This time Love was irritated. "Rett, she's your sister, and she's pregnant. I know it's awkward, but-"

Rett put her hands on her narrow hips. "Awkward! Well, I guess so. But the way I figure it: you play, you pay. She got herself pregnant. She can just deal with the c.r.a.ppy stuff that comes with it. Oh, don't look so judgmental. You have no idea how it feels to have your sister totally stab you in the back."

Love fought the urge to snap at her. Instead, she let her voice grow cool. "You're right, I don't know how it feels. My only sibling died in a coal-mining accident two weeks after he turned eighteen. I wish he were here so we could quarrel."

Love's words startled Rett silent. Her eyes widened, the pupils large and black. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a brother."

Love turned away, tears coating the back of her eyes. How could the thought of DJ still make her this emotional? It had been almost forty years since Mama received the visit from the mine manager, standing on their front porch, his fancy hat in his hands. Two of the mine's security men in pressed khaki uniforms stood on each side of him like stone-faced bookends. Did he really think her five foot two, one-hundred-pound mother would get violent?

Mama knew what was wrong the minute she opened the door. They had heard the siren telling everyone within hearing distance that there'd been an accident at the mine. Daddy was already bedridden by then, his lungs as pitted and black-stained as their windowsills.

When the mine manager said, "Mrs. Johnson, I'm sorry . . ." Mama cried, "No," and turned away, running down the hallway of their shotgun house. Mr. Wyatt gave Love the news, warning her that the reporters would soon be contacting them and they should just reply "no comment" when they asked the family about anything. A small part of the mine had collapsed, and though they'd dug quickly, they hadn't been fast enough. Both men, DJ and his best friend, Nate, were dead.

"We did our best." The manager's ba.s.set hound eyes pretended sadness. His only son worked in the air-conditioned office, safe from collapsed mine tunnels.

"Did you?" Love wanted to ask, but didn't. Oh, how she regretted that now. She wished she would have taken his expensive hat and stomped it flat. She wished she would have spat in his face.

"He would have been your great-uncle," she told Rett. "His given name was Do Justly. We called him DJ."

"DJ," she whispered to herself. "Uncle DJ." Then she looked up. "Do Justly. That's a verse from Micah. Do justly and love mercy. Micah 6:8."

Love nodded. "We were twins."

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry your brother died, but that still doesn't change what Patsy did."

"And Dale. He was an equal part of this."

Her blue eyes flashed. "I know that. I'm mad at both of them."

"But did Patsy know you and he-" But before Love could go further, the kitchen phone rang. It was Mel.

"Hey," she said. "You busy?"

She almost said yes, that she'd call her back, but there was something in Mel's voice that told Love to stay on the line. "I can talk."

"I'll take Ace for a walk," Rett said, her expression relieved.

"Everything okay with her and the cradle-robber?" Mel asked.

Love grimaced to herself, trying not to think about this Dale eying her granddaughters when they were thirteen and fourteen when he would have been twenty-one. What kind of twenty-one-year-old man looked at little girls that way? "So far the cops haven't shown up at our door. Rett's got herself some backbone, I have to give her that." She told Mel how Rett threatened Dale.

Mel laughed. "Good for her."

"Please, do not tell her that. I don't want to encourage her for-"

"Sticking up for herself?"

"I just want to keep her out of jail. Don't forget, her sister, Patsy, is my granddaughter too. I'm hoping to have a relationship with all three girls. I know Rett is hurt, but Patsy is hurting too and has a bigger problem."

Mel was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her tone was subdued. "I'm sorry, Love. I don't mean to make light of this. I know it must be hard."

She sighed and switched the phone to her other ear. "No need to apologize. It's not exactly the relationship I'd always imagined having with my grandchildren."

"Nothing ever is what we imagine, is it?" Mel's voice sounded so sad and, not for the first time, Love wondered about her family. In their three years of friendship, she'd rarely spoken of her parents. If she'd ever said anything to Cy, she'd obviously sworn him to secrecy, and as close as Cy and Love were, he would have honored his promise.

