We Need a Little Christmas (4 page)

She didn't look broken up. She looked like a woman on a mission, and she was heading straight for Pastor Tom, who'd stopped to chat with Millie. Then she veered off to talk to Sherry, of all people, while Tiffany and Chloe stood by. As Liv spoke and gestured, the word that came to Scott's mind was
purposeful.
After a brief conversation, Sherry nodded and moved quickly for the exit, both of her friends in tow.

Scott caught up to Liv just as she caught up to Pastor Tom.

“Pastor Tom—” Liv broke off and started over. “Thank you. That was a wonderful service. I know my grandmother would have loved it.”

The pastor nodded pleasantly, as if waiting for the rest.

Liv paused to take a breath. “We hit a snag in the kitchen. The sandwiches aren't ready yet.”

We?
Liv was running the kitchen now?

“Can you make an announcement that lunch is on the way? I rounded up a few extra volunteers, and I'll get some appetizers on the tables while people are waiting.” Liv meshed her fingers together, the fidgety gesture the only indication that she was nervous. Her nails gleamed deep burgundy; when in the world had she found time to paint them? “We can start the open mic and . . . could I ask you to speak a little more? To fill some time?”

Pastor Tom blinked, then shrugged amiably. “I'll give it my best shot. But fair warning: I used up my best material in the message just now.”

Scott knew Pastor Tom was rarely at a loss for words, but asking him—or any preacher—to ad lib was generally not a good idea. It could get a little . . . well, talky.

Scott stepped forward. “I can help you fill.”

They both turned, startled, to look up at Scott. With his height, it wasn't often he went unnoticed for this long.

“You?” Liv said.

“Well, if you want, I could see if Conan O'Brien is available.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean—”

“Trust me. I have a big mouth.”

He saw confusion in her serious hazel eyes and felt a tug at his heart. She might be all business on the outside, but Scott suspected the outside was a pretty thin crust at this point.

As she hesitated, he played his trump card. “Or I could have
you
go up and fill.”

“Good—grief, no.” Liv shot an uneasy look at the pastor. It was pretty obvious what she'd been about to say.

Good save
, Scott thought, and winked at her. Liv reddened and bit her lip.

If Pastor Tom noticed Liv's near slip, he didn't react. He turned his attention to Scott instead. “Thanks. You're hired. I'll make the announcement and turn it over to you to start the open mic. People are usually a little hesitant about coming up first anyway—”

Both of them turned toward Liv, but she was already winging her way to the kitchen, making surprisingly good time on an improbable pair of deep purple high-heeled shoes.

Chapter 4

Liv found some crackers and dip on the buffet table, put them on smaller plates, and started distributing them to the guests seated in the fellowship hall. In the kitchen, Kelly, Ramona, and the waitresses—Liv's new heroes—were whipping up sandwiches at an impressive rate.

By the time Liv brought out the second load of cracker platters, Scotty was at the microphone.

“I learned a lot from her,” he was saying. “She taught me some new expressions. ‘You'd complain if they hung you with a new rope.' ‘You're blind in one eye and can't see out of the other.' And my favorite: if you said ‘excuse me' to Olivia, she'd say ‘I excused a pig once and it died.' I'm still not sure what that one means.”

He really
had
spent a lot of time with Nammy.

“She also taught me that no home is complete without a cross over the mantel and a horseshoe over the door. Sorry, Pastor. Olivia did like to hedge her bets.”

Liv leaned against the kitchen doorway, riveted, while Scotty told how good Nammy's potato cheese soup had tasted when he came in from the cold after fixing a leak in the roof. The way Nammy had left her husband's painter's cap hanging on the coat rack after he passed away. The kinds of things Liv would have talked about herself, except there was no way she'd ever be able to step up to the microphone to get the words out.

This was harder than Pastor Tom's message. Harder than “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms,” at that tipping point where she'd teetered between laughing and crying.

When tears threatened again, Liv took that as her cue to check on the sandwiches.

Thankfully, the platters were nearly full. Liv brought out the first big tray of sandwiches and set them at the head of the buffet table. Sherry followed, setting a second platter on the other side of the long table, so the guests could form two lines going down both sides of the buffet. As Sherry set her platter down, she smiled across the table at Liv.

