Page 14 of Spicy Nick

Christmas Eve dawns foggy and cool—which, I have to say, is pretty typical for this time of year. I’m sure there are other places in the world where last minute shoppers are rushing frantically around in a state of near panic, but not here, not in Oberon. The world around us feels very peaceful, hushed and quiet, as we drive out to the nursery to pick up our tree. We’re not driving my Porsche today—for obvious reasons.

I mean, where the hell would we put the tree?

Instead, I’m driving Scout’s older model SUV that she bought when we were expecting Cole, figuring it would be more practical than her Mustang. Which it definitely is.

The radio is playing nonstop Christmas carols—also typical for this time of year. Cole hums along with the songs that he knows and tries hard with the ones he doesn’t. Right now, he’s essaying Jingle Bells with some success. Scout and I share a smile of wonder as we listen to him mangle the lyrics. How did we get so lucky, I think to myself. And I’m pretty sure she’s thinking the same. But seriously—how? How did I even get here?

I spent years (more like decades, really) wishing for nothing more than this. And now, after all of my wishes have come true…could things really have gone so wrong that I’m at risk of losing everything? And I’m only now noticing it?

I don’t want to believe that’s possible, but the closer we get to our destination, the more I feel Scout slipping away into worry once again. By the time we reach the nursery she’s fidgeting anxiously.

I don’t know what’s going on here. Is it morning sickness, motion sickness, an inner ear imbalance? Or something more serious?

I can’t begin to understand what’s bothering her, because she won’t tell me. And I can’t understand why she won’t level with me, because she almost always has before. The trouble could be as simple as too little sleep while she was in LA, or too much caffeine since she’s been back. Or it could be as serious as…well, a heart attack, or something along those lines.

There are, however, a couple of things of which I am sure. I am in love with my wife. I’m in love with the life we’ve built together. And I will do anything—everything—whatever I can, or whatever I have to do, in order to keep this dream from ending.

“Hey,” I urge softly, as I pull to a stop in the nursery’s parking lot. “Talk to me. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Scout replies perfunctorily, and (I’m fairly certain) fictitiously. Before I can pursue things further, she’s pushed open her door and jumped down from the cab. “Everything’s fine, Nick. Now, c’mon, let’s go.”

I remember a night, nearly five years ago now, when Scout, heavily pregnant with Cole, wearing an evening gown and heels, nearly tumbled out of the passenger seat of this very same vehicle. Luckily, I was there to catch her then. I want so much to tell her that I’m here to catch her now, too—that I always will be—if only she’d trust me. But she already has the back door open and is lifting Cole out of his seat, and the moment is lost.

Cole is on his best behavior as we cross the parking lot, holding onto both our hands instead of running ahead. Just as we reach the door to the nursery, the door opens and a squabbling couple emerges, nearly barreling into us on their way out.

“Careful,” I admonish, scowling after them.

“Ow. Mommy,” Cole whines. “Let go.”

Turning back to my family, I find Scout frozen in place, her eyes unfocused, her expression bleak, clinging tightly (too tightly, apparently) to Cole’s hand. And, seemingly, obliviously to his distress.

“Scout?” I say carefully. “What’s going on? Are you ready to go in now?”

She startles and makes an obvious attempt to shake off her odd mood. She smiles and apologizes to Cole. Then brushes off my concern by saying. “It’s nothing. Déjà vu,” A non sequitur if ever I’ve heard one. “I’m just anxious to see Lucy.”

“Good luck with that,” I whisper beneath my breath as I follow her inside. I’m pretty sure my cousin isn’t here today. But what do I know? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had made plans without telling anyone else.

Just as I suspected, however, my cousin is nowhere to be seen. I quickly spot Dan, however. He’s chatting with a couple of his employees, beside a table laden with cookies and cakes, coffee urns and chafing dishes and every manner of Christmas-themed goodie imaginable.

“Nick! You made it!” he says when he catches sight of me, waving me over with a cheerful grin. “Are you here for your tree? ’Bout time, bud! I was about ready to sell it out from under you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I tell him. “You’d have Lucy to answer to. But hey, sorry about crashing your party. I forgot it was today.” I don’t know which of us is more surprised, my memory’s usually better than that. But this is just more proof, in case Ineeded it, that this thing with Scout is messing with my head and throwing me off my game.

“Don’t talk crazy,” Dan says, waving that away, as well. “You’re always welcome. You know that.” But then his gaze slides over me and lands on Scout. His eyes widen. “Hey, Scout. You got back, huh? How’re you feeling? You’re looking good. Everything all right with you?”

I scowl at him, trying to send him a message to cut it out, because he’s studying Scout closely and curiously—far too obviously trying to determine if Lucy’s guess is correct. And if he doesn’t stop it right the fuck now, Scout is going to tumble to the fact that something is up. That we’ve been talking and speculating about her in her absence. In her present mood? I can only imagine how wellthatwill go over.

Or maybe I can’t. Because, apparently, I’m wrong yet again. A quick glance in my wife’s direction shows me that she’s studying Dan, too. Just as closely. And not all that happily.

What the actual?

“I’m okay,” she tells him, after a notable pause. “A little tired. I wanted to say hello to Lucy, but I don’t see her anywhere. Do you know where she is?”

“Luce?” Dan frowns in confusion. “She’s not here. Why would you think that?”

“Why…?” Scout’s mouth drops open. She stares at him, aghast. “Whywouldn’tI think that? Where is she?”

“Home, probably,” Dan replies slowly. “’Least that’d be my guess. Probably cooking her little heart out. Same as always, right?” He shoots me a WTF look and I have no response but to shrug because when you’re right, you’re right. And he absolutely is.

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