50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [64]
“Problems?” Carol asked. She had on a bright red sweater with three Christmas-tree bulbs in black, yellow and green decorating the front.
“Problems with the cook,” Cathy answered, poking her head out of the kitchen. “I should’ve cleaned the oven after Thanksgiving and didn’t, and then the minute I turned it on to preheat for the turkey, smoke started billowing out.”
“Mom set off the smoke alarm!” Andy shouted.
Carol’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”
“What could I do?” Cathy joked. “I shoved the bird inside and closed the door, hoping the alarm would stop—which eventually it did.”
Cecilia laughed. “That’s exactly what I would have done.”
“No,” Cathy objected. “You would’ve had a spotless oven, so this sort of disaster would never have happened. I, on the other hand, only cook when necessary and on holidays.”
What Cathy had said about her was true, but Cecilia wasn’t going to admit it. She did like a clean house and took pride in her homemaking skills.
“Rachel Pendergast is joining us for sure,” Cecilia said, delighted that her new friend had agreed to come. Both Carol and Cathy had met Rachel at different times, and Cecilia had gotten to know her fairly well. Cathy and Carol were perfectly willing to invite her to their Christmas party, even if she wasn’t officially a Navy wife. Nate Olsen was a friend of their husbands.
“Great,” Cathy said, “the more the merrier.”
The doorbell chimed just as Cathy finished speaking. Carol answered, and Rachel walked in, her nose red from the cold, bearing a sweet potato casserole and a canvas bag with a few wrapped presents peaking out. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I’m not late, am I?”
“No, no, not at all,” Cathy assured her. She took the casserole dish and set it on the kitchen counter.
“Welcome,” Cecilia said and they hugged. Rachel shrugged off her coat and hung it on the rack by the front door, then arranged her gifts by the tree.
“I got delayed at Bruce’s,” she explained, glancing at her watch.
At first Cecilia assumed that Bruce was Rachel’s brother or some other relation, until she remembered he was her widower friend.
“Jolene didn’t want me to leave,” Rachel was saying.
Cathy brought out eggnog and they all sat down in the living room to open gifts. Cecilia had bought each of the other women a tube of luxurious hand cream, and puzzles for the kids; in return she received nail polish from Rachel, in a color called “Santa’s New Suit,” a paperback from Carol, and, from Cathy, a pewter picture frame engraved with booties and other baby images. She suspected Cathy had gone over their price limit and felt tears well up as she caught her friend’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Soon after that, the two kids moved into the bedroom, where Amanda had convinced Andy to play house with her.
“I’ll make you dinner,” the four-year-old said smartly.
Andy looked skeptical. “Will the smoke alarm go off again?”
“Who are Bruce and Jolene?” Carol asked Rachel. “I think I missed something here.”
“Well, Bruce is a…friend. A widower. His daughter, Jolene, is nine now. Her mother died when she was five. A while ago, she said she wants me to marry her dad.”
“How did Bruce react to that?” Carol asked.
“Forget her father, how did you handle it?” Cathy wanted to know.
Rachel grimaced slightly. “It was awkward for both of us. Bruce and I see each other on occasion. Mostly for companionship. For example, Bruce asked me to go Christmas shopping with him and I did.”
Cathy exchanged a glance with Cecilia. “Does Nate know about this other guy?”
Rachel nodded. “Bruce is just a friend. Nate knows that. Technically I—I’ve only gone out with Nate twice, and we’ve stayed in touch.”
Cecilia knew they’d been in daily contact ever since she’d shown Rachel how to log onto the Internet and send e-mail messages. Ian had recently mentioned how much happier Nate seemed to be now that he was able to communicate with Rachel on-line.
“Nate gave me a computer for Christmas,” Rachel said shyly. “I told him it was too much, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Wow,” Cathy murmured.
“He’s got