The Christmas Wedding - James Patterson [32]
Stacey Lee had the sweet common sense not to say anything. She just hugged me. Drama was definitely in the air, wasn’t it?
“How’s that look?” Tom called down. He had on another of his hockey sweatshirts, or maybe the same one, and he still looked like he could skate up a storm at the drop of a puck.
“Perfect,” I shouted back. “Close enough.”
“Pull the whole thing a few inches to the right,” yelled Jacob. As Tom followed his orders, Jacob looked at me, shrugged, and said, “What? Because I’m Jewish I can’t have an opinion about Christmas lights?”
He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
“Hold the ladder still!” Tom yelled down. “And no smooching until Christmas.”
“Some holiday spirit,” Jacob grumped. Then he added, “Here comes a car!”
Bright headlights flooded the long driveway leading to the house. The passengers didn’t seem to notice the three of us, but we all saw this wasn’t a car—it was a red pickup truck.
“That’s Claire! It’s Claire!” I yelled. As I ran toward them, I looked back at Jacob and Tom. “It’s Claire and Hank and the kids! Hold the ladder tight till Tom gets down. We might need him for the wedding.”
I ran as fast as my klutzy Uggs would let me. There they were—Claire and Gus and my precious namesake, Gabrielle, and Toby and…Hank was missing.
Then we were huddled together in a noisy group hug—everyone, that is, except Gus, who had that perpetually pissed-off teenage frown on his face.
“Hi, everybody. Claire, what happened to Hank?” I asked as I forced a great big hug on Gus. “Glad to see you, bub,” I whispered against his ear.
“Hank couldn’t make it. He’s so disappointed,” Claire said.
I knew that there must be a story attached, but it wasn’t the time to ask about it. If Claire wanted to share, she would. For now I was just happy that my “Southern belle” daughter and my grandchildren were here. And I was, I had to admit, a little happy that Hank wasn’t with them.
Chapter 37
THE FAMILY WAS starting to come together—the great southern contingent had arrived, anyway. And of course, Jacob, Tom, and Marty were here.
“Oh, no, take it away! Take it away from my face!” Toby screamed. With a great dramatic gesture he pushed his dinner plate away. Then he yelled, “No Crazy Tuna Hash for me!”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m not the world’s greatest cook, but you don’t have to hurt somebody’s feelings.” Toby gave me a hug.
“If we knew you were cooking up the Crazy Tuna thing, Gaby, we would have driven a lot slower,” said Gus. They were the first words he’d spoken since he arrived. I gave him a playful smack on the back of his head, and he chuckled.
“Bunch of comedians,” I said, but I was so happy to have them near me. Then I added, “This gourmet delight you baptized Crazy Tuna Hash happens to be the specialty of the house. And since I was all out of canned tuna, I substituted canned salmon.”
“Oh, now, that’s a big improvement,” said Tom, who was pouring red jug wine.
“Listen. Stacey Lee is busy with the food for the wedding, so you’re stuck with my cooking tonight. I thought everybody liked this dish.”
A silence filled the room. Then everyone burst out laughing.
“Well, the salad is good. And there’s nice French bread from Stacey Lee’s store,” I said. “Now, can I help anybody with more hash?”
“Gaby-Gaby, what exactly goes into Crazy Tuna Hash?” asked Toby, perfectly innocently, I thought.
“Well, of course, there’s tuna…or occasionally salmon, if you’re very lucky…and there’s rice, and it involves some cream of mushroom soup, and some Velveeta, and a quarter cup of sherry, and almonds—which I was out of, so I used peanuts—two packages of frozen corn niblets, a can of water chestnuts…”
“We’ve heard enough. Let’s stop for a moment,” said Jacob. “I think this meal