“Well, it’s obviously not enough. You must have lost twenty pounds since Daddy died.”

“It isn’t because I don’t eat enough,” she insisted. “I do.”

“That can’t be true. You’re using up more calories than you’re taking in. If you want to stop losing, you’re going to have to eat more. Have a doughnut.”

“Just coffee, please,” her mother told the waitress.

“Me too,” said Lucy, resigned to losing another round. Looking around the shop, she saw her friend Lydia Volpe, the kindergarten teacher, just coming through the door.

“Hi!” She waved, and Lydia headed over, cheeks cherry-red from the cold.

“What a day! Those kids have got too much Christmas spirit!”

“I can imagine. Lydia, this is my mother, Helen Hayes.”

“I’m not the actress,” Lucy’s mother announced.

“No, I can see that. I mean, you don’t look at all like her,” said Lydia. “It must be confusing sometimes to have the same name as a famous person.”

“Usually I use my husband’s name, Mrs. Bernard Hayes, if I’m reserving a hotel room or ordering something over the phone. I started doing that because once when I went to Washington, D.C.—it was during the war and I was visiting my sister who was stationed there. Well, I reserved a room at the Hilton because it was the only hotel that had any vacancies. I just gave my name, Helen Hayes, but when I got there they took me up to an enormous suite. It was just beautiful and was filled with fresh flowers. They thought I was the actress.”

As she listened to this story for the hundredth time, Lucy thought how bright and animated her mother had become. It was as if her real life had been some time in the past, and the present was just a pale imitation, which she didn’t find very interesting.

“What did you do?” asked Lydia. “Did you stay in the suite?”

“Of course not. I couldn’t have afforded it. But it was lovely, and they let me take one of the flower arrangements to my new single room, courtesy of the management. They wanted to thank me for being so cooperative.”

She nodded virtuously, certain in the knowledge that she was not one to make a scene, and sipped her coffee.

“What’s Culpepper so het up about, Lydia?” asked Lucy. “He’s been ranting and raving since we came in.”

“Probably the warrant for the special town meeting. Haven’t you seen it?”

“No, I’ve been a little out of touch lately,” said Lucy, glancing at her mother.

“Everybody at school was talking about it. It calls for a one-year moratorium on all building, and sets aside most of the undeveloped land in town as conservation land. Sam Miller had been working on it before he died. It’s kind of his legacy to the town.”