The December Market

Disaster struck on a snowy evening the day before Thanksgiving.

Amanda Taylor, arms overflowing with grocery bags, managed to maneuver her elbow just enough to hit the button that opened the automatic door to the Shelter Inn retirement community.

She was always in a hurry or she would have tried to make two trips inside. Her day had been hectic and frenzied, and a last-minute trip to the grocery store for her grandmother hadn’t helped.

One of these days, she might be able to convince Birdie to use a delivery service, but her grandmother always said she couldn’t trust a stranger to pick the best fruit and vegetables and she complained they didn’t always check expiration dates.

Amanda didn’t really mind helping out. She loved her grandmother dearly and considered shopping for—or with—her one small thing she could do to make Birdie’s life a little easier.

Her grandmother was planning a regular Thanksgiving dinner, though it was only to be the two of them for the holidays. She had tried to tell Birdie she didn’t need to bother, but of course she wouldn’t listen.

So here Amanda was, juggling five paper bags filled with last-minute items.

She balanced everything carefully as she went through the door, congratulating herself for not spilling everything.

As luck would have it, pride always seemed to be her fatal flaw. She should have known better. One moment, she was hurrying past the building’s recreation room, the next her foot landed on something tiny and treacherous and slippery. Her foot slid out from under her and she toppled backward onto her butt with a small shriek, as potatoes and onions and bananas flew out of the bags in a produce cascade.

Somehow, she wasn’t quite sure how, she managed not to writhe around in pain. She wanted to, though.

“Uh-oh.” A small, nervous-sounding voice came from the doorway of the large gathering space. “I think that was my fault. I’m really sorry.”

She squinted from her graceless spot on the floor to find a small boy of about six with curly dark hair giving her a worried look through round dark-framed glasses.

She knew him, somehow, but she couldn’t immediately place how. She had a vague memory of seeing him ride a bike with training wheels past her house recently but she couldn’t pinpoint when that might have happened.

“Isaac. What did you do?”

The older male voice, deep and stern, coming from the doorway of the recreation room from behind her sent a shiver down her spine, for reasons she couldn’t immediately explain.

“I was just playing with my race car while you were talking to Abuelo in there. I was driving it around out here because it goes better when it’s not on the carpet. Then the lady stepped on it and she fell down.”

A toy. That’s what had tripped her. She looked around until she saw a small blue race car, obviously operated by the small controller in the boy’s hand.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked her, his brown eyes nervous.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. He just got this toy and he hasn’t quite figured out how the remote control works yet. Can I help you?”

The owner of that deep voice moved into her line of vision. From her ignominious spot on the floor, Amanda saw worn leather boots first, then jeans covering muscled thighs, a short black jacket and up and up a hundred miles to a man with dark hair, eyes the same as his son’s and lean, chiseled features.

She caught her breath.

Rafe Arredondo, the assistant fire chief of Shelter Springs, held his hand out to her. He did an almost comical double take when he must have recognized her at the same time, sprawled out at his feet.

“Amanda. Oh. Hi.”

She managed a half wave, her rear end still smarting.

“Are you okay? Let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

If she thought she could figure out a graceful way to stand on her own, she wouldn’t have taken his hand. He grasped her fingers in his and tugged her up from the ground to her feet.

“Please tell me nothing is broken.”

Her pride? Her dignity? Her vanity?

“I don’t think so. I’m fine. I should have been watching where I was going. And I shouldn’t have been trying to carry in five bags of groceries at once.”

“We can help you clean this up. Looks like one of your bags ripped.”

The bottom had completely fallen out of one of the grocery bags, spilling the ten-pound bag of flour. It was mostly intact, thank heavens.

“Go ask Abuelo if he can find another one,” Rafe told his son.

Isaac nodded and ran full tilt back into the recreation room behind them.

“I forgot your grandfather moved in.”

“Right. A few months ago.”

All of Rafe’s family lived in Shelter Springs. His father, she knew, had once owned a drywall business until he sold it a few years back and retired. His retirement hadn’t lasted long and now he operated a handyman business.

His mother, Louise, owned one of the more popular beauty salons in town.

Amanda didn’t go to Louise’s shop, though she had heard she and the other stylists there all did good work.

“Seriously, are you okay? Do we need to take you to the urgent care clinic?”

“I don’t think so.” She mentally checked all her bits and pieces. The pain and shock were beginning to ease, though she suspected she might have bruised her behind. Also, oddly, her ankle throbbed. She must have twisted it somehow when she fell.

Isaac, meanwhile, had returned from the recreation room carrying a grocery bag. He was now picking up the produce scattered across the entry hall and packing it in the bag.

“We really are sorry, aren’t we, Isaac?”