She knew the ash-blond hair color Sherry wore now wasn't the same shade she'd had in high school. What had it been? Dark brown or light brown?

“Thank you
so
much,” Liv whispered.

Sherry waved her off. “Anything for Olivia.”

Liv turned to catch Scotty's eye and signal that the sandwiches were ready. He was already looking right at her. Liv's heart gave an unexpected lurch.

Behind her, Sherry asked, “Hey. Are you okay?”

Scott's voice cut through on the microphone, saving her from trying to answer. “I'm getting a signal from the kitchen,” he said, his eyes still on her. “It either means lunch is ready, or it's time for me to sit down and shut up. Probably both.”

A light chuckle rippled through the crowd, and Scott asked them to let the family serve themselves first. Mom would need someone to bring her a plate. Liv skimmed over the potluck side dishes set out on the buffet table, making note of some choices to relay to her mother, and headed over to join Mom and Rachel.

Rachel stood as Liv reached the family table, thoughtfully reserved for them near the microphone. It offered a great vantage point to see and hear people speak; not so great if you wanted a short walk to the buffet.

Liv hugged Rachel. “Go get started on your plate. I'll find out what Mom wants.”

Once again, her little sister had been holding down the fort. As Rachel left, Liv turned her eyes to her mother, who looked fragile and tired once again.

The words escaped Liv's mouth before she thought: “Are you doing okay?” The same question she'd been tired of hearing all day.

“I think so.” Most people wouldn't catch the quaver in Mom's voice, but Liv recognized it, even though she'd rarely heard it. The way Mom sounded when things
weren't
okay, and she wasn't able to hide it. Like when Liv's father died. Or the night they'd rushed Rachel to the hospital with a high fever. And today.

“I wish Bob was here,” Mom said.

“You know he would be if he could.” Mom's older brother, their uncle Bob, was in Minnesota recovering from gall bladder surgery. Liv lowered herself onto the edge of the folding chair next to Mom's and took her hand.

Mom's free hand went for her napkin. She dabbed her eyes, then gestured with the napkin toward the microphone Scotty had vacated. “That was really nice,” Mom said, her voice fragile but steady.

They'd be hearing more reminiscences from the crowd once everyone filled their plates. Cheerful memorial or not, this would be an emotional afternoon.

“Everyone loved Nammy.” Liv squeezed her mother's hand again, hoping she wasn't making it harder for Mom to fight back tears. “What can I get for you? They've got the sandwiches, pasta salad, potato salad—”

“You know what I like,” Mom said, and Liv realized she did. Why press her mother for any decisions today?

“I'll be right back,” she said, and hurried to the buffet table.

She dished up a plate for Mom. Took it back to the table. Realized Mom and Rachel didn't have drinks yet, and brought back two cups of punch. By that time, Sherry was taking her turn at the open microphone.

“If Olivia ever didn't show up Saturday afternoon for pie and coffee, I would have called 911,” Sherry was saying.

Liv went back toward the kitchen to make sure the other two waitresses had been set free from their sandwich-making duties. What were their names again? She needed to find out and get them some sort of thank-you gift.

On her way, she crossed paths with Scotty Leroux, who was coming out of the buffet line, a plate of food in hand. His blue eyes caught hers again, the way they had so effectively even from across the room. It must be the sweater, she decided. It matched the color of his eyes almost exactly.

“Liv. Haven't you sat down yet?”

“I'm getting there.”

“What are you doing?”

“Checking on the kitchen.” Liv thanked God for her high heels; at least this time she didn't have to crane her neck to look up at him.

“I'm sure the kitchen's fine.” He was studying her, and Liv had the feeling he was seeing a little too much. Maybe being nearer his eye level wasn't such a good thing after all. “Go sit,” he said softly. “Sit down with your mom and sister. The crisis is over. You handled it. Everyone else can take it from here.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting past him to her family's table. Mom and Rachel looked like a solitary little island. Mom's only sibling was in Minnesota. Rachel's husband was stuck fighting fires in Bakersfield. And she was running her shoes off trying to be
useful.

