Mistletoe Meetings

Am I Really Seeing This?

I huff in annoyance, tossing the cookie dough onto the metal counter top. It lands with a loud 'thunk,' causing me to cringe. I had a headache that had lasted all day, no matter how I had tried to get rid of it. I knew it was stress of the upcoming holiday, lack of sleep, and Bailey's whining this morning, that had my head pounding like someone was inside using a jackhammer. My thoughts wandered back to Bailey, my seven-year-old daughter, who had decided to kick up a fuss this morning about getting up and going to the Wright's after her extended thanksgiving break. I sympathized with her and would have loved to crawl back into bed myself, unfortunately, it just wasn't possible. After loading everything I had prepared earlier this morning, while the rest of the small town slept cozily in their warm beds, I had finally gotten Bailey out to the car and shuffled her off to Mrs. Wright, who would make sure she got to school on time and pick her up after. She would then watch her until I finished at the bakery. I lightly dusted my rolling pin and began rolling out the sugar cookie dough, using more force than what was probably needed. I wanted to get this batch rolled out and done before I closed up the bakery and headed to work as a bartender at the local bar and grill. I really hoped we weren't busy tonight or, in the very least, that my head would stop throbbing by the time I had to go in. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea for me to call in, but there was no one else available on such a short notice, plus I couldn't pass up the money it brought in. Bailey and I needed the extra income. I dreamed of the days when I could solely concentrate on Bailey and my bakery, but that dream still seemed so far away. The bar wasn't a bad place to work and I loved interacting with the people, but it was running me ragged and my daughter needed me home more. I finish rolling out the dough and rush through closing the bakery, anxious to see Bailey.

I pull up to the two story white house that had been more of a home to me growing up then my own. The house, once white, was showing its age as the paint was pretty well peeled off, revealing more of a grey color then the actual white. The red shutters, however, had been repainted and were a bright, cherry red color. I grab the tin of cookies that were sitting in the passenger seat. I had brought them for Mrs. Wright, knowing very well that Mr. Wright was the one who consumed the treats. It was the only payment the elderly couple would accept for keeping Bailey for me, no matter how many times I had tried to give them money. I knew, though, that if they knew the whole truth, they wouldn't even take the treats as payment for keeping Bailey. At least that's what I thought, maybe they already did know the truth.
I make my way up the narrow walk way, wondering, not for the first time in the four years since I returned, if they didn't notice what I saw every time I looked at my daughter, or maybe they ignored it. They acted, at times, as if they knew. Little remarks in passing made me think they were just waiting for me to tell them the truth. My thoughts are interrupted when the front door comes flying open, reminding me that I'm just standing in the middle of the walkway. I move forward, a smile on my face, as I brace myself for the little tornado of a daughter flying towards me. I pause again, when I notice she already has her coat on and book bag in tow. Instead of hugging me as I figured she would, she grabs my hand and starts to tug me towards the car.
"Hi Mommy. I missed you. Let's go," she says brightly, sounding entirely too innocent, while still tugging on my hand. I hold my ground, though. She's hiding something. "Hold on a minute, Bailey," I say, narrowing my eyes.
"Sarah, dear." Mrs. Wright calls, stepping outside, her dark brown eyes full of amusement. "Come on in for a few minutes."
Her brown hair, peppered with strands of grey, wisp around with slight breeze. Bailey stops tugging on my hand, letting it go limp in mine, while releasing a groan and whispering something that sounds suspiciously like "busted." I tighten my grip on Baileys hand in mine, and together we follow Mrs. Wright into the house, Baileys feet dragging across the cement as we go. Still holding onto Baileys hand, we follow Mrs. Wright as we all make our way through the very lived-in front room, then the dining room, bringing back memories of me sitting around the familiar table, located in the middle of the room, and joining in on many family dinners and holidays. We finally come to a stop in the large, but outdated kitchen that had produced thousands of delicious dinners. I place the tin cookie container on the salmon colored counter and turn towards the small table in the corner of the kitchen. I sit so I'm across from Mrs. Wright and next to my daughter who looks ready to bolt and I'm suddenly nervous on what's about to be said.
"Thank you for the sweet treats, dear," Mrs. Wright starts, nodding her head towards the tin container. "Of course." I reply, smiling towards the older lady. "You know, though, my dear, Jim has put on extra weight since we started taking care of little Bailey," she states, a peaceful smile on her face.
"Speaking of, where is Mr. Wright?" I ask, not wanting to get into the payment conversation again. She waves her hands around.
"At the inn, something...unexpected came up a bit ago" she says, adding, "I've said it before, and I will continue to do so until it soaks into that thick skull of yours. Jim and Mary, dear. Please. You have been part of this family for over 20 years, besides..." She trails off, eyes darting to Bailey who has started fidgeting in her chair, her coat in her lap and book bag on the floor at her feet. Mrs. Wright's eyes pull away from Bailey and turn to me, full of amusement and a bright smile on her face.
"It seems our dear little Bailey decided that gluing Miss. Stanley's pens to her desk would keep her from grading papers. I had to go get her. 'Some time to think about what she had done,' is what that silly new principal had said when I had picked her up," she concludes, fully amused at the stunt Bailey had pulled. "So much like my Ryan," she adds after I remain silent for a few seconds.
I give her a shaky smile and, again, wonder if they know and are just waiting on me. "I'm sorry for the trouble," I manage. I had, after being swayed by Mrs. Wright, given permission so that she could deal with small infractions and pick her up from school if necessary. It had been a blessing, as it seemed Bailey had a mischievous side. I shift my eyes to my daughter, one eyebrow raised, waiting on an explanation.
"Red is a mean color. I thought maybe she could use blue, it's prettier. Plus, it's not a mean color," she mumbles. I cover my mouth to hide my smile. Mrs. Wright, however, doesn't contain her smile as she beams at Bailey.
"Let's not glue any more supplies to Miss. Stanley's desk," I chide, not much force behind it.
I'm about to say more and apologize, when Mrs. Wright suddenly jumps up frantically. "I'm sorry dear, I just remembered I need to be on my way. Please excuse me." She rushes out, placing a kiss on Baileys head as she passes, squeezing my shoulder gently, and is gone from the kitchen, moving much quicker than I thought possible. Confused and slightly amused by what just happened, considering the older women was never in a rush, I push out my chair as Mrs. Wright hollers out to lock up behind ourselves. Bailey follows my example, standing up she gets her coat on, flings her book bag over her shoulder, and together we make our way out of the kitchen, passing through the rest of the house. I make sure I get the door locked behind us as we leave.