Page 25 of The Calendar of New Beginnings (Dare Valley #9)

“That’s very admirable,” she said, liking him already. “I’m sure we can come up with something that’ll please you both.”

The next woman emerged—the one Lucy feared more than anyone.

Ester Banks might be eighty, but she was no one’s version of a good grandma.

The older woman and her mother had been friends since meeting in a stained glass class when Lucy was a girl.

She had a blue streak running through her silver hair, a low-neck top showcasing her double D’s, and a fake candy cigarette in her mouth.

Ester also had a potty mouth that could beat out Betty White.

“Hello, Lucy,” she said in a throaty voice, pretending to smoke her candy cigarette. “I’d prefer to include my current boyfriend—he’s at the retirement home—but your mama’s being a real bitch about doubles. How do you feel about it? ”

With the fake cigarette pointed in her direction, Lucy struggled not to laugh.

“Honestly, I have to agree with the bitch,” she said, making everyone laugh, including Ester, like she’d hoped.

You couldn’t show fear to that woman. She ran over people like tanks rolled over protesters. “I don’t do couples, Ester.”

“Then you’re a bitch too,” she said in a throaty voice, laughing.

“Well, I had to try. If it’s only going to be me, I’d like to lie naked in the back of my red ’67 Pontiac Firebird.

I had a lot of fun in that car with my husband, Howard, before he died of prostate cancer fifteen years ago. Seemed like the thing to capture.”

Lucy suspected Ester had never planned to include her current boyfriend. She was only going for shock value like she usually did.

“I appreciate the compromise,” she said as Ester blew fake cigarette smoke in her direction and walked to the cosmo punch bowl.

When Hairy’s’ main bartender, Mike Dougal, walked in next, Lucy was knocked off balance.

“Hiya, Luce,” he said, giving her one of his lady-killing grins. “Mr. September at your service.”

“Does my dad know about this?” she asked him before swinging her head to stare down her mother.

Her mom crossed her arms over her chest. “Your father doesn’t want to know any of the details about this calendar. We made an agreement.”

Likely to preserve his sanity as much as to prevent her mother from embarrassing him with tall tales of the photo shoot.

Her dad was one smart cookie. “Fine. Mike, what do you have in mind? To be honest, I’m almost afraid to know.

” The bartender’s reputation as a ladies’ man was well known, but he’d never so much as looked at her wrong.

Her dad would have killed him, and he knew it.

“I was thinking you could rig something of me building a Guinness at Hairy’s,” he said, gesturing to his front. “Beer has a head, after all, and?—”

“Stop! I get the picture. Thank you, Mike. Next!”

Jill sauntered in. “Personal introductions aren’t needed,” she said saucily, hiking up her hip like an old movie bombshell. “Miss October in the flesh.”

Lucy expected her cousin to suggest adding milk foam to cover her sizable rack or something since she owned the town’s coffee shop. A headache spread across the base of her neck to her temples.

“I should have guessed you’d volunteer,” Lucy said, cocking her brow.

Jill was going to be worse than Ester, and she proved it by sticking her tongue out at Lucy.

“As I told my cousin recently, I’m a genius. So, Lucy, I’ve been racking my brain for the best pose, and I think I want to go all Latin.”

Chef T spewed out his bourbon and started coughing like it had gone down the wrong pipe. Poor guy. Her mother had regaled Lucy with the hilarious stories of Jill teaching Chef T Latin dance moves so he could win a date with his now-fiancée, Elizabeth.

Jill looked over her shoulder at him. “Sure you don’t want to pose with me, Chef T?”

More hooting erupted as the chef narrowed his eyes. “Not a chance in hell,” Chef T ground out.

“Your loss,” her cousin said, executing a flawless salsa move.

“I see you have hidden skills,” Lucy said, crossing her arms.

“They aren’t so hidden anymore,” Jill informed her.

“You’ll have to come to our Latin dance class, Luce.

It’s so much fun and a great workout. Now back to my pose.

