The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade Read Free Page A

he directed his attention to the fifty-two-inch flat screen television the kids had given him for Christmas. He couldn’t see a thing beyond the image of that steeply pitched roof, the shingles ruffled like a frilly bedspread. No repairing that mess. They’d have to put on an entire new roof, and all those steep levels and chimneys would cost a fortune.
    From his bed between their chairs Rufus gave a quiet yip in his sleep and his back legs buffeted the air. Squirrel-chasing dreams, no doubt. It was the dog’s single redeeming grace, as far as Al could see. Rufus hated squirrels with a passion and successfully kept their yard and birdfeeders squirrel-free. Of course he’d been known to tear through screen doors when he spied one, and once the pursuit of his mission had cost them a set of living room draperies.
    There were probably hundreds of squirrels living in all those massive trees surrounding the Updyke house. Maybe thousands.
    Millie’s cheerful voice interrupted his brooding. “How about a slice of lemon cake?”
    â€œWhat?” Al twisted in his chair to level a wide-eyed stare on her. Lemon cake, made from his dear mother’s recipe, was his favorite dessert in the world. A staple at family Christmas and Easter celebrations, the recipe called for the cake to sit for three days entombed in a cocoon of plastic wrap in order for the tangy glaze to fully saturate every spongy morsel.
    Was there no end to the woman’s machinations? No depth to which she would not sink?
    â€œLemon cake,” she repeated, wrapping her knitting needles in yet another half-finished wooly scarf and stowing the bundle in the basket at her side. “I made it on Wednesday.”
    On Wednesday? So this scheme wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea at all. She had two days’ head start on him.
    He allowed suspicion to saturate his tone. “Why?”
    Her eyes widened. “For tomorrow, of course. But you seem out of sorts this evening, so I thought a treat might put you in a better mood. I think two days is long enough, just this once.”
    Tomorrow? Tomorrow was Saturday. Nothing special about a Saturday besides being a weekend. Saturdays did not warrant lemon cake in and of themselves. Something else then. Were the kids coming for the weekend? Lord, he hoped not. He loved them dearly, of course, but baby Lionel was a handful now that he’d started to walk. A glance around the room revealed that Millie had not put her immense collection of knickknacks up out of the toddler’s range. Not the kids then.
    Wait. What was the date? This morning he’d turned the page on his calendar to March twenty-third. So tomorrow was the twenty-fourth.
    Drat!
    He’d forgotten their anniversary.
    â€œA piece of cake would be good,” he conceded with a nod.
    Millie bustled out of the room, humming. Rufus bounded to his feet mid-snore and waddled after her, no doubt hoping for a handout.
    Al stared after them, chagrinned at his lapse. No need to admit his near-error. He’d get up early and run out for a card. Maybe pick up some flowers too, something special in light of the lemon cake. After thirty-six years of marriage—no, thirty-seven—they’d moved beyond the gift stage decades ago. He settled deeper in his recliner, his taste buds anticipating the first delicious bite of sugary tartness.
    Then he jolted straight up as realization struck him like a slap in the face. Millie did know him well. His mood was lighter already. That in itself was more than a little alarming.

    Millie sat in bed, leaning against fluffy pillows and paging through the Better Homes and Gardens she’d picked up at the Save-A-Lot that morning. This month was a special issue devoted entirely to old home renovations, which she and Violet agreed must be the Lord giving adivine nod to her plans for the Updyke house. So many beautiful pictures of country kitchens, updated bathrooms, and cozy bedrooms.