The Happiest Season by Rosemarie Naramore Page B

nice boat.  “Why do
you want that one, Mama?”
    She gave a shrug and said, “I’m realistic.  It’s the only
one I can afford—maybe.”
    John laughed.  “I’m afraid Rickey and I have pretty lofty
goals when it comes to boat ownership.”
    Maggie pointed to the tiny boat she’d selected, and then to
a much larger vessel.  “That’s a boat, and that’s—a yacht.”
    “You’re right,” he said.  “But I still want my yacht.”
    “And I wish you all the best in acquiring one,” she told
him, laughing.
    “What kind of a car do you want, Mama?” Rickey asked.
    She settled comfortably in her chair and turned toward him. 
“I’m happy with the car I have.”
    “But it’s a station wagon!” he cried, as if it were
repugnant.
    She gave him a surprised glance.  “And what’s wrong with a
station wagon?” she asked him, her expression concerned.  “Did someone you know
have something negative to say about my reliable, old wagon?”
    He heard a scolding tone in her voice and dropped his head. 
“My friends at school said mean things about it.”
    She draped her arm over his shoulders.  “Well, we’re not
going to worry about what our friends have to say about our wagon, are we?  She
gets us where we need to go, doesn’t she?”
    “Yeah,” he said, glancing up to meet her gaze.  “I’m sorry,
Mama.  Our car is good.”
    She nodded and kissed his forehead.  “Let’s look at the
boats some more.”
    He perked right up and began watching the boats again.  He
soon became entranced by the waves, which increased when a particularly large
boat drew past.
    “Look how big the waves are, John!” he cried.
    John nodded and pointed out the wake of a particularly large
boat.  “Rickey, do you see that sort of trail in the water, behind that boat?”
    He nodded.
    “It’s called a wake.”
    “A bigger boat makes a bigger wake, huh?”
    “You’re absolutely right,” he said, and then glanced at the
waitress who approached to take their orders.
    The young woman turned to Maggie first.  “May I take your
food order?” she asked.
    “I think I’ll have the soup and half-sandwich special,” she
told her, and Rickey will have the kid’s meal—a grilled cheese sandwich and
apple slices.”
    The waitress nodded and turned to John.  He gave Maggie a
brief look, smiled, and placed his order—the same as she had ordered.
    The waitress gathered up the menus and stepped away.
    John turned his attention back to Maggie and opened his
mouth to speak.  He thought better of it and clamped his mouth closed.  He’d
nearly told her she could have ordered anything on the menu, but decided
against it.  He’d read the uncertainty in her eyes as she had looked over the
menu.  He suspected she’d been struggling with her food selection, unsure if he
was paying, or if she would be.  And if he was paying, he knew she wouldn’t
want to order something expensive.  He sensed she was both frugal, and
thoughtful, and her reticence pulled at his heartstrings.
    Kim hadn’t worried an iota if she put them in the poor
house.  She had to have the best of everything, ranting and raving until he
caved in and went along with her.  Saying ‘no’ meant days of fierce fighting,
followed by the silent treatment, followed by him caving, followed by her disingenuous
thanks after.  As long as she’d gotten her way, everything was fine.  If she
didn’t, it meant living in a warzone until she was eventually placated.
    What the heck had he been thinking?—allowing her to get away
with her juvenile behavior.  Why had he stayed the course for so long, with a
spoiled prima donna?  What had possessed him to choose her in the first place?
    Well, in reality, she had chosen him, and he had gone along
for the ride.  And it had been a bumpy one, to say the least.
    As his eyes passed over Maggie’s face, he realized
something—that this woman was nothing like Kim.  She made the best of what she
had and was