Christmas and Cleats Read online

  Christmas

  &

  Cleats

  By Clare Solly

  Copyright © 2019 Clare Solly

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781097809615

  For Erin, my Hetty.

  And for Jess, Joe, Henry, and Jack who adopted an elf into their lives and gave me Christmas in Connecticut.

  Chapter One

  Dottie took out her irritation on the shopping cart as she yanked to release one from the others. The cart squealed from abuse and an auburn curl fell in her face. She sighed heavily moving the curl for an instant before it obstinately flopped back in her face. This had been one of the worst weeks of her life. Her beloved museum, The East Haddam Historical Society was floundering. It had little money because of the late decline of visitors and several much-needed repairs. Dottie loved the place and didn’t want it to close forever. She had put her life blood into it ever since her father had his stroke and her mother had to stop overseeing the curation of the museum. Dottie felt like she had grown up in those halls, taking in all of the town’s history. But now it was failing. How would she ever pull the museum out of debt?

  Meeting earlier today with the board, it truly seemed like there was no hope. If she didn’t get some sort of profitable change by the end of December, the museum would have no choice but to close. This magnificent building held items that chronicled the history of the whole town. How could they close it? Over the years, the number of visitors had sadly declined. It was reduced to school groups and the ladies quilting society that met every Tuesday. Shaking off the thought of closure Dottie squared her shoulders and started down the first aisle. For now, she would ignore it all. She would at least take it back to its former glory for the holiday. Her focus in this moment was on decorating. Christmas season was her favorite time of year, after all.

  She had come to Frankincense and Myrrh Hardware to get decorations to cheer herself. The larger-than-normal small-town hardware store was owned by Frank and Murray. The quintessential curmudgeons had an age-old rivalry to see who could get their house biggest and brightest with Christmas Decorations. It was a town holiday tradition for the last forty years. Murray claimed Frank had turned his hair white.

  Distantly related second cousins, the two men had taken over the hardware store together adding more intrigue to their yearly contest. When Hetty, Dottie’s best friend, was little she suggested the store be named Frankincense and Myrrh Hardware. Murray was her grandfather and Frank her godfather. So as a young child, immersed with the Christmas story of the wise men, thought that at the time, two of the wisest men she knew were taking over the hardware store as a gift to the town. Why shouldn’t they call it Frankincense and Myrrh Hardware?

  Dottie smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks as she recalled the story. Even though Hetty was still a little embarrassed every time the story was told she took it in stride. She even started telling the story herself to patrons of the diner—Hetty had bought the place seven years ago. The local beauty queen with dark shiny hair and long legs; Hetty had won many pageants. Her talent was the flute, and her smile shone like a lighthouse and her blue eyes sparkled like the ocean. Everyone knew that was what really earned her the twenty-two crowns that decorated the diner The Queen’s Table. Food was her passion and she served homemade favorites with a foodie twist. She was quite the chef and enjoyed eating. The best part about no longer competing she could eat whatever she wanted. Hetty believed that happy people had curves. These days Hetty was very happy but still gorgeous and her smile never faded.

  However, even that award winning smile couldn’t seem to keep the museum alive. Hetty was on board for the museum, but even she couldn’t seem to talk the other trustees into keeping it open past the new year.

  “Here, you need to be cheered up. Go buy some Christmas decorations.” Hetty handed Dottie a handful of dollar bills after the meeting. The handful of ones and fives were Hetty’s tips from the previous week. Hetty liked to call it her “fun money” and used it for any number of things.

  “I… I don’t know…” Dottie said defeatedly, trying to hand Hetty back the money.

  “Come on,” Hetty took her friend by the elbows, both as a way to shake sense into her friend and to make sure she kept the cash, “You love Christmas. I can’t believe you haven’t started decorating yet. You know Thanksgiving was five whole days ago. These past few years you’ve given ‘Frankincense’ and ‘Myrrh’ a run for their money in putting up decorations, and you know they always have them up by December first, always,” Hetty said referring to her grandfather and godfather by the nicknames she had given them at the age of six.