The boy looked guilty, dark eyes huge behind his glasses. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have left my car in the hall.” He paused. “But maybe you should have been watching where you were going, too.”

She had to hide her smile at his undiplomatic response, even as she saw Rafe wince.

“True enough. No harm done. I’m fine. I have to say, that looks like a pretty cool car. I hope I didn’t break it.”

“I don’t think you did. It is a cool car. It can even do wheelies. Do you want to try it?”

She shook her head, though touched by his generous offer.

“Another time, maybe. I have to take these groceries to my grandmother’s apartment. We’re fixing Thanksgiving dinner here tomorrow, and she won’t be able to brine her turkey if I don’t get the supplies to her in time.”

“I can help you carry them and then you can try my car if you want. It goes really well down the hallways.”

“We’ll both help you,” Rafe said.

She almost refused, as she only had a few more steps to go to Birdie’s apartment, but the boy looked so earnest and helpful, she couldn’t find the words.

“I would appreciate your help. That would be awesome. Thank you so much.”

Rafe picked up the remainder of the bags, except the one she was still somehow clutching, and the three of them moved together down the hall.

“Hey,” Isaac exclaimed as she rang her grandmother’s doorbell, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “This is where my friend Birdie lives.”

She smiled. “Your friend Birdie is my grandmother.”

She didn’t tell this boy that Birdie was just about the most important person in the world to Amanda. During the chaos of her childhood, Birdie had been a constant source of strength and comfort.

Into adulthood, Amanda had even lived with her grandmother in the little house on Huckleberry Street. Rose Cottage had always felt like more of a home to Amanda than her nuclear family’s grand lakefront mansion or even the condo she had purchased out of college.

After her grandmother’s macular degeneration diagnosis, when her vision had begun to worsen dramatically, Amanda had sold her condo and moved back in with Birdie.

She had not considered it any kind of sacrifice. Her grandmother needed support as she adjusted to her new challenges. Birdie had been such a loving support for Amanda through her life that helping her in return now had been a gift for both of them.

Her grandmother opened the door, her short, spiky white hair streaked with purple highlights today. She wore dangly earrings, her favorite rainbow-knitted slippers and a sweatshirt with a silly turkey and the words Gobble Till You Wobble on it.

Amanda never quite knew what to expect with Birdie’s fashion choices. She loved them all.

Birdie’s dog sat patiently at her side. Dash was not an officially trained service animal, but he did a good job of filling that role. He helped her avoid obstacles, he retrieved items that she dropped and he alerted her to dangers like traffic when they were out and about.

“Hi, Grandma. Hi, Dash. It’s Amanda. I’m here with your groceries.”

“Thank you so much for bringing those.” Birdie said, then frowned. “You’re not by yourself. I believe you have a couple of helpers.”

“Hi, Mrs. Birdie,” Isaac Arredondo grinned, shoving up his glasses. “It’s me. Isaac. Your friend.”

“Why, so it is! How nice of you to help my granddaughter.”

Isaac gave Amanda a guilty look. “I didn’t really help her. More like trip her. I was playing with my remote control car in the hallway and she stepped on it and fell on her behind. It was kind of funny, but I didn’t laugh because that would be mean.”

Amanda supposed she should be grateful for small favors. She sent a sidelong look to Rafe and saw he looked both amused and rueful at his son’s honesty.

“I imagine it was pretty funny to see me go sprawling. Like slipping on a banana peel,” she was forced to admit. “I probably would have had a hard time not laughing, too. I appreciate that you didn’t, even though you wanted to.”

“We’re going to be more careful with our toys, aren’t we?” Rafe gave his son a stern look.

“Yeah. I don’t want anybody else to step on it. They might break it.”

“Oh dear. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” Birdie wasn’t quite able to hide her smile.

“Yeah. Because I just got it from Abuelo and I’ve hardly had time to play with it yet.”

“You’ll have plenty of time,” his father said.

“Hello, Rafe, my dear,” Birdie said with a bright smile. “How are you?”

He leaned in and kissed her proffered cheek. “I’m good, Birdie. You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

Amanda had no idea the two of them were anything other than casual acquaintances. They certainly seemed friendly enough and Birdie seemed to glow at his words.

What woman wouldn’t glow, being the focal point of all that gorgeousness?

“Would you like a cookie, my dears? I just pulled them out of the oven. It’s the least I can do to repay you for helping carry the groceries.”

Huh. Where was her cookie? Amanda had been the one who shopped for all the groceries, carried them in and suffered a humiliating tumble because of Isaac’s toy car.

“Yes, please.” The boy beamed. “I love cookies.”

“I suppose I should have asked your father first if you can have one.”

“It’s fine. One cookie. I’m sure it won’t spoil his dinner. I doubt anything will spoil this kid’s appetite for pizza.”

