Interesting how her mother would remember that and not a conversation she’d had just a few days ago.

“Bess talks about you all the time,” Eileen said.

“What are you selling?” Charlotte asked as she moved closer to Eileen’s table.

“Oh, I make polished wood pens. My husband used to love writing with a wooden pen, but they aren’t available the way they once were. One year, I decided they couldn’t be that difficult to make, so I attended a woodworking class at the community college and made him several for Christmas. He used them until his dying day.”

“A wooden pen,” Charlotte repeated. “Why, Ben would love that.” She looked at Olivia. “You know how he likes to do the crossword puzzle every morning? Well, he does it in ink.”

Olivia nodded. “Getting him one of these pens is a great idea. Very classy.”

Charlotte purchased a pen and so did Olivia. Every booth sold something wonderful, and Olivia ended up spending more money at the retirement complex bazaar than the three other craft fairs combined.

They left loaded down with gifts, plus baked goods, homemade candy and watermelon pickles to serve with Thanksgiving dinner. Olivia knew Ben would enjoy the peanut brittle Charlotte had bought, as well.

Over cheese enchiladas, Olivia and Charlotte reviewed their Thanksgiving menu. Little had changed through the years. They’d have turkey, of course, and two kinds of stuffing. The traditional inside-the-bird bread stuffing and a much-loved family recipe for rice stuffing, too. Old-fashioned homemade gravy. The salads and vegetable selections hadn’t altered much from the time Olivia was a child. Potatoes, mashed and sweet. And at least three choices of pie for dessert.

“Justine’s bringing the appetizers,” Olivia reminded her mother.

“Oh, yes.” Charlotte frowned. “We’re having dinner at your house, right?”

“Yes, Mom.” The entire family had celebrated the holidays at Olivia and Jack’s place for a number of years. Her home was larger than anyone else’s and the kitchen was bigger. “Would you rather have it at your home, Mom, with your new kitchen and all?”

“No. No.” She shook her head adamantly. “I just wanted to be sure everything’s set for your place.”

“It is, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Of course, I’ll be helping with the dinner.”

“Of course,” Olivia echoed. “I wouldn’t dream of making Thanksgiving dinner without you.”

They finished their lunch and headed back to Charlotte and Ben’s.

“Did you two have a good time?” Ben asked when they went inside. A blast of wind nearly slammed the door behind them. The weather remained dark, wet and dreary. Not that Harry, her mother’s cat, seemed to notice. He sat contentedly in his usual position on the back of Ben’s chair, his long furry tail draped over the cushion.

“We had the loveliest time,” Charlotte cooed.

Olivia’s cell phone chirped, and as she took it out of her purse, she saw that the call was from her brother. “Hello,” she said, looking at her watch. He was supposed to “drop by” in about half an hour.

“Hi. Listen, something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it.”

“At all?” So her brother was leaving this in her hands. Her warm feelings for him and the help he’d given her recently dipped by several degrees.

“I can probably stop by but not at the time we agreed.”

“When can you?” she asked, struggling to hide her irritation.

“Ah, I’m not sure. I have to see someone and—”

Someone? Olivia was not amused. “Male or female?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

“Fine. Male. The guy’s an artist I’ve been wooing. A painter from Bellevue. I want him to bring his work to my gallery. Miranda’s the one who got him to talk to me.”

“Is she with you?”

“Miranda? Not right this minute, but she will be. Actually, we decided to double-team him, convince him to sell his art on this side of Puget Sound. Are you going to get all huffy about it?”

Olivia sighed. “No.” In fact, she had to acknowledge that Will’s excuse was legitimate and she hoped his overtures to this artist paid off.

“Can you handle things without me or would you rather put it off?”

“No. The sooner we settle this, the better.”

“I think so, too. Good luck. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks.” She snapped her phone shut and put it back in her purse.

“Who was that, dear?” Charlotte asked.

“Will.”

“Oh. I’m so happy about the way the two of you have reconnected since he’s moved back to town. It does my heart good to see you getting along so well.”

That was true. Will and Olivia had reconnected. They were closer now than at any other time in their lives. It was a gift she hadn’t expected, and she was grateful for it.

“I was just telling Ben about our bazaar shopping,” Charlotte continued. “We had such a good day, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she said.

“And, Ben, the very best place wasn’t the big craft bazaar that they hold at the high school. Remember, I mentioned it earlier?”

“That’s the one you were looking forward to.”

“It was—until we got to Stanford Suites. Oh, my, you wouldn’t believe what I found there.”

“Show me.”

“I can’t, because almost everything I bought is for you for Christmas.”

