Jamaican Me Crazy , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Debbie DiGiovanni

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138 pages

English

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When putting together another "perfect" Christmas is just too much, the women of Lakeside Baptist Church rebel (as much as Baptists can) and buy six tickets to Jamaica. Trading their to-dos and grocery lists for sunscreen and flip-flops, the ladies think they're going to have the time of their lives. Only their sunny holiday turns out to be more than they bargained for and they get cold reality, sans sugarplums, for Christmas. A great escape for those snowy, gray December days, Jamaican Me Crazy is just what the doctor ordered. Christian women who dig friendship fiction like The Potluck Club will love this exciting tale of a Caribbean Christmas gone crazy.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 octobre 2006
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441239181
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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© 2006 by Debbie DiGiovanni Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com Ebook edition created 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. ISBN 978-1-4412-3918-1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

I dedicate this book to my friends at the Senior Center, who inspire me.

Cover Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Acknowledgments Prologue

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33

About the Author

Contents

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank some special people who have been there for me. First, to my family—each and every one of you. Your joy, understanding, and compassion mean everything to me. Next, to my old friends—too many to name, but you know who you are. You are never forgotten. We just keep getting better. Among my old friends, I feel compelled to mention a few, however. Phil Higgins, whose eagle eye has been particularly helpful in my writing. And Mike Faughn, who deserves a dinner in his honor (which I cannot afford at the present time). Mary Johnson, still the same after all these years. And Cathy Claxton, you’re an old friend, yet our friendship has been strengthened through a series of life-changing events this past year. You are as true as anyone I’ve ever known. And now to the new additions in my life that deserve mention. Barb Barnes, my editor and new friend. Your beautiful spirit can be felt across the miles. Mary Lee Woods, you have been a splendidly loyal friend. And to the rest of you by first name only to shorten it... Amy, you were from Day One a kindred spirit. Nancy and Tonya, you are talented women with the gift of hospitality. Izzy, the instant I met you I knew you were great. Some other special souls who have impacted my life recently are Mary, Sherrie, Ivy, Diana, Leah, Virginia, Jo, Linda, and Claire. And last, but definitely not least, is dear, sweet Pauline. Hugs!

Prologue

W ho would have guessed that the ladies dipping their toes in the turquoise waters of the Caribbean on the twenty-fifth of December were the once-predictable ladies of the Lakeside Baptist Christmas Club? Imagine a group of normally sensible, conservative women sporting Sponge Bob T-shirts and orange flip-flops, with their hair braided Jamaican style. The congregation of Lakeside Baptist Church couldn’t envision it. The news of the last-minute getaway was a complete shock. Peggy Wiggins had to play the piano two Sundays in a row, and let’s just say the piano is definitely not her calling. Jennifer Baker didn’t know she was going to start a revolution. All she knew was that Christmas was getting to her, and if she didn’t do something about it, she was afraid she was going to lose her mind. If it had been any other day, the truth might not have spilled out so honestly. If Jennifer had spoken to her best friend about her frustrations first, Claire would have reasoned with her. She would have told her life is tough sometimes. And if that didn’t help, then Claire would have purchased Jennifer’s favorite chocolates over the Internet and had them Fed Ex’d to her doorstep. Jennifer would have munched right through her restlessness. But Jennifer didn’t talk to Claire first. And Claire thanks her for it. All the ladies in the Christmas Club thank Jennifer for convincing them to take up Becky’s generous offer. Every time they see her they thank her profusely, do this jig they made up at the beach house, and say, “No problem, mon!” This drives the other church ladies mad. The membership of the Christmas Club has doubled since January. Suddenly all the ladies are feeling charitable. They’re pulling out their holiday sewing patterns and cookie recipes for next year’s underprivileged children’s party. “We want to go with you guys next time!” they say. The same ones who called them “terrible” and saidtheywould never do such an unspiritual thing. “There won’t be a next time,” Jennifer says assuredly. But the women don’t understand... it was just one of those onetime things. You had to bethereto learn the lesson. The pastor’s wife is starting a new Bible study on contentment, and Jennifer and the other bongo beaters are talking about more outreach to the community. Martha is wearing her hair down these days, and Lillian has incorporated an inordinate amount of beach illustrations into her Sunday school lessons. Claire and her husband are planning a Hawaiian cruise; Dawn is perfecting the Tropical Coconut Chicken recipe; and Becky, the only single of the group, is going back to Jamaica in the spring. Jennifer... well, she’s looking forward to next Christmas already. Just to assure you, the husbands and children sustained no permanent damage. In fact, Casey learned to tie her shoes while her mother was gone, and Trevor learned to make scrambled eggs. The husbands learned some valuable lessons. There were many small miracles that came out of Jennifer’s dance with Christmas discontent.

