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Maggie would go with you. Or we
could go with you for moral support,” Brenda offered.
    “No. I don’t want her to—” Insult you was the first thing I thought of. “I don’t want her to think she
can impose on your generosity.”
    “Well, we’re here for you,” Richard said.
    “Thanks.” That one small word seemed
incredibly inadequate for all I felt for them.
    “Do you want to stay for dinner?” Richard
asked.
    I hefted the nearly empty beer bottle. “Yeah,
I would.”
    “It’s only chicken,” Brenda warned.
    I met her warm, brown-eyed gaze. “I love
chicken.”
    She patted my shoulder, got up, and went back
to the unfinished salad on the counter.
    Richard punched my arm, and gave me an
encouraging smile. “You’re okay, kid.”
    That simple gesture made me feel better. No
matter what Patty or Chet represented, Richard and Brenda were my
family, and I loved them. Even if I couldn’t say it out loud.

    CHAPTER
    5

    Thanksgiving: just another raw gray day in
Buffalo. While the nation hunkered down for parades and college
football, I spent a good part of the day outside, winterizing the
three cars—filling the washer reservoir with blue stuff, and
checking the oil and the tire pressure. To thaw out, I took a
leisurely shower and found a pink-cheeked Maggie in my kitchen when
I emerged in my bathrobe, with a damp towel draped around my neck.
She greeted me with a warm kiss.
    “What have you got there?” I asked, peering
around her at the grocery bags she’d dumped on my breakfast
bar.
    “I didn’t want the dessert to slide apart in
the car so I’m putting it together now.”
    She gave me another quick kiss, slipped out
of her coat, and went straight to work. A milk glass cake stand
came first. Then, as if by magic, she produced four layers of
chocolate cake.
    “It’ll be Black Forest cake,” she
announced.
    I settled onto one of the stools at the
breakfast bar, watching her fuss, trying to keep a grimace off my
face. “I don’t like gooey desserts.”
    “But Brenda and I do. And stop pouting, will
you?”
    I’m not big into holidays. They had never
been a part of my past. But since most of Maggie’s family had
scattered to various in-laws, she’d been grateful for Brenda’s
invitation to join them for dinner.
    “Have you noticed anything odd with Richard
and Brenda?” she asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Something’s going on.”
    “Such as?”
    She rolled her eyes theatrically. “God, men
are so obtuse. They’ve been looking at each other and smiling a
lot. Doesn’t that give you a clue?”
    My gut tightened. Why did I feel such
unease?
    “To tell you the truth, I’ve been so
preoccupied about Chet and Patty I haven’t noticed a whole hell of
a lot.” I thought about it. “Brenda switched to decaf coffee.”
    “Big deal—I’ve been bugging her to do that
for months.”
    Maggie sighed and finished putting the cake
together, dotting the top with goo-covered cherries. It looked like
a picture out of Gourmet Magazine , but it wasn’t something I
wanted to eat.
    She looked at me with sympathy. “Don’t worry,
I made a nice, boring apple pie for you.”
    “Thanks. We can head over as soon as you’re
ready.”
    She rinsed her hands, dried them, then
reached for her coat. “I’m ready.”
    A minute later we’d crossed the driveway and
I opened the door, letting Maggie in ahead of me. The house
welcomed us. The aroma of roasted turkey was like ambrosia.
    Brenda stood at the kitchen counter, slicing
carrots. “Come on in,” she called. Maggie set the cake down on the
counter and stepped forward to give Brenda a hug.
    “Gee, you’d think it was months—not
days—since you two last saw each other.”
    “Not to mention the fact they’re on the phone
for hours at a time,” Richard said, entering the room. “Hi,
Maggie.” He received a peck on the cheek despite his greeting.
“Who’s thirsty?”
    “I am,” Maggie said. “Got any sour mix?”
    “Whiskey sour it