Page 9 of Mistletoe and Mischief

“Poor Grace.”

“That’s more like it,” she said in a satisfied tone.

“Let Cliff feed the camel from now on.”

“You bet I will.”

“Good.”

“That’s not all.” Grace figured she might as well go for broke on the sympathy factor.

“What—the donkey bit you, too?”

“No, but the sheep stepped on my foot.”

“Poor Grace.”

“Thank you.”

“A sheep can’t weighthatmuch.”

“This one did. I’ve got an unsightly bruise on the top of my foot.” She thrust out her leg and gazed down on it. Her panty hose didn’t hide the spectacularly colored bruise at all.

“Oh, poor Gracie.”

“You don’t sound like you mean that.”

“Oh, I do, I do.”

“Hmph. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk in the last few days, so tell me what you’re doing for Christmas,” Grace said.

“It’s pretty low-key,” Olivia told her. “Justine, Seth and Leif are coming over tonight for dinner and gifts, then we’re going to church at eight. What about you and Cliff?”

“Same. Maryellen, Kelly and all the grandkids are coming for dinner and then we’re heading to the Christmas Eve service. Cliff’s daughter, Lisa, and her family are here as well. Tomorrow we’re all going over to Maryellen and Jon’s for dinner.”

“Jack and I are having Christmas dinner alone. He’s let on to everyone that he’s cooking but between you and me, D.D.’s on the Cove is catering.” Olivia laughed, apparently amused by her husband’s resourcefulness. “Justine invited us,” she added, “but we declined. Next year,” Olivia said, and it sounded like a promise.

Everything would be back to normal by this time next year. Olivia would be finished with her treatments this spring. Seeing what her friend had already endured, and her quiet bravery in the face of what was still to come, had given Grace a deeper understanding of Olivia. Her strength and courage impressed Grace and humbled her. Like every woman their age, they’d suffered—and survived—their share of tragedy and grief. And now Olivia was coping with cancer.

Grace stood and looked out the small window that offered a view of the interior of the library. Mary Jo sat with her shoulders hunched forward, cell phone dangling from one hand.

“I have to go.”

“Problems?”

“I should get back to Mary Jo.”

“You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?” Olivia said.

“As much as I can.”

“Okay, thanks. And listen, Grace, stay away from that camel!” She laughed, and then the line was disconnected.

The next time they met at the Pancake Palace, Grace intended to make Olivia pay for her coconut cream pie.

Grace called her husband quickly, then stepped out of her office and slipped into the chair next to Mary Jo. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I tried to call David. I have his cell phone number and I thought he’d answer. It’s Christmas Eve and hehasto know I’m waiting to hear from him.”

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