Author’s note:

This story takes place on New Year’s Day, after “For I Was My Father’s Son.” Join us now as Crabapple Farm’s walls stretch to capacity as the Bob-Whites and all their families ring in the new year with the Beldens.

New Year’s Day at Crabapple Farm…

With the back of her hand, Helen Belden brushed a bead of sweat from her forehead. Though the temperature outside was below freezing, the kitchen at Crabapple Farm currently felt like a sauna. To add to her already full plate, utter exhaustion knocked at her door, but Helen stubbornly refused to answer. In a few short hours, she would have the daunting task of hosting a New Year’s meal for her immediate and extended family.

What on earth was she thinking a month ago when she invited everyone over?

She’d spent the previous evening baking a variety of pies, knowing she would be too busy to do so today. Now, as mealtime quickly approached the Belden household, Helen breathed a sigh of relief that she’d been so wise. The mercury in her internal thermometer was ready to explode, but if it did, at least her family wouldn’t go hungry in her absence.

“Having a hot flash, Helen?” her husband asked teasingly as he sauntered into the room. Flashing that impish grin so much like his sons’, he casually propped one elbow on the countertop and leaned against the dark red Formica-covered surface.

Her china blue eyes sparking with indignation, Helen silently walked past him, firmly bumping into his shoulder, thereby knocking him off balance. She watched innocently as he landed on the floor, his smug smirk strangely missing.

“Oh, did I bump into you, dear?” she asked sweetly, extending her hand to help him stand. “I’m so sorry.”

Wordlessly, Peter accepted his wife’s assistance. Once he was on his feet, he didn’t immediately release her hand, instead using it to draw her close to him.

“Wicked wench,” he murmured huskily. The twinkling in his chocolate-colored eyes made it obvious he meant his words as a compliment.

Helen’s breath caught in her throat. Even after almost thirty years of marriage, this man still made her knees weak when he looked at her in that manner. Suddenly, her previous exhaustion vanished as wanton inspiration struck. “Are you okay, Peter?” she inquired solicitously.

He winked at her teasingly. “Nothing wounded except my pride.”

“Pity,” she remarked as she gazed up at him through lowered lashes. “I was hoping I’d get to play nursemaid.”

“Surely you aren’t flirting with me, Mrs. Belden.” Peter gasped, feigning surprise. “Right this very minute, our living room’s full of guests, our youngest son is upstairs sleeping, and you have a sumptuous feast to get on the table; surely you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Why not?” Helen stared down at the red blouse she was wearing as she nonchalantly brushed her nails against it. “I daresay it’d be almost impossible to detach the kids from the football game on TV, Bobby won’t stir until afternoon, and I could certainly use a little break. So, maybe I am thinking what you think I’m thinking.”

Peter furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “What time will the rest of our guests arrive?”

“The Lynches will be here at four, and Regan and Mr. Maypenny are supposed to come a little later,” she told him. “So, we should have plenty of time for…whatever.”

Peter waggled his dark brows suggestively. “Exactly what did you have in mind?”

“I thought maybe you might need me to kiss something and make it better.” To emphasize her point, she barely grazed his backside with her free hand and shifted a bit closer to him. “Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself when you fell?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I am a bit stiff in certain areas,” he whispered as he leaned down to nuzzle her ear.

“Sounds like somebody needs a massage,” Helen purred. She slid her hand under the bottom of his gray wool sweater and lightly ran her fingers up his spine. She met his glance, her blue eyes wide. “Where are you stiff, darling?”

With a mischievous smile, Peter lowered his head to hers until his lips were a fraction of a millimeter from her ear and began whispering.

“Peter,” she almost moaned as she cupped his face with one hand and captured his lips in a searing kiss.

The soft footsteps coming from the hallway into the kitchen went unnoticed as Helen and Peter’s kiss became more intense.

“Hey, Mrs. Belden, Mart wants—” Honey was stopped short by the sight she beheld as she entered the coziest nook of the house, which was currently downright steamy. “Ohmigosh!” she shrieked, covering her already tightly-closed eyes with her slender hands. “I’m sorry! I thought you were cooking!”

The amorous couple quickly separated. Helen took a deep breath and smoothed her tousled curls before plastering a bright smile on her face, while her husband wiped the lipstick smudges from his mouth and hastily faced the sink.

“Why, Honey,” Helen greeted in an overly-cheerful tone. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“Hey, Honey,” Peter called from his spot at the sink. Thankfully, it was full of sudsy water and dirty dishes, so after a hasty wave to the newcomer, he quickly grabbed a pot and pretended to look busy. “I was just… helping Helen clean up some of this mess.”

“That’s… umm… very nice of you,” Honey stammered, her cheeks blazing a brilliant red.

“Why aren’t you watching the big game with the others?” Peter inquired, still scrubbing the exact same pot. “It’s supposed to be a good one.”

Honey blinked a few times, as she tried to think of something tactful to say. When that failed, she settled for something semi-intelligent. “I…uhh… don’t really like football…” she stuttered nervously, wondering if her cheeks were as scarlet as Helen’s.

Of course, mine are red because I’m embarrassed, Honey thought to herself. Hers are red because they were getting ready to… Much to her chagrin, she felt her cheeks brighten to an even deeper shade of crimson as she put a clamp on her thoughts. Her hazel eyes darted anxiously around the room while she tried to remember why on earth she had gone into the kitchen in the first place.

“The guys were just complaining that your TV isn’t being big enough,” Honey finally managed. “I mean, it’s not that your television isn’t big, because you have a really nice television. It’s just that Dan keeps standing in front of it while he’s yelling at his team to get their butts in gear, and Brian keeps getting annoyed and starts yelling at Dan to sit down.” She took a deep breath, reminding herself to not speak so quickly, and then continued her speech at a more normal speed.

“Jim suggested that if dinner wasn’t going to be ready for awhile, we could go up to our house and finish watching the game on Daddy’s 60-inch high-definition plasma flat-screen since he and Mother are away.”

Helen’s mouth pursed thoughtfully. “You’ll still eat dinner with us, won’t you?”

“Of course we will!” Honey nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll come back down to Crabapple Farm as soon as the food’s ready. After we eat, Trixie, Di, and I can clean up for you so you can relax while the boys go back up and finish overdosing on football.”

“I don’t understand why men can’t watch normal-sized televisions anymore,” Helen commented. “Who really cares what size the screen is, how flat it is, or if it has plasma in it?”

“I do,” Peter piped up with a raise of his hand.

Helen smirked over at her husband. “Keep washing your pot, darling.”

“Yes, dear.”

Honey smiled wistfully, finding the exchange between the older couple very cute. Much cuter than finding them in a lip lock, but that was another story… “Daddy insists that watching the game on his plasma HDTV is just as good as being in the stands.”

“I told you that we need one of those wide-screen TVs, Helen,” Peter pointed out, his back still turned to Honey. “It’s just like being there; Matt Wheeler said so.”

Helen grinned over at her husband. “Darling, once we get Bobby out of college, you can buy the biggest, flattest, plasma-iest television you can find.”

“Great, that means I’ll never get one,” Peter muttered forlornly.

“How about we get your TV the same time I get my dream vacation to the Bahamas?” Helen offered.

Peter exhaled loudly, noisily splashing the still-unclean pot back into the dishwater. “I told you I wasn’t getting one.”

“Mr. Belden, after we eat, you can go up to Manor House with the rest of the guys and watch the game with them,” Honey suggested brightly. “And Daddy would be more than happy to invite you up to watch football with him anytime you’d like.”

“Thanks, Honey,” Peter said with a pout. “I’m glad someone is able to buy a man-sized television. Unfortunately, I’m stuck shelling out thousands of dollars of tuition so Bobby can pursue a degree in sleep deprivation and ‘hottie’ wooing.”

“Speaking of tuition, dear,” Helen began, “we just got the bill for next semester in the mail.”

“D’oh!” Peter slapped his head in his best Homer Simpson impersonation.

