“From Lighthouse Lit, of course.” Amber smiled. “I’m on it. I stopped in last week and got a whole stack of board books.”
“Perfect. We have such cute ones.” Mary smiled to picture the bright new selections she’d unpacked a couple of weeks ago, in time for Christmas shoppers.
“Hey, I never thought to ask, but do you have any kids?” Amber asked the question casually, shifting Hunter in her arms, continuing the slow strolling pace they’d gotten into.
Mary looked up at the darkening sky. No matter how many times she heard it, that question always threw her. She bit her lip.
Amber looked sideways at her, eyebrows raised, and then some sort of understanding crossed her face. Obviously, she’d noticed Mary’s too-long pause. “Hey.” Amber bumped her arm lightly. “I’m sorry if I was out of line. I don’t mean to be nosy.”
“Not a problem.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, I totally understand. I should know better. People are always asking me invasive questions about my health and my surgeries and my prognosis. In fact, I’ve figured out the perfect answer to that kind of question. Do you want to hear it?”
“Sure.” Mary was grateful that Amber was talking on, giving her a chance to compose herself.
“Just say, ‘What did you ask me?’ as if you didn’t hear the question. Then they have to ask again. And you say ‘What did you ask me?’ again. Makes people stop and listen to themselves, and they usually stifle it at that point.” Amber’s face twisted into a wry smile. “Except Primrose Miller. She’s in a category of her own.”
Mary smiled. Primrose prided herself on knowing everything about everyone.
“Go ahead, practice it on me,” Amber invited.
“No. You aren’t being rude asking such a normal question. My criteria for that is, does the person asking care about me or not. And I think you do.”
“I do. I’m glad we’re getting to be better friends.”
“Me, too.” And Mary was lonely and having the odd inclination to share. “I had a daughter,” she started. Then her throat tightened and she couldn’t say anything more.
Amber put an arm around her. “I’m so sorry.” They were walking slowly now, a little out of the mainstream of the crowd. “What was her name?”
“Margaret, but we called her...” She sucked in air. “We called her Daisy. And I don’t think I can talk about it.”
“Of course,” Amber said instantly, and gave her shoulders a squeeze. Then she pointed toward the trains. “Uh-oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Here’s a change of subject for you. I just noticed that Davey’s grandparents joined the fun.”
Glad for the distraction, Mary looked down the road and saw an older couple standing behind Paul and Davey, the woman weighed down with bags. “I should get her into my shop. She looks like a big spender.”
“Yes, she is.” Amber’s gaze was fixed on the little group. “And Paul just got really tense. I think things are a little shaky between them.”
“Davey seems happy, though.” Mary could see the child bouncing excitedly and trying to look into the bags the woman carried. “Doesn’t take much to get kids on your side, at Christmas.”
A memory of Daisy, waving her arms excitedly as she stared at the newly lit Christmas tree, formed in Mary’s mind, a clearer image than she’d had in years. A hard, aching lump formed in her throat. What was wrong with her, letting herself remember? She knew better.
“Let’s walk the other way,” Amber said. “I definitely don’t want to get in the middle of that.”
So they turned around and headed back toward the bay end of the block, and Mary spotted Imogene on the edge of the crowd. She was walking alone, smoking a cigarette and looking at the lights, and Mary felt a surprise pang of sympathy for her. Did Imogene have anyone with whom to spend the holidays, or had she pushed everyone away?
“Just the woman I wanted to see!” Kirk’s loud voice rang out behind them. “Have I got news for you!”
“What news?” Mary asked Kirk, and then smiled when she saw that he was walking alongside Trey and Erica and their two dogs. “Merry Christmas shopping,” she said to the couple, and gave Erica a quick hug. She reached down to pet Ziggy, who was wearing a large blue cone around his neck, the kind that kept dogs from bothering their wounds after surgery. “Oh, dear. How is his recovery going?”
Erica lifted Hunter out of Amber’s arms and handed him to Trey. “He’s doing fine, other than wanting to lick his incision. That’s why he’s wearing the cone of shame.”
Mary reached inside the cone to scratch the big dog’s ears, and he leaned against her leg. It was a sweet weight, and he was just the right height that she could pet him without even bending down. His fur was soft and fluffy, just as Baby’s had been. “I’m sorry, big boy,” she crooned. “Poor thing.”
A grin tugged at Trey’s mouth. “He got what was coming to him, for getting rambunctious in the wrong neighborhood.”
“I was waiting to get him neutered until he was older, since he’s so big,” Erica explained. “It can be better for their bones and tendons and all that. But then we found out some news.” She frowned down at the dog, who panted back up at her.
“He’s been getting out and getting frisky.” Kirk sounded delighted. “That’s my big news. The upshot is, there’s a whole litter of little Ziggys.”
“Oh, no.” Mary couldn’t help laughing. Ziggy’s antics were notorious. “Who’s the lucky mama?”
“It’s Goody’s dog, Cupcake,” Erica said. “The black-and-white poodle mix?”
“And Goody’s furious,” Amber contributed. “Her dog is smaller, and younger, and she didn’t intend for her to have a litter yet, especially not with a, quote, mutt like Ziggy. But nature took its course.”
“How does she know Ziggy’s the father?” Mary remembered a couple of times when the poodle had escaped, and Goody had enlisted everyone in her shop to help find her.
“DNA testing,” Trey
