“But you’re based in Columbus now, right?” Stephie asked.
“Eh, yes.”
“So, your people are back in New York?” she continued.
“Uh-huh,” Goldie answered, having no idea since it was 1942.
“Isn’t that fascinating?” Stephie observed. “An ambitious woman writer traveling the country alone. Very brave and independent. Probably would make a great reporter for a local newspaper. Wouldn’t you agree, Peter?”
“Could be,” he said, buttering a roll. “If it were the right publication. But I don’t think Goldie would be interested in a paper likeThe Wing.”
“Really?” Goldie asked. “Why’s that?”
“You’re used to traveling to interesting locations, learning about the history of a place, and covering fun events that travelers would enjoy. I dare say you wouldn’t find covering a Sparkledove City Council meeting very gay when the big topic of conversation is the potholes on Fox Cross Way. Or, debating whether or not the city should follow blackout protocol.”
“Absolutely not,” Charles declared decidedly. “We’re in the middle of the country. Too far from any coastal port or any manufacturing facility to be a threat to anyone.”
“Yes,” Peter replied. “Except President Roosevelt asked thatallcities take precautions.”
“The president isn’t taking into account towns like ours that depend on beautiful Christmas lights to attract tourists,” Charles justified.
“No. He’s taking into account spy planes that could use the town’s lights as a landmark to pinpoint the direction of Denver, less than forty miles away. Not to mention the armory just east of it.”
“Now, boys,” Stephie interjected, “let’s not get into a verbal joust over dinner. It’s Thanksgiving.”
“Quite right, Mother,” Charles agreed.
Unfortunately, over the course of the next hour, Charles and Peter found themselves at odds over pretty much everything. Peter mentioned once the war was over, he hoped Sparkledove would get electric streetlights, but Charles proclaimed gaslights would be more aesthetically appropriate. Peter spoke about how families were struggling financially, as loved ones went off to war and manufacturers cut back on everything that wasn’t related to the war effort. By contrast, Charles spoke about how the Sparkledove Historical Society needed to impose higher fines on homeowners who weren’t keeping up with preservation. The two even argued about what kind of pie was best for dessert. Charles said pumpkin, while Peter claimed apple. Their disagreements got so heated at times that it made Goldie feel uncomfortable. But Stephie intervened again and again, like a referee at a sporting event. Despite this constant difference of opinion, however, Goldie did learn about a schedule of events that she was supposed to cover for her article. This included the lighting of the community Christmas tree, a tour of historical homes—all meticulously decorated—and she was also expected to judge a gingerbread house competition at a community dance. Other events were happening as well between Thanksgiving and December 24th, and Stephie repeated the town’s unofficial theme that Sparkledove was indeed “The perfect place for Christmas.”
But by 6:10 p.m., Goldie decided the perfect place for her was out of the house. The dinner was first-class, but she’d had enough of being polite, pretending to be someone else, and listening to the bickering Banyans. Peter asked if she’d like to walk off her dinner with him escorting her home, and since it was a pleasant evening, she agreed. She gave her thanks to Charles and Stephie, then thanked Lupe, asking her to also thank Margarita in the kitchen. After she and Peter slipped on their coats, they left the house and started to head back to her hotel. The three-minute car ride was about a ten-minute walk.
“I’m sorry,” Peter began, once they were outside the wrought-iron gate, “that my father and I got so testy with one another. I guess you’ve figured out we’re rather like oil and water.”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” she lied.
He smiled. “I’m also sorry about my mother’s not-so-subtle remark about you making a good reporter and working at my newspaper. Had you taken that bait, she would’ve had us engaged by the time we had pie.”
“Yeah, but that would’ve been a disaster because you like apple, your dad likes pumpkin, and I’m more of a cherry girl.”
“Anyway, thanks for being tolerant.”
“It’s okay. Families. We love ‘em, but we love to argue with ‘em even more.”
“Right,” he agreed. “At least, me and my father.”
They continued walking in silence for a few moments, then Goldie’s curiosity got the better of her.
“So, why was your mom trying to fix you up? You don’t look like you need any help in that department.”
“Thanks… she and my father married young, and she thinks I’m getting past my prime. It’s just the difference of generations.”
“Got it.”
“Plus, she hasn’t seen any eligible local young ladies she thinks are good enough for me.”
“Really?”
“I’m an only child, so I deserve nothing short of royalty,” he kidded. “Princess Elizabeth, at the very least.”
