Chapter 4
J ohn’s car crept down the street toward the Olsson House.
“Look at all these cars,” he said. “Every parking spot at the curb is occupied. Could some of these people be going to the neighboring houses, and not Judy and Jeff’s?”
“Judy told me she invited her neighbors. I think everyone who got an invitation is attending—and arrived on time.”
“The potluck started fifteen minutes ago, right?”
“Yep. If these cars are any indication, she’ll have double the turnout we had last year.”
“Well, the more the merrier,” John said.
Maggie chuckled. “That’s the spirit. I’m happy for them.”
“Do you want me to drop you at the curb while I continue to look for a place to park?” John asked.
“No, I’ve got a plan. Judy’s old house is up ahead on the left. No one is living there. We’ll park in her driveway.” Maggie pointed to the house as they drew abreast of it.
John parked and they walked back to the Olsson House, being careful not to spill any of the contents from the platters they were bringing to the potluck.
They reached the low iron fence that enclosed the yard.
Maggie paused on the sidewalk, taking in the gracious three-story Victorian mansion, now transformed into a holiday jewel.
Cedar boughs, tied with generous bows of burgundy velvet ribbon edged in gold, wrapped the porch railing like a festive embrace.
Icicle lights traced the gabled roofline and framed the turret windows, where the soft flicker of candlelight shimmered behind the glass.
Even in the pale sunshine of late afternoon, the lights glowed faintly, casting a gentle enchantment over the house.
The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the faint aroma of gingerbread, hinting at the warmth waiting inside.
Judy and Jeff’s painstaking restoration of the once-dilapidated beauty had polished it to a high gleam, like vintage silver brought lovingly back to life.
The house sparkled from every angle. Music and laughter spilled through the open front door, wrapping around them like a welcome, and beckoned them forward.
John opened the gate and stepped aside for Maggie to precede him on the walkway. They climbed the steps to the porch and paused in the open doorway. Small groups of people crowded the foyer. Frequent bursts of laughter interrupted the low buzz of conversation. Excitement hung in the air.
“What’s going on?” John asked Maggie. “It’s like people are waiting for something.”
“I don’t know. It’s Christmas afternoon—Santa has already been here and gone,” she teased.
“Maggie!” She heard her name over the din.
“John!” cried another voice.
They turned toward the familiar voices calling their names. Alex Scanlon, Maggie’s successor as mayor of Westbury, and his partner, Marc Benson, pushed through the crowd to reach them.
“Merry Christmas, you two,” Maggie said, leaning in to kiss Alex on the cheek and accept one from him.
“We’ve been looking for you. I was afraid you’d miss it.”
“Miss what?” Maggie asked.
“Lyla Kershaw is going to make a big announcement any minute now. Even Judy doesn’t know what it is,” Marc said, shaking John’s hand and taking the platter of ham from him. “Alex and I will take your dishes to the buffet table and be right back.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said, surrendering her platter. She pointed to an empty spot along the wall to the right of the door. “We’ll save a place for you if you want to join us for the announcement.”
“Will do,” Alex said, following Marc into the dining room where the buffet was set up.
Maggie and John planted themselves against the wall.
“Lyla Kershaw?” John asked. “Do you think this has anything to do with her son Josh?”
“And perhaps Sunday Sloan, too?” Maggie replied. “I may know something, but my lips are sealed—or they’re supposed to be.” She smiled at him and stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
His grin spread like butter on toast. “What a wonderful Christmas Day announcement that’ll make!” he exclaimed.
Alex and Marc jostled through the crowd to return to Maggie and John as Lyla climbed to the fourth step on the staircase. The petite woman in her late fifties smoothed an errant hair into place in her neat bob. She raised a glass above her head and tapped it with a knife.
Conversation stopped as everyone turned toward her. Maggie noticed that Josh and Sunday stood at the base of the stairway.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Lyla said, lowering her glass.
“I’m only going to take a moment of your time—I know better than to get between hungry people and that buffet in there.
” She waved her glass toward the dining room.
“While we’re all here, I wanted to share with you my wonderful news.
My Christmas wish, a gift I’ve always dreamed of but never expected, is coming true this year. ”
Her face flushed, and she blinked repeatedly.