Helen ignored her husband’s grumbling, and shifted her attention to Honey, who was still giggling at Peter’s antics. “About you all leaving… You’re sure you’ll be back in time to eat?”

“Of course we will!” Honey assured her. “Why, your cooking is famous in Sleepyside. People would line up for miles outside in the snow to get a taste. Why, as much as Mart loves football, I’m sure he’d leave in the middle of the ninth inning to eat one your home-cooked meals!”

Peter raised an eyebrow at the phrase “ninth inning”, but didn’t bother to correct her.

“Why, that’s very sweet, Honey,” Helen murmured, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Dinner won’t be ready for a couple hours, so you should have plenty of time to finish the game. Just please be sure to be back by four o’clock. Since I’ll be finishing up some last minute details, I’ll need some hosts and hostesses here to greet the Lynches.”

“Mother and Daddy are just sorry that they couldn’t make it,” Honey remarked. “Mother especially. She thought it would be a good opportunity to talk about the wedding. She’s very excited about it, you know.”

“We all are,” Helen agreed, smiling.

“We are?” Peter inquired, his dark eyebrows knotted together in skepticism.

“Yes, we are,” Helen told him firmly.

“You heard her, Honey,” Peter stated. “We’re looking forward to this wedding. Yes sirree, Bob.”

“Peter, you knew you’d eventually have to give your princess away. Now, behave yourself,” Helen scolded gently. She turned to her daughter’s best friend. “Where did your parents go on vacation, Honey? Someplace exotic? I’m sure your mother’s getting sick of all this snow.”

“Last night after the party at the Country Club was over, Tom drove them to the airport. Bob immediately flew them to Paris for a week,” Honey explained. “The trip was Daddy’s New Year’s gift to Mother.”

“How lovely,” Helen murmured wistfully. “I know I could use a vacation, especially after the hectic holiday season.”

“You definitely could!” Honey agreed adamantly. “We all know how hard you’ve been working today…” The dark crimson stain along her cheeks blazed hotly as she recalled exactly what the Beldens had been doing when she’d surprised them.

Helen had the grace to blush. “I’m sure Peter and I will take a trip soon by ourselves.”

“That would be nice,” Honey replied, brushing her sweaty palms against her neatly-pressed chinos. She remained planted to the linoleum, trying to remember the inquiry she was supposed to make.

“Do you need anything else, dear?” Helen prompted kindly.

Honey nodded, keeping her gaze focused on her designer flats. “Yes, but I forgot what it was.”

A knowing smile parted Helen’s lips. “Let me take a wild guess. Knowing Mart as I do, he’s probably dying of hunger and sent you in to do his dirty work, since he’s cuddling with Di on the couch?”

Honey giggled, her former embarrassment slowing fading away. “Well, he is complaining about being hungry, and I think Di is on his lap, but as I said, I don’t really care for football, so I didn’t mind asking for him. But how’d you know where Mart and Di were sitting?”

“You said earlier that Dan was standing in front of the TV,” Helen explained, showing where Trixie had gotten her prowess for solving mysteries. “Unless Diana was perched on Mart’s lap, he would’ve been stampeding beside Dan. I’ve watched a bowl game or two with him, and I know how excited he gets.”

“You’re very shrewd, Mrs. Belden,” Honey commented.

“Hey, Honey,” Peter called from his post at the sink. “Speaking of the game, you wouldn’t happen to know who’s winning, do you?”

“I’m not sure,” Honey answered, frowning. “I think the blue team is, but the man wearing the headphones said the players in the yellow costumes were ‘knocking at the door’, although I’m not sure why they aren’t trying to score some points of their own instead of rapping on somebody’s door. Apparently, the yellow team has to hurry because there’s ‘only a buck fifty until halftime’. Of course, I may have heard him wrong because that doesn’t make any sense at all. What in the world does a dollar and fifty cents have to do with football?”

At that moment, Peter was very glad his back was still turned to Honey. Trying hard not to laugh out loud, he explained, “Actually, that means there’s only a minute and fifty seconds left until halftime, and the men in the yellow uniforms are almost ready to score a touchdown.”

“Oh,” Honey responded flatly. If her tone was any indication, she wouldn’t be committing any of that terminology to memory. “Why didn’t the man wearing the headphones just say that to begin with?”

“That’s a very good question,” Peter hedged.

“Well, I hope the blue team wins,” Honey commented. “I like their sparkly helmets.”

Peter cringed as he rinsed the pot he had finally washed.

“Enough about football,” Helen said, smiling in amusement. She walked over to the breadbox and pulled out a loaf of freshly baked pumpkin bread, ensconced in saran wrap. She quickly put it on a plate, placed a dull knife on the side, and then handed it to Honey. “Here you go. This should tide Mart over until we eat later.”

Honey leaned down and inhaled the delicious aroma. “Thanks, Mrs. Belden. It smells heavenly.”

“You’re most certainly welcome, dear,” Helen responded.

“Are you sure you don’t need help in the kitchen?” Honey offered. “I could stay here and wash dishes or something.”

Helen’s china blue eyes, identical to her daughter’s, twinkled merrily. “I think Peter and I have everything under control.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll tell the others that we have time to run up to Manor House,” Honey replied, trying hard not to imagine what her best friend’s parents would probably do once they all had left the house.

“I’ll see you a little before four o’clock,” Helen said with a wave.

“See you later, Mr. Belden,” Honey called.

Still laboring at the sink, Peter glanced over at her and said, “Bye, Honey. Let me know if the blue team wins.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed that they score a goal,” Honey promised with a giggle before quickly making her exit.

Once alone, Peter and Helen turned to each other and burst out laughing.

“That poor girl knows absolutely nothing about sports,” Peter said with a chuckle. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her that you score goals in hockey, not football.”

“Hockey players aren’t the only ones who can score,” Helen commented airily. “Rumor has it that bankers can, too.”

Peter cocked one dark brow. “Is that so?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured. She walked over to the sink where her husband was standing. “Why, Peter, I can’t believe how rude you were to our guest. You kept your back turned to poor Honey the entire time she was here. Why in the world did you do that?”

Peter’s eyes darkened as watched the provocative way Helen’s hips swayed as she moved closer to him. “You know why,” he murmured. Once she was at his side, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her close against him. “And it’s all your fault.”

“I take full responsibility,” Helen whispered softly. “And now that we’re alone, how about we finish what I started?”

“What if Mart needs some milk to wash down his pumpkin bread?”

Helen wiggled out of her husband’s embrace and pulled her husband towards the laundry room. “The kitchen is temporarily closed. Let him go to his own house to find something to drink. Besides, as embarrassed as poor Honey was, I seriously doubt she’ll return to the kitchen without being invited. So, how ‘bout you give the cook a massage?”

“Sounds good to me,” her husband murmured huskily as he placed a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck.

“Halftime!” Dan whooped loudly. “Ladies, just so you know, we have twenty minutes until the third quarter begins. That means you have exactly nineteen-and-a-half minutes to initiate any meaningful conversations you wish to have until we tell you to shut up.” He quickly looked at his watch. “Your time starts now!”

Diana made a face at him. “When I think of something meaningful, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I wonder what’s taking Honey so long,” Mart commented as he glanced towards the hallway. “I’m starving.”

“We can just find something up at the Manor House,” Brian suggested.

“Sorry, man, but the kitchen’s closed up there,” Jim informed him. “The new cook gets mad when she’s not there and we mess something up.”

Mart grinned wickedly. “Well, the staff has the day off, so what the new cook doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.”

“She’ll know,” Jim insisted. “We think she installed a secret camera in one of the cookie jars so she can keep an eye on her domain. Even Regan’s scared of her.”

“What a whack job.” Trixie giggled, and then clarified, “The cook, not Regan.”

