One Bright Christmas Page 5

  Zoey had started out studying art in college but had found a way to combine that love and her natural insight and empathy for others as an art therapist. Although she had just finished her advanced degree and certification, she already had a good position at a family therapy center in Salem. Her fiancé, James, was a writer. He published articles in magazines and had also had a novel published, based on the story of his great-grandparents, who had come to Cape Light in the early 1900s and started the Potter Orchard.

  Even though she lived nearby, Zoey still liked to sleep over in her old room during the holidays. A good thing on Thanksgiving, Lucy thought, since it guaranteed that everyone got to the diner in time.

  Lucy glanced up the stairs toward the bedrooms, knowing her kids would be grouchy when she woke them and prodded them to get ready. But Lucy also knew that by the time customers arrived at the diner, her children would be very much in the spirit of the day—grateful for their own blessings and glad to share the bounty.

  The family would return home around six o’clock that night, tired but happy, feeling that certain kind of contentment that comes after you’ve spent time doing good for others. They would sit at their own table, connected by that feeling and truly realizing the ways in which their family had been so richly blessed. Which was what this holiday was all about, wasn’t it?

  Braced for their protests, Lucy stood at the bottom of the stairs and called out in her best Mom voice—though it was a bit rusty these days, she had to admit.

  “C.J.? Jamie? Zoey? Rise and shine. Coffee is ready. Come on down now, everyone.”

  She drifted back to the kitchen, smiling at the groans and complaints that descended in reply. She loved having her kids home. It was going to be a great day.

  * * *

  * * *

  One of the best things about the holidays was all the delicious food. It was one of the worst things, too. At least Lauren thought so as she loosened the belt on her dress under the cover of a linen napkin.

  Their Thanksgiving dinner was just about over, except for dessert. They were more or less in the seventh-inning stretch, and from the look on every face around the table, Lauren knew she was not alone in feeling stuffed.

  Even in a food daze, Lauren still felt happy to be with her “tribe”—especially her sisters Jillian and Amanda, who had arrived yesterday and helped with the preparations, along with Amanda’s husband, Gabriel.

  Her aunt Jessica and uncle Sam were also there, along with Lauren’s three cousins. Darrell was twenty-four, working on his degree in architecture. He was amazingly talented and had already designed an apartment complex that was going to be built by the town. His younger brother, Tyler, fourteen, was just starting high school, and their sister, Lily, was ten, only a year younger than Betty. Those two went to the same school and were as close as sisters.

  Her mom had been up at five that morning, supervising deliveries of turkey dinners all over town, but she still looked bright and lovely, seated at the head of the table, in all her glory as the hostess of the family gathering. Lauren wasn’t sure where her mother got all her energy and spunk. She tried her best to follow her mom’s lead, but it wasn’t always easy.

  Sam leaned back and patted his stomach. “Just when I think a Thanksgiving feast cannot get any better, you hit new heights, sis. That meal was epic. I even had seconds of the brussels sprouts. And you know how I feel about that vegetable.”

  Sam, who was hamming it up as usual, looked very fit for a middle-aged guy. He was still working hard in his construction business, though Darrell was involved in the business now, too.

  “I also know how you feel about bacon, and I definitely knew which ingredient would win out,” her mother replied.

  Jessica laughed. “Your sister knows you too well. It took me years to figure out that bacon trick.”

  “No denying it. I won’t even try.” Sam grinned, his dimpled smile identical to her mother’s, and to her own. “I hear that now they say bacon is good for you.”

  Her father’s face crinkled into an expression that was half-amused and half-perplexed. Lauren could tell his medical sensibilities were doing a backflip. “Bacon? Where in the world did you hear that one?”

  Sam shrugged. “Not sure. But if doctors didn’t discover that yet, I’m sure someone will soon. Eggs, chocolate, red wine . . . all this other stuff the doctor always said was bad for me turns it out to be good. Why not bacon?”