  “Ah yes, the Lamb and Van Allen of East Haddam,” Dottie quipped.

  “Go over to their store,” she said shaking Dottie a little, “and go crazy.” She squatted so she could look Dottie in the eye. “You know you want to. Now go.” Hetty turned and shoved Dottie toward the door.

  As Dottie walked up and down the holiday aisle, she dazedly filled the cart with lights, garland, bows and Christmas ornaments. Dottie turned the corner to find wreaths showcased at the end of the aisle. With only one left on the shelf at her eye level, she looked around to see if there were more. There were a few dozen on the higher shelf. Dottie knew that if she stood on her tiptoes, she could just reach the bottom one. She was sure that she could just give it a quick yank and only the bottom one would come out, like a magician with a table cloth.

  Dottie reached as far as she could, but her fingertips barely touched the plastic green fringe. She had to have two, there were two doors at the front of the museum, the front door that led into the small mudroom or foyer, and the door into the front room of the museum. It was a Victorian style house that had been converted into a museum when it was bequeathed to the town when Esther Dorothy Williams had passed away with no known relatives. Dottie’s grandmother, then her mother ran the museum. It had a special place in Dottie’s heart because she always loved history and would spend hours at the historical society all her life. She was determined to keep the museum afloat, or at least send it out with the best Christmas ever.

  With no one nearby to help she put a food on the lowest shelf to give herself a boost. Grasping the shelf by her chest, she held on with her left hand and reached her right arm up as she stood on her tip toes. Dottie almost had a hold of the wreath. She pushed herself up on her toes a little higher. If she could only just—

  Swoosh. All of the wreaths came falling down.

  “OOOOUCH!” the deep male voice exclaimed from the next aisle.

  She looked down as he came around the corner wrestling wreaths off of himself. “What in Pete’s sake do you think you are doing you idiot—” He stopped as he removed the wreath from his sight and made eye contact. Of all the people to run into. Today. Why him?

  “Dottie—” he said as his breath left him. A tall, handsome man looked up at her as she climbed off of the shelf. A two-day old beard peeked out of his chiseled jaw. Sun bleached curls recklessly peeked out from under a sun bleached, sweat stained baseball cap. In dirty jeans and a heavy Carhart jacket, he looked like he belonged in a hardware store. Well, more like the catalogue of a hardware store. Or one of those fundraiser calendars with hunky men.

  She froze. She couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her in the flesh. She had watched him on TV many times, her boyfriend Harold was a big baseball fan. They had grown up together, but she hasn’t seen him in years. But what was he doing in Connecticut again? And what was the sudden breathlessness and heart racing she was feeling? She chalked it up to worry that he might cause a scene or sue for toppling a display of wreaths on him.

  “Joe…” she said in a breathless whisper, “what are you doing here
?”

  “Getting hit on the head with Christmas, apparently,” he said as he lifted a wreath with his hand. He grinned at her and blushed a little. The flirtation only lasted a minute and then his temper flared, “What do you think you’re doing, throwing a Christmas display on my customers?”

  She sputtered as their pleasant reunion turned bitter. “I… I… well, I’m decorating the museum, if you must know. Not that you would care, walking out of town and never looking back.” Dottie didn’t know why she threw in the barb and regretted it immediately.

  Lashing back at her, Joe raised his voice, “Well, some of us had the good sense to get out while the getting was good! I—”

  “Can I help you two with something,” Frank appeared out of nowhere and interrupted. Dottie and Joe shared a shamed look. “Or can you stop carrying on as not to scare the other customers?” Frank’s tone changed noticed the wreaths all over the floor. “What did you do to my store?” he looked accusingly at Joe.

  “Me? It was—she—Dottie was—” Joe sputtered.

