Kissing Christmas Goodbye

  Kissing Christmas Goodbye

  By: Wendy Dalrymple

  Copyright © 2021 by Wendy Dalrymple

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

  First eBook edition November 2020.

  Published by Wendy Dalrymple

  www.wendydalrymple.com

  Chapter One

  Lizzy Wahl opened the blinds to her childhood bedroom window and winced at the early morning light. Sunbeams spilled into the east-facing room as they did every morning, assaulting her eyes like cheerful daggers. Growing up, Lizzy had hated the effect so much that she used her babysitting money to buy a pair of thick blackout curtains. Her mother had replaced the dark window treatments for the season with a pair of wonky red-and-green poinsettia print curtains that she had sewn herself.

  The curtains weren’t the only things that had changed in her childhood bedroom since Lizzy had moved out nearly ten years ago. A massive sewing table overflowing with craft supplies, bows, wrapping paper, and projects occupied the area where her computer desk had once been, and a very expensive exercise bike that was never used stood in place of her dresser and mirror. Instead of her Spice World poster, her mother had hung an enormous framed photo of a kitten with angel wings and a halo. All in all, it wasn’t exactly the kind of space that made Lizzy feel comfortable. But the room still had her old queen-size bed, a door, a roof, Wi-Fi and air conditioning. For the time being, it would have to be good enough for her and Sophie.

  Lizzy rested her chin on the windowsill, taking in the view of her old neighborhood once again. She was happy at least to awaken to the sound of squawking blue jays instead of the whirr of motors, honking horns, and the constant din of noise that always seemed to permeate the walls of her Bushwick apartment. Her life in Brooklyn had been a world away from this tropical suburbia she’d grown up in, and for a long time, city livin’ had suited her just fine. Lizzy had resisted coming home for so long, and truth be told, she’d still rather be cramped in a third-story walk-up than spread out in her family home. But it wasn’t like she had another choice in the matter.

  It was the day after Thanksgiving, and Lizzy knew as she surveyed the block that she didn’t have much time to muse about her lot in life. Her father was probably already awake and rummaging around in their shed, pulling out boxes of lights, red-and-white striped painted archways, inflatable Santas, and illuminated reindeer. Lizzy had already resigned herself to a day full of front-yard decoration duties and hoped that her six-year-old daughter would be more enthusiastic about helping than she was. By that evening, every modest little home in their Pinellas Park, Florida, neighborhood would be lit up from roof to roof in spectacular Candy Cane Lane fashion.

  As Lizzy continued to dread the hours of decorating ahead of her, the door to the old Lovelace house across the street burst open. A small eek of surprise escaped her lips and her shoulders tightened as she watched a figure emerge from the darkened entryway. The home had been abandoned for nearly two years and had quickly become an eyesore in their otherwise tidy little community. During that time, Lizzy’s father had decorated the property every holiday season with a half-hearted effort, installing a few inflatables in the yard and the customary illuminated candy cane arches down the sidewalk. Lizzy had expected to have to help decorate the abandoned home again to keep their uniform neighborhood holiday aesthetic going. This year, however, it looked like she might be off the hook.

  Lizzy instinctively crept low, peeking just over the windowsill to get a good look at her new neighbor. A giant emerged from the darkness, filling the entryway with his height and girth. He was a lumbering hulk of a man dressed in black from head to toe, his arms and chest so massive and imposing that he had to turn slightly sideways to exit the run-down home. His hair was long and dark, twisted and gnarled as though it had been through a mosh pit ages ago and left to its own devices. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, and a long, dark beard consumed his face and flowed across his chest. He slung a black sack over his back as he stomped toward a motorcycle parked on the side of the house, his boots thudding loudly against the pavement. He straddled the bike, and as the engine roared to life, Lizzy felt a gentle tug at her elbow.

  “Mama,” Sophie whispered, staring out the window at the spectacle of the man. “It’s Krampus.”

  “What?”

  Lizzy’s daughter rolled out of their shared bed and padded over to her iridescent unicorn backpack. She opened her bag, retrieved a large red-and-gold picture book, and immediately opened it to a bookmarked page.

