Very Castle Celebrations

Chapter 40

While waiting impatiently for his information concerning Sumatran tiger bags and Bitsy Mortimer to filter through various bureaucracies, Castle decides to work on plans for New Year's Eve. He won't be needing reservations. He and Kate have agreed that with their own New Years' baby, it is better to stay in.

With Kate's breasts no longer the primary source of Jackson's nutrition, she can share in some good Champagne. Castle plans on a genuinely excellent vintage. Neither one of them has been able to get into watching the new version of New Years' Rockin' Eve, except maybe for the ball drop, if they can stay awake that long. It's Kate's preference to stream a jazz festival, and Castle's more than happy with that. He's always loved how cool jazz generates Beckett heat.

Once Jackson is fed, the meal for himself and Kate should be something special. Castle believes in doing anything he can that could bring good luck, but he's never been a fan of the traditional black-eyed peas. He's thinking more in terms of prime rib with a juicy pink center and the bite of accompanying horseradish sauce. Kate loves thick steak fries, and he adores watching her sink her teeth into them. He also thinks that the sweet nuttiness of a Waldorf salad would usher in a new year beautifully. He envisions something with chocolate, but suggestively creamy, for dessert. Eclairs will be perfect, and his favorite bakery makes great ones. Fresh fruit and cheese will be a lovely counterpoint to the soulful wail of a sax.

Speaking of wails, there's anguish emanating from the nursery monitor. From the tone of it, Jackson has managed to toss Lightning McQueen out of his crib - again. Sal Cardano was right. Jackson does have a good arm - too good. Castle goes to check. Sure enough, the stuffed car is on the floor, and his son also needs a change.

He can tell right away that Jackson is not about to return to the Land of Nod anytime soon. He and his laptop will be spending most of the rest of the day in toddler play world. With any luck, he might even get some work done, but he's not counting on it. Kate has another impromptu meeting at City Hall and seems to think she's making good progress setting up her program to revisit the question of how many of the old cases were actually the result of domestic violence. Castle is entirely in her corner on that one. It disgusts and bewilders him that people who are supposed to love each other can treat each other that way. He's hoping that the efforts of Kate and her group can lead to a better understanding of how to short-circuit the violence before it leads to more tragedies.

Jackson toddles over to shove one of his slightly dampened fabric books into Castle's lap. Castle doesn't know if Jackson is more fond of listening to the story or teething on it, but he obviously enjoys having Castle read it to him. Of course, it's about a car. While he is reading, Jackson makes noises that Castle would love to believe are imitations of the sound of an engine.

He is just finishing the last sentence when Kate returns home, and she's not looking happy. Apparently, a monetary missive has come down from on high - she's not sure from precisely whom - that she can only delve deeper into the old suspected domestic abuse cases if they appear to be tied more current crimes. Castle's not sure whether to tell her that he's sure she'll find connections or not. Serial abusers are not an encouraging thought, especially not one on which to usher in a new year.


Castle's hoping the new year's dinner he planned will serve as a release from the malaise that has been draining the joy from his wife ever since she received the budgetary bad tidings. She's anxious enough to sink her teeth into the succulent meat as if she's tearing a hole in some municipal bean counter, but Kate doesn't really seem to relax until she is engulfed by the tinkly joy of a jazz orchestral rendition of St. Thomas. As Castle pops a grape into her mouth, she snuggles into his shoulder. "Thinking of a tropical beach somewhere?" he wonders.

Kate shrugs. "I don't know about the tropics, but right now this city isn't impressing me much."

Castle gets it. "So what if we pretend we have our own island retreat?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "Castle, what are you talking about?"

He points at the screen. "You're already transported by that music. After it, we can play some calypso or whatever keeps the mood going and put on some summer clothes. Instead of Champagne, we can sip some fruity drinks - heavy on the rum. We could even make creating our own Eden a new tradition for ushering in the coming year. Instead of the ball dropping, imagine the temperature - and your spirits - rising."

Kate pokes a finger in his chest. "You know you're nuts, right?"

Castle caresses her lips with his thumb. "There was a study that proved that people who ate nuts lived longer."

Kate shakes her head. "I'm not even going to touch that, but Castle if you want to do something more interesting than watching people crammed into Times Square counting down for some hunk of expensive crystal to plunge, find some vintage Harry Belafonte.

Castle salutes. "Yes, Ma'am! One Banana Song singer coming up. Oops! That didn't come out quite the way I meant it."

After downloading the music Kate requested, Castle searches through the freezer. He thought he remembered that there were some frozen strawberries in there, and there are; his emergency supply for waffle topping. They'll be even better in daiquiris. He crosses his fingers that the whir of the blender won't wake Jackson. Fortunately, his son seems down for the count, or at least until his tummy makes its early morning demands.

Kate has grabbed a thin white T-shirt and dug in her closet to find a short white cotton skort that couldn't be more fetching. Castle is going to slip on a Hawaiian shirt that's bright enough even for his mother to admire and a pair of Bermuda shorts. It's a mix of destinations, but that only adds to the fun.

Next year Castle can plan ahead to order some blow-up palm trees, and get some brightly colored flowers. Birds of Paradise would be lovely and fit the theme beautifully. He could also stock in some coconuts and maybe a pineapple or two for piƱa coladas. He might even procure some sand or project some video of tropical fish swimming in and out of a reef, but for now, they can just let the music and the alcohol bring island images to mind.

He spreads beach towels on the floor and props himself against some pillows while Kate lays against his chest, sipping a frozen red concoction. The syncopated beat of the music washes over them and the new year arrives, unheralded by cheers, popping corks or choruses of "Auld Lang Syne." Castle greets it with optimism. He's starting it with Kate in his arms and Jackson peacefully navigating a toddler dreamscape. What could possibly be better than that?