1225 Christmas Tree Lane (4 page)

“Don't say that,” Bailey moaned. “Besides, you'll
have
to come.”

“Nope. I don't like Danielle.”

“Me, neither.”

“There's got to be something we can do,” Sophie said.

“What?” Bailey asked in frustration, which was immediately followed by discouragement. “We can't let this happen. We just can't.”

“I agree. Think, Bailey. You always come up with good plans.”

“I'm trying, I'm trying.”

Sophie kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed. “First, we have to figure out what Danielle wants. No woman that young and perfect-looking would ever date our dad.”

Bailey nodded. As harsh as it sounded, Sophie wasn't saying anything she hadn't already considered.

“We could introduce her to a younger man.”

“Who?” Bailey asked.

“Jeff is cute.”

“Mom's foreman? He's married. I don't want to be
responsible for breaking up a marriage in order to get our parents back together.”

“Yeah, that's bad,” Sophie agreed. “Okay, who else is there? It's got to be somebody young. I mean, Dad's way over forty.”

“So is Mom.”

“Oh, Mom,” Sophie said miserably, flopping back onto the bed. “She knew. She was so stoic when she introduced herself to Danielle, I wanted to scream.”

Bailey had been too shocked to tear her eyes from her father. When she did look at her mother, she couldn't bear the return of the polite frozen smile. From the moment she and Sophie had mentioned that their father would be coming for Christmas, they'd both noticed a change in her.

In the beginning, when she'd heard the news, Beth had seemed confused and a bit panicky. Over dinner the night before, she'd peppered them with questions about their father. She was interested, all right. Interested and intrigued and, after a while, Bailey had sensed a definite excitement. She'd seemed happy, and for the first time since the divorce, they'd seen a brightness in her eyes.

It was exactly the reaction Bailey and Sophie had been looking for. Over the past three years, Mom had put on a great act. To all outward appearances, she was content;
she certainly claimed to be. Her new life suited her just fine, she said. What had frightened the girls into taking action was the fact that their mother had started to casually drop Ted Reynolds's name into their conversations.

Beth's eagerness about seeing their dad convinced both Bailey and Sophie that all this talk about contentment was false. They'd been up half the night whispering in the dark, so sure they were right—and now this.

“Have you got any ideas yet?” Sophie sounded worried.

“Where's Mom?”

“Where she always goes when she's upset. She's with her dogs.”

“With her dogs,” Bailey echoed. The kennel was a place of comfort for Beth, a place of solace. The thought of her mom sitting on the ground with her precious animals gathered around her made Bailey want to weep.

“Where did Dad and Danielle go for lunch?”

“I don't know….”

He'd invited Bailey and Sophie to join them, but of course they'd declined.

“We should've gone with him,” Bailey said.

“No way.” Sophie shook her head. “I am not socializing with
her.
”

Bailey reviewed various options that began occurring
to her. Yes, it would work. She hopped onto the bed and tucked her legs underneath her.

Sophie stared at her. “What are you thinking?”

“We need to show Dad that Danielle's completely wrong for him.”

“Well, duh. Just how are we going to do that?”

“There
are
ways.” Bailey gave a conspiratorial smile.

Immediately, Sophie straightened. “You think we can do it?”

“I don't just think, I know. Watch out, Danielle. You're in for it now.”

Judge Olivia Griffin pulled into the parking lot at the Pancake Palace. She'd ordered two coconut cream pies for their Christmas Eve dinner at Justine's. After the meal, they'd attend church services, then head over to Noelle's birthday party. Picking up the pies was on the list of errands she needed to run before collecting Mom and Ben that evening.

The restaurant was packed, which surprised her. She hadn't expected it to be this busy on Christmas Eve Day. But she should have, she mused, as she hunted for a parking space at the back of the lot. Based on last year's experience, her daughter had warned her. With a firm
conviction that family came first, Justine had decided to close the Tea Room for Christmas Eve as well as Christmas Day. Her staff was thrilled with the unexpected gift of this extra time off.

Inside the restaurant, Olivia stood in line at the counter waiting her turn. Wave upon wave of happy voices washed through the room. Looking around, she noticed the painted windows, decorated with a variety of holiday scenes. Holly on one window, a snowman on another. She gazed across the room and saw the Randall family in a booth with Cecilia's father, Bobby Merrick. Holding fistfuls of crayons, the two Randall children were bent over their place mats, solving puzzles, connecting the dots or just coloring.

Remembering her conversation with Cecilia the day before, Olivia couldn't help releasing a sigh. The young mother had asked about Jordan, Olivia's son and Justine's twin brother.

It seemed to Olivia that her entire life was divided by that summer. Life before Jordan died and life afterward. Her world had imploded that summer afternoon. No sooner had they buried their son than Stan, her husband, announced that he wanted a divorce. Within a matter of months, she'd lost her son
and
her marriage.

