The menu was the same one they had almost every year, many of the recipes directly from the cookbook Charlotte had compiled for Justine. Last Christmas, Justine had made copies of her grandmother Charlotte’s favorites for the extended family and it was a much-loved treasure.
Olivia headed for the elevator without interrupting Ben’s game and went up to the third floor. Charlotte and Ben’s small apartment was at the end of the hall. The door was propped open, a sign to all who came that they were welcome.
“Come in, come in,” Charlotte said, putting aside her knitting and getting up. She was definitely moving more slowly, struggling a bit. Harry had arranged himself on the back of the recliner, his tail hanging straight down.
Olivia kissed her mother’s cheek and urged her to sit again. She herself sat down in Ben’s recliner. An end table served as a catchall between the two chairs, and Olivia saw not only Charlotte’s knitting but Ben’s current crossword. Dutifully, she took out a pad and pen. “You wanted to talk about Christmas dinner.”
“Oh, yes. I do hope you intend to serve that wonderful artichoke appetizer.”
“Got it,” Olivia assured her. It was done and ready to go in the oven. The artichoke and caramelized onion filling was baked in a flaky dough. Everyone loved it. In fact, Olivia had made two because they were sure to disappear quickly.
“The potato casserole?”
“Wouldn’t be Christmas without it,” Olivia told her.
“Ben likes it with bacon crumbled on top.”
“I can do that.” Olivia made a notation on her pad to add bacon to please Ben.
“Did Jack make his special cookies?”
Generally speaking, Jack in the kitchen was a laughing matter but he had managed to prepare his favorite cookies—chocolate-dipped crackers sandwiched with peanut butter. They were a hit every Christmas. The cookie had been his own invention, and considering Jack’s pride in the recipe, anyone would think it had won him a Cooking Channel top-chef award.
“The cookies are ready, as well.”
“And what did the kitchen look like afterward?” Charlotte asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.
“A disaster. I helped with the cleanup.”
“You’re a good wife.”
Her mother had set a good example.
“Justine wanted to serve beef Wellington, so I thought we’d do a turkey tomorrow.”
“You can’t go wrong with that,” Charlotte said.
“No, you can’t,” Olivia agreed. There’d be stuffing and plenty of gravy, too. Her mother would work with her and add her personal assortment of herbs and spices to create the distinct taste everyone loved. Although Olivia had watched carefully and taken notes, hers never turned out quite the same.
“Anything else?”
Olivia hesitated. With her mother, everything was homemade, from the dinner rolls to the desserts, of which there was always a wide variety. Pecan pie, fruitcake, rum cake, apple strudel and more.
“I bought a couple of coconut cream pies from the Pancake Palace.” Half expecting her mother to berate her for taking the easy road, Olivia held her breath.
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
Wonderful? Olivia could hardly believe it. Her tensed shoulders sagged with relief.
“Everyone knows the Pancake Palace makes the best pies in town.”
Olivia understood how difficult it was for her mother to deal with change. It wasn’t easy for anyone, but the older people got, the harder it was. In her eighties now, Charlotte had coped with the transition from home to the assisted-living complex pretty well. She’d given up the house where she’d lived so many years of her life and surrendered much of her independence. Olivia was exceptionally proud of Charlotte and Ben. Naturally, there’d been doubts along the way, but all in all, the move had been a success.
“Anything else you’d like on the menu?” Olivia asked.
“My homemade applesauce.”
“Of course, with the sweet pickles from last summer.”
Charlotte rested her hands in her lap. “Those will be the last sweet pickles I put up,” she said and, after a short pause, resumed her knitting.
Olivia opened her mouth to reassure her mother that there’d be more pickles and more summers, then realized this was Charlotte’s way of telling her she was willing to give up that part of her life. No longer would she maintain a large garden or make applesauce and sauerkraut. The time had come to set all those endeavors aside.
A sharp pang of loss stabbed Olivia, but then she brightened. None of those activities, those special times, were really lost. With a little planning and foresight, they could continue into the next generation, and the one after that, too.
“Justine was talking about your pickle recipe a little while ago,” Olivia said, and gently patted her mother’s knee. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she decided to put up sweet pickles next summer.”
Her mother nodded approvingly. “I’ll help if she needs advice.”
“I know you will.” A shift had taken place in their family. It hadn’t been apparent at first and the irony of it was that Charlotte had recognized it before anyone else. Olivia felt a burst of joy. The recipes, the special family times, the laughter and the pleasures of being together would remain intact. Each generation would take what was produced and what was passed on by the one before, and then share it with the next. Eventually other traditions would be added, too.
“I’ll be by to pick you and Ben up at five,” she said. Reaching for her purse, Olivia stood.
“When are James and his family coming?” her mother asked as her fingers expertly wove the yarn around the needle. Socks again. Charlotte must have knit more than a hundred pairs over the years. These, no doubt, were for one of the great-grandchildren.
