Carats and Coconuts (4 page)

Both behaviors clued me into the fact
that I’d nailed it.

“
Operation Holly?” Roman
repeated my inquiry.

“
That’s Dad’s codename for
his secret reindeer diet formula. The stuff is made primarily of
holly, as in the flowering tree,” I said, beginning to explain,
sure my dad would soon pitch-in the details.

“
Not just any holly. My
formula uses only the less prickly leaves that grow near the tops
of our trees. And the flavor? Oh boy. The reindeer just love my new
formula,” Dad said, giving us the full scoop on Reindeer Fodder
101.

“
So what does this have to
do with your former buddy Father Time and phone-hacking?” I
asked.

And trust me, I was totally sure I
didn’t really want to know, but I also knew I’d be faced with all
the details whether I wanted ‘em or not.

Why?

Because this family has no
secrets.

Okay. We have one. And I hope it stays
that way.

‘
Course I’d also bet on that
bean bag being spilled way before Roman and I can escape back to
our castle and kingdom of thugs.

“
Father Time? As in the
elderly bearded man with the scythe and hourglass? The one who,
each year, hands over the duties of time to Baby New Year?” Roman
asked.

“
Yeah. That asshole,” Dad
said, not mincing his words the least bit.

“
That will get you on your
very own Naughty List, Pops,” I said, unable to stop the laugh
dyin’ to get out.

“
Oh screw the Naughty List.
That’s how our whole beef started.”

Here we go, I thought, downing another
hearty swig of egg nog.

“
Father Time, the old
geezer, is pissed off ‘cause his precious Baby New Year is at the
top of my Naughty List,” Dad said, shaking his head then pinching
the bridge of his ruby red nose like he often did when he was at
his wits end.

“
What did the brat do this
time?” I asked, knowing quite well that Baby New Year was lacking
in the well-behaved department.

“
The little shit threw a
temper tantrum and busted Father Time’s hourglass.”

“
It’s true,” my mom
chimed-in, almost as if she wished she could deny it but knew there
was no sense covering-up the truth.

Well, not this truth
anyway.

“
And that led to Father Time
phone-hacking you how?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to know
this part
at
all
.

Father Time and my dad had gotten into
some fairly big doozies over the years, and this one seemed to rank
right up there with the worst of ‘em.

“
He got it in his
weathered-by-time pea brain that if I was gonna rain on his errant
child’s behavior then he was gonna do something to my pride and joy
too.”

“
Father Time is after you,
Zoey?” Roman asked.

Gosh I luuuvvved this guy. How sweet
of him to assume I was my dad’s pride and joy. Little did he know,
Santa’s globe-trotting, cabbage remnant-emitting reindeer held that
honor.

“
No No,” my dad said,
placing his hand over his evidently amused and once again shaking
jelly bowl. “Father Time loves our precious Zoey. He’d never hurt
her. After all, she’s his godchild. He’s after my Operation
Holly.”

“
Why would he be interested
in a reindeer diet food formula?” Roman asked.

And it was more than reasonable
question for a guy who’s supposedly into scythes, hourglasses and
new years…not reindeer.

“
He’s interested because I
am. Anything I invent, he’s after. I think the poor schmuck isn’t
right in the head, if you know what I mean. He’s definitely got
some kind of disorder, don’t ya think so, Suzie Claus?”

Roman coughed.

And I couldn’t help but attempt to
stifle a tiny giggle.

Now there’s the pots callin’ the
kettle black.

“
He’s just jealous ‘cause
your dad is loved all year long, while he’s only got one night to
make a difference. I think he reasons that with your dad’s new
reindeer fodder he can make even more of a mark than he does
now.”

I shook my head and imbibed my egg
nog, draining my cup to the last delicious liquor-strength
drop.

“
So, what makes you think
he’s phone-hacking you?” I asked, afraid of this answer
too.

But thanks to the extra brandy Wanda
Lu had put in my cup, I felt I was fairly up for the
challenge.

“
Because every move I make
toward getting Operation Holly patented and ready to roll, the
bastard knows about it, shows up as if he’s my partner, then makes
suggestions and tosses in his limited sense.”

“
Some of the elves also
overheard in town the other day that the poor old senile fool may
have also bribed our local police to get more information,” my mom
added.

“
Father Time isn’t friends
with all the Murtledoch execs, is he?” Roman asked then
snickered.

And I snickered too.

Mom and Dad didn’t.

They don’t watch or read the news and
know of the Murtledoch Corp’s huge phone hacking scandal. Nope. My
parents preferred life just as it was in their own lakeshore
Whoville. So Roman’s joke was lost on them.

“
I don’t think the old fart
has any friends. Probably why he wants my anti-fart reindeer
food.”

What the world wouldn’t give to now
that their St. Nick was, in fact, no saint at all, but rather, was
equipped with quite the potty-mouth.

“
Nice, Dad.”

“
Well it’s the truth. I
can’t wait till the EPA gets a load of this stuff…or not,” he said
then once more made his famous belly dance as it shook with his
soul-deep laugh. “That’s the point of my invention. By using
Operation Holly, we’ll be taking a ton of the
load
out of reindeer emissions, if
you catch my drift. Very green, isn’t it?”

“
All I need is Father Time’s
cell phone, and I’ll be able to help you, Sir,” Roman said, rubbing
his hands together with a quite mischievous, rather boyish
glee.

Which meant one thing. He and R had
some cool new superfab gadget to try out.

“
Terrific! I knew you would
be perfect for the job. But please, no more of that sir stuff. It’s
Dad now, Son.”

