A Merry Little Christmas: 1225 Christmas Tree Lane / 5-B Poppy Lane. Debbie Macomber
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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