Together, Keely and Isabelle took Donna Maxwell’s immaculately white tablecloth from the cupboard and flew it up between them and brought it down on the dining room table, which had extra leaves put into it because so many people would be sitting at it for this Thanksgiving dinner. They smoothed it out with their hands, tugging it this way and that so the cloth would hang equally on each side of the table.

Isabelle set a long, low, lush arrangement of orange lilies and dark green moss and ferns in the center of the table. Keely set the Maxwells’ heirloom Haviland china in place.

“Let’s see,” she said, counting on her fingers. “We’ve got your father at the head of the table in his wheelchair. You and Tommy are next to him on either side. Brittany sits next to Tommy and your mother sits across from her. My mother sits next to your mother, I sit next to Brittany, and Sebastian sits at the other head of the table.”

“Often called the foot of the table,” Isabelle chided playfully.

“Oh, I think Sebastian has earned his place at the head of the table.” She took a handful of sterling silver flatware from the felt-lined mahogany box and began to lay it out. “After all, he’s the oldest child. And he’s about to be married.”

“Sebastian is hardly the king of the United States.”

“But he’s kind of the king of the family,” Keely said, looking at Isabelle with an arched eyebrow.

“All right. Point made.”

Keely grinned. She knew Isabelle had to back down now and then because the doctors had said that Al Maxwell would do best if he remained in his own house while he fully recovered his health and faculties. No one could predict how long that would take, but Donna, Keely, and Sebastian would be the ones to check on Al in the night.

Donna had announced that after Thanksgiving, she was taking a cruise with her friend Joann. It was a “Winter Wonderland” cruise, going down the Danube, stopping to visit all the cities and towns lit up like fairy tales for the Christmas season. Donna would buy them all Christmas presents from the winter markets. Sebastian and Keely would take over the Maxwell house, and part of their responsibility was to tend to Al, who was speaking more clearly now and attempting to walk, wobbly, just a few steps, helped by a cane.

Eloise would come over every day to help Sebastian with physical and speech therapy.

Brittany would start to toddle. She’d scream with glee when she saw her grandfather tottering into the room, as if recognizing someone from her very own tribe.

Tommy would shop for a larger fishing boat and begin the paperwork and website for the deep-sea fishing business that he would commence next May.

Keely had turned in her third novel, and Juan had loved it. Soon she’d start another book in her contract.

Donna spent hours sorting through the trunks and boxes and bags in the attic. Sebastian and Keely took the discards to the dump.

Donna had invited Eloise to come on the cruise with her, but Eloise declined. She was much happier on the island, helping with Al. She had also taken on a few private nursing assignments, which added money to her wallet and a spring to her step.

Keely had privately debated whether or not to take Sebastian’s last name. Should she remain Keely Green? That was her professional name. But she liked the idea of being a Maxwell. Legal arrangements had already been made to put ownership of the wonderful old house in Keely’s and Sebastian’s names. It was, in a way, a protective measure, in case something happened to Donna on her travels or Al never quite recovered all his faculties. Already Keely had made changes to the house. She’d redone Donna and Al’s master bedroom first thing—it would be bizarre to make love with Sebastian in his parents’ bed. She rented a humidity- and temperature-controlled storage locker and filled it with much of Donna and Al’s furniture to go into their new home when they’d found it. She’d bought new, sleeker furniture to replace the dark Empire furniture that Donna and Al had favored.

Now Isabelle and Keely returned to the kitchen to double-check on the turkey. The windows were steamed over, and the aroma of onion and chestnut stuffing was irresistible.

“It needs another hour,” Isabelle said.

“Let’s drive out to Surfside for a quick walk,” Keely suggested. “Everything’s set here. I need a walk.”

“Good idea.” Isabelle untied her apron and lifted it off. “Let’s see if anyone else wants to go.”

Tommy, Sebastian, Al, and Brittany were in the family room, watching a football game. Brittany was asleep on Tommy’s lap.

“We’re going for a quick walk at Surfside,” Keely announced.

“Have fun,” Sebastian called without taking his eyes off the screen.

Keely and Isabelle pulled on sweaters and wool caps. The wind was picking up. The temperature was falling. They climbed into Isabelle’s old Jeep. The town was quiet—everyone else was probably watching the Patriots, too. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, but bushes everywhere blazed with scarlet and orange leaves. Isabelle parked in the empty lot at the top of the bluff.

“Nobody else is here,” she said.

“I’m not surprised. It feels like it’s going to rain any moment.” Keely eyed the sky doubtfully.

Isabelle lightly slugged Keely’s arm. “Don’t be a wuss. Come on, let’s have a quick stroll. That way we’ll be really hungry for dinner.”

Keely ran behind Isabelle down the hardened sand path to the beach and the water. Today the ocean was a great rumbling indigo creature, flinging its waves up on the shore.

With the instinct gained from years of walking on the beach, Keely and Isabelle started their stroll facing into the wind, so it would be behind them on the return.

“So!” Isabelle said. Reaching out, she took Keely’s hand.

“So?” Something was up, Keely could tell.

“So New Frontiers Press has bought The Island. And they want a young adult series.”

Keely slammed to a halt in the sand. “Get out of town! Really? Isabelle, that’s fabulous!”

“I’m going to sign a contract with an agent, and I’m going up to Boston—New Frontiers is in Boston—to meet my editor.” Isabelle’s face lit up like the sun. “My editor!”

“Isabelle, I just knew you’d get that wonderful book published!” Keely said.

“Keely.” Isabelle was glowing. “We’re both writers, just like we’d hoped.”

“I know! Wait till we tell the writers’ group!”

“I’ll tell them, thank you very much!”

“Mrs. Atwater will explode!”

“They don’t even know I’ve been working on a young adult novel.”

“You’re good at keeping secrets.”

“We both are.”

“That’s true.” Keely grinned. “Because I’ve got news, too.”

Isabelle took Keely by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “You’re not!”

Keely nodded, smiling and tearful at the same time. “I am!”

“Does Sebastian know?”

“I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t told anyone but you.”

“This is wonderful!” Isabelle pulled Keely into a hug.

“I know.” Keely’s skin was covered with goose bumps—from the wind? From pure amazing life. “We are so creative!”

“In more ways than one!”

“The sand’s blowing into my teeth!”

“Mine, too. Let’s go back.”

They spun around.

“Have you started throwing up yet?”

“Only once. I wake up feeling kind of green.”

“Keep saltines on your bedside table.”

“I will—after I tell Sebastian.”

“I have lots of pregnancy books and maternity clothes you can use.”

“Fab! Hey, I’m hungry! I want turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes and…”

“Pumpkin pie with whipped cream!”

They dug their feet into the sand as they climbed the long rise from the beach. Keely reached out to take Isabelle’s hand. “I just had an idea! Let’s write a book for children!”

“Yes!” Isabelle cried. “No! Let’s write a series of books for children!”

“What should we call it?”

“The Young and the Hungry,” Isabelle joked, and they laughed all the way to the car.