Page 75 of The Witness

“Be nice. I don’t mind, as long as the murder chicken isn’t going to be helping me make my famous cranberry margaritas.” It wasn’t like I was missing a party at my parents’. We spared ourselves the pain of a drawn-out holiday evening by opting for an awkward Christmas bagel on the morning of the twenty-fifth.

“Someday you are going to explain the bird phobia to me.”

“But not today. I have to go. Wanders just swiped his Amex card.”

“See you at Silver Palms.”

Chapter 33

Sabrina

“Brace yourself.” I looked at my friend Katie Bartholomew decked out in her best ugly Christmas sweater. It prominently featured Santa Claus and Rudolph decorating cookies and had enough red and green tinsel to double as a radio antenna. My sweater had a light up Christmas tree that blinked obnoxiously, and if you pressed the button on my shoulder, it would play a meowing cat’s version ofJingle Bells.

Muffled sounds of Christmas carols and laughter punctuated by the squawk of a parrot filled the hallway. No one threw a party like my mom, especially not at Silver Palms.

“I survived the last three years. I’m a veteran now.” Katie jutted her chin at the doorknob, ready to get the party started.Her hands were laden with platters of cookies and diabetic friendly cupcakes she’d baked.

I juggled my tray of mini beef wellingtons and reached for Mom’s apartment door, stiffening my spine, ready for the onslaught of retiree holiday cheer. The mingled scents of cinnamon candles, roast turkey, and Bengay washed over us as we entered.

“Girls!” A crowd of well-wishers enveloped Katie and me. Only at Silver Palms would Katie and I qualify as girls.

My mom’s Christmas Eve party knew no bounds. She invited everyone from the community that didn’t have a family function to attend. From Jewish neighbors that had celebrated Hanukkah two weeks ago to sweet Mrs. Barns, whose family never came to visit their hundred-and-two-year-old matriarch since moving her to Silver Palms. It was an eclectic group that partied hard until about eight thirty.

Mr. Kramer spotted us as soon as we crossed the threshold. He kissed my cheek, wished me a merry Christmas, and took my tray of beef wellingtons to the buffet table so he’d be the first to have a taste. I thought about following to make sure he shared with everyone else. There had been an issue last year with baby lamb chop hoarding. Katie didn’t even get to set down her tray of cupcakes before a swarm of diabetics were stealing the low sugar treats.

“Best I’ve ever had. You must give the recipe to the chef here. He could learn a thing or two about low sugar baking from you, young lady,” a woman in a blue and white crystal spangled snowflake sweater that matched her walker told Katie. Although Katie was a well-known baker who specialized in wedding cakes for the rich and famous, she looked flattered by the lady’s praise.

“Merry Christmas, darling.” My mother swept me up in a hug, or as much of one as possible. Her sweater was festooned with a garland of Ping-pong ball sized Christmas ornaments. It wasboth hideous and gorgeous at the same time. She had wrapped her cane with red and white ribbon to look like a candy cane.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” I’d been over yesterday evening to do a lot of the cooking for the party and hadn’t seen her yet today. “Great turn out.”

“Yes, the gang’s all here.” She turned and looked approvingly around the living room, dining room, and kitchen. “And a few new additions.” She pointed to the bar set up in the far corner.

Michael Steel must not have been told about the strict ugly holiday sweater dress code because he’d received my mother’s special punishment of a homemade ugly sweater. He was shirtless but for a pair of large red foil bows, the kind that went on top of a present, over his nipples. A sort of holiday bikini. And on his head was an enormous Santa hat with a bell on the end. I snort laughed.

“Mom, what did you do to him?”

“And where’s mine?” Katie floated an air kiss over my mom’s cheek in greeting, not daring to get closer lest their sweaters tangle up. “That man is delicious. Sabrina, please tell me that is the security guy you told me all about on the drive up here?”

“I may have forgotten to tell my bartender about the dress code.” Mom wiggled her eyebrows to make it clear she’d planned the outfit in advance. She better have warned the Silver Palms ladies to bring their heart medication. Shirtless Michael could raise a woman’s blood pressure.

“Yes, that’s Michael. Poor man did not know what he was in for. I tried to warn him,” I told Katie.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it. You girls should go get your drinks.” She winked and shoved us in Michael’s direction.

“Sabrina,” Katie grabbed my arm, “You said good looking. You were underselling. He’s prime beefcake.”

Michael looked good. Really good. Like I wanted to go rip one of the bows off his nipples and replace it with my tongue good.Who knew horny and midlife went together like peanut butter and jelly?

We’d had some flirty text exchanges and a few phone conversations over the last few days, but our schedules had been too far out of sync for more. I was running on restaurant time, going to bed late and sleeping in as long as I dared before heading to Viande to check on George and his crew. Michael and the football player were on some crazy workout schedule that had them jogging on the beach at dawn.

But the few times we had connected, the spark between us had been hot as ever. Michael had been more willing to talk about himself. I could tell he wasn’t used to opening up. I attempted to ask questions that would draw out the stories. It wasn’t often a man listened to a woman’s complaints and made an honest effort to change.

Over the phone, he’d launch into a tale about his childhood or college years out of nowhere. The tentative way he spoke about himself was startling. Most people never shut up about themselves. His reticence made me wonder about Michael’s self-image and if it might need improving.

I stuttered to a stop in front of the bar and our gazes locked. It had only been a few days since we’d seen each other, but I’d missed him. The way his eyes took in every detail of my appearance made me think he felt the same. My skin flushed and I knew it wasn’t a hot flash.

In movies, there is that scene where the two lead characters look at each other and time stops. This was our moment. For the life of me I couldn’t say anything. I wanted to drink in the sight of him. His dark blue eyes, the glint of gray in the short dark hair on his head. The flex of his naked shoulders and the unexpected fullness of his lips. Exactly as I remembered him and better than ever.

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