The Christmas List: A Novel -
: Chapter 6
Kier had met his girlfriend, Traci Steele a year earlier at a real estate showing less than a week after he had separated from Sara. She was nine years younger than he, though she looked even younger. Traci was a stunningly attractive, curvaceous brunette, the quintessential trophy wife.
At noon he picked her up from her condo in Alpine and they drove to a French bistro just outside Orem. The maître d’ sat them at Kier’s regular table, in the corner near a large window that overlooked the back garden. The yard was covered in snow and ice glistened from the garden statuary. Traci broke off a piece of croissant and buttered it. “So how was my sweetie’s morning?”
“I met with my wife and her attorney.”
“Oh, that sounds fun. Did we win?”
“We settled.”
“Just settled?”
“We won.” He looked down at his menu. “Sara’s not looking well. I think she’s sicker than she lets on.”
“That’s too bad. So when is it over?”
“When is what over?”
“The marriage.”
“I don’t know. Soon. Now Lincoln is recommending that I don’t sign anything and just wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Kier looked up from his menu. “For Sara to die.”
Traci wrinkled her nose. “Oh that’s cold, even for a lawyer.”
Kier frowned, tired of the conversation. “So what are you having?”
“The Caesar salad with shrimp.”
“Tell me about this bed-and-breakfast you booked us in to.”
“You make it sound like a jail. I promise you, you’ll love it. It’s called the Snowed Inn. That’s I-n-n.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
Traci ignored his tone. “It’s very quaint. And every room has a hot tub.”
“So I’ll make dinner reservations for six?”
“Oh . . .”
“Oh?”
“I can’t get up there until eight.”
“Eight? You said five. I canceled a meeting so I could take off early.”
“Oh honey, I know. I’m so sorry. I forgot that Mercedes has a dance recital and I can’t miss it. The last time I did she beat me up with it for two months. And then she told her shrink what an awful mom I am.”
“A dance recital?”
“Why don’t you come with me to the recital and then we’ll drive up together?”
“A dance recital? I’d rather chew razor blades. I’ll just go up early. I can get a nap in.”
“Good. Then you won’t be so grumpy when I get there.” Traci leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m not grumpy.”
A waiter appeared and quietly cleared his throat. “Are you ready to order?”
Kier looked up. “I’ll have the filet Oscar, she’ll have the Caesar salad.”
“With shrimp,” Traci added.
“Anything to drink?”
“Just a Coke. What do you want?”
“A chardonnay.”
“Very well,” the waiter said. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” He left.
Traci took his hand. “I’m sorry I’m going to be late. I’ll make it up to you. We can eat a late dinner, go dancing, then whatever . . . Just don’t pout. I hate it when you pout.”
“I don’t pout.”
“Well, whatever it is you’re doing.” She looked out over the yard. “It’s snowing again. It’s supposed to snow all weekend. Maybe we’ll get snowed in. Wouldn’t that be great? Snowed in at the Snowed—”
“Yeah, I get it.”
She buttered another piece of croissant. “Do you know why these are so good? They brush them with egg before they bake them. It makes them shiny like that.” She took a bite. “I took a French cooking class once. Maybe I’ll cook you a meal for our anniversary. Our anniversary is coming up.”
“Oh?”
“You forgot?”
He smiled. “No. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
She smiled back. “I like surprises. Usually.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You’ll have to.”
“You’re mean. I can see why your wife left you.”
“I left her.”
“Like I said, you’re mean.”
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