“Don’t you worry about me,” Gloria told her. “We’ll celebrate when you get back.”

While Gloria would have preferred a cheerful, cozy Thanksgiving at her mother’s house, she was willing to settle for second prize: Thanksgiving at Harper and Luke’s.

Her first real-life big, family holiday. Gloria was honest enough with herself to be glad someone else was hosting. Sure, she’d fantasized about being the hostess with the mostest someday, but that day was not today. Harper, however, felt no such qualms about hosting a million people for her first time cooking for the holiday. Where lots of things still made Gloria nervous, nothing scared Harper.

They arrived bearing gifts. Gloria had the pretty floral centerpiece she’d made of short orange and peach roses arranged in neat rows, planted garden-style in a low, rectangular box and accented with glossy greenery. Mrs. Moretta carried a box of wine under one arm, and sweet, thoughtful Aldo brought up the rear with an array of specialty dog biscuits for Max and Lola.

Ivan the Terror was at home with a belly full of special turkey treats and his new stuffed drumstick.

They disbanded at the doorstep, Gloria and Mrs. Moretta following Joni back to the kitchen where female voices were raised and the heavenly scent of comfort food wafted. With a wink and a kiss, Aldo peeled off to the living room for football and beer with the menfolk that included Ty, James, Charlie, and Luke.

Gloria found Harper in the midst of chaos. She wore an apron and snapped orders like a chef in a wildly popular Manhattan restaurant on a Saturday night. Claire was running a hand mixer through an obscenely big bowl of potatoes. Sophie was wrapping foil packets of vegetables to roast on the grill. Harper was directing everything else.

“Joni, baste the turkey! Gloria, those flowers are gorgeous. Put them on the table. Mrs. Moretta, I need wine STAT!”

Gloria headed into the dining room to admire the table. It was funny. The last time she’d been in this room, a man had tried to kill her friend. A man who’d been there because of her. She looked down at the floor, the spot where she’d hit him and he’d gone limp. It hadn’t been the first time she fought back, the first time she’d hit him. But it would be the last.

“They did a good job with the door and window.”

She turned, spotted Luke in the doorway holding a bottle of beer loosely in his fingers.

The dining room window, the heavy front door, both had been replaced. “It was a scary night,” she admitted.

“Sometimes the past catches up with us,” he said hollowly.

It was an odd thing for him to say. Like he had something else entirely on his mind. “Yeah. I guess so,” she agreed.