FORTY-TWO

Brilliant yellow sunshine spilled through the windows on Christmas morning. Almost two feet of new snow sparkled in the field, as if someone had dropped a million perfect diamonds from the sky. I itched to escape down to the sugar shack, but I wasn’t the only one up early. Mrs. McCarthy and I built a fire and watched the flames flicker and curl around dry pine logs. The sweet scent made the noises in my head finally rest.

I tucked myself into the window seat so I could see the birds outside at the feeder. Mrs. McCarthy sipped tea and watched with me. She understood I didn’t want to talk. Not yet. It was all too new, too fresh.

A little after nine James showed up with a box of pies and an invitation to dinner.

“Those people, the McCarthys, they’re still here,” I said. “That’s a lot of extra people to cram into your place.”

“This is true,” he said. “One sec.” He turned away and punched numbers into his phone.

I carried the box to the kitchen. Inside, stacked one on top of the other, were blueberry, buttermilk, and mince pies, all with perfect, crinkly crusts around at the edges. Wedged in between was a handwritten note:

We tried to remember which was your favorite, but decided you liked them all. Here’s a sample pack to get you started. Merry Christmas, Maggie and Dee! Love, the Parkers.

James came back with Deacon. “The moms said we can make it work there, or we can bring the dinner here.”

“Over here? Yeah!”

“Don’t you want to ask your mama first?” Deacon said.

“We were going to eat Chinese because in all the excitement, Mama forgot to plan anything.”

Mrs. McCarthy came up behind me, her cheeks puffed up like two tiny pink rosebuds. “The Chinese was my idea. I’m Jenna McCarthy. You must be one of Kori and Sue’s children.”

“Yes, I’m James.”

“Well, James, the others are still asleep here, but I’m an expert in problem solving, and I think that’s a lovely idea. Now,” she said, scanning the kitchen and living room. “How many people are there?”

James counted with his fingers. “Fourteen including Ethan Edward.”

“Do we have folding tables? We’ll need two. Eight-footers. Magnolia, how many chairs are there here? We won’t need side tables—those kitchen counters go on forever, and we’ve got that oak table by the window. We can serve ourselves buffet style. James, what will your moms be bringing?”

As tiny and timid as she’d seemed at first, Mrs. McCarthy organized things like a boss. By one o’clock the sofa and wing chairs had been pushed against the walls, and two long tables covered with red, green, and gold plaid cloths took their place in the family room. Mix-and-match china and silverware made up fourteen places. Leftover centerpieces from the tree lot sat in the midst of dozens of tiny tea candles.

Mama was all aflutter. When she found out “her girls” were coming, she coated her eyelids with bright-blue shadow and put that awful sparkly stuff in her hair. “It’s their favorite,” she said.

At one ten, Biz and Lucy raced in, tracking snow all the way to the family room.

“Mrs. Baird!”

“Mrs. Baird!”

Mama scooped them into her arms.

“Look what we got for Christmas! Charlotte’s Web! Let’s read it together!”

Lucy held out the same book I had upstairs, the one that had been home to my daddy’s picture all those years. Mama oohed and aahed, then leaned in close to them. “Only if you do one thing for me first.”

Two little people stood side by side, shoulders touching, eyes glued to Mama’s face, waiting, hoping what she would ask was manageable.

“I’m not Mrs. Baird anymore. You can pick what you call me. Auntie Dee. Delilah. Mrs. Austin. Grandma, although it would be kind of a miracle to have a grandma younger than your own moms, wouldn’t it? But you pick. Then I’ll read.”

She sat down on the bottom of the stairs and folded her hands in her lap. Biz and Lucy whispered to each other, then looked at Mama.

“Okay, we decided,” Biz said.

Lucy shoved her with her shoulder. “Quiet. I get to say it!”

“Then say it!”

“We want to call you Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Elizabeth Taylor?”

“Yeah. The moms told us you were prettier than her.”

“We didn’t know who she was, so they showed us a picture and she was almost as pretty as you, but not quite.”

Mama looked over to where Sue and Kori stood in the kitchen and blushed. “Your moms said—oh my goodness, well, what a lovely name, I don’t think I could have thought of one I like better myself. Elizabeth Taylor it is, then! Now, come sit with me. I think we have time for a chapter or two before we eat.”