Christmas Trio B. Debbie Macomber

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      The idea was gaining momentum in her mind. “Maybe I Could…. “ Mary Jo said. As soon as she was settled, she’d call her brothers and explain that she’d decided to stay in Cedar Cove overnight. Besides, she was tired and depressed and didn’t feel like celebrating. The idea of being by herself held more appeal by the minute.

      Another plus was the fact that her brothers needed a break from her and her problems. For the last number of weeks, Mary Jo had been nothing but a burden to them, causing strife within the family. Thanks to her, the three of them were constantly bickering.

      Ned was sympathetic to her situation and she loved him for it. But even he couldn’t stand up to Linc, who took his responsibilities as head of the family much too seriously.

      If her brothers were on their way to Cedar Cove, as she expected, she’d ask them firmly but politely to turn around. She’d tell them she was spending Christmas with David’s family, which was, in fact, true. Sort of. By tomorrow evening, she would’ve met with Ben and Charlotte and maybe Olivia and the rest of David’s Cedar Cove relatives. They’d resolve this situation without her brothers’ so-called help.

      “One thing,” Grace said, her voice falling as she glanced over at Olivia.

      “Yes?” Mary Jo asked.

      “There’s a slight complication.”

      Mary Jo should’ve known this was too good to be true.

      “The barn’s currently home to a … variety of animals,” Grace went on to explain.

      Mary Jo didn’t understand why this should be a problem, nor did she understand Olivia’s smug grin.

      “There’s an ox and several sheep, a donkey and—” she paused “—a camel.”

      “A camel?“ Mary Jo repeated.

      “A rather bad-tempered camel,” Olivia put in.

      Nodding, Grace pointed to her obviously bandaged arm. “You’d be well advised to keep your distance.”

      “That’s, um, quite a menagerie you have in your barn.”

      “Oh, they don’t belong to us,” Grace said. “They’re for the live Nativity scene, which ended last evening. We’re housing them for the church.”

      “The animals won’t bother me.” Mary Jo smiled. “And I won’t bother them.”

      Her smile grew wider as it occurred to her that she’d be spending Christmas Eve in a stable—something another Mary had done before her.

       Chapter Six

      Olivia reluctantly left the library by herself. Weak as she was these days, it made more sense for Mary Jo to go home with Grace. Nevertheless, Olivia felt a certain obligation toward this vulnerable young woman.

      Olivia had never had positive feelings toward her stepbrother, and this situation definitely hadn’t improved her impression of him. Ben’s son could be deceptive and cruel. She knew very well that David had lied to Mary Jo Wyse. Sure, it took two to tango, as the old cliché had it—and two to get Mary Jo into her present state. But Olivia also knew that David would have misrepresented himself and, even worse, abdicated all responsibility for Mary Jo and his child. No wonder her family was in an uproar. Olivia didn’t blame them; she would be, too.

      The drive from the library to the Harbor Street Gallery took less than two minutes. Olivia hated driving such a short distance when at any other time in her life she would’ve walked those few blocks. The problem was that those blocks were a steep uphill climb and she didn’t have the energy. The surgery and subsequent infection had sapped her of strength. Today, however, wasn’t a day to dwell on the cancer that had struck her so unexpectedly, like a viper hiding in the garden. Today, Christmas Eve, was a day for gratitude and hope.

      She parked outside the art gallery her brother had purchased and was renovating. Olivia had been the one to suggest he buy the gallery; he’d done so, and it seemed to be a good decision for him.

      Will was waiting for her at the door. “Liv!” he said, bounding toward her in his larger-than-life way. He extended his arms for a hug. “Merry Christmas.”

      “Same to you,” she said, smiling up at him. Her brother, although over sixty, remained a strikingly handsome man. Now divorced and retired, he’d come home to reinvent himself, leaving behind his former life in Atlanta. In the beginning Olivia had doubted his motives, but slowly he’d begun to prove himself, becoming an active member of the town—and his family—once again.

      “I wanted to give you a tour of the gallery,” Will told her as he led her inside.

      The last time Olivia had visited the town’s art gallery had been while Maryellen Bowman, Grace’s daughter, was the manager. Maryellen had been forced to resign during a difficult pregnancy. The business had rapidly declined once she’d left, and eventually the gallery had gone up for sale.

      Looking around, Olivia was astonished by the changes. “You did all this in less than a month?” The place barely resembled the old Harbor Street Gallery. Before Will had taken over, artwork had been arranged in a simple, straightforward manner—paintings and photographs on the walls, sculpture on tables.

      Will had built distinctive multi-level glass cases and brought in other inventive means of displaying a variety of mediums, including a carefully designed lighting system. One entire wall was taken up with a huge quilt, unlike any she’d seen before. At first glance she had the impression of fire.

      Close up, it looked abstract, with vivid clashing colors and surreal, swirling shapes. But, stepping back, Olivia identified an image that suddenly emerged—a dragon. It was fierce, angry, red, shooting out flames in gold, purple and orange satin against a background that incorporated trees, water and winding roads.

      “That’s by Shirley Bliss,” Will said, following her gaze. “It took me weeks to convince her to let me put that up.”

      “It’s magnificent.” Olivia was in awe of the piece and couldn’t tear her eyes from it.

      “It isn’t for sale, however.”

      “That’s a shame.”

      Will nodded. “She calls it Death. She created it shortly after her husband was killed in a motorcycle accident.” He slipped an arm through Olivia’s. “Can’t you just feel her anger and her grief?”

      The quilt seemed to vibrate with emotions Olivia recognized from her own life—the time her thirteen-year-old son had drowned, more than twenty years ago. And the time, only weeks ago, that she’d been diagnosed with cancer. When she initially heard the physician say the word, she’d had a nearly irrepressible urge to argue with him. This couldn’t be happening to her. There’d been some mistake.

      That disbelief had been replaced by a hot anger at the unfairness of it. Then came numbness, then grief and finally resignation. With Jordan’s death and with her own cancer, she’d experienced a tremendous loss that had brought with it fears of further loss.

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