“Why doesn’t your mom fire her?” Di asked. “Mrs. Wheeler usually runs such a tight ship.”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only a matter of time before Mother takes care of it. She’s really gotten the hang of hiring and firing people since Ms. Trask left Manor House to become my assistant principal.”

“Considering your luck with cooks, Mrs. Wheeler certainly has had plenty of practice,” Brian commented.

Mart groaned and rubbed his growling stomach, more concerned about his current state of hunger than the Wheelers’ servant dilemma. “Where is Honey? Doesn’t she know I’m wasting away in here? By the time she gets back, I’ll be skin and bones.”

“If you’re so hungry, you should’ve gone yourself.” Trixie smirked at her slightly older brother. “Shame on you anyway, sending Honey to do your dirty work. Tsk, tsk.”

“She volunteered,” Mart retorted.

“Oh, hush,” Di scolded. From her perch on her husband’s knee, she reached down and teasingly swatted him on the stomach. “After that huge breakfast I made for you, I’m sure you’re not that hungry, Mr. Skin and Bones.”

“You’re forgetting about that vigorous workout I had after we ate, kitten,” Mart commented, an angelic expression on his face. “After all that exercise, I’m famished.”

Trixie rolled her wide eyes animatedly. “I’m not even going to ask what kind of workout you had. Or why you call her…kitten. Blech!”

“Hear, hear,” Brian added enthusiastically.

“It wasn’t that kind of workout, you whoremongers,” Mart corrected in a superior tone. “For your information, I spent over an hour shoveling snow so my lovely bride’s feet wouldn’t get wet as she boarded our humble carriage.”

Trixie and Brian exchanged a look of relief.

“You two should get your minds out of the gutters,” Di chided reproachfully. However, before her siblings-in-law could enjoy their relief, her lips parted in a mischievous grin. “We partook of marital relations before breakfast, not after.”

“Ewww!” Trixie exclaimed, placing her hands over her ears and scrunching up her pert nose in disgust. “After all these years, you’re even talking like him! Di, I simply refuse to believe that you actually have… relations with him. Ick!”

“Well, we are married,” Di pointed out in between giggles. “Married people do do that occasionally.”

Mart confirmed that was true with a devilish waggle of his brows. “Indeed we do.”

“Occasionally?” Trixie repeated with upraised sandy brows. “Jeesh! When don’t you do it? I’m surprised I don’t have fifty nieces or nephews by now!”

Strangely, Diana’s laughter and Mart’s impish expression slowly faded into matching frowns. Confusion filled Trixie’s eyes as she sensed the tension her comment had evoked. However, none of the remaining three Bob-Whites in the room seemed to pick up on the couple’s strained reaction.

At that moment, a red-faced Honey bounded back into the den, holding a plate of pumpkin bread in a vise grip. Her lips drawn downward in a frown, she smacked the dish against Mart’s chest, almost dumping the loaf into his lap. “Here’s the snack you requested, Your Highness.”

“Hey!” Mart awkwardly caught the plate as it ricocheted against him. “Careful with the baked goods; you’ll squish them!” A wince marred his brow as he noticed Honey’s now-empty hands. “Uhh… where’s the milk?”

Honey stepped a bit closer, leaning over until she was nose-to-nose with him. “I purposely left it behind, hoping you’d choke on a stray crumb.”

“Jeesh, you couldn’t grab a juice box or something on your way out?” Mart muttered under his breath.

Honey exhaled loudly, rolling her enormous hazel eyes in an overly-exaggerated exasperated manner.

“Something wrong, Sis?” Jim questioned, amused by her surprisingly un-Honey-like actions.

Honey shot a murderous glare at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Maybe because your face’s beet red, your back’s stiff, and your jaw’s clenched so tight that I’m afraid you’ll break it,” Jim offered wryly.

Mart, unconcerned with Honey’s mood, picked up the loaf from the plate and turned it over and over again, searching for the edge of the plastic wrap. “How’s a guy supposed to break into this stuff?”

“Here.” With a sigh of impatience, Trixie grabbed the pumpkin bread out of her almost-twin’s hands and began examining it. Her sandy brow furrowed as she failed to open it as well. “I can never get this stuff off…”

Lips clamped tightly together, Honey snatched the loaf from Trixie and ripped a hole in the saran wrap. “There,” she snapped crossly, tossing the yummy-smelling food back to Mart.

“Thanks!” Mart deftly plunked the bread back onto the plate, and in a matter of seconds, had it sliced into several pieces. He selected a hearty serving for himself and happily munched away, seemingly unaware he’d drawn the usually docile Honey’s ire.

Trixie, however, was not distracted by food and felt the need to pry.

“Who peed in your Wheaties?” she asked her tawny-haired friend tartly, a mischievous grin deepening the dimples on either side of her mouth.

Honey cast her a withering glance. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she responded, nodding pointedly in the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh, c’mon, Honey,” Diana cajoled, her amethyst-colored eyes twinkling merrily. “Please talk about it? My brain is numb from all this football; I need a bit of juicy gossip to help me think again.”

“Not here,” Honey hissed, jerking her head to the right a bit more adamantly. “I really don’t—”

Before she could finish her statement, she was interrupted by the loud jangling of the telephone. It rang several times, and it seemed the owners of the house didn’t intend to answer it.

“I’ll get it,” Trixie said as she reached for the receiver. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, missy. I’ll get back to you later.” Further threats ceased as she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

Trixie smiled as the caller greeted her. “Hi, Mrs. Lynch. Yeah, she’s right here.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Di, it’s your mom.”

Diana’s brow wrinkled, and after a thoughtful pause, she nodded. “I’ll take it upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Trixie answered with a shrug as her sister-in-law quickly bounded down the hallway and then up the steps to the phone extension located at the top of the staircase. “Mrs. Lynch, she’ll be here in a second… Happy New Year to you also… Yes, Moms is looking forward to having your family over for dinner, too…” Once Diana had picked up the other phone, Trixie hung up the one in the den, and refocused her attention on Honey.

“Now, where were we?” the curly-headed detective pondered aloud.

“Trixie, I really hate to spoil your investigation,” Brian began, “but there’s only five minutes left until the third quarter. Is it okay with Moms if we go up to Manor House, Hon?”

His girlfriend smirked. “It’s a safe bet that she won’t even notice we’re gone,” she responded vaguely.

“Then I vote we head on up,” Dan remarked, quickly rising to his feet. “Last one in front of the HDTV is a rotten egg!”

Jim jiggled his set of keys. “Well, nobody’s going anywhere until I start up the ol’ Suburban.”

“Then let’s get the show on the road!” Mart hopped up from the couch and quickly donned his winter coat.

“What about Di?” Honey questioned. “Won’t she wonder where we’ve disappeared to?”

“I’ll run up and tell her,” Trixie offered. “I want to sneak in and wake up Bobby anyway. Di and I will be up in a few minutes.”

That settled, the men-folk hastened the group out the door, none of them wanting to miss a minute of the second half. Once alone, Trixie began climbing the stairs to the second floor so she could tell Di that she’d be waiting for her in the car. However, as Trixie neared the top of the landing, Diana’s side of the conversation caused her to stop in her tracks.

“—no, I still haven’t gotten it… Of course, I took the test… I got the same result as last time…” Di released a heavy, labored sigh. “Yes, Mart knows… I know that, Mum… I got the earliest appointment I could… Next Friday…Well, the doctor’s booked up, and that was the soonest he could see me.”

Trixie held her breath as she waited for Di to continue speaking. A little voice in her head reminded her that she was eavesdropping and should immediately go back down the stairs, but unfortunately, her wobbling legs refused to cooperate. So instead, she concentrated on remaining completely quiet.

“No, I didn’t tell them last night at the party,” Di firmly told her mother. “Mart wanted to, but it wasn’t the right time… No, I’m not going to today, either… I know I have to eventually, but just not now… I will, just as soon as everything calms down… Please don’t, Mummy… Please?” A sob ceased Diana’s pleas.

