She was already dialing. "You know, Devvy, the whole point of having a cell phone is always having it with you, so people can reach you."

"Exactly."

She laughed and gave me the phone.

"Rita? It's Dev. What's up?"

Those were the last words I got in edgewise in that call. Sanchez's voice kept rising and getting louder as she explained the situation, and by the time she read back the last message, she was almost shrieking. Then she hung up. Just like that.

I listened to the dial tone in solemn contemplation for a few seconds before I hung up too.

"She was yelling, wasn't she?" Ca.s.sie asked. "I heard it all the way over here. What happened?"

"Mom called."

Sympathetically, she reached across the table to squeeze my hand.

"Five times," I added.

Ca.s.sie frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Not with her. Sanchez is going to need rehab, though." Unhappily, I dug in my purse for the Advil. "Go ahead and start without me when the food comes. I'll go outside to call her back. No point in both of us suffering."

"It's snowing outside, sweetie."

"Then that's the perfect place to do this. It'll be just like a Russian novel."

"You're cute when you're paranoid, you know that?"

"I'm not cute." I took one Advil, considered, and took another. "Be right back."

But Ca.s.sie locked both her feet around mine under the table. "Stay put. We're in this together."

"You don't know her."

"After everything we've already been through," she said, half-annoyed, half-amused, "I think I can cope with one little mother. How bad can she be?"

Where would I start explaining? "All right. It's your funeral." I started punching in the number. "Give me your phone bill next month, and I'll pay for this."

"Forget it. My treat."

I would have argued that "trick" was more like it, but the phone picked up at the other end. "Mom?"

Then I listened. For a long time. She gave me about a minute and a half on the indignity of not being able to reach one's own daughter at will, followed by a couple of minutes on the perfidy of said daughter, followed by a long recap of our conversation when I'd told her I wasn't coming home for Thanksgiving, and it could have gone on for hours, except that I would need more Advil. "Mom? I'm kind of busy here. Can you get to what you wanted to talk to me about?"

Across the table, Ca.s.sie winced at the volume of the reply. In this together, are we? Smiling very faintly, I beckoned her closer and held the phone between us.

"...Christmas, at least. You could at least have taken the time to call your own mother and tell her when to expect you, not to mention that your Aunt Kitty keeps asking, but if you're too busy to make a phone call..."

This time, I said it loud. "Mom. Stop. Breathe. Now."

The silence on her end was brief but indignant. "You're just like your brothers," she grumbled. "Insolent as the day is long, all of you. Your father will be very interested in hearing about this conversation."

"Well, when you talk to Dad, be sure to tell him I said hi," I replied, trying to sound cheerful. "Now just let me say this, OK? I haven't called you about Christmas yet because I don't know my schedule yet. We've got people out sick, and I'm having to cover for them. But I think I can get away by the 23rd, so..."

"You're management," Mom said frostily. "That's what you have employees for."

Ca.s.sie almost started laughing; not finding that funny, I pulled back enough to scowl at her. "You brought me up to work hard, remember?"

The shot didn't even slow her down. "I also brought you up to be part of this family. Christmas is not optional, Devlin."

"Never said it was. I'll be there. Promise."

"Don't get sarcastic with me, young lady."

"I'm not being sarcastic. I mean it. When are Connor and Ryan coming home?"

"I don't know," she said peevishly. "Their wives haven't told them yet. At least you don't have that excuse."

I was about to agree when Ca.s.sie moved slightly and put a small kiss on my temple. d.a.m.n, and in front of a whole restaurant full of strangers, too.

"Devlin? Are you there?"

"I'm here." Cautiously, I looked around. No one seemed to have noticed. In fact, most of the other customers were busy on their own cell phones. Sometime, I'd have to worry what that said about us. "Listen, Mom, what if I bring someone home with me this year?"

Stunned silence. "Not a man," she warned.

Ca.s.sie snorted; I had to smile myself. "No. She's not a man." Most definitely not. "You remember my friend Ca.s.sie? You met her about a year ago."

"The blonde girl? She had too much lipstick on. And that blouse! It showed everything. Does her mother know how she dresses?"

Now Ca.s.sie was indignant, and it was all I could do to keep her from grabbing the phone away. "Since when are you the fashion police, Mother? I've seen that ratty old bathrobe of yours."

"We're not discussing me," she said, in offended dignity.

"Well, that's a nice change. Now listen -- Ca.s.sie's spending Christmas with me this year. That part's not open for discussion. We can come visit you and have a nice Christmas, or we can stay here and have a very nice Christmas. Your call. What do you say?"

She didn't say anything.

"Mom?"

Still nothing. Ca.s.sie leaned close again, the better to hear.

