Cedar Cove Collection

“You have a lot for which to be grateful,” her mother said. “This is your first Thanksgiving in your beautiful new home, and you have every reason to feel loved and cherished by your family. Don’t allow your suspicions to ruin Thanksgiving.”

Emily had to agree. Still … “You’ll tell me if you think something’s wrong with Dave?” she pressed.

“Of course, but I’m positive you’re imagining it. A week from now, you’ll be phoning me, embarrassed you’d ever suspected Dave of anything so out-of-character.”

For the rest of the day, Emily did as her mother had suggested and tried to put the doubts and fears completely out of her mind.

Just after two, Barbara helped her set the table. The formal dining room was one of Emily’s favorite things about this new house. She’d always wanted one. For the first time since she’d been cooking the family’s Thanksgiving dinner, they’d be able to eat someplace besides the kitchen.

She’d worked hard to make the dining room as festive as she could. The mahogany table, chairs and matching hutch came from a second-hand store and had been a real bargain. Emily had loved the dining set the moment she saw it. She’d shown it to Dave, although even secondhand, the price was well out of their range. Later—to her surprise and delight—it had been delivered to the house. Dave told her he’d talked to the dealer, who’d agreed to sell it to them at almost half the asking price.

Looking at it now, she still felt thrilled. She’d used a dark green linen tablecloth and spread an array of colorful maple leaves all around it. Then she’d created a cornucopia for a centerpiece, filling it with yellow, green and orange gourds, as well as miniature pumpkins. Lighted pale green candles provided the final touch.

The table hit exactly the right festive note, she thought. It could’ve appeared in one of those glossy home magazines—and she should know because they were one of the few extravagances she allowed herself. The china had been a wedding gift and was only used once or twice a year, so arranging it on a real dining room table was a special treat.

As she stood back to examine her handiwork, Dave stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You did a beautiful job,” he said, kissing her affectionately.

Her mother smiled at her and then, as Dave turned away, she mouthed, “I told you so.”

Emily rolled her eyes.

Once all the serving dishes were on the table and Dave had carved the turkey, it was nearly four. Everyone was hungry, since lunch had consisted of crackers and cheese.

“I get the wishbone this year,” Matthew called out.

“No, I do,” Mark insisted. Scowling, he protested, “Matthew got it last year.”

“Boys, don’t squabble.” Dave looked sternly in their direction. They both instantly went quiet.

“Shall we say grace?” Dave said.

They all joined hands around the table and bowed their heads as Dave offered up a simple, yet heartfelt prayer of gratitude. When he’d finished, everyone at the table murmured, “Amen.”

“Pass the stuffing,” Matthew said before Emily had even opened her eyes.

“Matthew, the dish will come to you soon enough,” Emily reminded her oldest son. “And it’s please pass the stuffing.”

“The stuffing’s my favorite,” he muttered.

“Mine, too,” Mark said. “I like it with lots of gravy.”

Soon the platter and bowls circled the table and everyone’s plate was heaped with turkey, dressing, two different potato dishes, special salads and more.

When they’d had dessert—the two pies, with whipped cream or ice cream—the family lingered at the table and chatted amicably, teasing one another, joking and sharing stories. This was Emily’s favorite part of the holiday.

“The boys and I will load the dishwasher,” Dave announced as he stood up half an hour later.

Matthew wore a horrified look. “Dad!” he burst out. “Don’t volunteer.”

“Dad!” Even Mark seemed appalled. “There must be a hundred thousand dishes.”

“Then I suggest we get started.”

Both boys groaned.

“Your mother and grandmother spent all day cooking this wonderful meal. It wouldn’t be right to expect them to wash the dishes, too.”

“What about Grandpa?” Mark asked.

“I’ll help,” her father said with a chuckle.

“No, you won’t, Al,” Dave insisted. “You sit back and relax. The boys and I can manage.”

“Dad, you can’t turn down help,” Mark told his father urgently.

“All right, Al, if you’re game, then by all means join us in the kitchen.”

Emily and her mother put away the leftovers, then relaxed in the living room, drinking tea while the men handled the cleaning up.

“Well,” Emily said, looking at her mother. “What do you think?” She didn’t need to elaborate.

Barbara frowned thoughtfully. After a moment she bit her lower lip. “He’s doing a good job of it.”

“Of what?”

“Pretending,” her mother said. “I don’t know what’s going on with Dave, but I feel he’s definitely hiding something.”

The joy Emily had struggled so hard to maintain all that day immediately evaporated. “So you think—”

“No,” her mother said, cutting her off. “I can’t believe it’s another woman. Nevertheless, I’m fairly certain Dave’s keeping some kind of secret from you.”

Five

Christie Levitt sat by herself at the bar in The Pink Poodle, her regular watering hole, and took a sip of her beer. She wasn’t good company tonight. The Friday after Thanksgiving was the biggest shopping day of the year. The retailers called it Black Friday; she did, too, but for different reasons.

Christie had been at her job at the Cedar Cove Wal-Mart before six that morning. It was now 7:00 p.m. She’d spent a long day standing at that cash register and she was tired, not to mention cranky. Larry, the bartender and owner, plus everyone around her, correctly gauged her mood and gave her a wide berth. Fine, she’d rather avoid everyone, including her sister, who was probably mad at her. Christie was a no-show at the big Thanksgiving feast Teri had made yesterday.

Generally Christie was the life of any party. Tonight, however, she had other things on her mind. Although it wasn’t a thing so much as a person.

James Wilbur.

Christie wasn’t sure why this man, with his refined and formal ways, intrigued her. But he did. Her heart seemed to speed up whenever she thought of him, which was far more often than she should.

The two of them had nothing in common. Nothing. James drove the limo for Christie’s sister and brother-in-law. Teri had sent James to pick her up any number of times, and they’d often chatted during the drive. Initially, their conversations had been stilted and, on her part, even hostile. That had begun to change. Then, one night, she’d found a red rose on the seat. Only later did she discover the rose was from James and not her sister.

Men didn’t give her flowers. She wasn’t that kind of woman and she hardly knew how to react when a man did something nice for her. James’s interest terrified her; Teri said it was because Christie didn’t know how to respond to a decent, hardworking man. She was more accustomed to losers, men who stole from her and smacked her around.

Even now she had no idea what had caused this brain malfunction when it came to men. Her genetic makeup must’ve gotten all messed up; it was the only reason Christie could figure. Either that, or a lifetime of bad examples—although Teri had broken the pattern when she met Bobby Polgar. In any event, Christie would meet a man, generally unemployed and down on his luck, which was all too frequently a permanent condition. Substance abuse, whether drugs, alcohol or both, always seemed to be involved as well. These guys would tell her their tales of woe: The world was against them, they’d been cheated by bosses and partners, cheated on by wives and girlfriends—an endless series of sad complaints that, somehow, all sounded the same.