Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3 (87 page)

“Mom,” Olivia said, coming to stand next to her mother. She reached for a kitchen towel and slung it over her shoulder while she waited for the first clean bowl. “You could always use the dishwasher, you know.”

“It only takes a minute to do these few by hand,” Charlotte said. “I didn't realize you were back.”

She'd arrived home about ten minutes earlier and they'd chatted briefly before she saw Jack slinking away, looking guilty. “We spoke when I came in.”

“We did?” Charlotte seemed confused.

“Mom, do you remember baking cookies yesterday?”

“Of course I do. I made Jack's favorites. Snickerdoodles.”

“You baked him a pie last night, too.”

“Well, yes, the Granny Smith apples are outstanding this year.”

Olivia tried to broach the subject carefully. “The thing is, Mom, Jack and I are trying to avoid sweets.”

“My heavens, why would you do that?”

“It's a matter of being healthy, eating right, getting in the required number of fruits and vegetables. While it's fine to have dessert once a week or so, every day is simply too much.”

Her mother turned to look at her. “But I enjoy baking for you and it makes me feel like I'm doing something to pay for my keep.”

“But, Mom, you don't need to do a thing.”

“I know that, but I
want
to.”

Because Olivia felt guilty she added, “It's not that Jack and I don't appreciate it, because we do. But Jack loves your cookies so much, he can't stop himself from stealing one or two even though he shouldn't.”

Her mother beamed with pleasure. “I always did like Jack Griffin. I was so pleased when you decided to marry him.”

“I like him myself,” Olivia said, smiling as she spoke. “Why don't we compromise? You bake to your heart's content, and we'll freeze the cookies and other goodies.”

“Olivia, what a marvelous idea! That'll make everyone happy. No wonder you're such a good judge.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Olivia dried the clean dishes, put them back in the cupboards, then went to the laundry room. She had a load of whites she wanted to wash. To her surprise, she found them already clean and folded, sitting on top of the washer. Apparently her mother had taken that task upon herself. Unfortunately, she'd added something red—her new towel set? As a result, what had gone in white was now a fetching shade of…pink.

Groaning inwardly Olivia picked up the stack of clothes and carried them into the bedroom.

The phone rang just then, and the readout said Grace's name.

“Griffin residence,” Charlotte's voice answered when Olivia picked up.

“Good evening, Charlotte,” Grace said.

“I've got it, Mom.”

“You two girls go ahead and talk. I'll get dinner on the table.”

“I'll be there in a couple of minutes,” Olivia told her mother. She heard the phone click as Charlotte hung up.

“So how's it going with your mother and Ben living at the house?” Grace asked.

“Okay, I guess.”

“It's not always easy having your mother in your own home, is it?” Grace said sympathetically.

“I'll tell you about it tonight.”

“Er, that's what I was calling about.”

“You are going to aerobics class, Grace, and I won't accept any excuses.” They'd stopped attending their weekly classes during Olivia's cancer treatments, but they'd since resumed. This was
their
time and she wasn't going to be cheated out of it.

“I promised Beth Morehouse I'd stop by her place on Christmas Tree Lane to meet some dogs she wants to bring into the Reading with Rover program.” As head librarian, Grace had started the program toward the end of the school year and now it had begun again. Beth, a local dog trainer, had been instrumental in its success. “Have you ever been there?”

“No. You aren't trying to change the subject, are you, Grace?”

“No, I'm serious. She's got quite the operation. Twenty acres of Christmas trees and a full working crew. The house is lovely, too—a big two-story place, charming as can be.”

“Grace, you know Wednesday is our exercise night.”

“Yes.” Olivia heard reluctance in her voice. “But I sort of got out of the habit.”

“Then it's more important than ever for us to get back into it.”

“You're right,” Grace admitted. “I'll be there.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for the pep talk. I needed it, and to be honest,
I wasn't all that excited about driving out to Beth's.” She sighed. “I can do it later in the week.”

