Page 113 of The Holiday Hate-Off
I take it out and settle onto the couch to read it.
Dear Lobster Stalker,
So, I’m just going to ask. You’re into The Golden Girls, which is cool—I mean, who doesn’t like Sophia?—but wondering minds want to know…does this mean you’re on the older side? I know we promised not to do identifying details, but what about an age range?
Oh God, now I sound like a stalker too, but I guess I’d like a better idea of who I’m talking to. I’d be okay with exchanging letters with a grandfather. I never really had grandparents, and I always wondered what it would be like. When I was growing up, I felt a little left out because I didn’t have them.
You inspired me to go see the lobster trap tree lighting tonight. I’ll be thinking about you, wondering if you’re there too.
Yours—
Dancer Stalker
So, either Giovanni was messing with me about the cabbage and the TV show, or someone else has moved into the apartment down the hall since Aria left. Doesn’t matter which. What matters is that I’ve been corresponding with someone completely different than the kind, middle-aged woman I’ve been envisioning for the last several days. Someone younger. Someone who went to the lobster trap tree lighting last night.
A woman who lost her mother just before last Christmas.
A woman who struggles with her emotions, just like I struggle with mine.
I felt a glimmer of the truth earlier, when we were together, but now it hits me with the subtlety of hurled bricks.
She never did tell me where she lives, but I already know the answer in my heart.
I’ve been talking to my Lucia.
CHAPTER 24
LUCY
TEXT CONVERSATION WITH CHARLIE
WHAT HAPPENED?
Nothing happened last night.
OMG YOU’RE KILLING ME
I have to go to work. I’ll come over later.
YOU’LL FIND SOMEONE WHO IS DEAD.
“Lucy, dear, let’s chat for a minute, if you wouldn’t mind,” Eileen says, patting my hand as we finish cleaning up the Sip. It’s just past noon, our closing time on Sundays. Wayne was here, as usual, and when we told him it was closing time, he left with a long-suffering sigh.
“Of course,” I say, trying to act like I’m not deliciously sore in a way that makes me think of Enzo every time I move.
“You look justbeautifultoday,” Eileen says, smiling widely at me as I wipe the counter for thefifth time. “I can’t put my finger on what’s changed. Did you do something different with your hair?”
I’m hit with a mental image of Enzo gripping my hair while he thrust into me from behind. Swallowing dryly, I say, “No, nothing different. I just stayed out late last night, so I left it a little wild.”
“Oh, yes,” she says as she starts making a latte that is hopefully meant for me. “I couldn’t make it last night, but I heardallabout the goings-on at the lobster trap tree lighting. That’s partly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” I ask innocently as she pours the latte into a huge white and red mug before starting in on another.
“Oh, yes. I heard the Larry’s lobster claw wouldn’t stay upright. Everyone’s been tittering about it.” She glances up at me, her eyes surprisingly shrewd. “Everyone’s also been talking about our friend Enzo’s performance at The Sweetest Thing. The dance party was divine! I took a turn with Amanda Willis, did you notice?”
“I did,” I say with a grin. “Something tells me you’re the one who invited her.”
Her smile widens. “I did indeed.”