  “See?” she said, displaying the vintage illustration to her mother. “Krampus!”

  “Where did you get this?” Lizzy said, eyeing the gruesome image. She had seen the beastly-looking yuletide creature before, but she couldn’t pinpoint where.

  “From Nana Greta,” Sophie said, retrieving the book. “She says that he’s Santa’s shadow. He comes to take away the bad children at Christmas!”

  “I’m going to have a talk with your Nana Greta,” Lizzy said, shaking her head in disapproval. Her soon-to-be-former mother-in-law was a generally sweet but at times eccentric woman. Sophie had a wild imagination as it was, and she didn’t need Nana Greta adding fuel to the fire.

  “You know Krampus isn’t real, right?”

  “Santa’s real, isn’t he?” Sophie argued.

  She had Lizzy there.

  Lizzy narrowed her eyes and tried to decipher whether or not six was too young or just the right age for the Santa “talk.” Besides, Sophie’s father would likely not be thrilled about Lizzy making a big decision like informing their daughter that Santa wasn’t real without his consent.

  “Well, that man definitely isn’t Krampus,” Lizzy countered. “He didn’t even have horns.”

  “Not ones that you can see,” Sophie argued.

  Lizzy shook her head. She knew she wasn’t going to win this round. Sophie was right though; there was something … uncanny about the similarity between the illustration in the book and the person across the street.

  “Lizbeth, are you awake?”

  The sound of her mother’s voice shook Lizzy from her thoughts about their unusual neighbor. Theresa Tucker’s twangy greeting echoed into her bedroom from the kitchen, causing Lizzy to have yet another nostalgic flashback. It was the same call to breakfast she had heard a thousand times before.

  “Comin’, Ma!” she called out.

  Lizzy sighed. “Well, Miss Sophie,” she said to her daughter. “Better get out there and eat some of Grandma Theresa’s breakfast casserole.”

  “Does it have meat?” Sophie asked, scrunching her nose. Besides folklore and mythology, Sophie had also recently discovered veganism.

  “Most definitely,” Lizzy said, pulling her daughter in for a hug. “You don’t have to have any if you don’t want to.”

  “Okay.”

  Lizzy secured her mass of auburn tresses in her signature ponytail, shuffled her daughter out to the kitchen, and steeled herself for yet another conversation about her parenting skills. She loved her family, but coming home always meant having to defend life choices that her mother and father often deemed “alternative.” Though her parents were certainly quirky and liberal in their own tastes and lifestyle, when it came to their only daughter, they could be downright conservative. Sophie's newly adopted diet was sure to be a point of contention.

  As Lizzy headed out the doorway of her bedroom, she turned and looked back toward the not-so-vacant home across the street. Her daughter was right; there was something o
dd about the imposing, unkempt man that had lumbered out of the old Lovelace place. And although Lizzy didn’t know it, she would find out soon enough.

  ***

  “Krampus stuffs bad little children in his sack and beats them with switches,” Sophie said matter-of-factly in between bites of oatmeal. Her grandma Theresa regarded her with a scowl, then shot a disapproving look in Lizzy’s direction.

  “Lizbeth Anne, what have you been teaching my granddaughter?”

  “It’s not me this time,” Lizzy said, taking a bite of breakfast casserole. “Ian’s mom gave her a book.”

  “Psh,” Theresa said, waving her hand. “I oughta give that woman a piece of my mind. Sophia Grace, you’re coming to church with Grandma Theresa this Sunday.”

  Theresa was a feisty fifty-eight-year-old version of her daughter, only with a cropped bouffant of dyed auburn hair. Though Lizzy and her mother looked similar on the outside, their personalities couldn’t be more different; Lizzy preferred to be passive, while Theresa Tucker didn’t think twice about speaking her mind.

  “Mom, you know we don’t—” Lizzy started.

  “Oh yes you do,” Theresa said, cutting her daughter off. “As long as you’re under this roof, you come to church, and that’s that.”

  “Grandma Theresa, the man across the street is Krampus,” Sophie said, crossing her arms. “He looks just like him.”