“You're missing Buttercup, aren't you?”

There was a silence, and Olivia realized her friend was fighting back tears over the loss of her beloved dog. “Yeah, I miss her. She was far more than just a pet. She saw me through the darkest days of my life.”

Olivia felt her own eyes welling up with tears. She'd loved Buttercup, too. Years before, one of her mother's friends was moving into an assisted living complex; she couldn't take the golden retriever with her and Charlotte had suggested Grace might want the dog. Dan Sherman, Grace's first husband, had disappeared a few months earlier and Grace had been alone for the first time in her life. Those
had
been dark days. It was more than a year before they'd learned of Dan's fate.

“See you at seven,” Olivia said once she'd recovered her own voice.

“I'll be there.”

Dinner that evening was a four-course meal Charlotte had spent most of the afternoon preparing. Ben had set the table, and Olivia noticed that he'd arranged their cutlery in the wrong order—very unusual for her always impeccable stepfather. They had squash soup, using squash from Charlotte's own small garden. That was followed by a mixed green salad with homemade poppyseed dressing. The main course was meat loaf, mashed potato casserole, fresh green beans, plus homemade pickled asparagus and sweet corn relish. And for dessert, a chocolate zucchini cake.

Olivia would've preferred a light dinner because of her workout, but her mother wouldn't hear of it.

“You're much too thin as it is,” Charlotte murmured as she heaped a second spoonful of potato casserole onto
Olivia's plate. Olivia forced a smile, took one more bite and then excused herself.

Ten minutes later, Jack joined her in the bedroom. Ten extra minutes during which he was helping himself to seconds of everything on the table.

Olivia sat on the edge of the bed.

“Sweetheart,” Jack said, ever sensitive to her moods. “Are you upset about something?”

“My mother is trying so hard to be helpful and God bless her for it, but I'd rather do my own wash and I'd rather she stopped cooking like it's Thanksgiving every single night.”

Jack's face broke into a huge grin. “You don't hear me complaining.”

“Wipe that smile off your face, Jack Griffin.”

He spread out his hands. “Honey…”

“Don't ‘honey' me. Look at this.” She flew off the bed to her underwear drawer and yanked it open, then removed the now-pink panties and waved them at him. “Did you see this?”

“Hey, when did you start wearing pink underwear?”

“Apparently today. Mom washed them with the new red towels, which by the way have also turned pink. Oh, and it isn't just
my
underwear that's this lovely color. You'd better hope no one catches a glimpse of you in your pink shorts.”

“Ah…”

“Not quite so funny now, is it?”

He frowned and didn't answer.

“That isn't all,” Olivia lamented. “Mom cleaned out my sewing room. I asked her to not touch anything in there but either she forgot or she ignored me. Jack, I had all the fabric cut out for my next quilt and Mom decided to put everything away. Except that I don't know where
away
is and obviously it's slipped her mind, as well.” A great deal had been slipping her mother's mind these days, and this wasn't the first time she'd noticed. She needed to make Charlotte an appointment with a gerontologist.

“Your mom straightened out my desk, too.”

Olivia's eyes went wide. Even she never touched Jack's desk. “She was only trying to help,” Olivia explained unnecessarily.

“I know.” He sat down beside her and placed his arm around her shoulders.

“I think we need to have Mom tested for Alzheimer's. Or perhaps she has some other form of dementia. But something's wrong and we've got to find out what it is and what we should do.”

“Olivia…are you sure? That sounds a bit drastic. She's got a few memory problems, but a lot of people her age do.”

“Their house could have burned to the ground!”

“Thankfully it didn't,” Jack murmured.

“What about next time? And there
will
be a next time, Jack. Mom's memory is declining and it isn't going to improve.”

“Now, Olivia, I agree there's a problem but—”

“Jack, you're a reporter and you've researched stories on this.”

“That's true.” In fact, not three months ago the
Chronicle
had done a feature on rising rates of dementia, including Alzheimer's, and local resources for families. “I guess I don't like seeing it so close to home.”

