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. I only have it until New Year’s.”
“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 13-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. Clearly 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That disbelief had been replaced by a hot anger at the unfairness of it.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.
Now, fighting her cancer—and that was how she thought of it, her cancer—she’d found a shaky serenity, even a sort of peace. That kind of acceptance was something she’d acquired with the love and assistance of her husband, Jack, her family and, as much as anyone, Grace, the woman who’d been her best friend her entire life.
“My living quarters are livable now, too,” Will was telling her. “I’ve moved in upstairs but I’m still sorting through boxes. Isn’t it great how things turned out? Because of Mack,” he added when Olivia looked at him quizzically.
“Getting the job here in town, you mean?”
“Yeah, since that meant he needed an apartment. At the same time, I needed out of the sublet, so it worked out perfectly.”
After a quick turn around the gallery to admire the other pieces on display, Will steered her toward the door. “Where would you like to go for lunch?” he asked. “Anyplace in town. Your big brother’s treating.”
“Well, seeing you’ve got all that money burning a hole in your pocket, how about the Pancake Palace?”
Will arched his brows. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m serious.” The Pancake Palace had long been a favorite of hers and in the past month or two, she’d missed it. For years, Grace and Olivia would head over to their favorite high school hangout after aerobics class on Wednesday night. The coconut cream pie and coffee was like a reward for their exertions, and the Palace was where they always caught up with each other’s news.
Goldie, their favorite waitress, had served them salty French fries and iced sodas back when neither of them worried about calories. These days their once-a-week splurge reminded them of their youth, and the nostalgic appeal of the place never faded.
Some of the most defining moments of their teenage years had occurred at the Pancake Palace. It was there that eighteen-year-old Grace admitted she was pregnant, shortly before graduation.
And years later, it’d been over coffee and tears that Olivia confessed Stan had asked for a divorce after Jordan’s death. And later, it was where Olivia told her she’d been appointed to the bench. The Pancake Palace was a place of memories for them, good as well as bad.
“The Pancake Palace? You’re really serious?” Will said again. “I can afford a lot better, you know.”
“You asked and that’s my choice.”
Will nodded. “Then off to the Palace we go.”
Her brother insisted on driving and Olivia couldn’t fault his manners. He was the consummate gentleman, opening the passenger door for her and helping her inside. The snow that had fallen earlier dusted the buildings and trees but had melted on the sidewalks and roads, leaving them slick. The slate-gray skies promised more snow, however.
Olivia had been out with her brother plenty of times and he’d never bothered with her car door. She was his sister and manners were reserved for others.
She wondered if Will’s solicitude was linked to her illness. Although he might’ve been reluctant to admit it, Will had been frightened. His caring comforted her, particularly since they’d been at odds during the past few years.
He assisted her out of the car and opened the door to the Pancake Palace. They’d hardly entered the restaurant when Goldie appeared.
“Well, as I live and breathe, it’s Olivia!” Goldie cried. Then she shocked Olivia by throwing both sinewy arms around her. “My goodness, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Merry Christmas, Goldie,” Olivia murmured.
The waitress had to be close to seventy and could only be described as “crusty.” To Olivia’s utter astonishment, Goldie pulled a hankie from her pink uniform pocket and dabbed at her eyes.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” she said with a sniffle.
“Oh, Goldie…” Olivia had no idea what to say at this uncharacteristic display of affection.
“I just don’t know what Grace and I would’ve done without you,” Goldie said, sniffling even more. She wiped her nose and stuffed the hankie back in her pocket. Reaching for the coffeepot behind the counter, she motioned with her free hand. “Sit anyplace you want.”
“Thank you, Goldie.” Olivia was genuinely touched, since Goldie maintained strict control of who sat where.
Although Goldie had given her free rein, Olivia chose the booth where she’d sat with Grace every Wednesday night until recently. It felt good to slide across the cracked red vinyl cushion again. Olivia resisted the urge to close her eyes and breathe in the scent of this familiar restaurant. The coffee had always been strong and a hint of maple syrup lingered, although it was long past the breakfast hour.
Goldie automatically righted their coffee mugs and filled them. “We’ve got a turkey dinner with all the trimmings if you’re interested,” she announced.
Olivia still struggled with her appetite. “What’s the soup of the day?”
Goldie frowned. “You aren’t having just soup.”
“But…”
“Look at you,” the waitress chastised. “You’re as thin as a flagpole. If you don’t want a big meal, then I suggest chicken pot pie.”