  “Ha,” her grandma laughed. “Well, Max Ingle is a beast of a man, but I assure you, he is not some holiday demon.”

  “You’ve met him?” Lizzy asked, her interest suddenly piqued.

  “Oh yes, awful man,” Theresa said, taking a sip of coffee. “He downright refuses to decorate. He’s going to ruin the continuity of lights on our entire block.”

  “Well, maybe he doesn’t celebrate Christmas,” Lizzy countered. “Not everyone goes to church on Sunday, Ma.”

  “Do you know, your father offered to decorate the sidewalk with candy cane poles in front of his house? He wouldn’t have to do a darn thing, but he still said no. That man wouldn’t budge,” Theresa sniffed.

  “Maybe we can bring him some cookies,” Sophie chimed in.

  Lizzy’s eyes narrowed. “You just want an excuse to go see him up close, don’t you?”

  Sophie shrugged her shoulders. “I know a vegan oatmeal cookie recipe,” she offered. “We could try to just be nice.”

  Lizzy pondered the idea for a moment as she finished her breakfast casserole. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit that she was just a little curious about their next-door neighbor, too. Lizzy’s parents had offered her services as the head organizer of their neighborhood Candy Cane Lane decorating initiative, since she didn’t have a job at that moment or anything else to do, apparently, so it was up to her to get everyone on the block on board. George and Theresa Tucker were the reason that their little neighborhood was on the map, after all; if her parents hadn’t started the holiday lights tradition and kept it going over the last four decades, Candy Cane Lane wouldn’t be quite the spectacle that it was. If anyone was going to get a stubborn neighbor to budge before their annual Christmas block party, it would have to be her.

  “Okay,” Lizzy said. “We’ll decorate today and make some cookies to bring over tomorrow. You have to help your grandpa set up the decorations out front first, though.”

  “Deal.”

  Sophie grinned at her mother from ear-to-ear, her elf-like expression both melting Lizzy’s heart and stabbing it at the same time. With long, thick lashes and a head full of dark, glossy hair to match, Sophie was the spitting image of her father. Seeing her ex reflected in their daughter was something that used to be heartwarming to Lizzy, but now Ian’s expression staring back at her was almost heartbreaking. It was a feeling she was going to have to reconcile herself with sooner or later. Even though it had been months since she and Sophie’s father had parted ways, his betrayal was still fresh in her memory. She never, never wanted to misplace those feelings of hurt on her daughter.

  As the three generations of Tucker ladies finished their breakfast, George Tucker stumbled through the back door, his brow already glazed with a film of sweat. Lizzy smiled and shook her head at her father and marveled at how much he still tried to emanate Clark Griswold after all these years. He was wearing his favorite “Santa Needs a Beer” T-shirt and carried a bundle of jumbled multicolor lights in one hand and a wreath in the other. Lizzy knew that her leisurely breakfast was coming to an abrupt end.

  “Okay, crew,” her father said. “Time to get a move on these lights!”

  ***

  “Mommy, can we go in the pool yet?”

  Sophie’s cheeks were pink and her sweaty bangs stuck to her forehead after a full morning and afternoon of outdoor work. It was three p.m. and approaching eighty-seven degrees; warmer than usual for that time of the year, but not totally out of the ordinary. Lizzy was used to it, but her little northern daughter was more adapted to wearing coats and gloves this time of year.

  “Sure, baby,” Lizzy said, dusting her hands off on her pants. “Probably going to be the last swim of the year anyway. Let me just finish helping Grandpa with these lights.”

  Lizzy stood back and admired the amount of work they had achieved that day. It would be a few hours until she could really enjoy the effect in the dark, but Lizzy knew that the combination of icicle lights, LED bulbs, and inflatable characters was bound to be impressive. Even though she wasn’t as enthusiastic about decorating the exterior of her family home as her parents were, the task made her feel nostalgic just the same. It was a tradition that she was glad to help keep up, especially since it brought her parents so much joy.

  Just then a loud rumble pierced the air of the otherwise quiet community, followed by the backfiring, popping sounds of an engine. Soon enough, the source of the roaring, mechanical cacophony came into view as a dark figure on a motorcycle thundered down the street. Lizzy tried not to stare as her new neighbor pulled into the driveway across the street.