“Oh good.”

As always, Amanda admired the way her grandmother faced her challenges. She had never let her low vision rule her life or set limits, she merely figured out a way around any challenges. Now she bustled over to the countertop, found the square container holding cookies, grabbed a paper towel to pick out two of them for her guests, then returned with them held out.

“One for you and one for your dad,” she said to Isaac with a conspiratorial grin.

Amanda suspected Rafe might be one of those people who only ate healthy food, who never let processed sugar or carbs past his lips. Not so. He took the proffered cookie with a warm smile.

“Thanks, Birdie,” he said. He then immediately took one bite, then another one, chewing with appreciation.

“Yum. Peanut butter kisses. My favorite. My abuela used to make those.”

“Hers were always much better than mine,” she said. “Rosita had the magic touch with everything she made. Oh, I miss her tamales.”

“So do I,” he said. “And her mole sauce. And her birria. Okay, everything she used to make.”

Birdie gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. His grandmother had died of pneumonia earlier that year, Amanda remembered. That likely contributed to his grandfather’s decision to move into the retirement community.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Birdie asked Rafe.

“Working, I’m afraid.”

Rafe, she knew, was the assistant fire chief for the mostly volunteer Shelter Springs Fire Department and also one of the town’s few full-time paramedic/firefighters. From everything she had heard about him, Rafe was a good man to have around in a crisis.

“I always have to work either Christmas or Thanksgiving,” he went on. “This year, I’m lucky enough to be able to take off Christmas so I can spend it with Isaac. Last year, if you’ll recall, I was working during the big storm, when we had a little excitement right here at the Shelter Inn on Christmas Eve.”

Amanda had been down with a bad strain of Covid the previous winter and had stayed away during the holidays so she didn’t pass anything along to Birdie. The storm the previous Christmas had been legendary, though, coming in hard and fierce. The roads in and out of town had been closed, travelers trapped in their cars.

During all the chaos, her dear friend McKenna Dodd, who along with her aunt Liz ran the retirement apartment complex and lived on-site, had gone into labor several weeks early.

Fortunately, her brother, Griffin, had been there to help safely deliver the baby. Griffin was another good man to have around in an emergency. McKenna and her husband, Travis, had been deeply grateful to have a trained family physician there to help during the unexpected delivery.

“Well, here’s hoping everyone working at the fire department over Thanksgiving has a quiet day. It’s supposed to keep snowing until tomorrow night. We’re set for about five or six inches, but nothing like that legendary Christmas Eve storm of last year,” Birdie said.

“Right. I imagine we’ll have the usual calls. Maybe a sledding mishap or two here and there and a few people who overindulged in apple pie.”

“What about you?” Birdie asked Isaac. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving while your dad is working to protect the good people of Shelter Springs?”

The boy beamed, busy petting Dash, who was clearly trying to lick any trace of peanut butter cookie crumbs off Isaac’s cheek.

“I’m going to my cousins’ house. I’m staying over. We’re going to go cut down a Christmas tree for them and for us, for Abuelo and maybe Abi and Ito.”

“My parents,” Rafe explained. “They’re shortened nicknames for Abuela and Abuelo, which means grandparents.”

“I hope I get to use the chain saw,” Isaac said cheerfully, a pronouncement that earned a trio of winces from all the adults.

“I think that will be your uncle Joe’s job.”

“Maybe I can help, though. I bet I’m really good at it.”

“I’m sure you are, but chain saws are for grown-ups.”

When Isaac looked as if he wanted to argue, Rafe quickly went on. “We should probably get back to your great-grandfather’s. He’s waiting for us to take him out for pizza.”

“Thank you again for helping Amanda with the groceries,” Birdie said.

“Thank you for the cookies,” Isaac said politely.

“Give Paolo my best,” Birdie said, with a particular twinkling smile Amanda didn’t quite recognize.

“I’ll do that. Bye, Birdie. Bye, Amanda.” Rafe gave them both a quick smile before ushering his son out the door.

Their departure left an odd sort of void in the room.

“He’s such a nice man, isn’t he?”

“Who? Rafe or Paolo?”

Birdie chuckled. “Both. Those Arredondo men sure hit the jackpot in the looks department. Don’t you agree?”

“Um. Sure,” Amanda said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“But anyway, what do you think about Rafe? He’s your neighbor now. I heard he bought Betty Scarborough’s old house. You must be happy to have such a nice, strong, handsome man down the street.”

Amanda frowned inwardly, though she was careful not to let a hint of her sudden unease show to her grandmother.

She really did not like that particular sly tone of voice. Birdie was a dedicated matchmaker. Whenever Amanda showed the slightest hint of interest in any man—even merely mentioning his name—her grandmother would be quick to swoop in and try to encourage a romantic connection.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “I believe he and Isaac moved in about a month ago.”

