The Golden Age of Charli: Gps

By Jena C. Henry

Empty nesters Charli McAntic and her husband, Pud, have settled into their golden years. Although their early days of retirement were filled with disillusion and despair, they are now ready to relax and swing upon a star. Pud continues to golf most days and Charli still organizes her closets and rearranges her collectibles, but now they are a solid team. Or are they?

Charli and Pud are no strangers to the art of creating fun. These days they spend their time sharing gourmet meals with their nieces and nephews, attending Cleveland Cavalier basketball games, and rekindling their romance. But when a series of calamities suddenly rock their world, they each meet a new friend, leaving Charli to worry if she and Pud are heading in the right direction.

In the third book of this delightful series, an empty nester is left to recalculate her path to happiness after she and her husband both discover that their golden years are full of more surprises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532010026

Jena C. Henry

Jena C. Henry is a blogger, book lover, and reviewer who presents workshops on how to write, publish, and promote books. She holds a juris doctor degree from the University of Akron. Now retired, Jena and her husband, Alan, live in tropical Ohio where they enjoy their two adult children and extended family, friends, and darling dog. This is the third book in the Golden Age of Charli series.

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Copyright © 2017 Jena C. Henry.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-1003-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1002-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016919939

iUniverse rev. date: 01/12/2017

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Fierce

Chapter 2 - Bad News

Chapter 3 - Adulting

Chapter 4 - The Notebook

Chapter 5 - Looking

Chapter 6 - Heirlooms

Chapter 7 - Hepped Up

Chapter 8 - Porches

Chapter 9 - Beautiful

Chapter 10 - Grand Central

Chapter 11 - Onward Christian Soldiers

Chapter 12 - Wunderbar!

Chapter 13 - Advent

Chapter 14 - A Christmas Story

Chapter 15 - In the Bleak Midwinter

Chapter 16 - Breakfast at Sibby’s

Chapter 17 - Summer Solstice

Epilogue - Amuse-Bouche

Prologue

I sign all my holiday and greeting cards:

Love from the McAntics,

Pud, Charli, Aug, and Zim

Pud’s given name is Stewart, but to most folks he is known by his childhood nickname of Pudding, or Pud, for short. Stewart reflects his hardworking, no-nonsense persona, while Pud shows his likable nature.

I started off with a longer name too, Charlotte Angstrom Eddy. I was named after my Swedish great-grandmother, and even though I go by Charli now, I appreciate that my full name connects me to my family. I am the mother of August and Zim and aunt to many fine nieces and nephews. I love my home and all my family, and that includes our big, fluffy dog, Oakley.

I was born in the 1950s and reborn in the wild ’60s and ’70s. Those were the days of T-shirts with slogans. Back then, my hippie ideas flipped out my parents, but now my mottoes have become more mainstream: Press On! and It’s a Great Life If You Don’t Weaken! One of my favorite songs is Fly Me to the Moon, released the year I was born.

Pud had an exciting career traveling for motorsports, while I was happy with hearth and home. First came love and marriage, then the baby carriage; we never hit any speed bumps. There may have been the occasional fender bender, but for the most part, we cruised past the milestones on life’s highway.

And then we came to the intersection of empty nest and retirement. Once Pud stopped working after forty-two years, it seemed that he and I no longer shared the same slogans or songs. We were moving away from each other. He was content to golf every day without me, and I dreamed of ways to reconnect with him.

Since those early days of retirement, we have been growing closer, through our love of family, fine dining, and happy hours. We’ve learned that our home and family is our touchpoint. We’ve worked together to grow fitter too.

So here we are, healthier and happier with our family and each other, skipping and twirling along through the colorful leaves of our golden years. When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true!

Right?

Chapter 1

Fierce

T he beautiful Audrey Hepburn looked down at me and smiled. Frail yet strong, a gentle vixen, with a hint of happiness in her liquid eyes that disputed her pout of disappointment, Audrey captivated me. She seemed to say, You are peering into my soul, and I am seeking your spirit.

You look fierce.

What did you say, Audrey? I mean, what did you say K8?

K8, pronounced Kate, turned my head with her hand, and I eased back into the chair. A real woman was smiling at me now. Ha! I don’t feel fierce—I feel like a mellow cupcake, I said to K8.

A what … a yellow cupcake?

No, mellow, or more like melted, totally relaxed and carefree. K8 was my stylist, nail technician, therapist, and best chatting chum. I had been seeing her for several years. She worked at a small salon near my home. I liked the owner of the place, a sophisticated woman, and the decor of the day spa, a sleek black-and-tan palette, and I had always been entranced by the large, enigmatic art piece of Audrey Hepburn that hung on the main wall. But I liked K8 the best.