“James, Selina and the children will be there in plenty of time, don’t worry.” Olivia didn’t have the heart to explain that they’d arrived the night before. Charlotte had spoken to her grandson on the phone but she’d obviously forgotten.
Unfortunately, these lapses happened more and more often. Her mother could recall the recipe for sweet pickles from memory, but a brief conversation the day before completely eluded her. They’d have a more definitive answer to Charlotte’s memory problems when they met with the specialist in January. Until then, all they could do was wait.
“I love you, Olivia,” her mother said softly as Olivia started out the door.
The comment struck her as odd. Her mother rarely said those words. She smiled. “I know, Mom, and I love you, too.” She came back and bent over to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
For an instant Charlotte regarded her blankly and Olivia knew that her mother had no idea why her daughter would be returning so soon.
Five
Five puppies now had homes. Five to go.
It’d been love at first sight. Jack Griffin had come by with his son, Eric, and Eric’s family. The grandsons had each chosen a puppy. They’d fallen to their knees and eight puppies had raced into their arms. It had taken quite a long time for the boys to make their decisions. In the end, they’d selected two males; in fact, they’d already given their puppies names, albeit not very original ones: Baron and Duke. Five were left, since Eddie Cox had picked one up for his parents—three females and two males. Ted had volunteered to watch over whatever puppies didn’t have homes when Beth and the girls drove to Whistler, but she hated to burden him with extra animals.
Instead of returning to the house after she’d seen off the Griffins and their puppies, Beth wandered into the back of the yard where she had the heated kennel. She opened the gate and let her dogs run in among the trees. They were happy to exercise and she enjoyed playing with them, enjoyed their boundless energy.
Her whole family had been pet lovers. From her earliest memories, they’d always had a dog. Kent loved animals, too, which was one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him all those years ago…and now. At one time he’d considered entering veterinary college, but the application process was complex and difficult, with only a few candidates accepted each year. He’d tried two years running and was declined both times. Although bitterly disappointed, he’d decided to change his course of study to engineering. In the end, that career choice had suited him well.
Thinking of Kent, Beth was forced to confront his news head-on. He was involved with someone else. Danielle had made a point of telling everyone what “good” friends they were. Although Kent had called her merely a friend, it was obvious that Danielle intended it to be so much more.
After three years, this shouldn’t come as such a shock—only it did. Her heart felt weighted down by grief and disappointment. Yet she was the one who’d set him free. Not once had she made an effort to turn the tide of the divorce proceedings. Perhaps this was one of those classic scenarios; she didn’t want him but she didn’t want anyone else to have him, either.
Still, she had to ask herself: Did she want her ex-husband back? She couldn’t answer that, not with certainty, and in any event the decision had been taken out of her hands. This sense of loss and confusion was probably typical of ex-wives, she reasoned. It must be.
“Mom?” Bailey was calling her.
Pulling herself out of her musing, she shouted and waved. “Over here.”
“I saw the Griffins leave and you didn’t come back in the house.”
Beth didn’t feel much like company at the moment. “I thought I’d let the dogs run a bit first,” she said.
Sophie joined her sister. It’d started to snow again, thick flakes that drifted lazily down. The wind chilled her through her thick jacket. Because she spent so much time outdoors, she’d learned to ignore the cold. But this particular chill seemed to come from the inside out....
“Are you upset about Dad and Danielle?” Sophie asked, still putting on her gloves. She didn’t look at Beth, as though she wanted to hide her own reaction to Kent’s “friend.”
“You mean because your father has someone else in his life? Oh, heavens, no.” She wondered how effective her lie had been.
“We don’t like Danielle,” Bailey announced for the two of them.
“You have to admit she’s beautiful.”
Both girls rolled their eyes. “Mom, she’s plastic. I can’t imagine what Dad sees in her. Besides, she treats us like we’re still in diapers.”
“Give her a chance,” Beth urged. She didn’t know why she was championing the other woman when she agreed with everything her daughters said.
“Tell us again, how did you and Dad meet?” Bailey asked.
Instead of answering their question, she asked one of her own. “Did you know that at one time your father wanted to be a veterinarian?”
“Dad?”
“Get out of here!”
“We met in college,” Beth said. “You remember that.” They’d heard the story a hundred times. It didn’t make sense to repeat it now. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
Their response was immediate and enthusiastic. “Yes!”
“Okay. We met on campus. A friend-of-a-friend situation. My roommate was dating your father, and I was dating another guy named Steve. I liked your father a whole lot more than Steve, but he was with Melanie and I couldn’t very well make a play for him. We dated as a foursome quite a bit and then one day Melanie told me she liked Steve better than Kent and I confessed that I liked Kent better than Steve.”
