“He’ll do it. Don’t worry.”

“Great. How did you manage to persuade him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I didn’t actually ask him. I sort of told him.”

She grinned again. “Wish I’d been there.”

The little bell on the wreath sounded as someone opened and closed the front door. Bianca Avery, glamorous in a black leather jacket, cherry-red cashmere pashmina knotted around her neck, and black stiletto-heeled boots over skinny jeans, stood in the doorway looking hesitant.

“I know you’re not open, but I saw your cars in the parking lot so I thought it would be okay if I stopped by,” she said in her soft accented voice. “I wanted to talk to you about Kellie.”

“Come on in,” Frankie said. “It’s warmer here by the fire. Join us.”

“Is Kellie all right?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

Bianca crossed the room, pulling her long, dark hair out from underneath her scarf so it fell against one shoulder. Years ago when she was a teenager she had moved to the U.S. from Brazil to work for one of the top New York modeling agencies after being discovered while waitressing in a bar. Though she’d left modeling after she married Scotty and came to Virginia, she still moved with a self-awareness and grace that turned heads whenever she entered a room. Today, as always, she looked more like Kellie’s sister than her mother, with one noticeable difference: the anxiety in her eyes and the dark circles underneath them had aged her. She looked around at the Christmas decorations as if she were in a daze and ignored my questions.

Frankie and I exchanged glances. Maybe Bianca was on tranquilizers, something to calm her nerves and help her cope with the news firestorm surrounding her family. She took a seat on one of the couches and Frankie and I sat across from her.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” Frankie asked.

I was glad she didn’t offer Bianca a glass of wine. Ten A.M. was too early to start day drinking. Especially if you needed the drink. Bianca looked as if she did.

“A glass of water would be great,” she said.

I started to rise and Frankie said, “Sit tight, I’ll get it.”

She got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a glass from behind the bar and set them on the coffee table in front of Bianca.

“Are you going to be okay?” Frankie asked.

Bianca started to nod as if a puppeteer were pulling a string to make her reply yes, and then shook her head. She stared at the bottle and glass without doing anything. Instead she reached for one of the throw pillows, white snowflakes needlepointed onto a bright red background, and wrapped her arms around it, hugging it to her.