“At that assisted-living complex?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. Bess lives there, you know, and she told me how much she loves it. Her great-grandson was the greeter. Oh, and they had the most beautiful decorated sugar cookies I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you buy any?”

“Sure did. The ladies’ group baked them. They have Bible study on Tuesday mornings and a bridge club and a knitting circle and art lessons… .”

“At the assisted-living complex?” Ben repeated with a frown. “I had no idea they offered all that.”

“Me, neither.”

Olivia refrained from pointing out that she and Will had described all the amenities and programs to them—more than once. “Mom, before I go,” she said. “Jack wanted me to ask what you’re making for tonight’s dinner.”

Ben and Charlotte exchanged a glance.

Olivia had asked because she suspected her mother hadn’t even tried the new stove.

“We had cornflakes last night,” Ben admitted.

“Cornflakes?” This was worse than she’d thought. “Oh, Mom, I was afraid this would happen.”

“Microwave popcorn the night before,” Charlotte murmured, shamefaced. “The microwave is easy to work. You just press the button that says popcorn.”

“It’s my fault,” Ben said. “I started to read the instruction manual, but the stove’s got all these bells and whistles and, to tell you the truth, I just sort of gave up.”

Olivia wasn’t surprised. The owner’s manual was a good hundred pages thick. She’d read shorter novels.

“The grounds at the complex were so lovely, too.” Charlotte turned the conversation away from the stove and back to the retirement complex.

“Mom, are you talking about Stanford Suites again?” Not that Olivia was complaining…

Charlotte nodded and looked at Ben. “They have a container garden there. Bess told me. The zucchini for the zucchini bread she sold me came from the garden. And the green tomatoes for the mincemeat, as well.”

“Really?” Ben raised his eyebrows.

Olivia reached for her car keys. It no longer seemed necessary to say anything. Her mother was doing all the talking.

“So you liked Stanford Suites?” Ben asked Charlotte.

“Yes…I did.”

Ben caught Olivia’s eye. “Charlotte, do you feel we should live there? I thought you were dead set against it.”

“Well, I was, but after being there today and meeting Bess’s friends, I think I might like it. I never believed I would, but I can see the advantages to us. And really, Ben, nothing will change other than our address.” She paused. “Bess said they have two openings coming up.”

Ben didn’t look nearly as convinced. “What about the house?”

Charlotte grew quiet. “I forgot about that.”

“Will and I may have a solution,” Olivia said, trying not to reveal how eager she was to tell them. She and Will had been talking about this all week.

Her mother and Ben turned to her. “You do?” her mother asked.

“Will wants to buy it from you.” This was the news her brother was supposed to be there to impart. Well, she’d have to do it for him.

“Will wants to move into this old house?”

“You can discuss the details with him. We planned to talk to you this afternoon, until he got called away,” she said.

“What about the apartment he fixed up at the gallery? Surely he doesn’t want to just abandon it after all the work he’s done there.”

“It won’t go to waste. In fact, he’s already got a potential renter.”

“Who?”

“Miranda Sullivan. She works at the gallery nearly full-time now, and she said she’d be happy to rent the space, which would be ideal.” This possibility had evolved during the past few days. Olivia was pleased by the growing closeness—professional and, she guessed, personal—between Miranda and her brother.

“It’d be a good solution for us,” Ben said thoughtfully.

“I know I’d feel much better about leaving the house if Will would buy it.” She chuckled. “You tell him, though, that he’ll have to get me another Christmas present—otherwise, I’m taking that new refrigerator.”

Twenty-Nine

“Come on, Dad, it’s Thanksgiving,” Jolene said. “You’re being a real drag.”

Bruce forced a smile. There’d been plenty of Thanksgivings with just him and his daughter before, but this year, without Rachel, was different. He’d picked up a precooked turkey with fixings at the grocery store, and everything was in the oven heating up. This wasn’t the kind of meal he wanted, but unfortunately it was the best he could do.

Jolene had set the table. She’d brought home a decorative papier-mâché pumpkin she’d made in art class, which served as the centerpiece. Using a white linen tablecloth and their good dishes, his daughter had gone to some trouble to make this a special event. He tried to show his appreciation, but his attempt had fallen decidedly short.

Jolene threw herself down on the sofa next to him and sighed. “It doesn’t feel right without Rachel, does it?”

He was shocked that his daughter was willing to admit it. “No. I wish she was here.” Despite Jolene’s unexpected concession, he braced himself for her backlash. But he didn’t really care; he was tired of pretending, of putting on a brave front. Every day was an effort without Rachel.