When I’d first begun with her, we had been formal and polite, like the bottles of nail polish standing rigidly side by side on the chrome shelf. K8 would style me in a quick and competent way while mixing in a few routine questions: What are you doing this weekend? What shape do you want your nails? Will it ever stop snowing?

We had warmed up and bonded when we’d discovered our mutual love of food and wine. Our polite chat about a rapidly approaching Thanksgiving had exploded with us sharing our favorite holiday recipes. Suggested tweaks to green bean casserole and sweet potato stuffing recipes had led us to share stories about our lives and families. Now, when she waved me in from the waiting room and I followed her back to her station, we always hugged, a real hug and not a pat-on-the-back air hug, and then I picked out my polish, and we talked nonstop.

Through the years I’d learned that there was substance to the fit, pretty, and edgy young woman. K8 was going back to school to get an MBA so she could launch her own business. She rode a Harley, was conservative in her views, and was best friends with her mom. Her only piercings were to her ears, and she had no tattoos, at least as far as I could see. Now that she was pursuing graduate studies, I told her that, in my mind, she was no longer K8 but Kate. She answered to both names.

Kate applied the volumizer gel to my hair and scrunched and pulled at my chin-length curls. My formerly strawberry-blonde hair had turned a natural platinum white through the years—heavens, don’t call it gray—and with her expert sculpting of my locks, I did look like a fierce, somewhat-startled older lady.

The hair blowout was the last phase of my big afternoon intervention with Kate. My session with her had begun with the promise of a warm, soothing pedicure and her cry of So tell me all your news, girlfriend. Didn’t you just go somewhere? Pick out your color and then talk to me.

Kate had steered me to the new Hawaii collection of polishes. I’d picked up and peered at each bottle on the rack and debated between Make Mai Tai, a coral color, and Hula-Hoop, a pale mint shade. I chose the green for my toes and planned to try another new shade for my fingers. My one job accomplished, I dropped my varicose-veined feet into the swirling water and launched into the headlines of my life.

Yes, Pud and I went to Cancun for his consulting project with the biofuel company. Wait, what’s that smell?

I know; it’s gross, isn’t it? Mei is always trying out weird aromatherapy. Mei was the owner. I think this is ginger-orange-kale-tamarind, but it’s fierce.

The odd fruity, spicy smell reminded me to tell Kate about the adventure Pud and I had lived through with the massage oils in Cancun. I went on and on about the aqua Caribbean and the lovely resort and finally got to the wild story about our tropical-massage surprise. Those biofuel oils we rubbed on each other turned us green, I said. Cancun was beautiful but crazy. Of course, after all that excitement, we are back to regular life.

Kate laughed, and I paused as she massaged my feet and calves. Hey, you guys are retired and always having fun. Nothing ‘regular’ about you. You are the happiest person I know. Been anywhere good to eat lately?

Actually, we just tried an old standby that we had forgotten about, Don’s Historic Roadhouse. It’s on up the road to Cleveland; you’ve probably passed it a million times, that old brick mansion with the pretty patio and gardens in front?

Oh yeah, I always forget about that place. It’s been there forever.

Great service, varied steak and fish entrées, and a commendable wine list. I had the sea bass, just how I love it, crispy on the outside and moist and flavorful. Our server presented us with a giant chocolate éclair for a complimentary dessert.

What did you call the wine … commendable? Where did that come from? Well, as long as it’s bold and red, it’s fine with me. Kate smiled, tidied up her pedicure tray, and left me.

I relaxed as I awaited my manicure. I aim to be a positive and thankful person, and I was glad that she saw me as happy and fun. But had I always been happy? Pud and I had been married for more than thirty years, years of raising a family and keeping house and complying with to-do lists. I had been on automatic pilot. Then, when Pud had retired from his business travels with auto racing, it had been like the ice-bucket challenge, an abrupt and chilling jolt for me. I had pictured long walks and even longer talks with Pud. He had a one-word reply to all that: Golf!

Kate was staring at me. What?

I said, ‘You can bring your polish and come over, and we’ll get started on your nails.’ Hello, where are you?

Kate tugged down the legs of my skinny jeans, and I tiptoed in my pedi flip-flops to the nail station. Oh, your pedicures are so wonderful I completely collapse and lose track of everything. I was thinking about how Pud and I survived the first years of his retirement.

Oh yeah, is he still … what does he do all the time, tennis?

