She could hear the festive sounds as she walked under the stately columns of the house, and into an open patio area.
She went directly to Tomás’ wife, Mia, and handed her a panettone cake that she’d picked up in Oranjestad on her way over. Mia and the other women greeted her kindly, but going by their subtle looks, Candi wasn’t sure how welcome she really was. It was a look she’d become familiar with. Their husbands had been the ones to invite her to the New Year’s Eve party.
She made her way to where Tomás, Gustavo, and Berto, were sitting beside a small fire on the patio. It had been in the eighties when she arrived on the island this morning, but the storm had cooled the temperatures.
“
Feliz Anos,
Candi” Tomás greeted her. “Come sit down.”
“Thank you for having me.”
“Any friend of Kris Collins is welcome here,” Tomás replied.
“And no woman as beautiful as you should ever spend New Year’s alone,” Gustavo said, eying her snug, neon-yellow mini-dress. That was another look she’d become accustomed to.
“Nice place you have here,” she said, referring to the home that was last owned by Diedrich Kerstman. “And Statia is a beautiful island.”
“It’s been rough, but I think we’ll eventually get used to it down here,” Gustavo replied with a grin.
Speaking of beautiful, she took notice of the band that was playing salsa music in an adjoining courtyard. The bare-chested singer caught her attention. He appeared to be in his early twenties. His dark hair was wet, like he’d just returned from a swim, and his abs were a work of art.
“That’s my son Angel,” Gustavo informed, noticing her stare.
“Their good,” she said.
“The band was becoming well known around New York before we moved. Maybe you can give him some pointers while you’re here.”
“He looks like he’s doing just fine from here,” she said.
Candi spent the last few hours of her year laughing, mingling, and dancing. It seemed as if every guy at the party had to dance with her at least once. Except for Angel, who continued to churn out song after song. She wondered if that type of stamina translated to other aspects of his life.
As the clock neared midnight she took a break from the dance floor, and walked out under the columns. She found a quiet spot with a view of the sea. The lights of the house reflected off it, coloring it a bright blue.
Suddenly she felt a cold sensation. She turned to find that it was Angel, pressing a bottle against her bare shoulder.” Champagne for the pretty lady?”
She smiled. “Thank you, but I’ll stick to my water.”
“That doesn’t sound like a fun way to bring in the New Year.”
Maybe not, she thought, but it might save her from her New Year’s tradition of waking up tomorrow with a guy she’d just met the night before, along with a couple of old friends named Headache and Regret.
“I had too much fun for a long time, and it wasn’t all that fun,” she said.
“Do you mind if I do?” he said as he removed the cork from the bottle.
“Don’t let me be the skunk at the picnic … drink up.”
He took a swig straight from the bottle and ate grapes, which he held in his other hand. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said.
“Yes it is,” she replied, switching her view from his sculpted arms to the boundless water.
“Much more beautiful because you came.”
Like father like son. “You’re a great singer. I’m impressed.”
“
Gracias.
Means a lot coming from a legend in the business.”
“I’m not old enough to be a legend.”
“I thought I watched you on the
Candy Stripers
when I was just a little boy, but perhaps I was mistaken,” he said with a grin.
She smiled. “You were doing good up until that point.”
“So what brings Candi Kane to little old Statia on New Year’s Eve? I would think you’d be at the hottest parties in New York or Vegas … or maybe both in the same night.”
“I came for some rest and relaxation. But I’m not sure this is the right place for that—your family really knows how to throw a party.”
He handed her his stem of grapes, took her hand, and led her down to the beach. The water was completely still, the sand a dark gray. Not the prettiest beaches she’d ever been to, but the blue-glass beads that Angel picked out of the sand for her were something to behold.
He explained that they were considered collector’s items, usually emerging after a heavy rainfall. “I will string them together into a necklace for you, and give it to you on our second date.”
“Second date? I don’t remember agreeing to a first one.”
“I think you’re on it right now.” He moved his hand around to the small of her back. She didn’t push him away.
“I usually only date older father-figure types.”
“I would think it would take a young man to keep up with you.”
He glanced at his watch. “Two minutes until midnight. There’s a tradition in Peru of eating twelve grapes at the New Year—it provides luck for each month of the upcoming year.”
She took a grape and fed it into his mouth, and he returned the favor. They slowly fed each other until they’d both eaten twelve. Just in time to ring in the New Year with a kiss.
When his lips touched hers, it felt like she was drinking champagne on one of her past New Year’s benders. She heard fireworks going off overhead. Or maybe they were inside her head. She wasn’t sure at this point, things were getting hazy.
She dug deep and found the strength to push him away. “I can’t do this.”
He looked stunned. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“I’m not sure of anything. But a friend of mine taught me that to truly give yourself to another, you first have to believe in yourself.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten where you are if you didn’t have belief in yourself.”
“I don’t know how I can believe in myself if I don’t even know who I am. I was the stranger I woke up with.”
He nodded as if he understood. He kissed her on the forehead and whispered softly,
“Feliz Anos,
Candi Kane.”
She watched the beautiful creature walk back to the house, and rejoin the raucous party. A few minutes later she heard the band start up again.
She sat on the beach and watched the fireworks lighting up the small island. For the first time in her life, Candi welcomed the New Year by herself. And for the first time she didn’t feel alone.
