Page 50 of The Calendar of New Beginnings
“Thank you so much for sharing, Mr. Jenkins,” she said. He nodded crisply and shuffled over to the bar to shake hands with Rhett, who led him over to the table and poured him a bourbon.
It did Lucy’s heart proud to see a younger man giving proper respect and care to the older man. So many of the cultures Lucy had experienced around the world respected the elderly in a way she wished people in the West would.
Lucy turned and saw her mother standing in the doorway, waiting for her full attention.“Mother.Somehow I am not surprised to see you’re rounding out the year as Miss December.”
Her mother gave an impish grin and sauntered forward. “I thought it fitting since I’ve won the Best Decorated House for Christmas award in Dare Valley five times—a town record.”
Lucy refrained from pointing out that her dad was the one who climbed his ever-faithful ladder in the snow each year to hang her mother’s extensive assortment of decorations and lights. Growing up, Lucy had hated decorating for Christmas. All the work had turned into a chore, sowhenever she couldn’t come home for Christmas, she comforted herself with the thought that at least she wouldn’t have to help create the O’Brien Winter Wonderland.
“And your idea?” she asked because she would give her mother the respect she’d given everyone else. “Still thinking of mangoes?”
A few of the women snickered while Jill hooted out loud. “Mangoes,” Jill cried. “You can do better than mangoes, honey.”
“You’re the one who wants to cover your boobies with a hat made of fruit,” her mother shot back.
“Ladies!” Lucy cried, noting how the men had clustered together in solidarity, not that she blamed them.
“Mom, please share your idea with us,” she said, giving Jill a hard look.
“I, too, have been thinking about what I’d like to convey to our readership,” her mom said in a dramatic voice. “I was wondering if dressing up like Cleopatra might be intriguing enough. There are tales of how she hid in a rolled-up rug, wearing nothing but a headdress, to get to Julius Caesar.”
“Very Katy Perry of you,” Jill said, tapping her mouth. “I love it!”
Lucy didn’t. It was exactly the kind of cheap theatrics she rebelled against. “Thank you for sharing, Mom,” she said kindly, facing the twelve volunteers before her. “And thanks to all of you again for being a part of this. I’m really happy to be involved as well since it’s for such a great cause, and it honors the people we loved who died of cancer.”
She made sure to pause, hoping to shift the mood in her favor by reminding them all why they were here.
“I have to confess that this calendar isn’t the kind of photo shoot I normally do.” Her hands broke out in a sweat at the thought of taking photos of any kind, butthey couldn’t know that. “I’m willing to keep an open mind about the kinds of poses you’d like to do. This might make some of you feel vulnerable. For others, it will be a walk in the park.”
She gave a pointed glance to Jill and Ester, who both started laughing.
“As you probably know, I’ve taken photographs for some of the biggest global organizations’ calendars out there, raising money for anything from human rights to women’s empowerment. I know what works, and while I really like this idea of taking fun, risqué photos, I wanted to suggest another approach for you to consider.”
Her mother jammed her hands across her chest and stared at Lucy with fire in her eyes.
“Since you’re all making a dedication to someone you lost in the calendar,” she continued, “why not pose with the person’s photo or a special memento. Like the flag Old Man Jenkins mentioned. It personalizes the story in a beautiful way. Or we can even shoot you in the person’s favorite place—like the convertible Ester mentioned, or somewhere special you used to spend time together.”
A few people were nodding now, and she smiled at them in solidarity.
“I got laid plenty in that car, God bless my Howard,” Ester said, finally eating her candy cigarette.
Her mother walked toward her. “Lucy, we discussed this. I don’t want this to be one of your sad calendars.”
The bubble of solidarity she’d been creating burst, and her mother’s insinuation gripped its claws around her. “I’m not saying you have to make it sad, Mother. Only meaningful. Authentic. If you’re telling the story of your loss, why not have a photo that captures it?”
Everyone looked at her mother, sensing a showdown.
“Lucy, this calendar shows that life moves on,” her mother said in a hard tone. “That people still laugh and have fun. That’s why it’s called The Calendar of New Beginnings.”
“There’s no reason the photos I’m suggesting wouldn’t fit that theme,” she said diplomatically. “Surely you understand that considering Chef T’s participation, not to mention a few of the others in your group, this calendar could be sold nationally, perhaps even internationally. I just want a product that is going to be equal to that level of exposure.” Even if she wasn’t sure how she was going to pull off her part of the bargain.
“You meanyourlevel,” her mother said sternly.
“Ellen,” April said, laying a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Lucy makes a good point. Maybe we should discuss this more with her once everyone leaves.”
“Wediddiscuss it with her,” her mother said, making the others look away in discomfort. “If you didn’t want to do it, you should have just told us. I could have asked Farley Higgins. He has a pretty good photography studio here in town. But I was hoping you might be willing to use your God-given talents to help us out since you’re back in town. Clearly, this isn’t your thing.”
Her mother could throw guilt around like ninja stars. “Mom, I’m not saying I don’t want to be involved. I was only sharing a concept that came to me as I was thinking about this calendar. I hoped you would listen to my idea since I was respectful enough to listen to yours. It’s not like we couldn’t take more than one photo.” She considered the possibility. “We could have one that’s about the loss and another funny one about the joys of moving on.”
