Page 37 of Savoring Christmas
Cannoli practically launched herself into Daisy’s waiting arms.
“I prayed you’d come visit us.” Daisy buried her face in the little dog’s fur. “I told Molly you would, but she said maybe you forgot about us.”
“Never,” Logan said, catching Molly’s quick glance. “We don’t forget our friends.”
Patty handed Molly the cake and told her to take it to the kitchen.
“Don’t cut into it just yet,” Patty said. “We can have some in a bit.”
“Okay, Mom,” Molly said as she headed back into the house.
Patty stepped aside, her movements careful and controlled. “Come in before you all turn into icicles.”
The living room was small but spotless, anchored by a sofa that sagged in the middle but was covered by a hand-crocheted blanket in soft blues and greens. A coffee table held a neat stack of mail and a library book with a bookmark peeking out. In the corner, the tree twinkled but there were no presents waiting for eager hands to unwrap.
The kitchen beyond held a table just big enough for four chairs, and the refrigerator was a gallery of the kids’ artwork: stick-figure families, crooked Christmas trees, and a drawing that might have been Cannoli if you squinted right.
Daisy settled Cannoli on the couch, arranging the blanket with careful precision. “There. Now she’s all cozy.”
“She’s going to expect that treatment everywhere now,” Logan said, and was rewarded with Daisy’s quiet giggle.
Patty smoothed the dish towel between her hands, the motion repetitive and anxious. “You really didn’t have to come all the way over here.”
Logan met her eyes, seeing past the pride to the fear underneath. “We want to help.”
Her breath caught slightly, and she looked away, blinking hard. “We’ll manage. We always have.” But her voice cracked on the last word.
“What can we do?” Mia asked.
For a moment, Patty’s careful composure wavered. Her eyes glistened, and she pressed her lips together as if holding back a flood. “Unless you have a winning lottery ticket, I can’t imagine how.”
“Let’s get your car working,” Logan said. “And go from there. I’m going to call my dad and brother. They’ll be able to tell you what’s wrong with it and maybe even repair it themselves. They have a lot of experience with old cars and machinery because of our farm.”
“You have a farm?” Daisy asked.
“Not me. My family. A maple syrup farm,” Logan said.
“Neat,” Benji said. “Can we visit?”
“As a matter of fact, you’ve all been invited to a cookie decorating party at the farm,” Logan said. “But first, let’s get your mom’s car running.”
The children all whooped. Cannoli barked, wagging her tail in solidarity.
Logan studied the sedan through the frost-edged window. The Hayes men had nursed vehicles in worse shape back to life. If anyone could sweet-talk this old car into cooperation, it was his dad and Luke.
Logan excused himself to call his dad and stepped onto the porch. Through the window, he could see Molly watching him with that careful attention she seemed to give everything.
His father answered on the second ring. “Logan. Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But I’m over at Patty McDonald’s place and she needs some help. Her car died, and she lost her cleaning job at the school because she couldn’t make it in.” Logan kept his voice low, aware that sound carried. “I was wondering if you and Luke could swing by, take a look. See if it’s something you can fix?”
“Of course we can. I’ll text Luke to meet me there.”
Logan heard the familiar sound of his father grabbing keys and coat on the other end. “I can be there in twenty.”
Logan’s throat ached with gratitude for his father’s automatic generosity. “Thanks, Dad.”
“That’s what neighbors do, son.”