I was thinking feathers too—the kind women dancers wore in old movies—but if Mrs. Feathers wants to use them, I could use a hat covered in fruit to cover these beauties.

” She extended her hand to her boobs like Vanna White introducing the next letter on Wheel of Fortune.

Chef T groaned and covered his eyes. Like that would do any good. The image was already seared into Lucy’s brain. “Very Carmen Miranda of you. Thanks for sharing.”

“I have more ideas!” she declared.

Lucy turned her around and pushed her toward the bar. “I think that’s enough for the moment. Next.” She was starting to feel more in charge as each new subject emerged, and it felt good. This was going to be her photo shoot, and her mother needed to understand that.

She blinked rapidly when Old Man Jenkins shuffled forward in a plaid shirt tucked into brown pants.

Lucy didn’t know when everyone had started calling him Old Man Jenkins, but she’d never heard him called anything else.

He used to be one of the biggest volunteers in Dare Valley, always leading one church or town improvement committee after another.

“Mr. November,” he said in a gruff voice through a lopsided grin. “I’m the oldest of this motley crew. I’m ninety-one.”

He was adorable. Lucy gave him a soft smile. “We’re lucky to have you.”

His scoff made everyone chuckle. “I might not have a young body anymore, but I’ve fought in two wars and devoted a lot of my time and energy to this town.

I run Bingo night now when I’m not spending time with my friends at the senior citizens’ home.

I’m representing all the old folks who’ve lost someone to cancer.

While some people suggested I incorporate a Bingo theme—which I nixed because the balls are too small—I was hoping you could drape a flag over me since I’m dedicating my month to my brother. He died in Korea fighting beside me.”

Any laughter generated by his Bingo ball comment faded. Everyone seemed moved by his earnestness, and in that moment, Lucy knew she was going to treasure hearing his stories while she photographed him—her way—capturing the hard angles of his cheeks and mouth, chiseled from age and experience.

“Thank you so much for sharing, Mr. Jenkins,” she said. He nodded crisply and shuffled over to the bar to shake hands with Rhett, who led him over to the table and poured him a bourbon.

It did Lucy’s heart proud to see a younger man giving proper respect and care to the older man. So many of the cultures Lucy had experienced around the world respected the elderly in a way she wished people in the West would.

Lucy turned and saw her mother standing in the doorway, waiting for her full attention. “Mother. Somehow I am not surprised to see you’re rounding out the year as Miss December.”

Her mother gave an impish grin and sauntered forward. “I thought it fitting since I’ve won the Best Decorated House for Christmas award in Dare Valley five times—a town record.”

Lucy refrained from pointing out that her dad was the one who climbed his ever-faithful ladder in the snow each year to hang her mother’s extensive assortment of decorations and lights.

Growing up, Lucy had hated decorating for Christmas.

All the work had turned into a chore, so whenever she couldn’t come home for Christmas, she comforted herself with the thought that at least she wouldn’t have to help create the O’Brien Winter Wonderland.

“And your idea?” she asked because she would give her mother the respect she’d given everyone else. “Still thinking of mangoes?”

A few of the women snickered while Jill hooted out loud. “Mangoes,” Jill cried. “You can do better than mangoes, honey.”

“You’re the one who wants to cover your boobies with a hat made of fruit,” her mother shot back.

“Ladies!” Lucy cried, noting how the men had clustered together in solidarity, not that she blamed them.

“Mom, please share your idea with us,” she said, giving Jill a hard look.

“I, too, have been thinking about what I’d like to convey to our readership,” her mom said in a dramatic voice. “I was wondering if dressing up like Cleopatra might be intriguing enough. There are tales of how she hid in a rolled-up rug, wearing nothing but a headdress, to get to Julius Caesar.”

“Very Katy Perry of you,” Jill said, tapping her mouth. “I love it!”

Lucy didn’t. It was exactly the kind of cheap theatrics she rebelled against. “Thank you for sharing, Mom,” she said kindly, facing the twelve volunteers before her.