  Her father sighed and seemed about to argue, then sat back and shrugged. “There is a lot of contradictory information out there about nutrition. I’ll grant you that.”

  “But no argument about this dinner, Aunt Molly,” Darrell said. “I had seconds of everything.”

  “Thanks, honey. Hope you left room for dessert. We have plenty of pies,” Molly replied. “Apple, coconut custard, pecan, and pumpkin.”

  Sam raised his hand, as if in school. “A taste of each, please. Except the pumpkin. Unless it has bacon in it.”

  Her mom laughed. “Sorry, Sam. Maybe I’ll experiment and surprise you next year.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes as she lifted the mostly empty turkey platter off the table. “Don’t encourage him, Molly. Please?”

  Lauren noticed that Darrell and Tyler both started clearing, too, without being asked, along with her mother, her aunt, herself, and her sisters Amanda and Jillian. Betty and Lily slipped off to Betty’s room, already giggling before they’d even made it to the stairway.

  Amanda’s husband, Gabriel, also helped, stationing himself at the sink in front of a huge pile of pots and pans, while her dad and uncle drifted into the family room to watch football during the intermission between dinner and dessert.

  It was a small thing, but it revealed a distinct difference in the generations and what was considered “women’s work.” Lauren was happy to move around after the long, rich meal. She hoped she could slip out for a walk later and maybe even a few jogs around the neighborhood this weekend.

  Back in the city, intense sessions at a high-tech, exclusive fitness club had been a regular part of her routine. Life was different in Cape Light in that respect as well.

  With her height and build, keeping her weight down was always a struggle. Lauren had long ago faced the fact that she’d never be a flat-chested, model-thin silhouette. She’d shot up to her full height early—and towered over the boys—which had caused her to be a bit shy in high school. She’d since learned to take pride in her stature and her curves. Still, she did want her expensive wardrobe to fit when this visit was over. Especially the sleek business outfits she would need for interviews come January. She would be apoplectic if they didn’t.

  As her mother began to unwrap an array of delicious-looking pies, Lauren knew that goal was going to be a challenge.

  “Those pies look too beautiful to eat.” Jessica stood next to Lauren, also fascinated by the unveiling.

  “They do. Though I doubt it will stop any of us. I should just apply a slice or two to my hips.”

  Aunt Jess laughed and put her arm around Lauren’s shoulder. “You’re gorgeous, honey. Young women worry way too much about dieting.”

  Lauren knew that was probably true. “I haven’t been working out since I got home. Except for a few rounds of golf. We walked the course, but it’s still not great exercise.”

  Her aunt’s expression was suddenly serious. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the golf course. I’m so sorry my animals wandered. Cole McGuire told me that you spoke to him about it.”

  Lauren had meant to get in touch with her aunt after visiting McGuire, but the week had passed and she’d never gotten around to it. It was one thing to confront a total stranger but another entirely to bother her aunt, who was only trying to make the world a kinder place. And Jessica wasn’t responsible for the four-footed trespassing. McGuire was.

  “I did visit, on behalf of Joe Wagner’s firm.
They represent the golf course.”

  “So I heard. Cole claims the golf course threatened to sue him.”

  Lauren was shocked by McGuire’s misinterpretation. “That’s not true at all. He needs to keep the animals on his side of the fence. I did make that clear. But I never said anything about a lawsuit.” Lauren paused. “The letter was strong. But he’s been warned before. The golf course just wants him to know they mean business this time. I will add that he didn’t seem to be taking it all that seriously.”

  Aunt Jess smiled and rolled her eyes. “Cole is not what I’d call an easygoing guy. He doesn’t like anyone telling him what to do.”

  “I noticed. But it’s good to hear you confirm it. Now I won’t take it personally. Not that I care one way or the other,” she quickly added.

  “Maybe I won’t send the overflow there this winter,” Jessica mused. “I don’t want to cause problems for everyone. Though having that extra shelter space did save a lot of lives last year.”