“You mean
at
home,” Olivia said with wry humor.

“Yeah. But your mom and Ben might not be able to go back to their house. Would they continue to live with us?”

“No.” That would slowly but surely drive Olivia over the edge of sanity.

“Where would they go, then? A seniors' complex?”

Olivia hadn't given the matter much thought. “I think so.”

“There are some pretty good assisted-living places,” Jack said. “Remember we profiled a few for that feature in the paper?”

Olivia nodded. “That makes the most sense, doesn't it?”

“Well, yes.”

Now that she'd acknowledged the problem, much of what had been happening recently suddenly became clear. The fact that Charlotte had left her knitting in the car at Faith and Troy's wedding, for instance. Her mother was
never
without her knitting. True, it'd been a traumatic day, since Ben had gone to confront his son David.

If it'd been a single incident, Olivia could easily gloss over it, but there'd been countless other ones. Small things such as forgetting where she'd put Olivia's quilt fabric. The problem with the laundry. Then there was the fire….

Olivia stood and walked around to her bedside table, where she reached for the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“My brother. I need Will's input on this.”

Jack's eyes met hers. “Time for a family conference,” he said.

Nine

“O
h, what a lovely painting,” the older, smartly dressed woman commented as she walked around the Harbor Street Art Gallery. While Will was out running errands, Miranda Sullivan had removed the Chandler painting from the wall where he'd placed it. Then she hung it on the opposite wall, which—in her humble opinion—showed off the watercolor to its best effect. It was all about the light, her husband used to say, and who'd know that better than an artist like Hugh Sullivan? She noticed how quickly this customer was drawn to the painting.

“You have good taste. This is one of our loveliest pieces,” Miranda said, walking toward the woman. “Welcome to the Harbor Street Gallery. Are you visiting Cedar Cove? I'm Miranda Sullivan.”

“I'm Veronica Vanderhuff. My husband and I recently moved to the area and we're looking for a few pieces by local artists. Your gallery was recommended.”

“You've come to the right place. All the art on display is by local talent. The work you're admiring is Beverly Chandler's
Girl in Spring.
”

“It's gorgeous.”

“In my view it's the best painting we currently have.”

Veronica shrugged her slim, elegant shoulders. “I'm almost afraid to ask the price.”

“All our prices are extremely reasonable,” Miranda assured her. She'd love to sell this painting before Will returned. Then she could flaunt the fact that it sold only
after
she'd hung it on this other wall.

Veronica checked the price list Miranda handed her and seemed pleasantly surprised. “Oh, this is reasonable. I'll take it.”

Miranda wanted to clap and leap up and down. She'd derive real pleasure from rubbing this in Will's stubborn face. Not a very commendable impulse, perhaps, but there it was. In all her life, Miranda had yet to meet a man who irritated and enthralled her in equal measure. She found herself highly attracted to this man she didn't even like. If that wasn't puzzling enough, he was constantly in her thoughts. She knew it was unlikely that Will would ever look on her as anything more than an employee, and yet she couldn't seem to help herself. Frustrating, to say the least.

Miranda finished the credit-card transaction and made arrangements to have the painting delivered. Twenty minutes later, Will came back. He walked into the gallery and didn't bother to greet her, which Miranda considered the height of rudeness. Instead, he went directly to his office, slumping down in his high-backed leather chair.

Miranda followed him, leaning against the doorjamb, crossing her arms. “What's wrong with you?” she asked bluntly.

Will glanced up, frowning. “I need a few minutes alone,” he mumbled. He slouched forward as though depressed.

Miranda's sympathies instantly went into action. “Is everything all right with your mother?” She knew Will
had been talking with his sister regarding his mother and stepfather. Dealing with the insurance company had demanded a lot of his time and energy. From what Miranda surmised, work in the kitchen was going well, although much more slowly than anyone had expected. But Will shared very little of his personal life with her, so this was based on information she'd managed to pick up from others.