"She can stay in my old room. I'll sleep on the sleeper sofa. It won't be a big deal. All right?"

Finally, my mother sighed. "I hope she's not one of those people who have to have turkey at Christmas. We always have ham. I'm not changing the menu."

"No one's asking you to. Now, why don't..."

"I have to go," she lied. "Call me later."

Then she hung up. Ca.s.sie and I waited to make sure she was really gone before we sat back. By her expression, Ca.s.sie was starting to rethink the holiday thing.

"She's not always like this," I said rea.s.suringly. "Sometimes, she's worse."

Ca.s.sie smiled, but with very little enthusiasm. Fortunately, the waitress showed up with our lunches then.

"Sorry it took a while," she said, "but I heard the word 'Mother' while you were on the phone, and I figured it was trouble of some kind."

She didn't know the half of it. But she made Ca.s.sie laugh, which was going to earn her a huge tip from me.

True, it set a dangerous precedent; if I was going to have to pay people to make Ca.s.sie laugh this Christmas, it was going to get expensive. But I loved her, and it was only money.

G.o.d, I hoped Mom couldn't hear that thought. The part about the money, anyway.

On the way back to the office, I bought Sanchez a make-up present.

She peered into the bag, looking doubtful. "What is it?"

"A ping-pong gun," I said. "You load it up with ping-pong b.a.l.l.s, and then you can shoot at things. I keep one in the living room so I can shoot the TV whenever Martha Stewart comes on."

Sanchez, who was no friend of the woman's, smiled just a little. "Or Kathie Lee Gifford?"

"You need a cruise missile for that. C'mon, Sanchez, open it. You know you want to."

"Well..." Gingerly, she peeled off the bubble packaging. "I suppose it can't hurt. Mr. Jenner should be back in a couple of weeks."

"And if you practice now, you can nail him in the forehead every time."

"No, I mean I'll give it to him to play with. It might keep him out of trouble for a whole morning."

"Optimist," I told her. "Have a nice day."

Halfway to the door, I got a ping-pong ball in the back. Sanchez was smiling serenely, still pointing the gun.

"Practice," she explained. "Thank you, Dev."

"You're welcome. But you'd better not let Ca.s.sie find out you did that. She'd turn you into kibble."

"No, she won't. She owes me now."

"Owes you for what?"

"I promised to have the switchboard hang up the next time your mother calls."

Whatever the agency paid Sanchez, it wasn't enough. We both owed her for that.

All afternoon, the snow kept falling. Ca.s.sie was out in it, calling on clients, and even though she was a grown woman with snow tires, I couldn't help worrying. For a city in the Snow Belt, Meridian was hopeless when it came to snow removal. One winter, the mayor decided that plowing would only make the streets worse. That policy lasted one snowfall. On election day, only his wife voted for him, and there were rumors that she'd tried to take it back later.

Finally, after I'd checked out the window for the hundredth time, I reached for the phone. Yes, she had her cell phone; yes, she was capable of calling someone if she needed help. But what if I'd run down the battery at lunch, dealing with my mother? Or what if she'd gotten stuck in a drift and bears had broken into her car and eaten her before she could dial AAA?

Well, all right, that last one was a long shot, but I'd feel worse if I didn't do something. Just as I touched the phone, it rang, and I answered without thinking. "Ca.s.s?"

"Close. It's Lucy."

"Lucy as in Lucy her sister?"

"Gee, she's right -- you are smart. How are you?"

"Fine." Impatient, I stood up to look out the window again. Still snowing. "You?"

"Well, I'm married to Michael, but other than that, I can't complain."

So much for small talk. "What can I do for you? I'm sort of busy, so..."

"Too busy to talk to me? Really? Are you sure?"

I counted to thirty. This was her sister, whom I was bound by honor to love, but no law said I had to like her all the time.

"Dev?"

"Still here."

"Oh, all right, if you don't want to chitchat, your loss. I called to ask you what you're getting her for Christmas."

"Why?"

"You don't want to make a mistake, do you?"

No, as a matter of fact, I didn't. Christmas paybacks could be fierce. There'd been the year when Kurt gave Peg nothing but small kitchen appliances, and I could still make him jump just by saying the words "Salad Shooter." Not that I was fool enough to try something like that on Ca.s.sie. "I'd rather not. What do you suggest?"

"Jewelry's always nice," Lucy said, much too casually.

"She has jewelry. I was thinking maybe an MP3 player, or one of those..."

"Dev?"

"What?"

"Are you a complete idiot?"

"I must be; I'm still talking to you. Are you getting at what I think you're getting at?"

"What do you think I'm getting at?"