No, it’s golf, and yes, he still plays constantly.

As I soaked my fingers in the rose-petaled water and let Kate conquer my cuticles, I smiled as I recalled that, once again, something wonderful had been just around the corner for Pud and me. From our icy start, we had bonded by sharing time and gourmet meals with our young adult nieces and nephews. We had also grown closer to our two boys when we’d bought season tickets to the Cleveland Cavaliers. And these shared activities had connected us and made us both happy. We’d rekindled our romance. We’d changed our north wind into a spring breeze.

Hello, hello! Kate leaned toward me and rubbed my arm. You drifted off again, ha! You can let your nails dry, and then we will do your hair.

Hey, I’m an old lady; I’m allowed to daydream and drool.

You aren’t old. You’ve worked hard to get into shape, and you are fierce!

I followed Kate to the hair chair, guarding my newly polished fingers. Each nail gleamed like a piece of stained glass.

I like that Pineapple Slice color, first time I’ve used it, said Kate. Just a trim and a style?

Yes, as long as you make me ‘fierce,’ I said, teasing Kate with her favorite word.

Huh? She studied my head and began to trim. I enjoyed watching my haircut emerge in the mirror and the feeling of her deft fingers in my hair. Audrey looked down at both of us. You do look fierce, said Kate.

Oh, we’re almost done, and I haven’t heard about you! How is school going? I said.

Kate updated me about her classes as she worked some product into my hair. Then, she twirled my chair so I could admire my curls. I let Kate help me with my wallet and purse, and then we hugged good-bye. It was an air hug this time, to protect my nail polish. Say hi to your girls for me, I said. Thanks for everything! Love my hair and nails.

I glanced at Audrey Hepburn. I’m heading back to my real-life Tiffany’s, Audrey. Wonder what will happen to me next. I hummed Moon River as I waved good-bye to the receptionist.

Audrey smiled, and I thought she winked at me. Or was it a little tear?

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I walked to the parking lot and unlocked my car door. I own the cutest car in the world. As if reading my mind, a woman pulling into the next parking space waved at me, rolled down her window, and said, I love your car!

Oh, thanks, I do too. It’s really fun. This little Fiat, with Gucci features, was my pride and joy. With my family of men, I was overwhelmed by big muddy trucks and SUVs, all loaded with fast-food wrappers, air compressors, golf clubs, photography and bicycle equipment, and dirty gym clothes and protein shaker bottles. My stylish special-edition car was my girlie sanctuary.

I had just enough time to run into the grocery and pick up something fun for dinner. I felt like a French housewife, shopping for fresh food every day. Pud and I lived in a medium-sized suburb of Cleveland. We had the best of both worlds, a friendly and easygoing everyday life, with the opportunity to experience the culture and sports of a bigger city.

As I strolled into the large grocery building, I passed the new barbecue smoker machine, which gave off an enticing and mouthwatering aroma. But I resisted the temptation of ribs. Pud and I had worked together to lose weight last year, and I wasn’t about to gain it all back and lose my skinny jeans.

I planned to make a salad and grill some shrimp and scallops. I wondered if Pud needed more of his probiotic yogurt. I was obsessed with just-in-time inventory; I didn’t want to run out of items, but I also didn’t want to waste and overstock either. I wanted just the right amount of food in my pantry. As I rolled my cart through my world, I grabbed a four-pack of the peach yogurt and some cottage cheese for me. As I picked up an anniversary card, I spotted my younger son’s first-grade teacher, from years ago, wheeling up the aisle, and we chatted for a moment. She liked my new toes. Then I avoided the snack aisle, double-checked my list, and headed to the front of the store. I successfully navigated the self-checkout without upsetting the automatic lady too much with unknown items in the bagging area.

The rest of my day continued to be just as pleasantly unremarkable. Pud joined me after his golf round, and we made a little happy hour with white wine—smaller glasses now that we watched every calorie—and Havarti cheese that we weighed into accurate one-ounce portions.

To Muriel! We always toasted my zany distant cousin in honor of her zesty joie de vivre approach to carefree aging with alcohol.

We aren’t really a credit to Muriel anymore, now that we’ve gotten so healthy, said Pud.

True, we are no longer her acolytes.

Her what? said Pud.

You’re right; we have to toast someone else from now on. Who’s the patron saint of diets?

