Debbie Macomber: 1225 Christmas Tree Lane

“Oh, no…”

“Should I tell her it might be better to wait?” Grace asked. Like Olivia, she hated the thought of hitting Ben with this news the minute he and Charlotte arrived home.

“I don’t know,” Olivia said. “I mean, they’re going to be tired…” Her voice faded away.

“The thing is,” Grace went on to explain, “I really don’t think it should wait. Mary Jo’s obviously due very soon.” She hesitated, unsure how much to tell Olivia. She didn’t want to burden her friend. Because of her illness, Olivia was uncharacteristically fragile these days.

“I heard that hesitation in your voice, Grace Harding,” Olivia scolded. “There’s more to this and you’re wondering if you should tell me.”

There were times Grace swore Olivia could read her mind. She took a breath. “It seems David told Mary Jo he’d be spending the holidays with Ben and Charlotte.”

“I knew it! That’s a lie. This cruise has been planned for months and David was well aware of it. Why would he do something like this?”

Grace didn’t have an answer—although she had her own opinion on David and his motives.

“He probably used the lie as another tactic to put the poor girl off,” Olivia said. “The way David manipulates people and then discards them like so much garbage infuriates me.” Outrage echoed in every word.

“It appears that’s exactly what he did,” Grace murmured. She remembered how David had tried to swindle Charlotte out of several thousand dollars a few years ago. The man was without conscience.

“This poor girl! All alone at Christmas. It’s appalling. If I could, I’d wring David’s neck myself.”

“I have the feeling we’d need to stand in line for that,” Grace said wryly.

“No kidding,” Olivia agreed. “Okay, now that I know what this Mary Jo business is all about, tell me what happened to your arm.”

Instinctively Grace’s hand moved to her upper right arm. “You’re gonna laugh,” she said, smiling herself, though at the time it’d been no laughing matter.

“Grace, from what I heard, you were in a lot of pain.”

“And who told you that?”

“Justine. She ran into Cliff at the pharmacy when he was picking up your prescription.”

“Oh, right.” Small towns were like this. Everything was news and nothing was private. That could be beneficial—and it could be embarrassing. Olivia’s daughter, Justine, knew, so Olivia’s husband—who happened to be the local newspaper editor—did, too. It wouldn’t surprise her if Jack wrote a humorous piece on her misadventure.

“So, what happened?” Olivia repeated.

Grace saw no reason to hide the truth. “I got bitten by the camel.”

“ What? The camel? What camel?”

Grace had to smile again. Olivia’s reaction was the same as that of Dr. Timmons. According to the young physician, this was the first time he’d ever treated anyone for a camel bite.

“Cliff and I are housing the animals for the live Nativity scene,” she explained. “Remember?” The local Methodist church had brought in animals for the display. Grace wasn’t sure where the camel had come from but as far as she was concerned it could go back there anytime. And it would. Yesterday had been the final day for the animals’ appearances; they’d be returning to their individual homes just after Christmas. True, she’d miss the donkey, since she’d grown fond of him. But the camel? Goodbye, Sleeping Beauty! Grace almost snorted at the animal’s unlikely name.

“Of course,” Olivia said, “the live Nativity scene. I didn’t get a chance to see it. So that’s how you encountered the camel.”

“Yes, I went out to feed the dastardly beast. Cliff warned me that camels can be cantankerous and I thought I was being careful.”

“Apparently not careful enough,” Olivia said, sputtering with laughter.

“Hey, it isn’t that funny,” Grace said, slightly miffed that her friend hadn’t offered her the requisite amount of sympathy. “I’ll have you know it hurt. ”

“Did he break the skin?”

“He’s a she, and yes, she did.” Grace’s arm ached at the memory. “Sleeping Beauty—” she said the name sarcastically “—bit me right through two layers of clothing.”

“Did you need stitches?” The amusement had left Olivia’s voice.

“No, but Dr. Timmons gave me a prescription for antibiotics and then bandaged my arm. You’d think it had been nearly amputated. This morning I had trouble finding a sweater that would go over the dressing.”

“Poor Grace.”

“That’s more like it,” she said in a satisfied tone.

“Let Cliff feed the camel from now on.”

“You bet I will.”

“Good.”

“That’s not all.” Grace figured she might as well go for broke on the sympathy factor.

“What—the donkey bit you, too?”

“No, but the sheep stepped on my foot.”

“Poor Grace.”

“Thank you.”

“A sheep can’t weigh that much.”

“This one did. I’ve got an unsightly bruise on the top of my foot.” She thrust out her leg and gazed down on it. Her panty hose didn’t hide the spectacularly colored bruise at all.

“Oh, poor Gracie.”

“You don’t sound like you mean that.”

“Oh, I do, I do.”

“Hmph. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk in the last few days, so tell me what you’re doing for Christmas,” Grace said.

“It’s pretty low-key,” Olivia told her. “Justine, Seth and Leif are coming over tonight for dinner and gifts, then we’re going to church at eight. What about you and Cliff?”

“Same. Maryellen, Kelly and all the grandkids are coming for dinner and then we’re heading to the Christmas Eve service. Cliff’s daughter, Lisa, and her family are here as well. Tomorrow we’re all going over to Maryellen and Jon’s for dinner.”

“Jack and I are having Christmas dinner alone. He’s let on to everyone that he’s cooking but between you and me, D.D.’s on the Cove is catering.” Olivia laughed, apparently amused by her husband’s resourcefulness. “Justine invited us,” she added, “but we declined. Next year,” Olivia said, and it sounded like a promise.

Everything would be back to normal by this time next year. Olivia would be finished with her treatments this spring. Seeing what her friend had already endured, and her quiet bravery in the face of what was still to come, had given Grace a deeper understanding of Olivia. Her strength and courage impressed Grace and humbled her. Like every woman their age, they’d suffered—and survived—their share of tragedy and grief. And now Olivia was coping with cancer.

Grace stood and looked out the small window that offered a view of the interior of the library. Mary Jo sat with her shoulders hunched forward, cell phone dangling from one hand.

“I have to go.”

“Problems?”

“I should get back to Mary Jo.”

“You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?” Olivia said.

“As much as I can.”

“Okay, thanks. And listen, Grace, stay away from that camel!” She laughed, and then the line was disconnected.

The next time they met at the Pancake Palace, Grace intended to make Olivia pay for her coconut cream pie.

Grace called her husband quickly, then stepped out of her office and slipped into the chair next to Mary Jo. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I tried to call David. I have his cell phone number and I thought he’d answer. It’s Christmas Eve and he has to know I’m waiting to hear from him.”

Grace took Mary Jo’s hand in hers. “He didn’t answer?”

“Oh, it’s more than that. He…he had his number changed. Last week—” she struggled to speak “—I tried to reach him at his office in California and learned that he’s quit his job. We both work—worked—for the same insurance company, which is how we met.”