Trixie’s conscience could no longer allow her to listen to what was obviously an upsetting conversation for Di. Forsaking her earlier plan to bug Bobby, she tiptoed down the staircase, carefully avoiding the squeakiest spots of the wooden steps. Resorting to the large closet in the hallway, she busied herself with bundling up for the bracing cold. Several minutes later, she heard footsteps pounding down the stairs.

“Hey, where is everyone?” Di inquired, her tone suddenly cheerful.

Trixie poked her head out of the closet. “In here, Di.”

Di stood out in the hallway by the closet. “Where’s everybody else?”

“They went on up to the Wheelers’,” Trixie explained, trying not to notice how puffy and red her sister-in-law’s eyes were. Instead, she wound her powder-blue scarf around her neck. “The guys were afraid they might miss a second of the game, so they went on up.”

Di groaned. “I’m glad to know that watching a football game is more important to Mart than chivalrously escorting his lovely bride up a potentially icy hill. Remind me to strangle my beloved knight in shining armor when we’re reunited.”

“No worries,” Trixie assured her with a giggle. She bowed gallantly in front of her oldest friend. “I am only too happy to escort you up to the Manor House, m’lady.”

“My hero!” Di cried dramatically, concluding her speech with a dainty curtsey.

“I’m afraid my noble steed is in the shop, so we’ll have to take my Civic,” Trixie teased. “Is that all right with you?”

“Sounds good to me.” Diana reached over her sister-in-law and got her black Burberry and coordinating purple cashmere scarf. “You’re a prince among women, dear.”

Trixie shifted away guiltily, turning her head so she couldn’t look Di in the eye. “So, are you ready?”

Diana nodded, discreetly wiping her eyes for any remaining traces of moisture. “Sure am. Bring on the football.”

The cacophony emanating from the general vicinity of the Wheelers’ recreation room told Trixie and Di that the bowl game had resumed. The loud whooping and hollering let them know that somebody had done something good. The girls giggled as they made their way down the long marbled hallway.

“I take it your team scored?” Trixie inquired, plopping down on the huge sectional sofa beside Jim. However, her question remained unanswered.

Honey, sensing the men were too busy to even notice Trixie and Diana’s arrival, jumped in with an answer. “One of the men in the blue uniforms jumped on the grass at the end of the field with all the writing on it,” she explained, obviously quite proud of herself. “Then, the guy in the matching costume came out and kicked the ball between the huge fork thing, and the guys haven’t stopped talking about it.”

Di smirked over at her husband, who was still yelling congratulations to his team. “I haven’t seen Mart this excited since Sleepyside got its own Subway restaurant.”

“I wonder if they know that the guys on TV can’t hear them?” Trixie wondered aloud, rolling her eyes at Jim’s unabashed jubilation.

“Daddy said that watching this TV is just like being there,” Honey pointed out, giggling.

“Men are so dumb,” Di commented with a roll of her own eyes. “Trixie, are you sure you want to marry one?”

Trixie stared at her fiancé, who was currently doing a victory dance which was a strange cross between the Tequila and the Macarena. “At this moment, I really can’t say for sure. Jim doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“True,” Di agreed. “We could give a hula recital in the buff, and I don’t think Mart would even flinch.”

“I know Brian wouldn’t,” Honey stated wryly. Her mind drifted back to the scene in the kitchen at Crabapple Farm, wondering how Brian missed inheriting Peter’s amorous genes. With a shake of her head, she quickly refocused her attention elsewhere.

“Are they always like this, Di?” Trixie inquired, feigning fear.

“Sadly, yes.” Di inhaled deeply, a frown marring her delicate features. “Mart practically smothers me with attention except for certain holidays: College football bowl games, the NBA playoffs, the World Series, the Super Bowl, and hunting season.”

Honey furrowed her brow inquisitively. “Those aren’t holidays.”

“Not to you,” Di corrected. “However, to those of the male species, those are the most important dates on the calendar. Today, some people are celebrating the birth of a new year; others are celebrating the Sugar Bowl. Alas ladies, our significant others are among those celebrating the Sugar Bowl.”

“I’m tempted to hit the breaker and make them think there’s been a power outage,” Trixie said, smiling tartly.

“I think Daddy has a generator, purchased for that specific purpose,” Honey remarked.

Trixie snapped her fingers in disappointment. “Curse Mr. Wheeler and his blasted foresight!”

For some reason, that statement made Di double over with laughter. “At first… I thought…” she gasped, trying to catch her breath, “I thought… you said… ‘blasted foreskin’…”

Trixie and Honey simultaneously joined in the uproarious giggling. The noise apparently was loud enough to make their presence known. A chorus of “shushes” came from in front of the giant television.

“Speaking of foreskin,” Trixie muttered in a threatening tone, “I wonder how they’d like theirs forcibly removed.”

Her comment only served to make the girls chuckle harder, which once again drew the boys’ ire.

“Shhh!” Dan demanded angrily. “If you girls want to giggle and gab, go somewhere else!”

“You’re not telling those scantily clad cheerleaders to shush, and they’re louder than we are,” Trixie pointed out snippily.

“Well, they’re yelling about something important— this football game!” Jim retorted. “You’re squawking about something I probably don’t want to know about.”

Trixie gave a saucy grin. “Probably.”

“I think the answer to that one would be ‘definitely’,” Honey amended coyly.

“Maybe we should squawk about something else,” Di suggested in an offhand manner. “Like why Honey was so embarrassed after she came back from the kitchen at the Farm.”

Honey shot her ebony-haired friend a dirty look, which Trixie intercepted.

“You walked in on Moms and Dad making out, didn’t you?” Trixie inquired, her expression a mixture of disgust and curiosity.

Still silent, Honey’s scathing expression spoke multitudes. Her golden-brown eyebrows were closely drawn together in a knot of frustration. Her large hazel eyes had hardened into shards of amber, virtually shooting sparks of fire as she glared at her best friends. The only noise she made was a loud huff as she exhaled loudly through a protruded lower lip. Never in a million years would her friends understand that she wasn’t upset about being embarrassed; her frustration was due to something much more personal.

“You did! You walked in on the Beldens getting busy!” Di hooted. As quickly as it had started, Diana’s merriment ceased. A serious expression, marred only by a set of sparkling violet eyes, clouded her pretty features. She leaned forward slightly towards Honey and whispered conspiratorially, “What’d you see?”

“Diana!” Trixie exclaimed, covering her ears in an attempt to shield them from hearing the answer.

An angelic smile spread across Di’s full lips. “What?” she questioned succinctly.

“Those are my parents you’re talking about!” Trixie snapped gruffly.

“They aren’t my parents, and Peter Belden’s still hot,” Di corrected with a snicker. “So dish out the dirt, Honey.”

Mart looked up from the television, which was now broadcasting a commercial. “What on earth are you girls yakking about?”

“What your mom and dad were doing when Honey went in there to get your snack,” Di responded, smiling tartly. She crossed the floor and climbed into her husband’s lap. “And I just informed your sister that Peter and Helen aren’t my parents, so I want details.”

“They’re your parents by marriage,” Mart pointed out firmly. “And as your husband, I order you not to talk about it anymore.”

Di crossed her arms, her chin lifted as she proffered a challenge. “You what?”

“I… uhhh… beseech you, for the sake of all that is good, holy, and pure, to pretty please with sugar on top not talk about this subject anymore, unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Mart gulped loudly, and then added in a small voice, “Please, kitten?”

“Way to stand your ground, Mart,” Jim said, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Mart merely snorted in response. “Sure, you talk big now, Jimbo. Let’s see what you have to say when you’re wearing the world’s tiniest handcuff.” He held up his left hand as an example of said “handcuff”. He promptly found a fist, one finger of which bore the handcuff that matched his, rammed firmly against his gut. The force was firm enough to let him know she meant business, yet gentle enough not to damage him permanently. Mart, always the ham, doubled over, pretending to gasp for oxygen.