The reminder left her feeling distinctly guilty. For virtually every other new neighbor on Huckleberry Street, Amanda was always quick to drop off a treat or a casserole or something to welcome them to the neighborhood.

She was fully aware that since Rafe and his son moved in down the street, she had come up with excuse after excuse not to stop by.

“It must be good to see some life in that old place. Even I could tell Betty had really let it go downhill the past few years, especially after Elmer died. And I can’t see past the end of my nose. I can’t say I blame her, poor woman. Her health problems made it hard for her to keep up with the yard and such. It will be good to see what Rafe does to the place. I should stop by and check it out.”

“He’s only been in the house a month. I don’t think he’s had time to do much to it.”

She had noticed a big dumpster on the driveway for the first few weeks after he took ownership and had seen his father Al’s handyman panel van parked there frequently during the month.

She could admit to some curiosity herself as to what changes he might be making, though she told herself it was only natural to wonder, as owner of one of the other historic homes along Huckleberry Street.

So why hadn’t she taken the opportunity to stop by on a neighborly visit and check things out?

She knew the answer.

Because Rafe Arredondo made her as nervous as a baby bird in a thunderstorm, for a whole host of reasons.

“He’s had it rough, hasn’t he? Rafe, I mean. Poor boy.”

She nodded, though she certainly had a hard time thinking of a big, powerful guy like Rafe as something benign like a boy.

“I’m sure things haven’t been easy since…well, since everything happened with Caitlin.”

“Isaac couldn’t have been older than three when his mother took off, was he?

Amanda began putting away the groceries she had brought along, as familiar with her grandmother’s small, efficient kitchen here as she was of her own at Rose Cottage.

“I think so,” she answered.

What a tragedy that whole thing had been. Rafe’s late wife, hauntingly beautiful, had been her friend. She had been a frequent customer at The Lucky Goat, Amanda’s store, and had been considering taking one of their regular classes so she could learn how to make soap herself.

Amanda had sensed a loneliness in the woman, a deep core of sadness. One day, Amanda realized she hadn’t seen her around for a few months and she started hearing rumors that Caitlin had gone to rehab for a prescription drug addiction.

A few months later, she had been shocked to learn Caitlin had left the rehab program, had moved to Portland with friends and then had died of a drug overdose.

After the woman left town, Amanda had wondered if she could have done more to help her. She wasn’t arrogant enough to think she could save the world. Life would have quickly squashed that belief out of her if she ever made the mistake to think she could. But she had sensed Caitlin was struggling with depression and felt guilty that she hadn’t done more to reach out to her.

That was yet one more reason why she always felt…unsettled around Rafe.

As if she needed another reason beyond the fact that her father had been Dr. Dennis Taylor, whose name was still a byword in certain circles of Shelter Springs. Rafe’s family in particular had strong reason to despise her father—and by connection, her.

“Too bad he has to work tomorrow instead of spending Thanksgiving with his family,” Birdie said. “I hope he gets to enjoy a nice dinner of some sort at the fire station. I should take them one of my pies.”

Her grandmother made a delicious caramel apple crumble pie, using fruit picked from one of the trees at Rose Cottage.

“A pie is a great idea, if you think you’ll have extra.”

“I’ve already made three pies,” Birdie admitted. “I couldn’t help myself. And since Griffin won’t be here this year, it’s only you and me and my friend Mabel Mulcahy. I think I’ll have plenty.”

It would be an odd sort of holiday. Amanda, her grandmother and a woman for whom there was not enough apple crumble pie in the world to sweeten her temperament.

She would definitely miss spending Thanksgiving with Griffin and his girlfriend, Natalie, another of Amanda’s dearest friends. The two of them had traveled to Guatemala on another medical mission to provide health care to rural communities in need, their second since they started dating a year earlier.

She would miss them both, but how could she begrudge them their time away together, especially when they were engaged in a good cause?

“Maybe you could come over a little early tomorrow and give me a ride over to the fire station so I can deliver the pie. Given the snow we’re supposed to get between now and then, I’m not so sure I should be walking the three blocks to the fire station. Especially carrying a pie. Even with Dash’s help, I expect I would fall and break my hip again.”

She wasn’t ready to encounter Rafe Arredondo again so soon. But she also wasn’t about to let her grandmother make an errand like that on her own.

“Sure. If you feel strongly about it, I’ll take you, though I expect they’ll have plenty of food at the fire station.”

“You can never have enough pie,” Birdie said.

“True enough. Maybe you should put that on a T-shirt for next Thanksgiving.”

Birdie chuckled. “I think I’ll do that.”

Amanda wouldn’t be at all surprised.

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