“
Which reminds me,” my mom
cut-in, “we’ve got a couple very special, pre-holiday gifts to hand
out tonight, right dear?”

This time it was my turn to rub my
hands together and bask in the anticipation of the moment to
come.

I couldn’t wait for this special day
each and every year. It was seven days before Christmas, which
meant my mom would let me have the special ornament she’d made just
for me. I bet she’d made one for Roman too.

“
I’m going first,” my dad
said, reaching his hand underneath his chair and removing a
beautifully wrapped box.

The box was done in all red and green
pin-striped, velveteen and foil paper. A very manly wrap job fit
for a king, which I guess Roman would someday be.

The little boy glee still clearly
evident across his face, Roman took the package. I couldn’t tell if
his eyes danced from the glow of the fire or if it was his joy at
receiving the gift. Either way, I knew he was beginning to feel the
Witherspoon love from the inside out.

He lifted the lid off the box and
filled the room with the heartiest laugh I’d ever heard from
him.

Taking out the gorgeous Santa Claus
hat my mom had no doubt hand-sewn just for him, he put it on
without so much as a second thought.

“
This is much more
comfortable than my crown,” he said, flicking the big fuzzy white
ball on the end of the hat with such gusto it ricocheted off my
nose.

“
Oops! Sorry about
that.”

“
No you’re not.”

“
Yeah. You’re right. I’m
not,” he said, then did it again before standing up and going over
to hug both my parents.

“
This is truly one of the
best gifts I’ve ever received.”

My eyes held steady on the gold-gilded
embroidery now sparkling from the glow of the fireplace. The
letters across the white front rim of the hat spelled out
‘Prince-of-Many-Names’.

Mom never missed a trick.

My chest swelled until it felt as if I
might burst.

“
Now for you, our princess,”
my mother said and handed me a small purple, metallic foil-wrapped
box.

She’d made a brilliant lavender bow
and included matching straps of ribbon running down the sides.
Gorgeous strands of Swarovski crystals had been braided through the
crisscrossed ribbon.

I carefully removed the ribbon and
crystal ropes, my fingers trembling with the excitement of
revealing this year’s ornament.

Opening the box and rummaging through
the matching lavender and lilac tissue paper, I pulled out the
cutest hand-blown glass pot-bellied pig I’d ever seen.

The little fella’s legs were all
blinged out with tons of glitter-dusted paint, as was his curly-cue
tail. His snout had some kind of metallic pink paint. And his
frosted glass ears were just precious.

“
Oh, Mom, he’s gorgeous! I
can’t wait to put him on my tree. Thank u sooo much.”

I ran to her chair and hugged her
close.

“
He’s just perfect. Just
like our Vinnie.”

I took the ornament over to Vinnie who
was curled up on his new bed in front of the fireplace.

“
What do ya think, boy?
Doesn’t he look just like you?”

Vinnie raised his head and gave out a
pleasingly sweet ouff then sighed and went back to
sleep.

“
I think he likes it,” Roman
said to chuckles the room over. “I’d love to see your tree,
Zoey.”

And I’d love to show it to you, I
thought, taking his hand and squeezing it tight, ready to call it a
night.

W
ith our new Vinnie ornament ready to hang, Roman and I said
goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Claus then headed up the gingerbread
house’s grand staircase to my old bedroom.

“
This house really is
terrific,” he said.

Following at our heels, Vinnie ouffed
his agreement.

“
It was a rather wonderful
place to grow-up,” I said, meaning every word of it.

Despite my parents’ delusional
hang-ups – well, actually, my father’s hang-up – my childhood
really was beyond wonderful.

My mom doesn’t suffer from any mental
illness. She simply loves my father too much to not play along with
his beliefs.

Maybe that’s why
I’ve
never stopped
believing in true, unconditional love. I’ve lived in its warmth and
generous spirit most of my life.

Reaching my room, I was surrounded by
even more reminders of the kind of love the Witherspoons so
generously handed out…always expecting nothing in
return.

“
I’m the one who’s the
Prince by birth, and all this time, it’s you who lived in a real
life castle,” Roman said, squeezing my hand as he pulled me into
the room.

He was so excited. You’d think Santa
had just left him the gift he’d wanted more than any other under my
tree.

“
This is simply amazing,
Zoey!”

As we sat on the floor underneath the
eight-foot tree in my room, I had to agree with my
prince.

Not many children grew up in a holiday
version of Never Never Land like I had. There simply was no good
reason to grow up at all here in Witherspoon Whoville. It was
perfectly acceptable, actually preferred, that you maintained a
childlike exuberance about this special season all year
long.

For a moment, we sat in silence. Both
of us were lost in the gazillion ornaments my mother had made for
me over the years. Ornaments that now filled almost every branch of
my tree.

I immediately looked past the
thousands of pink lights covering the evergreen boughs and zeroed
in on the exact spots where my favorite ornaments were
hung.

Ahhh…there it was…just about perfectly
centered in the middle of the tree. My all-time fave.

The bejeweled, glitter-saturated, and
sequined, pink dress form on its very own equally sparkly black
stand. My mom gave me that one on my seventh Christmas. I’d just
gotten back from a children’s camp for fashion designer wanna-be’s,
and my mom thought it was a good reminder of never letting my
dreams go unrealized.

Just to the right of that glistening
beauty was my second favorite, my tenth Christmas gift.

A miniature, shadowboxed replica of a
boutique storefront. It was as if you could look into the window
display of my future. That’s what my mother had said when I
unwrapped it. And sure enough, inside the boutique, you could see a
miniature version of the dress form ornament as well as a glorious
chandelier, racks full of clothes and miniature shoes and
boxes.