T o understand how Jennifer overdosed on Christmas, you have to know about her morning that first week in December. She had just flipped an egg and broken the yolk after a poor night’s sleep filled with puzzling dreams. In the dream she could remember, she was lumbering under a load of cumbersome packages, which may have been related to the previous day’s bad shopping experience. She was feeling the pressure. Jennifer noticed her son’s gourmet chocolate Christmas calendar lying on the counter. She wondered what beautifully shaped chocolate was behind the cardboard door for December third. She wondered, and then she did an unthinkable thing. She tore it open and stole the chocolate. It was a reindeer, and she bit off his head and then followed it with his brown, milky body. Jennifer jumped as her fourteen-year-old son walked in the kitchen, his dark hair spiked full of sculpting gel. Trevor’s big blue eyes widened as they took in her expression and then fell to the skinny box with an upturned flap she was holding. “Mom, is that the chocolate calendar you bought me?” With the evidence in hand—and mouth—what could she say? She stared at him blankly. “It’s okay; you can have it,” he insisted. “I’m so sorry, Trevor, I’ll buy you another one; I’ll buy you three.” Trevor smiled. “That’s okay, Mom. I’m getting sick of chocolate.” “Sick of chocolate?” Jennifer swallowed the last of the delicacy, thinking it was impossible to ever tire of chocolate. “They’re serving chocolate pudding for dessert at school, and I’m sure there’ll be even more at today’s party.” “Party?” She slid the calendar back onto the counter. “Yeah. This afternoon.” “And I’m supposed to bring...” “Rice Krispies treats.” She sighed. These parties were getting earlier every year. At least they packaged Rice Krispies treats now. Would she be a horrible mother to buy packaged goods instead of making them herself? “Oh yeah, I’m supposed to bring some canned stuff for the food drive.” Trevor walked to the cupboard and swung open the door. “Take the cranberry sauce. I bought too much.” “I don’t think people eat cranberries after Thanksgiving.” Jennifer gazed at her son’s tall form, then eyed the canned goods on the shelf. “Take the green beans then.” Trevor pulled three cans from the lazy Susan and rearranged his backpack to squeeze them in. Throwing his pack over his shoulder, he said a hasty good-bye that Jennifer only half heard. He was out the door and headed for the corner bus stop before Jennifer realized he hadn’t had breakfast, which most of the time, lately, had been Cocoa Puffs or Cap’n Crunch. A quiet fell over the house. Jennifer leaned against the counter in her blue terry robe. She stood there motionless, staring into space, until her husband’s entrance caught her attention. She grimaced at his mismatched outfit. Eric was wearing a red-collared shirt under a heavily patterned argyle sweater with a bulging belt underneath. The suit pants he’d picked out were too formal and his leather slip-ons too casual. You’d think a forty-year-old man could dress himself, but the ladies at his insurance office assured Jennifer he needed her help. “What are you burning?” Eric looked toward the stove and then at Jennifer.