  “Krampus,” Sophie whispered, clinging to her mother’s leg.

  “Sophie, don’t worry,” Lizzy said, stroking her hair. “He’s probably a nice man. He just… looks a little scary. That’s all.”

  Lizzy didn’t know if she was trying to convince her daughter or herself.

  The dark figure dismounted from his motorcycle and slung his large black sack over his shoulder. He removed his sunglasses and glanced at the spectacle that was now the Tucker family home, regarding their decorations with a sneer. Even from a distance, Lizzy could make out the man’s eyes, two ice-blue pools of anger that popped out against his overall gloomy aesthetic. His cold gaze met Lizzy’s, and she realized she was holding her breath.

  “Hey, Mr. Ingle!” she squeaked out and waved. Then she cringed and cursed herself, realizing how childish she must sound.

  The man didn’t so much as blink or grunt or raise a hand of acknowledgment. Pretending not to hear her, he turned, looked away, and stalked toward the home. Lizzy immediately felt foolish and embarrassed, and then enraged. Behavior like that did not merit cookies, no matter how much Sophie wanted a closer look.

  “That sonofa...” she muttered under her breath, remembering that her daughter was nearby. “Your grandma Theresa is right. He is not a nice man.”

  “See?” Sophie said triumphantly. “Krampus.”

  Lizzy exhaled loudly. “Let’s go cool off in the pool, kiddo,” she said, throwing one last look of contempt across the street. “I know I need to.”

  Lizzy shuttled her tired and overheated daughter into the house and toward their shared bedroom in search of bathing suits. Her phone was aglow on the bed, and Lizzy gritted her teeth, already knowing who was probably trying to reach her. The glaring red icon on her phone indicated a missed call and text from Sophie’s father, Ian. Lizzy rolled her eyes, not wanting to deal with him at the moment. She glanced at his message anyway.

  We need to talk about Christmas. C
all me.

  The message was simple, but still felt like a punch to the gut. She knew what he was going to ask. They still hadn’t hammered out the conditions of their divorce and time spent with Sophie, and Lizzy had already had her for Thanksgiving. She knew Ian would want their daughter for Christmas, and that was a reality that Lizzy did not want to face yet. She had never spent more than a couple of days away from Sophie before, let alone during the holidays. Letting Sophie go was going to be more than hard for Lizzy. It was going to be an emotional disaster.

  “Found it,” Sophie said, holding up her mermaid one-piece.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there,” Lizzy said, forcing a smile.

  By the time Lizzy had squeezed into her solid black vintage-style swimsuit, her mother and Sophie were already floating in the pool. Grandma Theresa had a frozen margarita in one hand and an umbrella in the other, with Jimmy Buffett’s Christmas album blasting on their outdoor speaker. Sophie was floating next to her grandmother on her own inflatable raft, eyes closed with an empty Capri Sun on her chest.

  “This girl is plumb tuckered out,” Lizzy’s mother said, sipping on her lime green drink.

  “Yeah, that means we’re in for it tonight,” Lizzy replied, lowering herself into the lukewarm pool. “Sophie can be a little night owl.”

  “Just like her mama. Y’all finished out front?”

  “Yep,” Lizzy said, dipping beneath the surface of the pool. She came back up for air, and wiped the chlorinated water from her eyes. “Saw our neighbor, Mr. Ingle, again. I tried to wave and say hi. You’re right though, he’s an ass.”

  “Well you know what they say, Lizzy,” her mother said, draining the contents of her glass. “A tiger can’t change its spots.”

  Lizzy frowned at her mother's mixed metaphor and gazed at her sleeping, floating girl. She couldn’t help but think about what her life would have been like at that moment if Ian hadn’t gone and screwed everything up. She and Sophie would be back at home right now. They would be taking a chilly walk through Prospect Park and drinking hot chocolate, not floating in a pool. There were so many cold-weather holiday activities they were going to miss out on this year in favor of a Florida-style Christmas. No ice skating. No snow.