The meal was unceremoniously slid under his cell door on a plastic tray.
Stone Scroggie looked at the soup and sandwich with contempt. He vowed that people would pay when he got out of this hellhole, starting with Kris Collins and Alexander Wainwright. Candi Kane would also feel his wrath.
And he would do it on his schedule. He always did things on his schedule, and to prove his point, he refused to eat the food until he was good and ready. This left him with more idle time to plot his revenge, which would be more delicious than any meal they could ever serve him, anyway.
His lawyer, Barney Cook, had promised that he’d make bail and be home to celebrate New Year’s. A judge didn’t agree, denying bail. When he attempted to call him tonight, Cook’s voice message said he was out for the evening and would be in touch tomorrow. He envisioned him out at some swanky party in Manhattan—the one he should be at, spending the money that Kerstman and Collins stole from him. Cook was getting close to joining Collins and the others on his naughty list. He hoped he enjoyed his night, because it might be the last New Year’s he got to celebrate.
Scroggie finally gave in and took a spoonful of soup. Not only was it nothing like the food in the finest restaurants in which he dined, but it left a terrible aftertaste. Like a film was forming over his throat.
He got up and banged on the bars. “Guard! Guard!” When nobody answered his call, he shouted, “If you can’t even make a decent soup, let me do it myself!”
Still no answer.
He soon began to feel lightheaded. A sharp pain tore through his lower back.
He tried to yell, but nothing came out. His throat was frozen, and he felt the air being sucked out of him as he tried to breathe. He banged as hard as he could on the bars, and when that didn’t work he threw the cup of soup against the wall. But the plastic made little noise. He started to panic.
He banged on the bars one more time, before collapsing to the cement floor. It felt like an animal was trapped inside his abdomen and was eating its way out.
Just before he passed out from the pain, the guard finally arrived. But he didn’t do anything—he just stood there and grinned at him as he writhed on the floor.
When his eyes finally were able to focus on the guard’s face, a horror came over Scroggie.
“I hope you enjoyed your soup,” Gooch said.
I delivered Nicole back to her doorstep at five minutes before midnight.
“You were good to your word,” she said, glancing at her watch.
“I had a great time. Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for fending off the FBI.”
We had another awkward moment, before she said, “I’d invite you inside, but it’s become kind of a tradition for it to be just us. And like I said, I’m trying to make things as stable and normal as possible for Peter and Janie.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude, anyway. Tradition is really important to hold on to. There’s not as much of it as there used to be.”
She shook my hand like we just closed a business deal and turned to go inside. But just as quickly she turned back around. “On second thought, it’s kind of sad that you would bring in the New Year alone in your car.”
I pointed to my wrist. “My watch is five minutes fast. So it’s midnight in my world, and I couldn’t think of any place that I’d rather be spending it.”
She smiled. “Happy New Year, Kris Collins.”
“Happy New Year, Nicole Closs.”
We stood there for what seemed like another minute, nobody moving an inch. And then we came to the end of our collision course.
“Tradition
is
a good thing,” she finally said, “Like kissing on New Year’s. And since your watch says …”
Before she could say another word, I’d taken her into my arms and our lips came together.
That day in court, I felt like a piece of her had been embedded in me. And as we kissed, I felt like she was reaching inside me once again and planting hope. That, and it had been a long time for me, since before prison, and she was looking seriously hot in that dress.
But she pushed me away again. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’ve changed my mind. Sorry.”
And before I could say anything, she entered the house and shut the door, leaving me with a dumbfounded look and a case of … the blues.
I noticed her son, Peter, sneaking a peek through a window. He just shrugged and waved at me.
As I began to walk away I heard him call out to his sister, “Janie—I saw Mommy kissing …” his voice trailed off as I got further from the house.
I walked carefully down the icy path, rationalizing that if I had to usher in the New Year alone in my car, at least it was a Ferrari.
During the short walk I replayed the past year in my head. It started with my recurring nightmare of waking up in a jail cell on New Year’s Day, and ended in the fairytale of Nicole Closs’ lips … at least until the clock struck midnight and I turned back into a pumpkin.
In the end, I learned much about giving, but it seemed that I still had a long way to go when it came to getting some.
And most of all, I found out that it’s not about how many gifts are under the tree on Christmas morning, but how many people are willing to guide your sleigh when things get foggy.
Harry Crawford poked the fire back to life, as he waited for the New Year to commence. Or maybe it already had—he’d lost track of time. His mind had been racing all day. He couldn’t remember that happening since Ginny died.
The house was quiet for the first time in a long time. He’d finally gotten rid of the “elves.” He loved those guys and would do anything for them, but it seemed like they kept multiplying, bringing in their friends and friends of their friends’ friends, and they never slept. It reminded him of when he and Ginny used to follow around The Dead. He must be getting old, he thought, because the silence was soothing.
It had been a week since Christmas, but he could still feel the magic in the air—at least that’s what Ginny used to call it—so much so that he felt compelled to spend his afternoon cutting down a pine tree on his property and dragging it back here to the living room. He found the boxes of decorations stored in the cellar, and he spent his New Year’s Eve trimming his Christmas tree. He just wasn’t sure if it was for last year or next.