missing her grandchildren's-but only with a passing regret.
Climbing from the car, she reached for the bag filled with toys Mary always prepared for her. Helena might not cook, but she never showed up empty-handed.
J.D. teased her that Mary secretly hated buying the gifts and got her revenge on Helena by always including at least one toy that made noise. Last Easter, she'd found huge eggs for the boys that contained harmonicas, and plastic chicks for the girls that made chirping sounds.
It had taken J.D. and two bottles of wine to calm Helena's nerves that night. Harmonica-playing chickens even haunted her dreams.
Today, Helena was happy to find books about juggling with bags of soft balls attached. She handed them out and made her way past the husbands, who were glued to a football game on TV as though hypnotized. They were a nicee pair, but Helena could not remember having a conversation with either of them in years.
'Momma!' Both daughters hurried from the kitchen.
'Momma, you look so nice.' Patricia wiped her hands on her apron.
Paula touched the wool of Helena's suit. 'That's a real fine suit on you. The color makes you look younger. No one would ever think you were a day over fifty.'
'She doesn't look old enough to be our mother as it is now,' Patricia bragged. 'When we were little, our friends used to think Momma was a model, remember?'
For the hundredth time, Helena wished her daughters could wear the sizes in her store. They had open accounts but only charged a bag or a scarf now and then. Helena felt she had a lifetime of knowledge about clothing and no one to pass it down to.
'Mary tells me you both have been helping out at the store.'
They grinned, proud of themselves.
'We think you'll be pleased, Momma. We've been trying, hoping to take some of the load off your shoulders.' Paula took Helena's coat and umbrella and put them by the door. 'Is it raining?'
'Not yet,' Helena answered. 'But you know I like to be prepared.'
Paula led Helena toward the kitchen. 'Mary even let us do some of the ordering. We had a great time.'
Helena wanted to ask more questions, but she saw that the table was already set. She was always a little surprised at what good cooks they had both become. Paula made breads and pies better than any bakery in town. Patricia managed to set a pretty table even though the napkins were paper. Holidays were important to them and therefore Helena always tried to be on her best behavior.
She surprised herself by enjoying the dinner. Nowhere in town had a better meal than the one her daughters cooked. They were both pleased when she asked for not only seconds, but thirds.
Two hours later, as they stood side by side in the kitchen doing the dishes, Helena said almost sadly, 'I've had a wonderful time, but I need to start back.'
Paula leaned over the sink and stared out the window. 'If it rains, it might freeze after dark, but you've got a few hours yet, Momma.'
Helena pulled off her apron and laid it across one of the kitchen chairs. 'You outdid yourselves today, girls. This was the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. I'm sure J.D. would enjoy a plate. I'll make him one.'
Neither daughter said a word as Helena filled one of the plastic plates with food. When she finished, she kissed them both and headed toward the door.
At the tiny table in the front entrance, she set the plate down and slipped on her coat. The noise from the TV would have drowned out any goodbye she wanted to make to her sons-in-law, and all the children were watching a movie in the back of the house.
As she lifted J.D.'s plate, Paula's voice drifted from the kitchen. 'Don't worry about it, Pat. She's just dealing with his loss the only way she knows how.'
'She's not dealing with it at all. She hasn't removed anything that belonged to him. The other day I was in her bedroom, and his reading glasses are still on the stand beside his chair.'
'I did like old Doc Hamilton suggested. I've told her several times that J.D. is dead when she starts talking about him. But she doesn't seem to hear.' Paula sounded like she was about to cry. 'There is nothing more we can do. Our mother is taking her dead husband a plate of food and we're all acting like that's just fine.'
Helena ran out the door before she had to listen to more of such nonsense.
By the time she got home, Helena felt a little out of breath. She put J.D.'s food in the kitchen and hurried up the stairs to change out of her dress clothes and into something more comfortable.
Once in her bathroom, she pushed a full bottle of blood pressure medicine, atenolol, aside, thinking her blood pressure must be low, not high, since she felt so tired lately. Tonight, she would not bother with the captopril pill, either. She really could not remember why the doctor had suggested she take it in the first place. All she needed was a glass of wine and she would feel fine.
She went back downstairs for the warmed meal for J.D. but climbing back up the stairs, Helena moved at a slower pace than usual.
'I'm tired,' she whispered. 'It has been a long day.'
The door to their bedroom was open and she smiled, knowing J.D. was already waiting for her.
'I'm back,' she yelled, and as she entered the room she could hear the cork on the wine popping.
Meredith Allen sifted through the files. Cora Lee Wilson, the county clerk, had left her plenty to do during the four days the office would be closed to the public. In most small towns like Clifton Creek, the clerk's position resembled the Pope's. Once elected, the term stretched for life. Cora Lee had started passing jobs off to Meredith when she worked summers during her last two years of high school. At first it was filing, then record keeping. Now Meredith was not sure the clerk even remembered how to do some of the reports that had to be kept.
But Meredith didn't mind. She enjoyed the silence of the work. It was so different from teaching, and it offered her the extra money she needed.
Thanksgiving passed faster at work than at home alone. The cold marble and brick of the courthouse were familiar to her. She had danced in the empty halls while her father cleaned the place years ago. When she had been five, the building was her palace with huge windows that reached the sky, and wooden railings that shone as if liquid glass had been poured over them. She knew where every light switch was, every back door, every hidden cove where a little girl could hide and pretend.
She glanced out the windows she once thought were the tallest in the world. Sheriff Farrington's car was parked next to hers on the otherwise empty lot. He arrived first, but Meredith didn't stop in to let him know she was here.
In the past five years, they had developed a pattern. Whoever came in last or left first always checked in at the other's office to let them know someone else was in the building.
Only she did not want to face him this morning. Meredith knew he was here. He was always here. Sheriff Farrington once told her that he worked holidays because both his deputies were family men. In truth, she guessed he was more like her now and did not want to be at home alone.
Meredith tried to keep busy, but she could not concentrate on filing while thinking about him, only a few doors away. She probably had not crossed his mind. One-night stands were no doubt his specialty.
Closing her eyes, Meredith decided she must be the worst lover in the world. Or at least the worst Sheriff Farrington had ever known. That was why he told her they should not see one another again. Or maybe he didn't like the way she looked, or felt, or smelled. Who knows? She had spent most of her life trying to understand Kevin. It seemed far too much trouble to start over with another man now. There wasn't enough lifetime left to make any progress.
Kevin had been big. He loved hugging and cuddling. Even when they were arguing, usually about money, he would always pull her close at night, like she was a part of him.
Granger's night with her was totally different. He touched her, but she didn't feel a part of him. He knew how to please a woman but, before and after, he did not seem to have any idea what to do with her. For him, the loving was something he did to a woman, not something they made together.
