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“It’s perfectly all right. She’s friendly but has a loud bark.” I gave Scout a command to back off and go to her bed. She gave me a mournful look but then sauntered back to the kitchen to plop into her bed by the stove.
“This is Sammie,” Thad said. “And Chloe. They’re staying in cabin 2 for the long weekend and didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Moon,” Sammie said. “It’s so kind of you. And your house is so…big.”
“Of course we don’t mind,” I said. We did mind. Only because of Annie. Otherwise, I couldn't have cared less. And actually, the little girl was totally adorable, hanging on to her mother’s hand and watching me with big blue eyes. “The more the merrier.”
“Thank you so much.” Sammie’s hands visibly shook. I softened. Something was off about the pair of them. They had the air of refugees, although her accent sounded like she was from the south.
“I’m so glad to meet you. Where are you from?” I asked.
“Um…” Sammie swallowed, looking up and to the right of my shoulder. “Pittsburgh.”
“Really? I would have guessed Georgia or Tennessee,” I said.
“Nope. Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania.” Sammie reached under the collar of her blue-and-white sweater and pulled out a cross that hung from a simple gold chain.
She was lying. No question. But I didn’t care as long as she didn’t take any photos of Annie.
“There’s just one thing,” I said. “We’re asking everyone to keep their phones put away. Annie doesn’t need any more leaked photos.”
She looked at me briefly before staring at the top of her daughter’s head. “I don’t own a cell phone.”
“What?” Thad asked. “Why?”
“I don’t want one.” Sammie jutted out her chin, and her eyes flashed with either fear or anger. Maybe both? “No one needs to know where I am.”
Thad and I exchanged a glance but said nothing further. “Come on in, then,” I said. “Let’s get you guys a beverage.”
“We’ll talk later,” Thad said quietly in my ear before passing through to the kitchen.
Pop came into the mudroom next, stomping his boots to rid them of snow. He carried several poinsettias. “Forgot to get these from the car. Your mother went into Bozeman yesterday and came back with a bunch of Christmas stuff. Soon our house will look like Santa’s workshop.”
Mama loved Christmas.
I followed Pop into the kitchen. By this time, Annie and Mama were done peeling and cutting the potatoes. They were on the stove in a big pot just starting to boil. A quick look at the turkey told me it was time to take our old featherless friend out to rest.
“Mama, do you think you could make the gravy?” I asked. “I don’t want to mess up the best part.”
“Thank goodness I’m still needed for something.” Mama turned to Annie. “Since Caspian was about twelve, he’s been cooking most of the dishes, but he always left the gravy up to me.”
Annie closed her eyes briefly. “I think I remember your gravy. You used to make it every Thanksgiving, right?”
“That’s correct,” Mama said.
Until everything imploded, we’d always had Thanksgiving dinner with the Armstrongs. Mama had made the turkey and gravy, and Jennie Armstrong and our neighbor Iris had brought side dishes. Iris, in her seventies now, wintered in Florida with her husband.
Mama put the spare apron hanging on the inside of thepantry door over her black sweater and jeans. “You used to love smothering your whole plate with it.”
Annie grinned. “I remember now. Celeste won’t be happy with me when I get back to LA two sizes bigger than when I left.”
“You’re rail-thin,” Mama said. “Are you sure you’re getting enough nutrients?”
“I’m fine.” Annie made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “The last few months have been stressful, that’s all. If I had a nickel for every time the tabloids called me either anorexic or possibly pregnant, I’d never have to work again.”
“They’re ridiculous,” Mama said. “Don’t pay them any mind.”
“Easier said than done.” Annie sighed. “I try to let it go, but some of the comments hurt. I’ve basically stopped looking at them.”
