Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(37)

“My mother calls those scrap cookies,” Maggie said.

Holly looked through the oven window at the pie-dough shapes. “Is your mother still alive?” she asked.

“Yes.” Maggie set aside the flour-coated rolling pin and went to Holly. Kneeling behind her, she put her arms around the child, and together they looked into the oven. “What kind of pies did your mother make?” she asked.

“I don’t think she made pies,” Holly said reflectively, “but she made cookies.”

“Chocolate chip?”

“Mmm-hmm. And snickerdoodles…”

It helped, Maggie knew, to be able to talk about those who were gone. It was good to remember. And they continued to talk as they baked, not in a long protracted conversation, but in little here-and-there sprinkles, the spice of memories mingling with the fragrance of warm pie crust.

When Maggie dropped Holly off in the evening, the child put her arms around her waist and held on for an extra-long hug.

Holly’s voice was muffled against Maggie’s front. “Are you sure you won’t have Thanksgiving with us tomorrow?”

Maggie’s tormented gaze went to Mark, who was standing nearby.

“She can’t, Holls,” he said gently. “Maggie’s family needs her to be there with them tomorrow.”

Except that she could, and they didn’t.

Guilt and worry began to crowd out the good feelings that had blossomed during the afternoon. As she looked from the top of Holly’s head to meet Mark’s vaguely sympathetic gaze, Maggie comprehended how easy it would be to fall in love with both of them. And how much she would have to lose then, more than she could ever survive. But if she could somehow keep from getting seriously involved, she wouldn’t have to risk having her heart broken beyond all hope of repair.

She patted Holly’s back and gently disentangled herself from the child’s enthusiastic grip. “I really have to go to Bellingham tomorrow,” she said briskly. “Bye, Holly. It was a fun day.” She bent and kissed the soft cheek, slightly flavored with cinnamon sugar.

On Thanksgiving morning, Maggie flat-ironed her hair, dressed in trouser jeans, booties, and a spice-colored sweater, and took the large foil-covered casserole dish out to her car.

Just as she began to back out of her driveway, her cell phone rang. Stopping the car, she fished around in her bag until she found the phone amid the clutter of receipts, lip-gloss tubes, and spare change.

“Hello?”

“Maggie?”

“Holly,” she said in instant concern. “How are you?”

“Great,” came the little girl’s cheerful reply. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Maggie smiled, relaxing slightly. “Happy Thanksgiving. What are you up to?”

“I let Renfield outside to go to the bathroom, and then he came back in, and I put food in his bowl and gave him some water.”

“I can tell you’re taking good care of him.”

“But then Uncle Mark made both of us leave the kitchen while they cleared out the smoke.”

“Smoke?” Maggie’s smile faded. “Why was there smoke?”

“Uncle Sam was cooking. And then they called Uncle Alex and he’s taking the oven door off.”

Maggie frowned. Why in the world would Alex be removing the oven door? “Holly…where is Uncle Mark?”

“He’s looking for his safety goggles.”

“Why does he need safety goggles?”

“Because he’s helping Uncle Sam cook the turkey.”

“I see.” Maggie looked down at her watch. If she was fast, she had enough time to drop by Rainshadow Vineyard and still make the late-morning ferry to Anacortes. “Holly, I think I’m going to stop by your house before I go to the ferry terminal.”

“Great!” came the enthusiastic reply. “Except…maybe you shouldn’t say that I called you. Because that might get me in trouble.”

“I won’t mention that part,” Maggie assured her.

Before Holly could reply, a male voice in the background asked, “Holly, who are you talking to?”

Maggie said, “Tell him it’s an opinion poll.”

“A lady is doing an opinion poll,” she heard Holly say.

A brief muffled consultation, then Holly said importantly, “My uncle says we don’t have any opinions.” A pause, and a few more muffled words. “And,” Holly added severely, “we’re on the do-not-call list.”

Maggie grinned. “Well, I’ll just come over, then.”

“Okay. Bye!”

It was cold and a little blustery, the perfect weather for Thanksgiving because it brought to mind images of cozy fireplaces, a turkey in the oven, and watching the Macy’s parade on TV.

There was a BMW in the driveway, immaculate and sleek. The vehicle undoubtedly belonged to Alex, the Nolan brother she hadn’t met. Feeling a little like an intruder, but driven by concern, Maggie parked and went up the front steps.

Holly met her at the door, dressed in corduroy pants and a long-sleeved tee featuring a cartoon turkey. “Maggie!” the girl cried, bouncing up and down, and they hugged. Renfield came up to them, panting and wheezing happily.

“Where are your uncles?” Maggie asked.

“Uncle Alex is in the kitchen. Renfield and I are helping him. I don’t know where anybody else is.”