"Sweetie, are you all right?" Love asked. Though she knew Mel's mother lived in Las Vegas, she didn't know anything about her father, if he was alive or just gone. The holidays had to be hard for her. She'd shared three Christmases with Cy, Love, Polly and August. As far as Love knew, she'd never gone home to Las Vegas.

"I'm fine," Mel said, her voice revealing nothing. "Look, I have to tell you about what happened tonight at the boat parade."

During the story about August getting lost, Love felt herself falling further into a funk. She was going to have to face the fact that he and Polly could not live alone at the ranch much longer. The problem was, of course, how best to convince them a change needed to be made.

"I'm sorry," Mel said when she finished. "I mean, sorry this has happened."

"Yes, it's a horrible thing, but we aren't the first people to have to face this. I'll go by tomorrow and try to talk to them about it."

"I'll do whatever I can to help."

"I know you will. Thanks for letting me know."

Love hung up the phone just as Rett was clumping up the back steps. Throughout her conversation with Mel, Love sensed that there was something else besides what happened with August. But as was normal for Mel, she kept whatever was bothering her close to her chest. Love chalked it up to holiday depression. Heaven knows, she certainly felt a little blue about this Christmas despite the joy of seeing her granddaughter. It would be her second one without Cy. The second of how many? She didn't even want to think about it.

After unhooking Ace's leash, Rett excused herself to go to bed. Love made her a snack and knocked on her door.

"It's open," Rett called.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a steno notepad filled with words and what looked like musical doodlings. She didn't try to hide it when Love set the tray of cold milk and a slice of five-layer caramel cake on her nightstand.

"Thanks," Rett said. "That looks awesome."

"Let it thaw a little. Should be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes," Love said. "I usually have a cake in the freezer. Cakes are kind of my specialty. I try to bake them once a week for the cafe." She looked down at her notebook. "Are those your songs?"

Rett nodded.

"How long have you been writing them?"

"Since I was eight," she said, ducking her head. "Those first ones were dumb, of course. I was just learning."

"Well, you know that no one was born knowing how to do something well. Everyone starts as a beginner, just at different times in their lives." Love sat down on the edge of the bed. "You're luckier than most people."

She raised her head to look at Love, her eyes transparent in that way a person was before life handed them their own personal plate of sorrow. "Why?"

"You know what you want to do. Sounds like you've always known. Some people search their whole life for the one thing that makes them happy."

"This is all I want to do . . . write songs." She bit her lip. "Do you think that it's something that's really possible? I mean to do for a living?"

Love didn't answer right away, guessing that her words would be something Rett would always remember. "Other people have done it. Why wouldn't it be possible for you?"

Rett seemed to consider Love's words, then she smiled. The answer seemed to satisfy her. "Thanks for taking me to the boat parade. It was pretty cool."

"It was my pleasure," Love said. "Guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Sure," Rett said, looking back down at her notebook.

When Love closed the bedroom door and walked back to the kitchen, she couldn't help wondering. Would there ever be a time when Rett and she had the same comfortable relationship she'd seen with Magnolia and her kids or Benni and her grandmother Dove? Please, Love thought. Oh, please, yes.

The rattling of pans, the smell of smoky bacon and a sharp bark woke Love the next morning. Though she had no idea why, it was the best night's sleep she'd had since Cy had died. She hadn't jerked awake once during the night in a pool of damp desperation, his presence hovering at the edge of her dreams, so close she sometimes felt like she could touch the warmth of him. She went into the kitchen still wearing her lavender flannel pajamas printed with flying pink pigs, a birthday gift from Magnolia.

Rett stood at the stove flipping pancakes and frying bacon. Ace tap-danced around her feet, smiling his hopeful corgi smile.

"What's going on?" Love asked.

"Crazy pj's, Grandma," she said. "I was going to send Ace in to wake you up. Breakfast is almost ready. I made coffee, if you want it. Or I can make you tea." She gestured with her spatula over at the Mr. Coffee.

"Coffee's fine." She poured herself a cup and sat down at the table. It felt strange having another woman standing in front of her stove.

"I warmed up the syrup," she said, setting the platter of pancakes and bacon on the table. "Oh, and I fed Ace."

"How did you know how much . . . ?"

"I've watched you. I figured it out."