“What he means is,” Di said sweetly, her vocal tone the epitome of demureness, “is that once you’re enjoying matrimonial bliss, Jim, your priorities may change. After you become half of a whole, you realize that just because something isn’t important to you, it may be important to your other— and dare I say— better half. You’d be wise to learn this lesson now before, say, you end up sleeping on the couch for the next week.” She ended her tirade by standing up and hurling a murderous glare down at her husband.

From her vantage point several feet away, Trixie hooted uproariously. “You tell him, Di!”

Mart warily stood upright, keeping one eye on Diana to see if she was going to sock him again. He coughed slightly, acting as if his lungs were adjusting to fresh oxygen. “Honey, help stop the violence,” he playfully rasped. “Could you please tell us what you caught Moms and Dad doing before Di inflicts any more domestic abuse on me?”

“You’d better quit while you’re ahead, mister,” Di warned, “or you’ll be the one sleeping on the couch. I’m already mad at you for leaving without me.”

Mart lifted his chin proudly. “Well, I’ll have you know that men like sleeping on the couch.”

“Is that so?” Di queried, one ebony brow raised slightly.

“Yeah!” Mart insisted. “Sleeping on the couch is like camping out, but with TV.”

Di snickered, obviously unconcerned with her husband’s feigned bravado. “But Mart, darling, there’s no sugar on the couch.” She paused momentarily, her long, sooty eyelashes lowered flirtatiously as she continued in a husky voice, “Well, at least not when I’m mad at you, that is.”

“No sugar on the couch?” Mart asked rather pitifully.

Di flipped her long, wavy hair off her shoulders in a discreet yet sultry way. “Not even a pack of Sweet ‘n Low.”

“Honey, please tell us what happened!” Mart begged, staring at Honey with pleading eyes. “I need my sugar. I need, I need!”

A smile wiggled at the corners of Honey’s mouth. Although she tried to keep her irritated expression intact, she found that to be impossible. One could never remain annoyed when Mart and Diana Belden were around to entertain.

“Well, if you must know, when I went in to get Mart a snack,” —Honey paused to shoot a dirty look in his direction— “apparently I interrupted a little liaison between Mr. and Mrs. Belden in the kitchen.”

“Okay! I’ve heard enough!” Brian bellowed loudly. “Now let’s talk about something else!”

“But I’m not finished talking about this yet,” Di interjected sweetly. “Go on, Honey.”

The subject of his parents’ aforementioned liaison made the ever-uptight Brian wiggle in embarrassment. “Mart, tell your woman to go home and watch Oprah. We’re in the middle of a football game.”

Mart snorted scornfully at his older brother. “You tell her! I’m afraid of her. She’s already punched me in the gut and threatened to cut off my sugar supply.”

“Too much sugar’s bad for you,” Brian lectured sternly.

“Not the kind I’m getting tonight!” Mart waggled his sandy brows suggestively.

“Would you stop?!” Trixie ordered, not sure whether to groan or to giggle. “You’re worse than Moms and Dad!”

“Are you sure about that, Trix?” Jim questioned with a wry smile. “At least Honey’s never walked in on Mart and Di getting busy.”

Dan grinned wickedly. “No, but I have.”

Brian reluctantly raised his hand. “I have, too.”

“I can’t help it.” Mart gave a sniff of importance. “I’m a Belden and it’s in my genes.”

Diana smoothed her hair, which had been mussed a few minutes earlier. “Since we’ve been married for five years, I consider myself an expert on what’s inside Mart’s ‘genes’, and he’s definitely his father’s son.”

“Quit!” Trixie ordered, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t know what’s in Mart’s genes, and I really don’t care to find out!”

“So Honey, what’s in Brian’s genes?” Di queried, her expression the portrait of innocence. “Does he possess that particular Belden trait?”

“Hey!” Brian sputtered indignantly. “I’d rather not discuss what’s in my genes in such a public forum.”

“Why not?” Di’s smile was still angelic. “Don’t you have anything substantial in there?”

“My genes are quite substantial, thank you very much,” Brian retorted.

“Well, if you’re that proud of them, you really should consider making that naughty scrapbook for Honey,” Di said offhandedly, inspecting her manicure. “You know, Photoshop can be a very powerful tool.”

A throw pillow promptly smacked Diana upside the head, only serving to make her giggling start anew.

“Are you finished yet?” Jim asked, his tone stern. “The game’s back on.”

“Oh, waaa-waaaa,” Di murmured. “I’ll need half a baby aspirin to get over that.”

“Do you mind?” Dan sighed impatiently. “Holly Rowe is on the sidelines, trying to tell us what’s going on. You’re being very rude.”

Trixie snorted in her most unladylike fashion. “You don’t care what she has to say; you just think she’s hot.”

“That’s beside the point,” Dan hedged. “I merely want to hear what insight she has to offer about this sporting event. And besides, Erin Andrews is the one who’s hot, not Holly.”

“Well, I’ve heard her speak from the sidelines,” Di stated in an exasperated manner. “Once I heard her say that WVU was located in ‘western’ Virginia. Since she isn’t even aware that there are fifty states, what intelligent insight could she possibly have to offer? What kind of a journalist is she?”

“Shhh!” Dan hissed, straining to hear the television, oblivious to what Diana had said.

Trixie stood before the men, her hands on her hips and her lips drawn downward in a frown. “You men-folk have been watching bowl coverage since dawn; you need a break, and we do, too.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Honey waved her hands in excitement. “There’s a Cary Grant marathon on AMC! Why don’t we watch that instead for a little while?”

“Great idea, sis,” Jim said. “How about you girls go in my study and see which Cary flick is on? Not that it matters to any of you; you’ll all be drooling in a matter of seconds at the mere sight of Mr. Grant…”

“I know what’s going on here.” Trixie stomped over to the couch and plopped down beside Jim. “You’re trying to get rid of us.”

“Of course I’m not,” Jim insisted. “I’m watching my best team with my best girl. Who could ask for anything more than that?”

“I could ask for some headphones right now,” Dan mumbled. “Or maybe some duct tape…”

Trixie stuck her tongue out at her dark-haired friend. “Just for that, you don’t get any of Moms’ apple pie. And it’s the kind with the crumbly top, too.”

“Trixie, I’m going to say this as nicely as possible.” Dan spoke slowly and distinctly. “Unless you’ve discovered a still-warm corpse in the formal living room, could you please reduce the chatter to a minimum of one word replies? We’re trying to watch this game.”

“Well, excuuuuuuse me,” Trixie drawled out dramatically with a hip gyration thrown in to boot. “It’s not my fault you guys are so engrossed in such a dumb game, and that I’m bored out of my gourd and forced to entertain myself by whatever means necessary. Forgive me for trying to stay awake.”

“To quote Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Premature Burial’,” Mart began grandly, “ ‘There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction’.”

Trixie scrunched her nose in confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means to shut up before I give you a premature burial,” Mart supplied helpfully, with a playful shake of his fist.

“Ha, ha,” Trixie snorted.

“You two are certifiably insane,” Brian remarked dryly. He stood up from the recliner in which he had been sitting. “I’m going in the kitchen to get something to drink. I’m assuming that Cook won’t have a problem with that?”

“Just make sure to restock the fridge,” Jim ordered. “And be sure there’s an even number of each thing in there.”

“This lady’s more anal than Brian!” Di teased with an impish giggle.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Brian intoned. “Does anyone else want anything while I’m up?”

Six hands quickly went up, followed by six orders.

“I’ll give you a hand, Bri,” Trixie offered, jumping up from her perch beside Jim. She followed her oldest brother into the gourmet chef’s dream of a kitchen.

Brian had already opened the industrial-sized refrigerator and was searching inside. “What did Jim say he wanted?”

“A root beer,” Trixie answered. “And Di wanted a diet cola, Mart wanted a regular cola, Honey wanted a Perrier, Dan wanted a Dr. Pepper, and I wanted a strawberry pop.”