“And thanks to all of you again for being a part of this. I’m really happy to be involved as well since it’s for such a great cause, and it honors the people we loved who died of cancer. ”

She made sure to pause, hoping to shift the mood in her favor by reminding them all why they were here.

“I have to confess that this calendar isn’t the kind of photo shoot I normally do.

” Her hands broke out in a sweat at the thought of taking photos of any kind, but they couldn’t know that.

“I’m willing to keep an open mind about the kinds of poses you’d like to do.

This might make some of you feel vulnerable.

For others, it will be a walk in the park. ”

She gave a pointed glance to Jill and Ester, who both started laughing.

“As you probably know, I’ve taken photographs for some of the biggest global organizations’ calendars out there, raising money for anything from human rights to women’s empowerment.

I know what works, and while I really like this idea of taking fun, risqué photos, I wanted to suggest another approach for you to consider. ”

Her mother jammed her hands across her chest and stared at Lucy with fire in her eyes.

“Since you’re all making a dedication to someone you lost in the calendar,” she continued, “why not pose with the person’s photo or a special memento.

Like the flag Old Man Jenkins mentioned.

It personalizes the story in a beautiful way.

Or we can even shoot you in the person’s favorite place—like the convertible Ester mentioned, or somewhere special you used to spend time together. ”

A few people were nodding now, and she smiled at them in solidarity.

“I got laid plenty in that car, God bless my Howard,” Ester said, finally eating her candy cigarette.

Her mother walked toward her. “Lucy, we discussed this. I don’t want this to be one of your sad calendars.”

The bubble of solidarity she’d been creating burst, and her mother’s insinuation gripped its claws around her. “I’m not saying you have to make it sad, Mother. Only meaningful. Authentic. If you’re telling the story of your loss, why not have a photo that captures it?”

Everyone looked at her mother, sensing a showdown .

“Lucy, this calendar shows that life moves on,” her mother said in a hard tone. “That people still laugh and have fun. That’s why it’s called The Calendar of New Beginnings.”

“There’s no reason the photos I’m suggesting wouldn’t fit that theme,” she said diplomatically.

“Surely you understand that considering Chef T’s participation, not to mention a few of the others in your group, this calendar could be sold nationally, perhaps even internationally.

I just want a product that is going to be equal to that level of exposure.

” Even if she wasn’t sure how she was going to pull off her part of the bargain.

“You mean your level,” her mother said sternly.

“Ellen,” April said, laying a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Lucy makes a good point. Maybe we should discuss this more with her once everyone leaves.”

“We did discuss it with her,” her mother said, making the others look away in discomfort.

“If you didn’t want to do it, you should have just told us.

I could have asked Farley Higgins. He has a pretty good photography studio here in town.

But I was hoping you might be willing to use your God-given talents to help us out since you’re back in town. Clearly, this isn’t your thing.”

Her mother could throw guilt around like ninja stars.

“Mom, I’m not saying I don’t want to be involved.

I was only sharing a concept that came to me as I was thinking about this calendar.

I hoped you would listen to my idea since I was respectful enough to listen to yours.

It’s not like we couldn’t take more than one photo.

” She considered the possibility. “We could have one that’s about the loss and another funny one about the joys of moving on. ”

A few people were scratching their chins. Even Lucy wasn’t sure how that would work .

“Sounds like you two have some personal problems to work through,” Old Man Jenkins said, calling a spade a spade. “I’m old, and I’m tired. I’m going to head on home. When you two figure things out, give me a call.”

A few people nodded, and Ester shrugged. “I gave Old Man Jenkins a ride here, so I have to go. But he’s right. Work it out. Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow at Latin dancing.”

Pretty much everyone else followed them out the door, fleeing like a herd of water buffalos that scented lions. Too bad she and her mother were the lions. Lucy didn’t want to battle it out, but she knew it was inevitable.

Jill gave her an encouraging hug before she left. April whispered something in her mother’s ear as they hugged goodbye.

When they were alone, her mother turned to her, fire and brimstone flashing in her eyes. “We need to get something straight.”

Cue the showdown.