Читать книгу Christmas Trio B - Debbie Macomber - Страница 15

Olivia reluctantly left the library by herself. Weak as she was these days, it made more sense for Mary Jo to go home with Grace. Nevertheless, Olivia felt a certain obligation toward this vulnerable young woman.

Olivia had never had positive feelings toward her stepbrother, and this situation definitely hadn’t improved her impression of him. Ben’s son could be deceptive and cruel. She knew very well that David had lied to Mary Jo Wyse. Sure, it took two to tango, as the old cliché had it—and two to get Mary Jo into her present state. But Olivia also knew that David would have misrepresented himself and, even worse, abdicated all responsibility for Mary Jo and his child. No wonder her family was in an uproar. Olivia didn’t blame them; she would be, too.

The drive from the library to the Harbor Street Gallery took less than two minutes. Olivia hated driving such a short distance when at any other time in her life she would’ve walked those few blocks. The problem was that those blocks were a steep uphill climb and she didn’t have the energy. The surgery and subsequent infection had sapped her of strength. Today, however, wasn’t a day to dwell on the cancer that had struck her so unexpectedly, like a viper hiding in the garden. Today, Christmas Eve, was a day for gratitude and hope.

She parked outside the art gallery her brother had purchased and was renovating. Olivia had been the one to suggest he buy the gallery; he’d done so, and it seemed to be a good decision for him.

Will was waiting for her at the door. “Liv!” he said, bounding toward her in his larger-than-life way. He extended his arms for a hug. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you,” she said, smiling up at him. Her brother, although over sixty, remained a strikingly handsome man. Now divorced and retired, he’d come home to reinvent himself, leaving behind his former life in Atlanta. In the beginning Olivia had doubted his motives, but slowly he’d begun to prove himself, becoming an active member of the town—and his family—once again.

“I wanted to give you a tour of the gallery,” Will told her as he led her inside.

The last time Olivia had visited the town’s art gallery had been while Maryellen Bowman, Grace’s daughter, was the manager. Maryellen had been forced to resign during a difficult pregnancy. The business had rapidly declined once she’d left, and eventually the gallery had gone up for sale.

Looking around, Olivia was astonished by the changes. “You did all this in less than a month?” The place barely resembled the old Harbor Street Gallery. Before Will had taken over, artwork had been arranged in a simple, straightforward manner—paintings and photographs on the walls, sculpture on tables.

Will had built distinctive multi-level glass cases and brought in other inventive means of displaying a variety of mediums, including a carefully designed lighting system. One entire wall was taken up with a huge quilt, unlike any she’d seen before. At first glance she had the impression of fire.

Close up, it looked abstract, with vivid clashing colors and surreal, swirling shapes. But, stepping back, Olivia identified an image that suddenly emerged—a dragon. It was fierce, angry, red, shooting out flames in gold, purple and orange satin against a background that incorporated trees, water and winding roads.

“That’s by Shirley Bliss,” Will said, following her gaze. “It took me weeks to convince her to let me put that up.”

“It’s magnificent.” Olivia was in awe of the piece and couldn’t tear her eyes from it.

“It isn’t for sale, however.”

“That’s a shame.”

Will nodded. “She calls it Death. She created it shortly after her husband was killed in a motorcycle accident.” He slipped an arm through Olivia’s. “Can’t you just feel her anger and her grief?”

The quilt seemed to vibrate with emotions Olivia recognized from her own life—the time her thirteen-year-old son had drowned, more than twenty years ago. And the time, only weeks ago, that she’d been diagnosed with cancer. When she initially heard the physician say the word, she’d had a nearly irrepressible urge to argue with him. This couldn’t be happening to her. There’d been some mistake.

That disbelief had been replaced by a hot anger at the unfairness of it. Then came numbness, then grief and finally resignation. With Jordan’s death and with her own cancer, she’d experienced a tremendous loss that had brought with it fears of further loss.

Now, fighting her cancer—and that was how she thought of it, her cancer—she’d found a shaky serenity, even a sort of peace. That kind of acceptance was something she’d acquired with the love and assistance of her husband, Jack, her family and, as much as anyone, Grace, the woman who’d been her best friend all her life.