“How do you remember all that stuff, yet manage to forget to cut the price tags off your clothes?” he inquired, furrowing his brow thoughtfully.

“I remember the stuff that really matters,” was her clipped response.

“So, do you remember where they keep the microwave popcorn?” he questioned, pilfering through the many cupboards.

Trixie promptly opened the correct cabinet, pulled out a box of Orville Redenbacher extra-buttery popcorn, and handed it to her brother. “Bri?”

“Yes?” Brian was too busy opening the package of popcorn to meet her troubled gaze.

“Has Mart talked to you about anything lately?” she asked softly.

“He asked me to take a look at their Jeep Cherokee the other day,” he responded. “He thought the engine was missing, but I changed the spark plugs and took care of it.”

Trixie shook her head. “No, I meant has he talked to you about him and Di?”

Brian gave a slight shrug. “He said they had a nice time last night at the country club.”

“Has he said anything about any problems they’re having?”

“Nope, he hasn’t said anything to me.” Brian quickly finished punching in the cook time on the microwave, and then looked at his sister. “Which leads me to the conclusion that, if there is a problem— and I did say if— it’s not any of my business.”

“Well, they’re our family, so that makes it our business,” Trixie pointed out with a sniff.

Brian looked over at his sister quizzically. “You’re not worried about them because of the handcuff thing, are you? They were obviously joking about that, and you and I both know they won’t be eating actual sugar tonight.”

“I know. That’s not what I’m talking about,” she interjected hastily. “Don’t you think Di’s been acting funny lately?”

“Not any funnier than usual.” He leaned back and waited for the kernels to begin popping. “Why? Have you noticed something?”

“Yeah, ever since I got back from California,” Trixie answered with a frown. “Are you sure you haven’t noticed something?”

Brian shrugged again. “Maybe. It’s hard to say, though. Di’s always been emotional.”

“She’d slug you if she heard you say that,” she commented with a roll of her eyes.

“That’d just prove my point.” He grinned over at her. “Listen, Trix, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Every couple has their highs and lows. Besides, if Mart and Di got along any better than they do now, they’d have to be surgically attached at the hip. Those two are so in love that it’s disgusting.”

Trixie looked away in embarrassment. “Well, actually they’re not as disgusting as they used to be.”

Brian’s dark brown eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “Dear Lord in heaven; you’re becoming one of them. My little sister has been replaced by a pod person.”

“I’m not a pod person,” she said with a snort.

“You are.” He nodded his head emphatically. “Soon you’re going to be just as sappy and mushy as Mart, and only Bobby and I will remain.”

Trixie giggled and teasingly gave him a gentle shove. “I’m serious, Bri.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully to one side. “Have you ever noticed that Diana always gets upset when anyone mentions having a baby?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he said matter-of-factly. “Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve missed something obvious.”

“Well, I’ve noticed it.” Although the rest of the group was in the rec room, Trixie leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in a whisper. “I think she’s pregnant.”

“You what?” Brian’s thick brows met in the groove at the bridge of his nose.

“I think she’s pregnant!” she repeated with a flourish. Once she realized how loudly she had spoken, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Why would you think that?”

Trixie’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink. “Well, I kind of overheard her phone conversation with her mom—”

“You eavesdropped?!” Brian interrupted.

“Sort of,” she admitted.

“So you heard her say that she was pregnant?”

“Well, not in those exact words…”

Brian chuckled. “I don’t think I’d make baby shower arrangements yet, Trix. This wouldn’t be the first time you took something you heard out of context.”

“It also wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve figured something out by jumping to conclusions,” she pointed out. “Besides, I’d already suspected that she was going to have a baby. Before I went to California, Mart mentioned he and Di wanted to start a family. Don’t you remember?”

“Not really.” Not nearly as interested in this particular subject as his sister, Brian checked the progress of his snack.

“On the way to the airport,” she reminded him. “Remember?”

“I suppose,” he remarked. It was clear by his tone that he was just saying that in hopes his sister would leave well enough alone.

“I’ll bet that’s it.” Trixie’s cheeks flushed happily as she continued thinking about the possibility of becoming an aunt. “Di’s pregnant, and that’s making her moody.”

“She’s been moody?”

“Don’t you notice anything?” she asked with a loud sigh.

“I notice that you jump to a lot of conclusion.” Brian quirked a skeptical brow. “If she’s expecting, why hasn’t she told everyone? She had the perfect opportunity last night at the country club.”

Taken aback by the wrinkle in her explanation, Trixie gnawed on a hangnail. “That’s a good question,” she mumbled, “but I’m sure if we think hard enough, we can come up with an answer.”

Brian crossed his arms, a smirk planted firmly on his lips. “Of course, the easiest explanation for why she hasn’t made an announcement is that she isn’t pregnant.”

“Well, sure, that explains why she hasn’t told us, but we still don’t know why she said all that weird stuff on the phone and why she’s been so moody.” Trixie’s normally cheerful countenance clouded over with worry for her family. “She hasn’t been herself for months. I’ve caught her crying for no reason, but she insists nothing’s wrong.”

“Maybe she’s just got a case of the blues?” he suggested. “A lot of people suffer from depression this time of the year, since the days are so cold and dreary and it gets dark so early.”

“She’s not depressed,” she insisted stubbornly. “Something’s up with her and Mart; I feel it in my bones. And if I heard what I think I heard, she’s going to have a baby. I just don’t know why she’d be so upset about being pregnant.”

Brian exhaled loudly, the lines of his forehead furrowing deeply. It appeared that he was struggling within himself, wondering what and how much he should say. After a labored pause, he looked hard at his sister. “Have you ever considered the flip side, Trix?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe she’s not moody because she’s pregnant,” he offered reluctantly. He shrugged slightly, and then added hastily, “It’s none of my business, really…”

Trixie narrowed her wide blue eyes at him. “What’re you saying? It’s obvious that you know more than you’re letting on.”

“Mart hasn’t said anything to me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Brian smiled wryly. “But now that you mention it, Di has been acting strangely lately, especially about the pregnancy issue.”

“Go on,” she prodded with a sigh of impatience.

“The other day at the academy, Jim’s secretary teased her about what a disaster there would be in the fine arts depart if Di ever went on maternity leave,” Brian said slowly. “You should’ve seen Di’s face. I thought for a minute that she was going to claw Dessie’s eyes out, and she loves Dessie like a grandmother.”

Trixie lifted a single brow speculatively. “What’re you getting at?”

“So, have you ever considered that maybe Di doesn’t want to be pregnant?” Brian shook his head in response to his sister’s confused expression. “Who’ve you heard talking about wanting to start a family— Mart or Di?”

“Mart,” she replied softly. “But Di’s always loved kids. She was always volunteering to take care of her brothers and sisters. All four of them, for Pete’s sake! And don’t you remember how much she loved taking care of Dodgie?”

“But that doesn’t mean she wants a child of her own right now,” Brian pointed out. “Maybe Mart’s the one who wants to start a family, not Di.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Trixie insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. “Di loves kids. Frankly, I’m surprised they don’t have half a dozen of them by now; they must have some powerful birth control.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Brian conceded half-heartedly. “After all, you’re closer to Di than I am. I just thought that with her recent promotion to assistant curator at the museum, in addition to her part-time teaching position at the school, she might be reluctant to give all that up to start a family.”

“She wouldn’t have to give it up,” she whispered.

“True, but she’d have to slow down a bit.” The microwave beeped, signaling their snack had finished popping. He deftly pulled out the hot bag and poured it into a large bowl. “I’d better join the others. Bring in those drinks, will you?”

Trixie nodded silently. As her brother began moving away, she said, “I don’t think you’re right, Bri.”

“I hope I’m not.” Without another word, he carried a couple of cans and the bowl of popcorn into the other room.

“I don’t care what Brian says,” Trixie murmured softly to herself with a haughty lift of her chin, “they aren’t fighting about whether or not they should have kids. They may be having problems with something else, but not with each other. I’d bet my bottom dollar on that.”

