1105 Yakima Street - Debbie Macomber [92]
When Olivia was diagnosed with breast cancer, Jack had hardly let her out of his sight. If Olivia had ever doubted her husband’s love—and she hadn’t—he’d proved himself a thousand times over while she underwent cancer treatments. And, as a bonus, their garden had benefitted, too.
A youngster held the door open as Olivia and Charlotte entered the complex.
“Merry Christmas,” he said with a toothless grin.
“It’s not even Thanksgiving until next week,” Charlotte said.
“But it’s Christmas here,” the young man told them earnestly. “My great-grandma said so.”
“Then who are we to argue?” Olivia said as they walked in. The large open room was filled with tables placed in a U-shape for easy access. Bess sat at the second table, her baked goods and knitted items on display.
“Charlotte!” she cried. She put down her knitting needles to lean over the table and give her friend a hug. “I’m so glad you came. When I mentioned the bazaar last Monday, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop by.”
Her mother hadn’t said anything about the craft show and Olivia assumed Charlotte had simply forgotten, or—another possibility—she hadn’t wanted to give Will and Olivia an opportunity to promote the idea of assisted living.
“I’d like to introduce you to my friends,” Bess said, and animatedly waved her arm in the direction of several other women. “This is Eileen, and over here is Rosemary and that’s Eve.” She pointed to the other ladies, who had their own booths. They raised their hands and waved. “I see you met my great-grandson.”
“That’s Billy?” Charlotte asked.
“He’s eight now. Unbelievable, isn’t it?’
“I helped Bess with a sweater pattern when he was two. It had a dinosaur on the front,” Charlotte explained to Olivia.
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