He doesn’t know us …’ He was right. What he said made me go from mortified to giggling like an idiot all the way back to my parents’ house. They bought the story that we just went out of a walk. I’m sure they were grateful. I assumed their tabletop romp was exactly what my mom needed to loosen up and get on with the preparations for the Christmas Eve open house she planned for later in the afternoon and into the evening. Her bitchy scowling and mumbling had gone the way of being light on her feet and chirping like a bluebird to Christmas carols as she wrapped puff pastry around cocktail wieners and whipped up her pineapple barbecue sauce for the mini meatballs. They were the same things she made thirty and forty years ago. It all made Christmas familiar and cozy again, even if it was 76 degrees and the grass was as green as the leaves of the palm trees. Even when my parents lived in town, Mom always opened the house on Christmas Eve to family as well as friends as kind of an orphan. Just before I began to panic, I felt her loosen her hold on me just enough to allow me to breathe and still keep me from toppling over. Patti looked me straight in the eye and a silent but important lesson had been taught."Come on; I think we've had enough excitement for one day. Let's go up to the room and get ready for diner."We walked arm in arm back to our room, showered and unpacked our bags. Evenings, especially during the hot summer season, are casual; we dressed in jeans. Patti wore a short sleeve blouse and I a collared golf shirt. Armed with a list of places we should try supplied by our trusty travel agent, we went to the concierge and asked her to make reservations for the rest of the week. She pointed to one of the choices where we wouldn't need reservations for tonight and, after agreeing to make the rest of our reservations for the week, called us a cab. It was a flat ten-dollar cab ride to practically every restaurant on the island. Only the restaurant at the.
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