Of course she needed to get back to them. What had she been thinking?

Scotty squeezed her arm, a gesture undoubtedly meant to reassure her. But for some reason Liv's legs wobbled.

He was still searching her face. “Are you okay?”

That question again. This time, with Scotty's eyes on her, it brought a huge, aching lump to Liv's throat. She swallowed hard and tried to will it away.

“I'm fine.” Her eyes dropped to examine the texture of the knit stitches of his sweater. “Thanks for helping us fill time there at the beginning. You did a great job. Mom loved it.”

“It was no problem.”

She bit her lip. She didn't know how to end the conversation. Finally, she just stepped back. “Well, I'll see you.”

She started back toward Mom and Rachel.

“Liv?”

She gulped and swiveled to face him again.

Scott asked, “Did you get any food?”

She hesitated, trying to remember. A plate for Mom, punch for Mom and Rachel . . . no, she hadn't. Liv eyed the dwindling crowd in the buffet line and debated whether to join it.

“Here.” Scotty handed her his plate, squeezed her arm, and let go. “Go sit down,” he reminded her, and he returned to the end of the line before she could argue.

* * *

The open mic went on for another hour.

“I tried teaching her to knit,” said Millie Bond, who was at least ten years younger than Nammy. “But I just couldn't get her to hold still for that long.”

“She could never resist buying anything with a little red-haired girl on it.” That was Mrs. Swanson from the little Christmas shop, The North Pole. “Faye, Liv, Rachel—she always called you her girls. All three of you.”

“I'll miss Olivia. For one thing, she was one of the few people who made me feel young.” So Winston Frazier did have a sense of humor. Liv knew he'd been on the town council forever; somehow she'd completely missed the fact that he was Scott's uncle.

“She would have been happy to see the church was decorated for Christmas today . . .”

Good heavens, you'd think the woman was never home. She'd never given up driving, Liv knew, although Mom had worried about her on the mountain roads. Self-reliant to the end, Nammy had had her stroke in the public parking lot on Evergreen Lane a few days after Thanksgiving. An ambulance had been there in minutes, and she'd died quietly at Tall Pine Memorial Hospital shortly after Mom got there. All with a minimum of fuss.

One of the items Nammy picked up on that last shopping trip was bittersweet: a crib mobile of woolly little sheep, obviously for Rachel and Brian's baby.

Pastor Tom dismissed the gathering at four thirty, probably mindful of the fact that it would be dark soon. Mom looked tired, and Liv suspected another pain pill might be in order when they got home. But first, they had to wait through a procession of people who stopped by their table on the way out to give their condolences. And to ask if they were okay.

Finally, the crowd thinned. Liv and her family joined a slow cluster of people going out the church exit doors, which thankfully led straight to the parking lot without any stair steps. The cold air startled Liv, and she realized she hadn't thought to put on a jacket when they left the house this afternoon.

The half-dozen people in front of them halted just outside the door. Liv stopped short and rested a hand on her mother's arm, hoping to prevent a collision. At first Liv couldn't tell why everyone was looking up at the sky, although it
was
pretty. The blue color was just beginning to deepen toward night, and she was surprised that the stars were already coming out.

Then she saw that the sparkles of white overhead were drifting slowly downward, and she heard hushed sighs around her. The sighs that came with the first snow of the season.

Liv gazed up at the glinting flakes. It wasn't coming down heavily, not yet, and their aimless twirling seemed to cast a spell. No one spoke. For the first snow to fall now, at the end of Nammy's memorial, seemed significant, almost holy. Liv didn't want to be the first one to move, even though she was shivering.

Mom and Rachel must be cold, too. She should take them back inside to wait while she brought the car up to the door.

Something warm settled over her shoulders. Liv reached up to find a brown corduroy coat draped around her, the bottom hem falling far past her hips. She didn't move. Without turning, she had a feeling she already knew whose coat it was.

“Wait here.” Scotty's deep voice behind her was quiet, as if reluctant to break the silence. “I'll get the keys from Rachel and bring the car up.”