“My living quarters are livable now, too,” Will was telling her. “I’ve moved in upstairs but I’m still sorting through boxes. Isn’t it great how things worked out? Because of Mack,” he added when Olivia looked at him quizzically.

“Getting the job here in town, you mean?”

“Yeah, since that meant he needed an apartment. At the same time, I needed out of the sublet, so it all came together per fectly.”

After a quick turn around the gallery to admire the other pieces on display, Will steered her toward the door. “Where would you like to go for lunch?” he asked. “Anyplace in town. Your big brother’s treating.”

“Well, seeing you’ve got all that money burning a hole in your pocket, how about the Pancake Palace?”

Will arched his brows. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m serious.” The Pancake Palace had long been a favorite of hers and in the past month or two, she’d missed it. For years, Grace and Olivia would head over to their favorite high school hangout after aerobics class on Wednesday night. The coconut cream pie and coffee was a reward for their exertions, and the Palace was where they always caught up with each other’s news.

Goldie, their favorite waitress, had served them salty French fries and iced sodas back when neither of them worried about calories. These days their once-a-week splurge reminded them of their youth, and the nostalgic appeal of the place never faded.

Some of the most defining moments of their teenage years had occurred at the Pancake Palace. It was there that eighteen-year-old Grace admitted she was pregnant, shortly before graduation.

And years later, it’d been over coffee and tears that Olivia told her Stan had asked for a divorce after Jordan’s death. And later, it was where they celebrated Olivia’s appointment to the bench. The Pancake Palace was a place of memories for them, good and bad.

“The Pancake Palace? You’re really serious?” Will said again. “I can afford a lot better, you know.”

“You asked and that’s my choice.”

Will nodded. “Then off to the Palace we go.”

Her brother insisted on driving and Olivia couldn’t fault his manners. He was the consummate gentleman, opening the passenger door for her and helping her inside. The snow that had fallen earlier dusted the buildings and trees but had melted on the sidewalks and roads, leaving them slick. The slate-gray skies promised more snow, however.

Olivia had been out with her brother plenty of times and he’d never bothered with her car door. She was his sister and manners were reserved for others.

She wondered if Will’s solicitude was linked to her illness. Although he might’ve been reluctant to admit it, Will had been frightened. His caring comforted her, particularly since they’d been at odds during the past few years.

He assisted her out of the car and opened the door to the Pancake Palace. They’d hardly entered the restaurant when Goldie appeared.

“Well, as I live and breathe, it’s Olivia!” Goldie cried. Then she shocked Olivia by throwing both sinewy arms around her. “My goodness, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Merry Christmas, Goldie,” Olivia said.

The waitress had to be close to seventy and could only be described as “crusty.” To Olivia’s utter astonishment, Goldie pulled a hankie from her pink uniform pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” she said with a sniffle.

“Oh, Goldie.” Olivia had no idea what to say at this uncharacteristic display of affection.

“I just don’t know what Grace and I would’ve done without you,” Goldie said, sniffling even more. She wiped her nose and stuffed the hankie back in her pocket. Reaching for the coffeepot behind the counter, she motioned with her free hand. “Sit anyplace you want.”

“Thank you, Goldie.” Olivia was genuinely touched, since Goldie maintained strict control of who sat where.

Although Goldie had given her free rein, Olivia chose the booth where she’d sat with Grace every Wednesday night until recently. It felt good to slide across the cracked red vinyl cushion again. Olivia resisted the urge to close her eyes and breathe in the familiar scents. The coffee had always been strong and a hint of maple syrup lingered, although it was long past the breakfast hour.

Goldie automatically righted their coffee mugs and filled them. “We’ve got a turkey dinner with all the trimmings if you’re interested,” she announced.

Olivia still struggled with her appetite. “What’s the soup of the day?”

Goldie frowned. “You aren’t having just soup.”

“But …”

“Look at you,” the waitress chastised. “You’re thin as a flagpole. If you don’t want a big meal, then I suggest chicken pot pie.”