  “It’s not your fault. Send the animals there, please. That’s fine,” Lauren said quickly. “McGuire is responsible for keeping them under control once they’re on his property.”

  Her aunt still looked concerned. “Are you sure? I’d hate for this to go any further. He’s doing us a favor, and he does put in work to take care of the animals while they’re sheltered in his barn.”

  Lauren hadn’t thought of that part, how McGuire was contributing his time and maybe even some money toward the cause. That was good of him.

  “Don’t worry. It will never come to that. I’ll make sure,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she could keep that promise if the situation did escalate and get nastier. “How is the rescue group going? You must take in a lot of animals if you need to bring them to different locations.”

  Her aunt positively glowed, happy to talk about her favorite topic—aside from Lauren’s cousins. “We just won a grant that will carry us through the end of the year. And we’ve applied for another. But winter is so busy, and we’re very low on volunteers. It’s hard to find help during the holidays.”

  “I bet. I can help you sometime. I’ve only been working a few hours here and there and driving Betty around to music lessons and sports practice to help Mom.”

  Lauren did have a lot of extra time, but she secretly cringed the moment the offer left her lips. Had she really volunteered to help the Grateful Paw? What was she thinking? She liked animals well enough. Cats, dogs, even her little sister’s gerbil. But she was not eager to babysit the sort of barnyard critters her aunt’s group specialized in rescuing.

  But when she saw Jessica’s pleased expression, she knew she’d said the right thing—and had smoothed over their uncomfortable moment.

  “That would be super, honey. Thank you so much. I’m going to take you up on that,” her aunt warned.

  Lauren grinned. “Operators are standing by for your call, Aunt Jess.”

  A sharp knock sounded on the back door. Lauren’s mother didn’t look surprised as she sailed across the kitchen, carrying a carafe of coffee into the dining room. “Will you get that, Lauren? We’re all set for dessert.”

  Lauren headed through the mudroom and glanced through the window. It was Joe, holding a big bouquet of autumn flowers. He looked a bit self-conscious but greeted her with a wide smile as she pulled open the door.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Lauren.” He leaned forward and gave her a friendly hug.

  Lauren had no choice but to hug him back, but she was still unable to hide her surprise. “Hello, Joe . . . What’s up?”

  “Just stopped by for dessert. Your mom invited me?”

  Lauren didn’t like it, but she did get it. And she felt bad for making him feel awkward. “Oh . . . right. I know she mentioned it. I totally forgot. Thanks for coming,” she said in a politer tone. “The Thanksgiving pie parade is just about to kick off in the dining room. You haven’t missed a thing.”

  She could tell by his expression that he knew her mother hadn’t told Lauren to expect him. But as usual, Joe didn’t take offense. He looked every inch the prosperous country gentleman in an expensive-looking Donegal tweed sports coat with a dark brown muffler slung around his neck. He removed the muffler and hung it on the coat tree, then handed her the flowers.

  “Let’s try this again. Happy Thanksgiving, Lauren.”

  She smiled and accepted the bouquet, trying not to show the reluctance she really felt at the lavish gift. “Thank you, Joe. Happy Thanksgiving. These are lovely.”

  “I hope you enjoy them.” He also had a gold box of chocolates tucked under his arm. For her family, she suspected.

  “Let’s go inside.” She led him into the dining room, where her mother and Aunt Jess presided over the pies and had just begun taking orders.

  “Joe, good to see you,” her mother greeted him warmly. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Would anyone in their right mind miss an invitation for dessert at your house, Mrs. Harding?”

  “Good point,” her mother replied without the slightest trace of modesty. “Just call me Molly, Joe. You two aren’t in high school anymore.”

  “I will, thanks. And thank heaven that phase is over,” he added, making everyone laugh.

