Bridgette approached Frank while eyeing the workers. A few of the men smiled at her. The others who knew her kept their eyes focused on the floral pattern on their lunch plate as they sniggered. Bridgette smiled sweetly at the gawking men with just a hint of annoyance showing in her brown eyes. Noticing that they were still staring at her, she ran her tongue over her teeth. She looked at them and asked teasingly, “What? Do I have something in my teeth?” The men did not answer.
With a confused look on her face, she pursed her lips and looked to Frank.
“Yeah. I need your keys,” demanded Bridgette.
“Huh? Why?” replied Frank in confusion.
“The Gremlin is dead for now. I need your keys!” Bridgette reiterated, becoming impatient.
“Forget it! You’re not going up the Pass by y’self!” exclaimed Frank incredulously.
“I was going to go up the godforsaken mountain in the green piece of crap, so what’s the difference?”
“No you certainly were not! I was going to drive you.”
The conversation had finally reached its boiling point. Bridgette’s face now matched her hair - a vibrant shade of red.
“Keys, Francis!” demanded Bridgette as she held out her hand for the keys, foot tapping rapidly agaist the floor. Frank stared at her with an amused expression on his face as he let out a hefty sigh.
“I need to make a call. Wait here,” Frank instructed Bridgette, pointing to her seat. Bridgette stretched her lips, as a devilish look appeared on her face. The look can only be described as the appearance a child has after she did something highly mischievous.
"Oh, Francis, by the way..." began Bridgette slyly. Frank turned around with one eyebrow raised. Listening to the tone of voice Bridgette used, he knew to expect some sort of foolishness. Hesitantly, he responded, but not without flashing a ninety-watt smile at his wife. She was a pain, but she lit up his world.
"Yes?"
"Don't forget to get the car seats out of the back seat, and I have packages in the trunk. Oh! And don't forget my purse!" Bridgette quickly explained.
"Packages? What packages?" asked Frank wearily.
Frank's workers perked up at the opportunity to see someone put Frank in his place. They were especially interested to see if this young lady was up to the task. Bridgette replied sweetly to Frank's question.
"It's Christmas Eve. This is generally what happens every year. In America, it is customary to give presents to family members, especially children. Seeing as how we live with five, soon to be six children, there are a lot of presents."
"I was under the impression that our shopping was done. What did you buy now?!" asked Frank, his voice giving away his annoyance.
"A bumper set for the baby's crib and a pretty homecoming outfit! Also train sets for the little guys, an Atari for Adam and Liam, and a few things for you, too. A new leather coat for Dad, some books for Mom. Wait until you see it all!" exclaimed Bridgette.
“I don’t want to see it all! Don't you think you went a little overboard? You've already purchased that baby a whole wardrobe! And the boys? It looks like a toy factory threw up in the living room!” whined Frank.
"Francis! This is for our godchildren!"
Frank chuckled. She really knew what buttons to push! Frank put his hand over his mouth for a moment to prevent himself from screaming. "Bridgette! This is our fifth godchild! Fifth!" Bridgette waved him off with her hand as if she were swatting a fly.
Frank took this as his cue to make the phone call. Bridgette, clearly ignoring Frank, now diverted her attention to her baby who was sitting on her lap and beginning to complain.
“Oh, Shane, you cannot be hungry already! It’s okay, buddy!” Bridgette cooed to her young son.
Frank’s youngest employee Kyle finally returned with Frank’s turkey club and he placed it on the table directly in front of Shane. Frank, who had just hung up the rotary telephone, exclaimed with glee.
“It’s about bleeding time! Thank God. I am starving!”
As Frank was praising the heavens for the delivery of his food, his son Shane was reaching out for his plate. Grabbing the top piece of bread and a fist full of turkey, Shane happily stuffed it into his tiny mouth. As Frank went to grab the sandwich, he noticed a good portion of it was missing.
“What the hell! The baby! He stole my sandwich!” complained Frank.
“Oh, honestly, Francis!” replied Bridgette. “He is just a baby. What does he want with your ham sandwich or whatever it is? Stuff the rest in your gob and let’s get everything in your truck. I’m sure Gus is ready to pitch a fit.”
Frank grabbed what was left of his beloved sandwich and crammed it into his mouth. Clearly enjoying the experience, he held up his hand to Bridgette to keep her from speaking to him while he ate. Bridgette raised her eyebrows and stared at her husband in disbelief.
“You do realize that we are eating Christmas Eve dinner in less than three hours?” asked Bridgette as she raised her lip in disgust.
Frank and his mouthful of sandwich attempted to respond, “Uh huh, and…?”
Bridgette, firmly ignoring Frank, turned her undivided attention to her son Shane and nephew Blake. Bridgette smiled as the babies attempted to tackle each other.