“You’d bet your bottom dollar on what?” The husky voice of her fiancé drew Trixie from her mulling.

“That you’ll be willing to help me carry the rest of these sodas into the rec room,” she hedged, mustering a bright smile.

Jim leaned down and kissed the top of her curly head. “Well, you wouldn’t lose that dollar.” He reached out and grabbed a few cans of soda, then led the way back into the recreation room.

Trixie quietly followed, her azure gaze becoming troubled as it fell upon her brother and sister-in-law. As she handed out the beverages, she kept one eye on the couple, studying them as she would a suspect.

Mart had moved to the large leather recliner, and Diana sat on his lap, wrapped securely in his possessive embrace. Mart’s left arm was placed protectively around his bride’s waist, drawing her as close to him as possible, and Di rested her head contentedly on his shoulder. As if cuddling couldn’t provide enough physical contact, the fingers of Di’s left hand were entwined in the fingers of Mart’s right one. Strangely, Mart’s eyes never drifted once from Di’s face to the football game on TV. The blissful smiles on each of their faces painted a picture of adoration in its purest form.

It was obvious to all, especially to those who knew them best, that Mart and Diana were lovers.

And since Trixie knew her almost-twin and his wife better than she knew herself, she knew there was another explanation for Diana’s moodiness, as well as the mysterious phone conversation.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair. Helen had expertly cooked to perfection their family’s favorite New Year foods. Forsaking the tradition of “eating poor”, her main course included corned beef and cabbage, roasted potatoes, green bean casserole, sweet glazed carrots, and sesame dinner rolls. Crabapple Farm’s stretchy walls (not to mention their dining room table) were expanded to the limit with the Beldens, their middle son’s in-laws and unmarried children, the non-Belden Bob-Whites, as well as Regan and Elijah Maypenny.

To say the occasion was festive was putting it mildly.

Before dessert could be served, Jim stood up and tapped his fork against his goblet of sparkling cider. “If I could have your undivided attention, I have an important announcement to make.”

“She’d better not be pregnant, Jim,” Bobby called from the kitchen, sending his tablemates into a fit of snickers. He and both sets of the Lynch twins had been “banished” (as he so bitterly termed it) to the table in there since there wasn’t room for them at the one in the dining room.

Ignoring his youngest son’s misguided attempt at humor, Peter motioned towards his future son-in-law. “Go on, Jim.”

Upon seeing twelve pairs of eyes solely focused on him, a lump rose in Jim’s throat. However, after an encouraging smile from his fiancée, he was able to continue. “After much discussion, last night Trixie and I agreed on a wedding date.” He paused dramatically, and then added excitedly, “July seventh!”

Several whoops and hollers echoed from the dining room table as his news was met with enthusiasm.

“July seventh. The day we found Jim at Ten Acres,” Honey murmured, sentimental tears forming in her large, hazel eyes. Without another word, she reached over and clasped her brother’s hand.

“Oh, Trixie. I’m so happy for you, darling.” Helen used her cloth napkin to wipe a few happy tears of her own, and then gasped suddenly in surprise. “July seventh! Why, that’s only one, two, three… That’s a little over six months from now! How can we ever plan a wedding so quickly?”

“We’ll manage,” Trixie answered happily as she looked over lovingly at Jim. Apparently, she was no longer concerned with the many preparations yet to be made.

Helen’s brow furrowed as she began ticking off the items on her mental to-do list. “There’s the bridal gown to be designed and made, the church to be booked, the guest list to be—”

“You can’t plan the whole thing tonight, dear,” Carolyn Lynch interrupted with a smile. “I’ll take you and Maddie out to lunch in the city next week, and I’ll give the lowdown about planning a modern-day society wedding. By the time we scarf down our Crepes Suzette, we’ll have the whole thing planned out.”

Helen cast a grateful smile at her oldest friend.

“I don’t see why you’re so worried, Helen,” Ed Lynch proclaimed in a booming voice. “Peter here is the one with all the responsibility. After all, he has to sign all the checks.” Finding his own joke hilarious, Ed paused to chuckle heartily.

As the adults continued their conversation, the Bob-Whites added their congratulations.

“That’s wonderful news, Trix,” Mart told her. “I know I really pushed your buttons last night, and I hope I didn’t make you mad. I honestly just wanted to see you happy, and judging by that grin on your face, let the record show that I was right.”

“This time,” Trixie stated with a grin. “And you should probably add to the record that if it hadn’t been for your lovely bride, we wouldn’t have anything to celebrate right now.” She exchanged a secretive smile with her sister-in-law.

“I’m always happy to help those I love,” Di said, reaching over to pat Trixie’s hand.

“Congratulations, Sis,” Brian added. He turned to his best friend and winked. “Jim, there’s still time for her to change her mind, so you’d better treat her right.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim responded with a mock salute.

“Enough with all these formalities,” Dan proclaimed, hopping up from his seat. He walked over to the bride-to-be, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. “Congrats, Freckles.” He then turned to Jim. “Do you think marriage will settle this filly down?”

Jim gave a broad, lopsided grin. “Not a chance.”

“Well, at least I’ll be close by to help you keep an eye on her,” Dan replied, thumping his friend on the back in a consoling manner before he sat back down.

“So, how do you feel now that you’ve set the date?” Mart inquired.

“Absolutely wonderful,” Jim answered, a peaceful expression on his face. He glanced pointedly at Brian and Honey. “And I must say, the water feels great, in case anyone else would like to jump in.”

“You hear that, Dan?” Elijah Maypenny muttered from the opposite end of the table.

“I’ll jump in right after you do,” Dan countered cheerfully. He quickly turned his attention to his uncle. “And that goes double for you, so don’t even start with me.”

The copper-haired horseman raised a freckled hand in protest. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” Helen announced as she stood up from the table. “I’ll bring in dessert. I may not have had time to make Crepes Suzette, but I worked very hard on my Dutch Apple Pies.”

Mart was quick to voice his approval. “Mmm-mmmm! Sounds good to me, Moms!”

“I’ll give you a hand, Helen,” Carolyn offered, following her friend to the kitchen.

Trixie’s eyes traveled to the far end of the large dining table. “Dad, you’ve been kind of quiet. Are you okay with the date?”

Peter slowly met his daughter’s gaze, his chin trembling slightly. “Princess, I don’t think you could’ve picked a better day. I know you and Jim will be just as happy as your mother and me.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Trixie told him, her eyes sparkling.

After the last morsel of dessert was inhaled, Peter leaned back in his chair and groaned loudly. “That was excellent, sweetheart. You outdid yourself.”

There were several murmurs of agreement coming from the dining room and adjacent kitchen.

“I’m glad everyone enjoyed it,” Helen told them, her blue eyes shining brightly. Nothing brought her more happiness than preparing a delicious meal for those she loved.

“Do you need my help in the kitchen?” Peter’s expression clearly told everyone that he hoped his assistance wasn’t required, but if it was needed, he’d do whatever he could.

Helen winked at her husband. “After all your help this afternoon, I wouldn’t dare keep you from your bowl game.”

A loud sigh of relief came from the head of the table, followed by a groan as he stood up from his chair. “Ugh… I ate too much.”

“You ate too much?” Jolly Ed Lynch chuckled heartily. “Helen, I’m going to need a gurney to carry me to the door. Do you have one handy?”

Carolyn patted her husband’s hand. “Ed, dear, maybe that third helping of everything wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Well, that tells me who ate all of Moms’ rolls,” Bobby called from the kitchen.

“You ate your fair share, young man,” Ed argued good-naturedly. “Just wait until your metabolism slows down. You’ll be shopping at the men’s ‘Big and Tall’ store, too.”

Muffled muttering followed by a round of boisterous laughter echoed from the kitchen. And since Bobby laughed the loudest, the adults had a feeling that the joke was not on him.

“What was that, son?” Ed queried.

