A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart
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she wanted to with Luke St. John because once Precious and Clyde were married that would be that. No more Luke in her life. In the meantime? She was free to go for it because she had total command over her emotions. Everything was dandy.
That night Luke drove past several well-known pizza restaurants to the far side of Phoenix.
“You must really like the pizza here,” Maggie said, as they settled into a red vinyl booth. “You certainly were willing to drive a long way to reach this place.”
“Best pizza in Phoenix,” Luke said, glancing at his watch. “I’ll go up and place our order. What would you like on yours?”
“Anything and everything except the little fishes,” she said, smiling.
“Got it,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “Soda?”
“Perfect.”
A few minutes later Luke returned to sit across from Maggie and set a slip of paper on the table.
“I’m glad this is Thursday and not Friday,” he said. “We have the number thirteen. Thirteen on a Friday is bad news, you know.” He looked at his watch again.
“No worse than drowning in the bathtub because you wore the wrong color,” Maggie said drily. “Luke, what is with this sudden preoccupation with superstitions?”
“It’s not sudden,” he said. Oh, man, his nose was going to grow. “I’ve always been superstitious, but don’t talk about it much because people have a tendency to scoff.”
“Scoff?”
“Yes, definitely scoff. But, you see, Maggie, I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking about what you told me about the Jenkins Jinx. My first reaction was to tell you that it was nonsense. I scoffed. And I apologize to you for doing that. Jinxes, superstitions, wives’ tales all have merit. I want you to know that I respect your belief in the Jenkins Jinx.”
“You do? I mean, you’re not going to attempt to talk me out of it? Tell me it’s a bunch of baloney? Try to convince me that I could be a bride, get married, just like anyone else?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
Well, that was good, she thought. Wasn’t it? Sure. Then why did she suddenly feel so sad, gloomy and depressed? Luke’s acceptance of the Jenkins Jinx meant he was as fully prepared to walk away as she was after Precious and Clyde’s wedding. No fuss, no muss. That was…great. But her stomach hurt. And her heart hurt. Her heart actually hurt. Damn it, what was the matter with her?
“Luke, my boy,” a deep voice boomed, snapping Maggie back to attention.
“Well, Dad, my, my, what are you doing here?” Luke said, looking up at his father where he stood next to the table.
“Your mother got hungry for pizza so I called in an order and came to pick it up. This place has the best pizza in Phoenix, you know.”
“Yes, I certainly know that and you’re fortunate to live only a few blocks away,” Luke said. “You remember Maggie.”
“Certainly,” Mason St. John said. “Delightful to see you again, my dear.”
“My pleasure,” Maggie said.
“Luke, I’m just beside myself,” Mason said.
“Oh? Why is that, pray tell?” Luke said.
Pray tell? Maggie thought. For some dumb reason Luke and his father sounded like they were reading words from a script and not doing a very good job of it. No, that was silly. So what, pray tell, was Mr. St. John beside himself about?
“I lost my acorn,” Mason said.
Huh? Maggie thought, frowning slightly.
“Oh, no, anything but that, Father.”
“I know, I know,” Mason said, resting one hand on his heart. “I didn’t tell your mother I was driving over here without my acorn. She’d be worried sick.”
“For good reason,” Luke said. “But fear not, because I always carry two.” He leaned back so he could slide his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “There you go, sir. One acorn.”
Mason curled his fingers around the acorn Luke had placed in his hand, then slid the little nut into his pocket. He clamped one hand on Luke’s shoulder.
“Bless you, son. Enjoy your pizza. Good night, Maggie. Farewell, Luke.”
As Mason hurried away, the waitress appeared at the table and set a pitcher of soda in the center along with two glasses. Luke thanked the young girl, then filled the glasses. Maggie leaned forward, staring at Luke intently as she waited for an explanation about the bizarre interchange regarding the acorn. Luke glanced around.
“Sure is getting crowded in here, isn’t it? That’s understandable, though, when you consider that they serve—”
“The best pizza in Phoenix,” Maggie finished for him. “Would you care to explain what just happened here?”
“The waitress delivered our soda,” Luke said, smiling. “Hey, they just called number eleven. We’re getting closer. Man, I’m starved.”
“Luke,” Maggie said, smacking the table with the palm of her hand. Luke cringed. “What was that whole weird thing with your father about the acorn?”
“Oh, that,” Luke said. “Did they just call number twelve?”
“Luke,” Maggie said, narrowing her eyes and drumming the fingers of one hand on the top of the table. “The acorn. Now.”
“You bet,” he said, nodding. “Well, it’s very simple. It’s good luck to carry an acorn on one’s person. We St. Johns have toted acorns around for years. Years and years. Never go anywhere without our acorns, by golly. So you can see why my father was so upset about having lost his and not wishing my poor mother to know. But—” he grinned “—I saved his bacon because I always have two. Insurance, you know what I mean?”
Maggie leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s stupid,” she said.
“It certainly is not,” Luke said indignantly. “One could become jinxed, experience endless lousy luck if one didn’t carry one’s acorn, Maggie. Remind me to find an acorn for you.” He paused. “Yo. They just called thirteen. That’s us. I’ll be back in a flash.”
“But…” Maggie said, pointing one finger in the air, then realizing that Luke was long gone.
All the St. Johns were superstition freaks? she thought incredulously. They were intelligent, highly educated people, lawyers and what have you, for heaven’s sake, but they flipped out if they lost their acorn? How weird was that?
Luke interrupted Maggie’s racing thoughts by setting a huge, fragrant pizza in the center of the table, then sitting down again and rubbing his hands together.
“Now that looks delicious,” he said, smiling. “Dig in and enjoy.”
“I will, but…Luke, about this acorn thing. Your father didn’t say he’d experienced any bad luck or mishaps or whatever while his acorn was missing. Correct?”
Luke nodded as he chewed a big bite of the hot pizza.
“So,” Maggie continued, “doesn’t that suggest that there is nothing to the superstition surrounding the acorn? That it is just that—a superstition, which is fun and cute but…isn’t grounded in reality?”
Luke stared into space. “You’ve got a point there. When I was a kid I left my acorn in the pocket of my jeans and my mom washed them, turned the acorn into a mushy mess. It was quite a while before I could find another one because it was the wrong time of year. Nothing bad happened to me except that I flunked a spelling test, which was my fault because I didn’t study for it.”
Maggie