"Oh," Love said, sitting there with her hands in her lap. It stunned her a bit, seeing Rett switch back and forth between an almost-mature woman to a stubborn, willful adolescent. It had been a long time since Love was that age. Had she been like that too? How she longed at that moment for Mama to be alive so she could call her and ask that simple question. She stood up and went over to the phone. "I want to give Polly a call and make sure they're okay. Then I'll be ready for breakfast."

Polly answered on the fourth ring. "Mel came by about six a.m. this morning," she said. "It was a real nice surprise. Had breakfast with us, and she and August are out gathering eggs."

Thank you, Mel, Love thought, leaning against the wall. "Great, just wanted to see how you were doing and let you know we'll be seeing you at church." She'd not gone for two weeks, so this seemed as good a Sunday to attend as any. Rocky would love seeing her and Rett there.

"We probably won't be there this morning," Polly said. "August is a little stoved up from being out and about last night."

"Then we'll see you later. What time do you want to decorate the tree?"

"Come any time. We got plenty in the refrigerator to make up a meal."

"Okay, we'll probably see you right after church."

Love sat back down at the table and took the cloth napkin Rett had neatly folded and placed on top of her plate. "This looks delicious. I didn't know you could cook."

Rett shrugged and sat down, unfolding her own napkin. "Mom was always busy booking us gigs or dealing with business stuff." She gave a rueful smile. "Or trying to find new husbands. In Florida, our neighbor taught me some stuff. I used to cook for Faith and me. It was something to do."

While they ate, Love told her about what happened to August. She listened intently, not commenting until Love was finished.

"So, he's got Alzheimer's?" Rett said.

"We don't actually know yet. He needs to be tested. I looked some stuff up on the Internet, and there are apparently many types of dementia. It could be any one of them."

"But the problem is the same, no matter what kind he has?"

Love nodded. "About their living situation? Yes, it is."

"That sucks."

Though she'd never really liked that word, she had to admit it perfectly described the situation. "Yes, Rett, it definitely does."

"So, how can I help?" she asked, cutting a pie wedge of pancake and putting it into her mouth.

Love inhaled deeply before answering. They were getting along so well, but her question demanded the truth. "Getting this situation with Dale straightened out would help the most."

She scowled. "I'm working on it."

"Telling him you'll accuse him of child molestation is not working on it. It's putting gasoline on an already huge fire."

"He deserves to be the freaked-out one for a change."

"I might agree with that, but you need to look at the larger picture. What would help the most is for you to give him back his banjo and let bygones be bygones."

"That's a stupid saying. What's a bygone anyway?"

"Rett, don't change the subject."

"Whatever."

Love bit the end off a strip of crisp bacon. "You asked how you could help, and I told you. What you really want is to dictate how you can help."

She shrugged and didn't answer, but the word whatever lingered unspoken in the air between them. Love wondered briefly if there was a way to vote a word out of the English language. Parents of adolescents everywhere would surely write their name on a pet.i.tion to rid the world of that irritating word.

"Okay," Love said. "Let's just put all our cards on the table right now. Are you planning on staying for very long?"

She cut another piece of pancake and studied it for a moment before putting it in her mouth. "Don't know."

"That's not a good enough answer. As you saw last night, I need to start making plans, and if you're going to stay, you'll need to be part of those plans."

"I might go down to L.A. Or maybe to Nashville."

Love's heart dropped, but she was determined not to let her disappointment show. "You're a grown woman, so you certainly have the right to go where you want. I just need to know so I can make plans."

"I might, umm . . ." Her sentence dropped off into a garbled mutter.

"Excuse me," Love said, leaning forward. "I didn't hear what you said."

She looked up, her round eyes unblinking. "I said I might have to get a job before I move on. I'm kinda broke."

Was it horrible, Love thought, to be thrilled at her granddaughter's financial dilemma? She would have to stay for however long it took her to earn the money to leave.

"That makes perfect sense," Love said calmly. "You getting a job, I mean. Exactly how much money do you have, if you don't mind me asking?"

Her eyes shifted to the side. "Some."

Okay, she wasn't going to give Love that. "All right, how about I loan you fifty dollars to tide you over while you look for a job? You're welcome to stay here, free room and board, as long as you help out around the house."