Page 52 of Red Hot Roaster

Although I had to ask myself, can you still feel lonely even if you’re never alone?

Lauren started laughing. She got it. I had friends and family and honorary family and faithful dogs and a cat or two coming out of my wazoo. Even a sweet, if overprotective and definitely temporary, gorgeous guy.

“And once you get yourself and my baby boy up here, I’ll be even less alone.”

Now she was snorting. Probably because mybaby boywas eighteen, six-foot-one and 187 pounds. I chose this moment to continue, “Speaking of Rafe…”

She snorted harder and louder, if that were possible.

I managed to talk over her. “How is that little Sherlock Holmes project coming along?”

Since Lauren lived in Sonoma Valley, at least for now, and did marketing slash market research for a living, she was perfectly positioned for a little detective work. Perfect too, because…bestie.

She stopped laughing. “I should have something by Thanksgiving. I used some online search tools to find people with the Amato name in both Oakland and San Francisco. Good news? There are a couple dozen men, along with phone numbers and addresses. Sorta bad news? No info on their ages. Another way to narrow down the list is to search Facebook or Insta, but I’m not sure older men do social media much.

“Oh, and I was also able to locate the death certificate for his mom, which, unfortunately, didn’t have any info on her family.” Lauren paused. “Are yousureyou don’t want to let Rafe know what we’re doing and see if he remembers his uncle’s name?”

“I’m sure,” I claimed with more confidence than I felt. “Please, please, keep on researching, and we’ll figure out what to do when you come up.”

Rafe might get mad at me for sticking my nose into his personal life. I’d already violated his trust by sharing some details with Lauren. Maybe it was the loss of my own mom that prompted all this…intrusion.

But it was a risk I was willing to take. Was it wrong that I wanted to give Rafe somethingtangible, something he’d never pursue on his own?

Anyway, that was the way I justified what we were doing. I could live with his anger…especially since I wouldn’t actually belivingwith it, once he left.

“I’ll do my best, girlfriend—don’t you worry,” Lauren assured me. “One last thing. Sleeping arrangements.”

Shih tzu. In my weekly call with Finn, I’d forgotten to mention that Rafe had virtually (and by virtually, I meant literally) moved in with me. Or maybe that was a fib that I’d forgotten.

I’d been stalling for time, deciding what to do. Now I realized it was a no-brainer. I needed to be “Mom-with-a-capital-M” for my son this holiday season. I had faith in Rafe that he would understand.

And there was a little part of me—not a kind part, but a pragmatic part—that needed to separate people who were staying in my life from people who were leaving.

“Yes, right, okay. Sleeping arrangements. You’re going to have my old bedroom, and Finn will keep his own room this time around.” In the past, we’d shifted Finn to the couch in the basement family room so Lauren or other guests could use his bedroom.

“I’m going to ask Rafe to move back to the apartment, at least while Finn’s home. And we’ll take a little break from nocturnal activities for the duration.”

Lauren snickered. “Your kiddo’s pretty smart. I think he’ll pick up on the fact that you two have grown…closer.”

“Hmm…maybe. We’re not much for PDA, and we’re trying to hold the smoldering looks to a minimum.”

She snorted one last time and said, “All righty, girl. Mother knows best.”

“Kiss Baby for me!” With that, we ended our call with promises to talk next week. I let the dogs in for their rubdowns and headed out for my errands.

My first stop was Johanssen’s Meat Market, where I placed an order for a twenty-five-pound turkeyanda seven-pound bone-in ham. We were expecting a crowd for our annual Family-and-Friendsgiving dinner. And that wasn’t even counting those who were non-meat-or-poultry eaters in our group.

I was also dropping off a stack of registration forms and checks for the Turkey Dog Jog. Ever since third-generation Erik Johanssen had started making turkey dogs nearly twenty years ago, his family had been holding the charity event the Saturday after Thanksgiving in Dogwood Park.

We were one of the early sponsors, and the Chocolate Lab was also a place where people could turn in their forms and fees. Sure, folks could now register and pay online, but many of our customers were older and preferred to do things “the old-fashioned way” as Miss Ada liked to say.

The Turkey Dog Jog had never been publicized outside our neighborhood—no need since there were more than enough entrants and sponsors from canine-crazy Dogwood to make the event a success.

Finn was enthusiastic about doing the honors with Pirate this year. He’d probably dress up the big galoot in some sort of fun and funny costume like Mom used to do. Up to Finn to engineer that when he got home.

Hmm. Wonder if Rafe would like to enter Princess in the Turkey Dog Jog too? Or would she be nervous around all the other dogs?Maybe Finn and Rafe could walk Pirate and Princess together, since the two seemed to be joined at the hip these days. I’d be busy helping out at the check-in table, but Rafe would see other people he knew there too. He wasn’t shy…at all.

I’d talk with him about the idea tomorrow. I had plans for tonight.

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