Page 89 of Price of Angels

Ava smiled to herself, and kept moving.

There were candles lit in the kitchen. The three fat decorative ones in the center of a pine bough wreath burned inside a ring of narrow white tapers in silver holders. Ava could have sworn they’d all been blown out after dinner, but then she saw Maggie sitting on the far side of the table, golden in their glow, in her silk robe, a slice of cheesecake in front of her.

She didn’t look startled to see Ava. “There’s plenty of this left,” she whispered, gesturing to her plate with her fork.

Ava nodded, went to the counter to plate herself a slice, and took a seat beside her mother, close so they could talk quietly.

“I never get to eat dessert when it’s served,” Maggie said. “I’m cutting pieces for everyone and making the coffee, and then the plates are coming back and they have to go in the dishwasher.” Behind them, the machine droned and sloshed softly, proving her point. “And I never get to have any.” She forked up a big bite and stared at it, grinning to herself. “Somehow I convinced myself it’s worth the calories to come get some later.”

“It’s worth it,” Ava assured her, licking the edge of her fork. It was New York style, with raspberry compote spooned over the top. Homemade, because Maggie didn’t do store-bought anything.

“Your cookies are good,” Maggie said, “I already had one of those.”

Ava waved her fork. “I’m a long way from this, though.”

“You’re just getting started with your cooking. It takes a while, baby.” Her voice was like a gentle caress, like a hand pulling through the tangles of her hair.

Beyond the window, by the glow of the security light, the snow still fell, a total whiteout as it streamed from the heavens.

Maggie asked, “So what’s Mercy think of his first family Christmas?”

“Not much, I don’t think. None of that bothered him, Mom. I mean, it wasn’t fun, but he’s not one to get all excited about that kind of family drama.”

“Hmm, guess not.”

They were quiet a moment, forks clinking against their plates, as they reflected on the insignificance of Denise Lowe’s disapproval. They’d all lived through far worse.

When a shape appeared in the threshold, and held statue-still for a long moment, neither of them registered Denise for who she was. For a second, the robe-clad figure seemed a specter, and Ava was coiled in automatic reaction, before her grandmother took another step into the kitchen and the candlelight caught her beneath the chin and eyes and revealed her for who she was.

Maggie’s quick intake of breath said that she’d been startled too.

“I…” Denise hesitated, her features stiff. “I thought I might get a glass of water. I didn’t know anyone else was up.”

“Just the ghosts of Christmas Present and Future,” Maggie said, starting to rise.

Denise waved her back down, and walked to the sink. “I can get it.”

Maggie sighed as she lowered into her chair. “Of course,” she whispered. Then: “There’s cheesecake, if you want. We’re having some.”

It was shadowy along the counter, and Denise’s back was ramrod straight as she opened the cabinet, pulled down a glass. Ava couldn’t see what she did, only hear it, and she bit back a smile when she heard the soft sound of the cork pulling out of the wine.

Maggie lifted her brows and Ava shrugged.

When Denise came to the table, it was with a slice of cake and a half-glass of Chardonnay. There was a stiffness to her movements that wasn’t just the result of beauty queen posture lessons; her face was tight, her lips trembling, her gaze on the candles, rather than on them as she sat opposite Ava. She was nervous, like a girl on her first day at a new school, who isn’t comfortable having lunch with strangers.

Or, more accurately, Ava thought, uncomfortable sitting with those she’d been cruel to.

Even with her makeup washed off and her hair tied back, she managed to look regal. She was where Maggie got her own queenly bearing, though Ava didn’t tell that disturbing bit of news to her mom. Denise said, “The cake is very good, Maggie. Your grandmother’s recipe?”

Maggie and Ava traded disbelieving looks. It was unnatural and unsure, but it was still a compliment. It was a reaching out. People couldn’t sit around candles, Ava didn’t guess, and retain their shields for very long. It brought out their basic sides.

“Yes,” Maggie said. “I added the raspberries.”

Denise nodded. “Mother was always a wonderful cook. Much better than I’ve ever been.”

“You do better with savory dishes, Mom. MiMi was always the best with desserts.”

Denise looked startled, eyes going to her daughter. “Do you think so?” True curiosity, caught off guard by the praise.

---