“I think many of you know Josh Newlon”—she pointed to her son—“and that I’m his birth mother. We reunited last year after his adoptive parents both died. I now have a lovely relationship with the son I missed every day since giving him up for adoption.
“I experienced more miracles when the rare book theft at Highpointe College reunited me with Josh’s birth father. I thought Robert had died before Josh was born, but he was very much alive, and we recently married.
“And now, my embarrassment of riches continues. I’m going to have a daughter-in-law, and she’s someone I knew and called a dear friend long before Josh came back into my life. Sunday Sloan has accepted Josh’s proposal of marriage, and my family of one will soon blossom into a family of four.
“Christmas is a time for miracles. The changes in my life are truly that. I want to share this joyful news with all of you. Please raise a glass and let’s toast the happy life in store for Josh and Sunday.”
The crowd cheered and whistled as people raised their glasses and joined in the salute.
“I wish I’d gotten you all champagne,” Marc said. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about that.” He peered at Maggie. “Are you okay?”
Maggie swiped away the moisture under her eyes and nodded. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said. “Just a little emotional after hearing Lyla’s toast. It’s a testament to the fact that you never know when good things are going to happen.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Marc said, raising his glass and clinking it with Alex’s.
The crowd surged forward to congratulate the engaged couple.
“I think we’re going to head into the dining room and get something to eat while everyone’s waiting in line to speak to Josh and Sunday,” Alex said. “Care to join us?”
“I’m starved,” John said. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Lead the way,” Maggie said. “We’ll see Sunday and Josh before we leave.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Maggie smiled at John. “I’m sure Jeff and the other fans are watching sports on that ginormous television in the library. I’ll get a second cup of coffee and find Sunday and Lyla. I’d love to hear about the wedding plans.”
“You’re the best wife in the world,” John said, leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.
Maggie entered the kitchen and refilled her cup at the coffee station in the butler’s pantry. She took it into the dining room and made her way to the dessert selections set up on the carved mahogany sideboard.
Sam Torres, her longest-standing friend in Westbury, stood off to one side, alone, near a tall potted palm. “Tisk,” he uttered, using his tongue and teeth to capture her attention.
She sidled over to him. “Merry Christmas, Sam. What in the world are you doing in here, lurking behind this tree?”
Sam chuckled. “I’m lying in wait until I’m certain Joan won’t catch me. I want to grab a second slice of that B?che de Noel, a lemon bar, and one of Gloria Vaughn’s famous sour cream sugar cookies.”
“I’m sure Joan wouldn’t care.”
“Oh, but she would. My cholesterol is high, and I’ve gained a few pounds—actually, twenty pounds. We’re both on diets, and she’s sticking to hers better than I am to mine.”
“It’s Christmas, Sam. I don’t think she’ll object.”
“Even so, I’d rather my second trip to the dessert buffet go unnoticed.”
“Okay—how can I help?”
Sam looked through the open door of the dining room, across the foyer, and into the parlor. His wife stood in front of the fireplace with her back to him.
“I wish she’d go sit down somewhere. I feel like the minute I load up a plate, she’s going to turn around and catch me.”
“I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I load up a plate for you?”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course I would! It’s not like I’m aiding and abetting a criminal enterprise. I was going to get myself some dessert, anyway. Sit tight—I’ll be right back.”
Maggie handed him her coffee cup and went to the buffet, making her selections and returning to him.
“I’ll trade you this plate for my coffee cup,” Maggie said, snagging the additional sour cream sugar cookie from the top of the plate. “This one’s for me. It’s not Christmas without one of Gloria’s cookies.”
Sam motioned for her to follow him farther into the room and out of his wife’s line of sight. He lifted a forkful of B?che de Noel to his lips.
“You must be enjoying seeing this house so full of light and life. You and Jeff did a masterful job with the renovations.” Maggie took a small bite of her cookie. “It’s beautiful.”
Sam nodded. “It took far more work than either of us expected, but we’re very happy with the result. We learned a ton in the process, too. Even after forty years as a handyman, I still ran into things I didn’t know. I’m sure we’d be much more efficient if we ever restored another old home again.”
“Is that in the cards for you?” Maggie asked.
Sam shrugged. “We’ve talked about it from time to time. This place wasn’t done until a week ago. We decided we’d take December off and talk about any future projects next month.”
“That’s exciting,” Maggie said. “Would you retire from your day job and do this full-time?”