“In that case, I’ll head up too,” he said, yawning loudly. “Those parties are fun, but boy, they’re a lot of work.”

“It was a great party,” I said. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Merry Christmas, dear,” Daphne said on her way out of the kitchen. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, come for waffles.”

When I was alone again, I wandered into the family room. It was silent and dark, lit only by the Christmas tree in the corner. I switched on a lamp and went over to the built-in shelves lining the fireplace wall to study the framed photographs.

There was a wedding portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer and one of Mack and Frannie as well. Baby pictures of Keaton and Whitney. Graduation photos of all five Sawyer sisters. In addition, there were more informal pictures taken around the farm—three little blond girls swimming in the creek during the summer, a gap-toothed Chloe grinning down from a perch in a tree, April swinging tiny Frannie around by the hands with the vineyard in the background.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Sylvia coming into the room, still wearing her dress and heels, carrying two glasses of amber liquid. “Hey,” I said quietly, wishing more than anything I could reach out, put my hands on her hips, and pull her flush against me.

“Hey.” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re still here. Sorry it took so long—the kids made me recite The Night Before Christmas like I used to do when they were tiny.”

“You can recite it from memory?”

She shrugged. “One of my hidden talents. Here. I poured us a little scotch from my dad’s secret stash in the library. Don’t tell on me.”

I laughed, taking the glass from her. “Thanks. And speaking of talent.” I gestured toward the photos. “Did you take these?”

She glanced at them. “Yes. A long time ago.”

“They’re beautiful, Sylvia. You have a gift.”

“Thank you.” She sipped her scotch. “I was thinking of maybe talking to my parents about taking some photos for the website and social media. Do you know who runs those accounts?”

“At one point, I think Frannie, but after she left to start the pastry shop, I think social media has sort of been neglected. Talk to Chloe—I bet she’d know.”

“I will. There has to be some way to make myself useful around here, right? I’m just not good at too many things.”

She said it as a joke, but I got the feeling there was something serious in her words too. “Sylvia, you’re good at a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“You’re an amazing mom. You’re a talented photographer. You’re a fast learner. You’re good with social media. You’re good with social anything—and you can talk to anyone.”