  “So sorry, Frank. I was trying to get to the ones on the top shelf, and I toppled the whole bunch,” Dottie said sheepishly as she started to pick up the wreaths scattered about on the floor.

  Joe bent over to help when they bumped heads.

  “OW!” they both said at the same time.

  Joe stood up and scowled. “You are a menace, woman! Always have been.” Joe said accusingly.

  “What?” She stood up quickly, accidentally bumping her shopping cart, sending it into Joe who fell onto his backside.

  “See, you’re proving my point!” He said shouting back at her.

  “Here,” Frank said offering him a hand and pulling him up. “Joe, what can I help you with?” Frank said a little too starry eyed. He then cleared his throat and his excitement of a star in his midst. It was, after all one of the town’s own. And Joe was just a man.

  As Joe stood up, with just a little of Frank’s assistance, his athletic legs flexed and did most of the work. Why was she looking him over? His voice snapped her out of observing him when he said, “I was looking for new tools. There don’t seem to be any out at my parent’s house, and I have many repairs to make. I need a good screwdriver, and a hammer to start with. I also need some paint and will need all the supplies to go with that.”

  “Right. Sorry to hear about your parents passing. Glad they left you the house though,” Frank said.

  “The whole town was sad to hear it,” she said in an awkwardly comforting manner. “I always loved your mother,” Dottie added.

  A momentary revenant silence fell over aisle seven.

  “So....” Joe continued awkwardly. “I came here to get started.”

  “Great,” said Frank leading him away from the chaos, “they’re over on aisle four, come with me,” he led Joe away from Dottie. “Oh Dottie, don’t worry about those,” Frank said over his shoulder to Dottie resuming her wreath cleanup. “I’ll come back to tidy them up in a few minutes.”

  Dottie watched as they walked away. Absentmindedly she stacked the wreaths in her hands. Joe looked good, she thought to herself. But then any man who had fifteen and a half million dollars a year for the last five years and played baseball professionally would look good. There was something sad in him as well. She didn’t know why. He was supposedly at the top of his game, engaged to a reality television star who was recently a hit as a model. Maybe it was just the wash of memories because of his return home. His parents had been gone for eight years, but he hadn’t been back for almost twenty years. There was something, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Memories flooded her brain of building a fort, running after the ice cream truck, and spending hours together. She, Hetty and Joe had been “The Three Musketeers” growing up, but in high school things changed. Joe became distant. She assumed it was because he was so focused on becoming the best at his sport. He excelled at baseball. In fact, when the scouts started coming their Junior year to his baseball games, it was no surprise when he got offers. It was a surprise that he elected to defer the Major League until he finished high school. The day after graduation, he went right into the minors and stayed playing for the Spokane Indians until he was called up just a few years later to the Majors for the Los Angeles Rangers.

  Dottie was pulled out of her fond memories when she realized she had picked up all of the wreaths. She did one more pass down the Christmas aisle to make sure she had everything she needed. However, it was more to avoid Joe who was probably checking out now. Dottie made her way to the register and made her purchases; all the while Joe was on her mind.

  Chaapter Two

  As he walked out of Frankincense and Myrrh Hardware, Joe shook off the feelings tingling through his heart. Dottie was always beautiful, but somehow today she looked more beautiful than ever. When they were kids, her frizzy red hair was everywhere, unruly like the girl underneath it. Today it was tamed and had a lovely bouncy curl. Taller than he remembered, she had grown into a womanly body with soft curves in the right places. In school she was always bean-stalk skinny and more angular. Her face had softened, too. She had on make up today, something she didn’t do much when they were in high school. He appreciated her minimal amount. His girlfriend wasn’t ever without makeup on, even at home. Dottie was simply beautiful. His heart ached at seeing her. She was the one that got away. Or that he had let get away. He always regretted not…

  But that was years ago, he shook off the memory and reminded himself. A different life. A different time. A different him.

