yet. The two of them waved at Eliza, whose jaw kept dropping lower and lower.

“What happened to the furniture?” Eliza asked, voicing what was probably the least important of the questions she must have.

“We moved it into the second parlor so we’d have room to dance,” Mildred said. “Let’s go in the kitchen. I was in the middle of making Grandma Patterson’s Christmas punch.”

“The one your brother used to make? With Scotch whiskey?” Eliza arched her brows. “Isn’t that a bit risky to serve to your guests who might be driving?” What she didn’t say, but was implied, was “older people” who might be driving.

“Doc would be appalled to see how little booze I put in his recipe.” Doc was the nickname that her brother, Alan Patterson, Wendy’s father, had gone by ever since he’d graduated from medical school. “Will you sample it for me?”

“Sure, but just a little. I have to get back to the shop. We’re busy on Saturday afternoons.”

Eliza sat down at the big oak table in the center of the kitchen, which hadn’t changed much since she’d been here last, except for a few updated appliances. The same white, glass-paned cabinets, and even the wallpaper, pretty lighthouses against an ocean background, remained unchanged. It was a large room, but cozy, with its windows facing the bay in the distance over the sand dunes and the occasional passing ship. Center stage on the table was Grandma Patterson’s cut-glass punch bowl to which Mildred had already added a few jiggers of Glenlivet to ginger tea mixed with cranberry and orange juices, some ginger ale for fizz, and sliced oranges floating on top. She poured a half cup for each of them and topped them with cranberries frozen inside star-shaped ice cubes.

“How festive!” Eliza said, “and delicious,” after taking a sip.

Mildred sat down in the chair next to Eliza, not across the table, and squeezed her hand. “Do we need to talk about . . . you know?” A rehashing of that horrendous time when Wendy’s boyfriend, Ethan, had gotten another girl pregnant would accomplish nothing and could renew the hurt, but maybe they needed to explain their actions. To get rid of the elephant in the room.

“Oh, God! I hope not!”

Mildred sighed with relief.

“You look good, Mildy. The years have been good to you.”

Mildred glanced down at the green taffeta dress that she pulled out of her closet every holiday. It was flattering to her still-trim, short figure, but more than that, it had a full, calf-length skirt that was perfect for samba dancing. In her hair, the same blunt-cut, jaw-level bob she’d worn since her twenties, minus the bangs, and the same reddish-blonde shade, thanks to Francine Henderson at Styles & Smiles, she’d pinned a sprig of holly. “You look good, too, Lize.”

And she did, although Eliza waved a hand dismissively at Mildred’s compliment. Without any effort, Eliza still managed to look sleek and chic in a pair of jeans tucked into low-heeled leather boots, with a white T-shirt under an open plaid woolen shirt. Women of her height and thin frame managed to pull off any outfit they wore, at any age, without any effort, darn it! Her long salt-and-pepper hair, pulled off her surprisingly wrinkle-free face into a coil held on to the top of her head with a claw comb, was no-muss stylish.