Christmas in Bethel

Chapter Twenty-Three

I met Lee’s brother. The two of them look alike, but the interior wiring is scrambled differently. Maybe that comes from living in the shadow of a famous sibling.

Beth Stilton’s Diary

The next morning, I woke earlier than usual. Even though I was in the same time zone as Lancaster, the sun rose nearly a half hour earlier and I was surprised to see that it was only 6:15. I got up and put my swimming suit on, then put on the robe and slippers and walked across the house to the pool area.

There were no lights on in the house, so I assumed everyone was still asleep. I waded into the pool. The water was warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to refresh. I swam a few laps, then climbed into the hot tub to relax.

As I sat there in the bubbling hot water, I saw Lee walking down the beach. I got out of the tub, put on my robe, then went outside. The air was chilly, probably in the high forties, but I didn’t care. I ran to him, my bare feet slipping in the dry sand.

“Lee!”

He turned and looked at me but said nothing. I realized that the man I was running to wasn’t Lee.

When I was closer, I said, “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“You mistook me for Al,” he said. “You must be Beth.”

Al? “You must be Marc.”

“Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Lee said the two of you looked alike.”

“People confuse us all the time. In town they ask me for his autograph.”

“Sorry. From the pool, I thought you were him.”

“No worries. I’m glad you’ll be spending Thanksgiving with us. It’s always nice to have company.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you get back to your walk.” I was about to leave when I said, “Did you call him Al?”

“Of course. That’s his name. Have a good day.” He turned and continued his walk. I watched him for a little bit, then ran back to the house to get warm.

* * *

I showered and dressed, then walked back out to the main room. Lee was in the kitchen chopping peppers.

“Good morning,” I said as I leaned in to kiss him. “I met your brother.”

“He came downstairs?”

“He was walking on the beach. I thought it was you.”

He smiled. “I told you we look alike.”

“You didn’t tell me you were practically twins. Why does he call you Al?”

“Because it’s my name.”

“You have yet another name?”

He stopped chopping and turned to me. “Like you, I also go by my middle name. My first name is Albert. Albert Lee Heller. My mother thought by naming me after Albert Einstein, I might turn out smart.”

“It worked.”

“I never liked the name, so I started telling everyone my name was Lee.”

“If Marc knows you hate the name, why doesn’t he call you Lee?”

“Because he’s called me Al since he could speak. And because Lee is also his name. My mother used her maiden name for our middle names. He’s Marcus Lee Heller.”

“This is getting confusing.”

“Having three names is advantageous, really. If someone calls me J.D., I know it’s a fan or a reporter. If they call me Albert, they’re from the IRS or a spammer with a mailing list. And if they call me Lee, I know we’re friends. It’s like a secret code.”

“How did you come up with J. D. Harper?”

“That’s more interesting. Before I became an author, I worked for a PR firm. Sometimes people would hire us to come up with a name for a product. Coming up with a pen name is the same thing. You’re trying to evoke a sense of familiarity. Take car names. Acura sounds like precision, Lexus is somewhere between luxury and sexual, Intrepid sounds courageous.

“It’s the same thing with medicines. Aleve sounds like a combination of alleviate and relieve, which is what you’re trying to do with pain.

“When I was trying to come up with a pseudonym, I wanted something with the same kind of flow as J. K. Rowling, who was the bestselling author in the world at the time. I took Harper from Harper Lee, and the initials J.D. have an intellectual quality, like the J.D. of Juris Doctorate. It also borrows on credibility from other great authors like J. D. Salinger and Nora Roberts’s pseudonym, J. D. Robb.”

“I never realized so much thought went into it.”

“It doesn’t always. Theodore Geisel came up with the pen name Seuss after he was banned from writing because he was caught drinking with a group of college students.”

“Why would he be banned? College students are always drinking.”

“It was during Prohibition. So he used his middle name, Seuss. It wasn’t until many years later that he added the Dr.” His expression lightened. “Did you know we say his name wrong? We say it like it rhymes with moose, when it should rhyme with voice. Soice.”

“Dr. Soice. That sounds awful.”

“That’s the way he pronounced it. You, by the way, have a very good name for an author.”

“Stilton? It’s cheese.”

“It’s strong and memorable. So, other than my myriad names, did the two of you talk about anything interesting?”

“Not really. He did say that he was glad that I was spending Thanksgiving with you, because you don’t get enough company.”

“We don’t. Laurie used to come with her partner, but now that both of their parents are older, that’s on hiatus. I wish Marc would invite someone, but I don’t know how he would even meet anyone, he’s become such a recluse.”

“I’d set him up with someone,” I said. “If I knew anyone.”

“You don’t have any single friends?”

“I don’t have any friends other than Frankie.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s addicted to tattoos, clove cigarettes, and rides a motorcycle. About four years ago, she met her man. Arlo. He’s a hippie holdover from La Jolla.”

“Arlo is the perfect name for a hippie. Or a folk singer. What does he do?”

“He’s an artist. He makes jewelry from sea glass. Lately he’s started dabbling in driftwood art.”

“Driftwood and sea glass. Do you even have ocean?”

“We have Lake Erie.”

“Regardless, she’s married, so Frankie is out.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Is Maxine single?”

Lee made breakfast for us—omelets with peppers, sweet jalape?os, and two kinds of cheese, white cheddar and Dubliner. It was delicious.

As we did the dishes, I asked, “What’s our day like? It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. Do we have a lot of cooking to do, or are we eating out?”

“We cater,” he said. “There’s a resort nearby with a Thanksgiving take-out service called Turkeys to Go.” He showed me the menu. “What do you think?”

“Last Thanksgiving, I had a frozen turkey potpie and a stale pumpkin chocolate chip cookie my friend Frankie made a week earlier. I won’t be hard to please.”

Later that afternoon, Lee had a television satellite interview, then we drove to the grocery store, which, no surprise, was crowded with Thanksgiving shoppers. We picked up the usual grocery items along with a frozen pizza for dinner. Also not surprisingly, the store had Lee’s book for sale and our brief shopping excursion turned into a book event, as people asked for pictures and autographs. I wondered how he had done this for all these years.

I decided to make my own pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, so while Lee accommodated his fans, I called Frankie for the recipe, then bought those ingredients as well.

Laurie texted Lee around six.

Winter in Arcadia still number one NYT.

Sales climbing. Two movie offers.

Jonathan doing monkey dance.

I had no idea what a monkey dance is, but it sounded exciting.

That night, Lee and I watched an old Bill Murray movie and ended up falling asleep together on the couch. My dreams were only sweet.