  Her father and sisters—except for Betty, who was just born the year Lauren was a senior—remembered Joe well, and also seemed glad to see him. Jess and Sam knew Joe from church and greeted him warmly. He took a seat next to Lauren and fell into conversation easily, looking quite relaxed with her family.

  As the group discussed the movie crew that was due to arrive in town on Monday, her mother met Lauren’s gaze across the table. She grinned from ear to ear, the famous Morgan dimples flashing.

  Molly looked extremely satisfied. Like a cat who had eaten a canary pie, Lauren thought. Her mother’s little matchmaking plan had worked out today. Though Lauren wanted to tell her it wouldn’t amount to much.

  She liked Joe. She really did. She even enjoyed working at his firm. But Joe was just . . . Joe. Had she worked so hard to move on from her hometown only to circle back and end up here? With a guy who clearly never wanted to leave?

  Maybe her parents—especially her mom—thought a relationship with Joe Wagner was a good choice right now, but Lauren didn’t agree. Despite how well he fit into her family and how thoughtful and patient he could be. And despite being in the “danger zone”—twenty-nine and totally single—she still could not move Joe’s marker from the friend square to the boyfriend square on her game board.

  She was also sure that if she tried to explain, her mother’s reply would be one of her patent “Sure, honey, we’ll see” phrases and smiles. Lauren decided she wouldn’t even bother. She sat back and enjoyed her pumpkin pie.

  * * *

  * * *

  “They’ll trample this village to shreds, like a herd of buffalo. They’ll leave us in wreck and ruin. Dimwits like Charlie Bates will be sorry,” Lillian predicted. “But it will be too late. Mark my words.”

  Lillian could see she’d soured the family’s Thanksgiving gathering with her prediction, but someone needed to voice the truth of the matter. She’d taken on that mantle before and was not afraid to take it on again.

  She had expected the dinner conversation to turn in this direction sooner or later, to some chitchat about the imminent arrival of the movie people. She had strong feelings on the subject. She couldn’t help that.

  Her daughter Emily and son-in-law Dan exchanged glances and shifted uneasily. The younger ones, her granddaughter Sara and Sara’s husband, Luke, looked amused. Jane, her younger granddaughter, just looked confused.

  Lillian’s husband, Ezra, sat back in his chair at the opposite end of their long dining table, which had been carefully laid with her finest Wedgwood china, Waterford crystal, and silver flatware, as the holiday gathering required. He pushed his glasses to th
e top of his nose—a sure sign he was vexed.

  “Now, now, Lillian. No need to get up on your high horse. You’re liable to slip off and break a hip.” His quip made the others grin, though none of them dared laugh aloud. “You have to admit, having a real Hollywood movie filmed in our village is exciting. It doesn’t happen every day.”

  “I’ll admit no such thing. And I’d be happy if it never happened any day.”

  High horse, indeed. At least I still have one, she nearly added. Not like some old people, who have thrown in their saddle and don’t care about anything more than keeping up with their TV shows and keeping their pill boxes in order.

  She noticed Luke lean over to his young sister-in-law. “I think it’s time to bring in dessert. Want to help me?”

  Jane nodded and smiled, and the two slipped off to kitchen. Lillian wasn’t surprised. Luke McCallister was a bit of a coward, she had always thought. Not nearly good enough for her granddaughter Sara. She’d never approved of that marriage, though the rest of the family liked him well enough.

  “Thank you, Luke and Jane,” Emily called after them. “I’ll help you in a minute.”

  “That’s fine. Turn tail and run.” Lillian pinned Emily with a look. Emily had been mayor of the village for fifteen years before Charlie Bates took over. She should have some answers, if anyone at the table did. “No one wants to talk honestly about this situation. I still can’t comprehend how those permits were approved. I wouldn’t be surprised if that Bates creature bribed a few board members to push this through.”

  Emily rolled her eyes and shook her head. Lillian had seen that expression of disbelief before. Her daughter was so naive, even at her age. Always was, always would be.