CHAPTER ONE - Lyla
Non-slip socks were one of the greatest inventions ever. I could bake up a storm in the kitchen with flour spilled everywhere, and dance around to Christmas music without falling on my butt and sending my cakes flying.
The smell of sweet cinnamon and nutmeg twined with tangy fruit filled Primrose House. I had twenty fruitcakes cooling, four in the oven, and four more ready to go. “But is it enough?”
I wanted to soak at least a half dozen with rum and one with the specialty brandy that Miss Eloise loved. I would give at least ten away to the neighbors and to my favorite clients. My best friend Mariska wouldn’t consume any of the fruitcake unless she had a few drinks first, and then she’d deny having eaten any of it. Emberlee had gone home for the holidays and wouldn’t be back until after the new year.
So maybe I had the right amount? “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know, dear?” Miss Eloise bustled into the kitchen with her latest gift for the girls at Big Sisters. “Look at these!” She held up a hat and mittens that were like a white cat. “Aren’t they adorable? I got them last Saturday at the Christmas market.”
“They’re so cute!” I’d been thinking about adding hats to my holiday fashion line, but I’d gotten too deep into the quirky sweaters this year. “I was trying to decide if I should make more fruitcakes or not. We already have nearly five hundred cookies to give out, but the most honored cake of the season isn’t as appreciated.”
“You can never have too many cakes.” Miss Eloise was an angel, the voice of wisdom. “Besides, they freeze really well. There’s plenty of room in the basement freezer.”
“You just moved to the top of Santa’s nice list!” As if Miss Eloise wasn’t the nicest person on the planet already. She not only helped so many charities, but she ran Primrose House which was a boarding house for Omegas. Each of us who lived here had our own suites, and she would be our escort any time we needed one. It gave me freedom that I wouldn’t have if I lived with my family or in an Omega regulated college dorm.
Not that I was in college anymore. They were strangling my creativity. The faculty claimed Christmas wasn’t a fashion style. Oh boy, were they wrong, the pompous jerks. My little Christmas themed business might not be making millions, nor did it make anything in spring and summer, but I’d doubled my orders since last year and that was more than any of the college’s recent graduates could say.
Miss Eloise picked up a few bags of cookies and went back to her wrapping in the living room. I sang along with Bing Crosby imagining a winter wonderland as I mixed another batch of dough. Grabbing the maple syrup bottle, I added my secret ingredient to the batter and giggled to myself as I did so.
“This is what makes you so absolutely addictive, my sweet little cakes.” I twirled and did a little twist, not sliding on the linoleum, because yeah, awesome non-slip Christmas socks.
Bing was replaced by Boney M, and I sangFeliz Navidadas I continued to fold the dough. Miss Eloise came back into the kitchen and stumbled over the transition strip at the threshold. She laughed at herself and held up a hat and mittens. “Look at these, Lyla! Aren’t they so cute?”
It was the same thing she showed me a few minutes ago. Miss Eloise wasn’t a prankster. Nor was she young anymore. Not too old either, being in her early sixties, but my mom got absent-minded a lot younger than that. I didn’t want to make fun of Miss Eloise’s age, so I smiled. “Those are adorable. Christmas cat!”
“The girls will love it.” Miss Eloise picked up more bags of cookies and zipped back out to the living room.
My housemother always took on too much. She was constantly doing stuff for other people, and when the holidays rolled around, she pushed herself even more. She needed to slow down.
I glanced around the kitchen at all the baked goods and grinned, shaking my head. I was just as bad. The Christmas spirit resided in me all year round, but in December, it roared.
The oven timer dinged, and I hurried to remove the cakes in the oven. Each one looked plumply perfect. I placed them on the cooling rack and slid the waiting four cakes in. I hummed as I set the timer for an hour and breathed in the festive smell. Why the world didn’t love fruitcake as much as I did was beyond me. Sugar cookies were sweet and simple, but fruitcake was bold and complicated. It was the diva of holiday desserts.
Then, as if summoned by the thought, Mariah Carey came on the radio, and I cranked it up.
I barely heard the door swing open, but I shook my hips and spun around crooning along with Mariah. “All I want for Christmas is you!”
Miss Eloise stared at me blankly and stumbled forward. Oh no. She held the cat hat and mittens again. This time I needed to tell her she already showed me them. I’ll laugh with it, but it worried me.
“Hat… mittens…” Her words came out as if she had a mouth full of molasses. I could barely understand her. “Cuuuuute…”
My heart pounded in my chest. What the hell was happening? “Miss Eloise?”
I started to come around the island. Mariah faded into the background. No more bells jingled, and the sweet scent of fruitcake was suddenly too thick, cloying.
She started to smile, but it was as if one half of her face wasn’t plugged in. One side of her mouth went up while the other drooped. She tried to say something else, but it was slow and garbled.
Her eyes rolled back and suddenly she was falling.
I wished my world would have turned into slow motion. Maybe I could have caught her in time. But I wasn’t fast enough.
First her legs crumpled and her hip hit the floor. Then her arm smacked the linoleum, and with me a mere two feet away, her head thumped down. I winced with the first two, but screamed with the last one.
“Miss Eloise!” The kitchen pulsed with every frantic heartbeat. “Wake up! Please wake up.”
No, no, no! Not the woman I loved like a mother at Christmas. Not ever!