Watching Cecilia and Ian Randall now, sitting close
together, so attuned to each other, so much in love, she didn't regret denying their divorce. How could she? She would've given anything if someone had done the same for her and Stan. The pain of losing their son had been so horrific that, instead of bringing them together, it had driven a wedge between them.

When Stan remarried only months after their divorce, Olivia's friends had speculated that he'd been involved with Marge long before Jordan's death. It'd been easy to believe, especially then. Her mother, who was reluctant to say anything bad about anyone, felt Stan had acted irrationally in leaving his family.

Irrationally? Their son was dead. How could either of them remain rational? The grief had killed them, too.

It was all a moot point. Stan had married Marge, and some years later they'd divorced, as well. For a time it seemed that he wanted to get back together with Olivia and had done his best to thwart her budding romance with Jack Griffin. By then, however, Olivia had fallen for Jack, and her sights were set on the future instead of resurrecting the past. It was far too late for her and Stan. When it became apparent that she wasn't interested, he'd found someone else. Justine had told her that Susan, the new woman in his life, was living with him now. Olivia assumed he wasn't willing to try marriage a third time.

Yesterday, Cecilia had asked if she still cried over Jordan. Did a mother ever stop weeping over a lost child? Olivia doubted it. While going through cancer treatments a couple of years ago, Olivia had become desperately ill with an infection. From what others told her later, she knew she'd been close to death. It was while her fever raged that Jordan had come to her. For the briefest of moments she'd seen him as he was that summer, a skinny thirteen-year-old, full of life, eager to prove himself. He'd been a happy boy, smart and witty. Even now when she heard his favorite song by the group Air Supply, tears would prick her eyes. When she thought of her son, she remembered his ready smile, his ease with people, a natural charm that never failed to endear him to others.

Once again, Olivia wondered what would have become of her son had he lived. He had a variety of interests. He'd been good at math and loved to take things apart, then put them back together. He might have been an engineer. Then, too, he was often the go-between when Justine and James argued, helping his siblings settle their differences. Perhaps he would've followed in her footsteps and become an attorney.

Olivia felt a thickening in her throat and blinked back tears. This was silly. Christmas was supposed to be joy
ous, festive. Now wasn't the time to reminisce about Jordan.

Cecilia glanced up and, seeing Olivia, she smiled. Their eyes connected—mother to mother. Heart to heart. Cecilia knew Olivia was remembering Jordan. And Olivia knew Cecilia was remembering the infant daughter she'd held so briefly in her arms.

Cecilia nodded and rested her head against Ian's shoulder. For an instant Ian looked surprised, and then Olivia saw him reach for his wife's hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

Tammy, the hostess, touched Olivia's arm. “I have your pies, Judge Griffin.”

“Oh…oh, sorry, I got distracted.” Olivia pulled out her wallet, paid for the pies and carried them out to the car without looking back.

Olivia had just opened the driver's-side door when her cell phone chirped. She dug it out of her purse, saw it was her husband and pushed the talk button.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said.

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding rushed.

“The Pancake Palace, why?”

“Eric and Shelly arrived with the boys.”

“I didn't think they were due until five.” Her stepson and his family were hours early. They'd driven from
Reno to spend Christmas Eve with Jack and Olivia at Justine's, and Christmas Day with Shelly's family. “Can you feed them lunch or do you want me to come home?” she asked.

“Lunch isn't a problem. I'm calling because I need to know if Beth Morehouse has any of those puppies left.”

“I'm sure she does.”

“Great. Eric was saying he wanted to get Tedd and Todd each a dog after the first of the year, and he was hoping to find a couple of Labs. I told him about Beth's situation and he's interested.”

“Oh, Jack, Beth would be so grateful!”

“That's what I thought. I'll give her a call and take Eric and the boys out to her place later this afternoon. Do you want to meet us there?”

“If I have time…”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She ended the call and dropped her cell back in her purse. Beth would be thrilled to find homes for two more puppies.

Olivia's next stop was the Sanford assisted-living complex, where her mother and stepfather had recently moved. The snow had been cleared from the parking lot and the sidewalk swept and salted. Hugging her coat
around her, she hunched her shoulders against the wind and hurried inside.

A large, beautifully decorated Christmas tree sparkling with lights and classic ornaments graced the entry. Red bows were attached to a set of twin chandeliers. Six fresh wreaths festooned the second-floor railing and left a lingering scent of pine. The complex had a homey, welcoming appeal.

Olivia saw Ben first. He was in the card room set off to the side of the main room. He was apparently playing either pinochle or bridge, his two favorite games. Olivia knew Charlotte was waiting for her upstairs. Her mother insisted on reviewing their Christmas-dinner menu, although Olivia had already prepared most of the dishes in advance. Tonight and tomorrow were for family. She had no intention of spending Christmas Day in the kitchen, although she planned to put the turkey in the oven sometime Christmas morning.

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.