  Maybe it was a mistake to come back here, back to this town? He had come because he thought he would find answers. His game was off, and Coach said he needed to get his head together to be more productive next season. Besides he always meant to come back to fix up his parents’ house and sell it. But what was he doing back here in this sleepy beach town in Connecticut? There were too many memories. He needed to just fix up the house and get out of here. Back to Los Angeles for Christmas. Not that there was anyone there anymore. Not since Heather had left.

  Heather was the girl that looked like she should be on a baseball player’s arm: blonde, fit, and stunningly toned. She was perfection personified. They were supposed to be getting married, but the papers leaked the location and details, they postponed to plan something different. Something had felt wrong, and he had called it off. Heather had been telling the press that it was still indefinite, but he knew they were wrong together. She had different goals. Heather liked the crazy life of being famous. Joe just wanted to play ball and then come home and live like a normal person. Cook dinner together with a family. Heather made it quite clear she didn’t want that. Joe broke it off and left. The press would find out eventually. He would give her all of the time she wanted before he would admit to it. He did care about her enough not to blast it all over the papers. But with last season ending so terribly, and with he and Heather being the couple all of the paparazzi were following, it was hard to hide.

  Where was better to hide then his parent’s home. So here he was fixing up this old two-story farmhouse trying to hide. But the memories seemed to spill out of every room the moment he walked through the front door. Most of them good, they were a very happy family. A terrible car accident that took both his mother and father on the way home from one of his Major League games. At least he hasn’t lost them growing up. The memory of his coach coming up to him after a post-game interview with the press, whispering in his ear that he had something important to tell Joe flooded his brain. It was a moment when the whole world stopped. Coach tried to get him to take some games off, but he just kept playing. Baseball seemed to make the pain go away.

  This homecoming was bittersweet. It seemed like he was both running away from and running to something.

  As he stepped into the living room Joe was hit with the memory of his junior year. His first offer from a Major League team. He and his dad sat in the living room discussing all of the pros and cons. They made a list of
all of the reasons Joe should go to college. And another of all of the reasons he should pursue his dream. They finally agreed that he might not be at the top of his game yet, but as a catcher, his knees only had a good ten to twelve years in them. Joe might as well go right into the game. College, his father agreed, would wait. High school, however, should be finished.

  Maybe it was time to think about going back into college. Joe clenched his chiseled jaw knowing that his mother’s dream was for him to get a diploma. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, almost as if to massage away the painful memory.

  A knock on the front door took him from the thought.

  “Hello,” an older, raspy male voice hollered from the front door, as the squeak of the front door’s hinge punctuated his entrance. “It’s Frank.”

  “Hey, Frank,” Joe replied as he turned toward the front door and the memory faded.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to drop off your paint. I’ve got it in the truck,” Frank trailed off as he slowly wandered through the house, looking around. Frank whistled. “You have got a great house here. With a coat of paint and a few nails and screws, you will have a great home. That is, if you’re staying?”

  Joe smiled and rubbed his neck and looked at his feet. “I don’t know, Frank. I have my life out in LA. I just came home to clean this place up and sell it.”

  “Ah, I see.” He gave Joe an all-knowing look. “Too many memories.” Frank sighed, but had a glimmer in his eye, as if he were up to something. “Too bad, the high school was looking for a new coach. We were hoping that we would find someone with experience,” the older man-made eye contact with the younger. “Thought that maybe you might be up for the task, but that was getting our hopes up, ‘specially if you’re just leaving again.”

  Joe chuckled. No one would expect a frowning, gnarly, curmudgeon like Frank to be as meddling as a lady in the East Haddam Knitting Club. Little towns in Connecticut were not quite tiny enough that everyone knew everyone. But small enough that everyone knew enough of everyone’s business. And the hardware store was where the people in this town seemed to get their gossip. Joe knew that shortly after his visit to Frankincense and Myrrh Hardware, everyone in town knew he was back. Especially after that run in with Dottie. Everyone seemed to infer he and Dottie were meant for each other. He clenched his jaw again.