“Sounds good to me,” Will said.

Goldie ignored him. She whipped the pencil from behind her ear and yanked out the pad in her apron pocket. From sheer force of habit, or so Olivia suspected, she licked the lead. “Okay, what’s it gonna be? And make up your mind, ‘cause the lunch crowd’s coming in a few minutes and we’re gonna be real busy.”

It was all Olivia could do to hide her amusement. “Okay, I’ll take the chicken pot pie.”

“Good choice.” Goldie made a notation on her pad.

“I’m glad you approve.”

“You’re getting pie à la mode, too.”

“Goldie!”

One hand on her hip, Goldie glared at her. “After all these years, you should know better than to argue with me.” She turned to Will. “And that goes for you, too, young man.”

Will raised his hands in acquiescence as Olivia sputtered. “I stand corrected,” she said, grinning despite her efforts to keep a straight face.

Goldie left to place their order and Will grinned, too. “I guess you were told.”

“I guess I was,” she agreed. It was nice to know she’d been missed.

Grace would get a real kick out of hearing about this. Olivia would make a point of telling her when they met at the Christmas Eve service later that evening.

Looking out the window, Olivia studied the hand-painted snowman, surrounded by falling snow. The windowpane next to Will was adorned with a big-eyed reindeer. A small poinsettia sat on every table, and the sights and sounds of Christmas filled the room as “O, Little Town of Bethlehem” played softly in the background.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join us for Christmas dinner?” Olivia asked her brother.

He shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re not up for company yet.”

“We’re seeing Justine and her family tonight. It’s just going to be Jack and me for Christmas Day.”

“Exactly. The two of you don’t need a third wheel.”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Olivia protested. “I hate the idea of you spending Christmas alone.”

Will sat back. “What makes you think I’ll be alone?”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “You mean you won’t?”

He gave a small noncommittal shrug.

“Will.” She breathed his name slowly. She didn’t want to bring up past history, but in her view, Will wasn’t to be trusted with women. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

The fact that Will was being secretive didn’t bode well. “Come on,” she urged him. “Tell me.”

He smiled. “It isn’t what you think.”

“She isn’t married, is she?”

“No.”

That, at least, was a relief.

“I’m starting over, Liv. My slate’s clean now and I want to keep it that way.”

Olivia certainly hoped so. “Tell me who it is,” she said again.

Her brother relaxed and folded his hands on the table. “I’ve seen Shirley Bliss a few times.”

Shirley Bliss. She was the artist who’d created the dragon, breathing fire and pain and anger.

“Shirley,” she whispered. “The dragon quilt lady.” Olivia hadn’t even met the woman but sensed they could easily be friends.

“She’s the one,” Will said. “We’re only getting to know each other but I’m impressed with her. She’s someone I’d definitely like to know better.”

“She invited you for Christmas?”

Will shifted his weight and looked out the window. “Well, not exactly.”

Olivia frowned. “Either she did or she didn’t.”

“Let’s put it like this. She hasn’t invited me yet.“

“Good grief, Will! It’s Christmas Eve. If she was going to invite you, it would’ve been before now.”

“Perhaps.” He grinned boyishly. “Actually, I thought I’d stop by her place around dinnertime tomorrow with a small gift.”

“Will!”

“Hey, you can’t blame a man for trying.”

“Will she be by herself?”

He shook his head. “She has two kids, a teenage daughter who’s a talented artist, too, and a son who’s in college. I haven’t met him yet.”

Before Will could say anything else, Goldie arrived at their booth, carrying two chicken pot pies. She set them down and came back with two huge pieces of coconut cream pie. “Make sure you save room for this,” she told them.

“I’d like to remind you I didn’t order any pie,” Olivia said, pretending to dis ap prove.

“I know,” Goldie returned gruffly. “It’s on the house. Think of me as your very own elf. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, Goldie the Elf.”

Will reached for his fork and smiled over at Olivia. “I have the feeling it’s going to be a merry Christmas for us all.”

Olivia had the very same feeling, despite—or maybe even because of—their unexpected visitor.