“Burning?” The smoke alarm went off in the hall. Jennifer rushed over to the stove where her eggs were smoldering and turned off the gas. She dumped the burnt eggs in the overflowing trash can. Eric turned on the exhaust fan and waved his arms at the smoke. The alarm petered out as Jennifer scraped off the pan. She offered to fix him another egg. “Just pour me a cup of coffee,” he said sharply. “I haven’t made it yet.” Eric gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Have you planned the office Christmas party menu yet?” Jennifer choked. “I forgot about your Christmas party.” “How could you forget?” Maybe because Iwantto forget. She shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Jen. You’re living on some other planet these days.” Eric searched for his briefcase, which was in his hand. Jennifer sighed. “Can’t you just cater the thing?” She tightened the belt of her robe. The disappointment was evident on Eric’s face. “I want to have the employees here, in our home. To let them know that even though I’m the owner, we’re real people.” “If I host the party, they’ll know we’re real people. Trust me.” “Okay. Okay. I thought you’d like to do it.” The injured inflection in his voice told Jennifer he expected her to feel guilty. She stared at him, saying nothing. “I’ll have my secretary plan it, then.” Eric paused. Jennifer didn’t respond. “I’ll pick up a Krispy Kreme for breakfast—again.” This time he added a distressed look to the injured voice and pecked Jennifer on the cheek instead of kissing her on the lips. He went to the coatrack, grabbed his big jacket, and left abruptly through the side door to the garage. Jennifer stared out the window at the gray Minnesota skies for a long time. She knew she was forgetting something. It was on her lengthy to-do list. The one that seemed to grow by the hour. Krispy Kremes. Jennifer shrank with dread. “Oops. I was supposed to order the doughnuts for the ice hockey Christmas fund-raiser,” she said aloud. And then she remembered she had agreed to babysit her friend Ann’s parrot over the holidays and had promised Marge from the nursing home she’d talk to her children about them visiting her for the holidays... and that she had to pick out the best of the terrible family pictures to be printed on the Christmas cards... Jennifer glared at the clock. 7:55. For all the trouble she’d had this morning, it had to be later than that. The doorbell rang. Doesn’t anybody care what time it is? Jennifer opened the door with an unenthusiastic swing. It was her meek little neighbor girl, Chloe. Jennifer couldn’t help but smile at her sweetheart face and pigtails under a white wool hat that accented her baby blue eyes. “I’m collecting money,” Chloe said. Jennifer wasn’t sure what she was talking about. The cold air was blowing in, and she hugged her body to warm herself, still trying to remember. “Money for...” “You bought one of my Christmas wreaths, and the money is due to the school today.” “I did?” “Yes.” “Come inside, Chloe.” Jennifer directed her into the entryway and shut the door. Chloe’s boots left a mess all over her tile floor. “How much do I owe?” “Forty dollars,” Chloe answered as she pulled on her hand-knitted scarf. “Forty dollars,” Jennifer murmured as she shuffled over to a brass box on the entertainment center. It contained what was left of the dwindling Christmas money. She pulled out two twenties. “You’ll get your wreath next week,” Chloe declared with a wide grin as she took the bills from

Jennifer and stuffed them in her pocket. Then her eyes traveled around the room for an unnaturally long time. “Is something wrong, Chloe?” “I don’t see pigs.” “What?” “My mother says you live in a pigsty.” Jennifer felt the arteries in her neck expand. “Thanks for dropping by.” She ushered Chloe’s small frame onto the snowy porch. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and looked down at the puddle Chloe had left on the floor. Jennifer remembered the one time Chloe’s mother, Ellen, had dropped by. She had been getting over the flu and apologized for the dishes in the sink, the messy counter, and the laundry basket with bright red underwear (as red as her face) hanging off the side. Ellen had smiled. She understood, she said. Her house got like that too sometimes. Jennifer kicked off her now damp, fuzzy slippers, collapsed on the couch, and pulled a blanket over her weary body. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but she felt frazzled. And all this with not one Christmas decoration up yet. She picked up theGood Livingmagazine and opened it to the middle. “Do you ever think you’re the only one not having fun?” It was an ad for a nutritional supplement, and the gray-haired models looked to be having a blast. “Yeah, I do. I really do.” Jennifer tossed the magazine on the floor and pulled the covers over her head, feeling aged, at thirty-seven.