To Lucy’s surprise, Helen joined the game and even seemed to enjoy herself. Toby and his father and grandfather all went outside to try out Toby’s new archery set, and Lucy fussed over the roast.

At four o’clock the family gathered around the long harvest table for Christmas dinner. Candles shone in crystal holders, the silver gleamed, and the centerpiece of golden glass balls and holly sparkled. The children were dressed in their best clothes, Bill and his dad wore their new plaid sport shirts, and the women were all wearing touches of red. Lucy served the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding; dinner was perfect, even the gravy. Lucy had made chocolate mousse from a recipe Sue Finch guaranteed was foolproof, and everyone adored it.

Finally, when the dishes were all done and put away, and the children changed into their new pajamas, they sat around the TV and watched a replay of the day on the VCR.

“Honestly, this ought to be titled The Perfect Christmas, ” said Edna.

“I know,” Lucy agreed. They looked up as Bill came into the room.

“Lucy, there’s a phone call for you.”

When Lucy picked up the receiver she was surprised to hear a male voice on the other end.

“Mrs. Stone, this is Officer Findlay. I’m calling for Mrs. Culpepper. Her husband’s been hurt and she wants you to stay with Eddie so she can go to the hospital.”

“Of course,” said Lucy. “Is he badly hurt?”

“I can’t say. I’m not even sure he’s alive. His car went off the road near Barrow’s Light.”

“Oh, my God,” Lucy said with a gasp. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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As Lucy sped through the night in her little car, she repeated over and over, “Please let Barney be all right, let Barney be all right.” The car was frigid; the drive was too short for it to warm up, and Lucy’s stomach tightened as her hands clenched the wheel. When she pulled up in front of the little ranch house, she was shivering from cold and anxiety.

She tapped on the door and stood blinking in the light and heat that hit her when it was thrown open. Marge looked terrible. Always a large woman, she had given up the struggle to contain her weight some years ago. But now in spite of her bulk she suddenly seemed frail and vulnerable. Her face was pasty white, and the harsh overhead light revealed dark circles under her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Marge,” said Lucy, rushing to hug her friend. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks, Lucy.” Marge stepped back but grasped her hands. “I hate to take you from your family at Christmas.”