“And the two of you wanted to switch dates,” Sophie finished for her.
“That is so cool,” Bailey said.
“Well, it would’ve been if the guys felt the same way about us, but they didn’t. Steve claimed he wanted to marry me, but I wasn’t interested. Kent, on the other hand, only had eyes for Melanie.”
“Oh, brother. Clearly, Dad’s needed direction in the girlfriend department for a long time.”
“We worked it out. Melanie broke up with Kent and I took the initiative and phoned to console him. What he wanted was for me to convince Melanie to take him back....” She paused and kicked at a pile of snow. “I guess I was always the second choice with your father.”
“Oh, Mom, that isn’t true!”
Beth smiled, letting her daughters know she wasn’t serious. Well, maybe she was, not that it mattered.
“Whatever happened to Melanie? Did she marry Steve?”
“No. She left college in our junior year and dated a guy from France. Eventually she followed him there. We lost contact after a while. I haven’t heard from her in years.”
Princess raced to Beth’s side. Panting, the collie dropped a stick at her feet. “You want to play fetch, do you?” she asked, and bent to pet her thick fur. Princess was a rescue someone had brought her. Her friend had found the collie on the side of the road near the freeway. With some effort she was able to get the large dog into the car. Rather than take her to the animal shelter, Beth’s friend had brought her to Beth. Half-starved, Princess was in bad shape, and Beth had nourished her back to health. She’d tried to find her owner, but the dog had no identification. Now Princess was deeply attached to Beth and was one of the dogs in the Reading with Rover program Grace had instigated at the library.
“Dad still loves you,” Bailey insisted.
“Of course he does,” Beth said, and meant it. “We were married for twenty-three years. I’m the mother of his children. While we might have opposing opinions on certain issues, when it comes to you girls, we’re in total agreement.”
“Bailey means he really loves you.”
Beth threw her arms around her daughters and brought them close. “Listen, you two. I know this is difficult. Maybe you believed that your father’s visit to Cedar Cove meant more than he intended it to mean. Maybe you believed he was making a statement about reconciliation.” Well, he’d made a statement, all right. He wanted to introduce their daughters to his “friend.” “The reason your father’s here is because he wanted us all to meet Danielle. He wants us to welcome her into the family.”
“I can’t do it.” Sophie’s chin rose defiantly.
“Me, neither.”
For that matter, it wasn’t going to be any easier for Beth. Nevertheless, she was determined to do her best.
“They’ll be coming back here, and I want us all to make an effort, okay?”
Bailey sighed expressively and, after a moment, said, “I’ll try…I guess.”
“Will Dad be here when we decorate the tree?”
Beth had assumed not. He was with Danielle and it would be awkward to include the other woman. “I…I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”
“Dad used to enjoy that,” Sophie said.
Beth had, too. It was their special family tradition. They’d always waited until Christmas Eve to decorate the tree, which went back to her German roots. Her grandparents hadn’t put up a tree until the night before Christmas, a tradition that had come from the old country.
“Shouldn’t we at least
ask Dad about decorating the tree with us?”
“I suppose…” Beth said without much enthusiasm. He would probably assume the invitation included Danielle.
The girls returned to the house, and Beth stayed outside, letting the dogs run until they were tired. She gave them each a healthy snack, then they retreated to their kennel and she went back inside.
Beth had never intended to own six dogs—make that seven with the puppy upstairs. But then she’d never intended to have her children barely a year apart, either. Kent was still in his last year of engineering school and she was working as a teaching assistant to help support them when she discovered she was pregnant with Bailey. Sophie hadn’t been a planned pregnancy, either, and she’d arrived a mere fourteen months after her sister.
Beth had gotten pregnant with Bailey at Christmastime. Christmas Eve, to be exact. Hard to prove, perhaps, but she was sure of it. She’d felt it, felt they’d made a baby that night. Beth wondered if Kent remembered and suspected that, after all these years, he’d put it out of his mind.
They could only afford a small tree that year and had waited until Christmas Eve to decorate it. Beth had said it was tradition, and while it hadn’t been his family’s tradition, he’d been a good sport about it. With little money for ornaments, Beth had made their own. Kent had done his part, stringing popcorn and cranberries while she sewed gingerbread men from pieces of felt, decorating them with eyes and a row of tiny buttons down the front. Each was unique, individual. She still had several of the original ones and others, too, that she’d crafted through the years. She kept them carefully packed away in boxes.
It’d snowed that Christmas Eve, too, but their tiny basement apartment was warm and cozy. As a surprise, Kent had purchased two miniature bottles of rum to make hot drinks. After decorating the tree, they sat in front of the woodstove, their only source of heat, and with Beth on Kent’s lap and the cat curled up on the ottoman, they’d toasted the holidays. They’d started kissing and then one thing led to another and three weeks later the stick was blue.
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3 Page 94