After we chatted and enjoyed our five o’clock repast, we entered our calories into our fitness apps. Every day, we did our best to record all the food we ate and our exercise. Pud continued with his daily routine and went to take a shower, and I let Oakley, our dog, out and turned on the grill for dinner. Oakley bounded to the grass, past the patio and fireplace, and zoomed back and forth across the yard. As the grill heated, I walked back into the kitchen to assemble the shrimp and scallop skewers and jumped. Who is that? Oh, it’s just Pud. What is he doing? I squinted. Pud was standing in the family room, dripping wet, with a towel awkwardly wrapped around him.

Darn it! he yelled. The phone rang, and you didn’t answer it, so I jumped out of the shower and ran to get it, and right away I knew it was an ad. When they ask for Stewart, I just hang up. We should get rid of this landline phone. Only people selling things call anymore.

Okay, well, go finish up, and then we’ll have dinner. I looked back outside. Oakley was lying in the shade. She was so obedient; she always stayed in the yard. I smiled and shook my head as Pud walked back to the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints. His given name was Stewart Eugene McAntic, but his brother and sister had nicknamed him Pudding when they were kids. He was right; if the caller asked for Stewart, it was a salesperson or survey.

Aside from the phone-call snag, Pud and I had a pleasant, uneventful evening and dinner. After our meal, I checked my social media, and then Oakley and I headed to the bedroom. She liked to snooze on the bed while I read from my e-reader. I checked my calories. I had enough for a few more ounces of wine, so I curled up and sipped and read about orphans on a train as Oakley stretched and sighed into the covers. Pud watched the end of his police procedural show, played solitaire on his computer, and then came to let Oakley out and tuck her into her crate for the night.

Pud came back and groaned as he maneuvered into bed.

Hey, hon, did you notice that I had my hair done today? I asked.

Pud gave a muffled grunt as he grabbed the covers and rolled over, asleep all ready.

Thank you, God, for another great day, I said as I put down my e-reader and turned off the light. Boring days are often the best ones.

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Bad things … threes …

The days were growing longer in early June, which was nice in the evening, but I stirred, dozing and drifting half-awake, earlier and earlier each morning as the sun gleamed in through the slits of the blinds. This morning, besides the bother of the sun, I was also cold. Pud had pulled all the covers off me. He must have sensed that I was waking, because he suddenly whomped all the covers back on me and trudged to the bathroom.

I thanked God for the start of another beautiful day and then rolled over one more time as the warmth of the covers spread through me. My dream took hold again. Why do bad things …

What do we have going on today? blasted in my ear as an elbow punched my nose. Pud had come back to bed.

"Oh … threes, come in threes … ummm … Rubbing my eyes to wipe away my odd dream, something about threes, I asked, What did you have in mind?"

What do we need to do today? he yelled, over enunciating each word. He sighed with the effort of repeating himself.

I yawned and tried again to conjure a more lilting, enticing response to Pud. And I said, ‘What did you have in mind, dear?’

Oh …

I straightened the tangled sheets and blankets and plumped his pillow. Here, lie back down, and I’ll be delighted to show you what we are doing today. I kissed his nose, and he promptly sneezed. I ignored that and gave him a bigger kiss on his lips before he could say something else that would bug me. A long time ago, I had a girlfriend who said, I want a lover that doesn’t talk at all. Just come over, and then go. She had a point. I sank down beside Pud.

He stretched and grabbed my shoulder, and I nestled in closer to him. He rolled on me. This is more like it. Then he reached for his cell phone on the table by my bedside. I must have rolled my eyes. What? he said. I thought I heard a text come in. I was checking to see if it was about what time our foursome was teeing off.

I almost said, Someone else is really close to being teed off, but I gave the seduction one more try. I kissed his neck and that soft place by his collarbone. Come on, just a few minutes more. Pretty please?

Pud turned on the TV to the business channel. What? Did you say something?

I gave up. I walked to the bathroom, put on a housecoat, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. I’ll let the dog out, I said as I headed to the kitchen. Pud kept right on changing the TV channels. I opened Oakley’s crate and gave her an ear rub and said a few silly things in baby talk to her. At least the dog was her usual friendly, sparkly-eyed self. She bounded out the door, and I took my mug, chose a french-roast K-Cup, and turned on the machine. I settled at the bar to wait for Oakley as the strong, toasty aroma of fresh coffee wafted to me.

There would have been a time when Pud’s coolness would have troubled me. But we had grown closer. I laughed to myself. I guess it’s easier for me to get in the mood now that the boys are gone. My fledglings had left the nest. August, or Aug, had first moved to downtown Cleveland a year earlier, and then he had moved to Pittsburgh to run the office there for the Cleveland-based media-marketing company he worked for.