it was still dreary. Hard to get in the spirit of the season when the skies were damp and gray. And much easier to dream about ten luxurious days in the sun.
If Nora wasn’t worrying about Blair, then he’d certainly get her started. He’d simply mentionsome dreadful piece of news about a new virus or perhaps a Colombian village massacre, and that would set her off. Keep her mind off the joys of Christmas. Won’t be the same without Blair, will it?
Why don’t we take a break this year? Go hide. Go escape. Indulge ourselves.
Sure enough, Nora was off in the jungle. She hugged him and smiled and tried to hide the fact that she’d been crying. Her day had gone reasonably well. She’d survived the ladies’ luncheon and spent two hours at the children’s clinic, part of her grinding volunteer schedule.
While she heated up the pasta, he sneaked a reggae CD into the stereo, but didn’t push Play. Timing was crucial.
They chatted about Blair, and not long into the dinner Nora kicked the door open. “It’ll be so different this Christmas, won’t it, Luther?”
“Yes it will,” he said sadly, swallowing hard. “Nothing’ll be the same.”
“For the first time in twenty-three years, she won’t be here.”
“It might even be depressing. Lots of depression at Christmas, you know.” Luther quickly swallowed and his fork grew still.
“I’d love to just forget about it,” she said, her words ebbing at the end.
Luther flinched and cocked his good ear in her direction.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Well!!” he said dramatically, shoving his plate forward. “Now that you mention it. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“Finish your pasta.”
“I’m finished,” he announced, jumping to his feet. His briefcase was just a few steps away, and he attacked it.
“Luther, what are you doing?”
“Hang on.”
He stood across the table from her, papers in both hands. “Here’s my idea,” he said proudly. “And it’s brilliant.”
“Why am I nervous?”
He unfolded a spreadsheet, and began pointing. “Here, my dear, is what we did last Christmas. Six thousand, one hundred dollars we spent on Christmas. Six thousand, one hundred dollars.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“And precious little to show for it. The vast majority of it down the drain. Wasted. And that, of course, does not include my time, your time,the traffic, stress, worry, bickering, ill-will, sleep loss—all the wonderful things that we pour into the holiday season.”
“Where is this going?”
“Thanks for asking.” Luther dropped the spreadsheets and, quick as a magician, presented the Island Princess to his wife. Brochures covered the table. “Where is this going, my dear? It’s going to the Caribbean. Ten days of total luxury on the Island Princess , the fanciest cruise ship in the world. The Bahamas, Jamaica, Grand Cayman, oops, wait a minute.”
Luther dashed into the den, hit the Play button, waited for the first notes, adjusted the volume, then dashed back to the kitchen where Nora was inspecting a brochure.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Reggae, the stuff they listen to down there. Anyway, where was I?”
“You were island hopping.”
“Right, we’ll snorkel on Grand Cayman, windsurf in Jamaica, lie on the beaches. Ten days, Nora, ten fabulous days.”
“I’ll have to lose some weight.”
“We’ll both go on a diet. Whatta you say?”
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is simple. We don’t do Christmas. We save the money, spend it on ourselves for once. Not a dime on food we won’t eat or clothes we won’t wear or gifts no one needs. Not one red cent. It’s a boycott, Nora, a complete boycott of Christmas.”
“Sounds awful.”
“No, it’s wonderful. And it’s just for one year. Let’s take a break. Blair’s not here. She’ll be back next year and we can jump back into the Christmas chaos, if that’s what you want. Come on, Nora, please. We skip Christmas,
If Nora wasn’t worrying about Blair, then he’d certainly get her started. He’d simply mentionsome dreadful piece of news about a new virus or perhaps a Colombian village massacre, and that would set her off. Keep her mind off the joys of Christmas. Won’t be the same without Blair, will it?
Why don’t we take a break this year? Go hide. Go escape. Indulge ourselves.
Sure enough, Nora was off in the jungle. She hugged him and smiled and tried to hide the fact that she’d been crying. Her day had gone reasonably well. She’d survived the ladies’ luncheon and spent two hours at the children’s clinic, part of her grinding volunteer schedule.
While she heated up the pasta, he sneaked a reggae CD into the stereo, but didn’t push Play. Timing was crucial.
They chatted about Blair, and not long into the dinner Nora kicked the door open. “It’ll be so different this Christmas, won’t it, Luther?”
“Yes it will,” he said sadly, swallowing hard. “Nothing’ll be the same.”
“For the first time in twenty-three years, she won’t be here.”
“It might even be depressing. Lots of depression at Christmas, you know.” Luther quickly swallowed and his fork grew still.
“I’d love to just forget about it,” she said, her words ebbing at the end.
Luther flinched and cocked his good ear in her direction.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Well!!” he said dramatically, shoving his plate forward. “Now that you mention it. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“Finish your pasta.”
“I’m finished,” he announced, jumping to his feet. His briefcase was just a few steps away, and he attacked it.
“Luther, what are you doing?”
“Hang on.”
He stood across the table from her, papers in both hands. “Here’s my idea,” he said proudly. “And it’s brilliant.”
“Why am I nervous?”
He unfolded a spreadsheet, and began pointing. “Here, my dear, is what we did last Christmas. Six thousand, one hundred dollars we spent on Christmas. Six thousand, one hundred dollars.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“And precious little to show for it. The vast majority of it down the drain. Wasted. And that, of course, does not include my time, your time,the traffic, stress, worry, bickering, ill-will, sleep loss—all the wonderful things that we pour into the holiday season.”
“Where is this going?”
“Thanks for asking.” Luther dropped the spreadsheets and, quick as a magician, presented the Island Princess to his wife. Brochures covered the table. “Where is this going, my dear? It’s going to the Caribbean. Ten days of total luxury on the Island Princess , the fanciest cruise ship in the world. The Bahamas, Jamaica, Grand Cayman, oops, wait a minute.”
Luther dashed into the den, hit the Play button, waited for the first notes, adjusted the volume, then dashed back to the kitchen where Nora was inspecting a brochure.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Reggae, the stuff they listen to down there. Anyway, where was I?”
“You were island hopping.”
“Right, we’ll snorkel on Grand Cayman, windsurf in Jamaica, lie on the beaches. Ten days, Nora, ten fabulous days.”
“I’ll have to lose some weight.”
“We’ll both go on a diet. Whatta you say?”
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is simple. We don’t do Christmas. We save the money, spend it on ourselves for once. Not a dime on food we won’t eat or clothes we won’t wear or gifts no one needs. Not one red cent. It’s a boycott, Nora, a complete boycott of Christmas.”
“Sounds awful.”
“No, it’s wonderful. And it’s just for one year. Let’s take a break. Blair’s not here. She’ll be back next year and we can jump back into the Christmas chaos, if that’s what you want. Come on, Nora, please. We skip Christmas,
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