“Nothing!” Bobby hollered. His response only served to make the Lynch children, including Diana, laugh harder.

“Are you guys going back to Manor House to watch the next game?” Trixie asked, returning the subject to football.

Mart moaned loudly and patted his extremely full belly. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I don’t think I have the strength to make it out to the car.”

“Me either.” Brian removed the napkin from his lap with a wince. “Moms, I haven’t eaten that much since… Well, since Christmas,” he added with a sheepish grin. “I don’t think I could waddle to the door, much less all the way outside.”

“I vote we crawl into the den and watch the Rose Bowl here,” Jim suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Dan answered. He turned to his uncle and his elderly guardian. “Are you guys staying for the big game? It’s supposed to be a good one.”

“I’m afraid I have chores waiting for me,” Regan replied reluctantly. “I really hate to eat and run, Mrs. B., but there’s a stable full of horses up the hill that won’t get their dinner until I give it to them.”

“That’s fine, Regan,” Helen assured him. “But before you leave, let me get you some leftovers to take home.” Before he could argue, the hostess had already hopped up from her seat to find containers to hold an assortment of corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, and whatever else she could fit inside.

“What about you, Mr. Maypenny?” Honey inquired. “Do you like football?”

“Honey dear, I’m afraid I haven’t watched that game since the players wore leather helmets,” Mr. Maypenny told her with a chuckle. “Besides, since Regan is driving me home, I’ll leave with him and see if he needs a hand with the horses.”

“Will any of you ladies be joining us in front of the tube?” Ed questioned.

Helen grinned as she scooped up mounds of food into several orange 80s-era Tupperware containers. “Sorry, Ed, but I prefer that Mt. McKinley-sized heap of dirty dishes in the kitchen to football.”

“Moms!” Trixie exclaimed. “You’re supposed to take it easy while we clean everything up!”

“I won’t do much,” Helen promised. “I’ll just put away leftovers while you girls do dishes.”

Carolyn giggled coyly. “I like eating here. I haven’t been called a ‘girl’ in eons.”

The adults laughed as the men and women went their separate ways. Only the youngest Lynch twins, Grace and Sarah, followed the men-folk into the den.

“Whew, I can’t believe how much quieter it is in here,” Helen commented as she began running hot, soapy water in the farmhouse-style sink.

Trixie gently pushed her mother aside. “Moms, you promised you’d only put away the leftovers,” she reminded the older woman.

“But there are so many…” Helen began.

Honey and Diana quickly joined Trixie at the large sink, effectively blocking Helen from the mound of dirty dishes.

“With Trixie washing, Honey drying, and me putting them away, we’ll be done in no time,” Di said firmly. “Now, why don’t you tackle those leftovers so you can relax with a cup of tea?”

“All right,” Helen finally conceded with a smile. “Mrs. Belden has spoken.”

Di returned her mother-in-law’s warm smile, the bond between the two women obvious.

“Helen, I love these aprons,” Carolyn commented as she formed a bow with the royal-blue strings behind her back. “I think you have one in every color.”

“I can give you the pattern, if you’d like,” Helen offered. She pulled her own red, smock-like apron over her head. “They’re simple to make.”

Carolyn chuckled prettily. “I haven’t sewn in years. I’m not sure I’d remember how.”

“It’s just like riding a bike, Car,” Helen told her, laughing. “It all comes back to you.”

As the two older ladies talking about sewing and other household chores, the three younger ones listened with interest.

“It’s just like stepping in a time machine and seeing what you two will be like in twenty-five years,” Honey said matter-of-factly.

Trixie cocked her head pensively to one side, her mouth pinched with irritation. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see that.”

“I can.” Diana covered her mouth as she tried to stifle a giggle and dodge Trixie’s angry glare all at once.

“Except Trixie won’t be telling you that sewing is easy,” Honey amended.

“You’ve got that right!” Trixie bellowed with a snort. She practically tossed the skillet she was washing at Honey, who barely caught it.

“Too bad Mother isn’t here so we could see how I’d turn out,” Honey commented.

Di chuckled. “No offense to your mom, Hon, but I really can’t see her rolling up the sleeves of her Armani blouse and pitching in to help.”

“Me neither,” Honey admitted with a smile of her own. “And I definitely can’t imagine her talking about sewing.”

“That’s one thing we have in common,” Trixie remarked. “Well, except for the Armani blouse…”

Honey absentmindedly rubbed the dish towel against the cast iron skillet to dry it. “I wonder where we’ll be in twenty-five years.”

“Probably still washing these dishes unless we pick up the pace a little.” Di giggled as she put away the dried skillet.

Loud footsteps approaching caused the girls to cease their laughing. Trixie looked up to see her youngest brother walking hurriedly towards the back entrance of the kitchen.

“Hey, Bobby,” she called to him. “Where are you going?”

Either Bobby didn’t hear her greeting, or he chose to ignore it. Determined to have her question answered, Trixie threw her dishrag into the water and followed him outside.

“Bobby!” she yelled. “Stop! I want to talk to you!”

The tall, broad-shouldered teenager who once had been so short and chubby turned around to face her. “I’m sorta in a hurry, Trix.”

“Where are you going?” Trixie asked, shivering from the cold. “Aren’t you going to watch football with the rest of the guys?”

Bobby shook his head, his shaggy curls bobbing from side to side. “Nah, it’s no fun in there.”

“No fun?” Trixie repeated incredulously. “I find that hard to believe. Mr. Lynch could have fun at a funeral.”

He merely shrugged in response.

“Are you going out by yourself?” she prodded.

“Well, there’s nobody with me…”

“Smart aleck,” Trixie remarked with a rueful chuckle. “Maybe you ask the Lynch twins if they want to tag along.”

“As a matter of fact, I did ask Sarah to come along,” Bobby informed her with a devilish grin. “But Mr. Lynch wouldn’t let her.”

Trixie’s brow furrowed with concern. “I wonder why.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” was his terse response.

“Do you hang around with Larry and Terry much?” she questioned in what she hoped was a casual tone.

“Not really,” Bobby answered. “We don’t have that much in common anymore.”

She nodded slowly, recalling the conversation she’d had with Mart a few days earlier. “So, are you meeting anyone?”

Bobby shrugged. “I’m going to pick up Wart. We’ve got stuff we need to do.”

Trixie carefully studied her baby brother, his bloodshot eyes raising several red flags. “What kind of stuff?”

“Stuff guys my age do,” was his cryptic answer.

“You’ve barely been home lately,” she remarked. “Moms told me you’re only here to sleep and eat.”

Bobby snorted loudly. “Why should you care?”

“Uhh… because I’m your sister; that’s why,” she retorted in a sarcastic tone. Although she was a good foot shorter than Bobby, somehow she managed to look down at him. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

“Well, how ‘bout I fire you?” he suggested with a smirk.

“Sorry, but you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Bummer,” Bobby replied evasively.

Tired of tiptoeing around the subject, Trixie finally laid out all her cards on the table. “Bobby, I don’t like that guy you’ve been hanging out with.”

“That’s okay,” Bobby said with another shrug of his broad shoulders. “He don’t like you much either.”

Trixie sighed loudly, purposely ignoring her brother’s poor grammar. “And you’re okay with that? Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

“It’s not like we sit around and talk about our families like a bunch of girls,” he offered.

She took a deep breath, and then braced herself. “Bobby, what do you and Kirby do?”

“His name is Wart,” Bobby corrected with a roll of his eyes.

“No, Robert, his name is Kirby; his nickname is Wart. And for the record, it’s a very stupid nickname.” Trixie whacked her younger brother on the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, hanging around a kid like that? You know better.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he argued heatedly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me is my little brother spends more time with his friends than he does his own family. It’s New Year’s Day, for crying out loud.” Trixie gave a huff of annoyance. “Couldn’t you sit at home for one measly night and spend the holiday with us?”

“When you were a teenager, you spent more time with the Bob-Whites than you did me,” Bobby pointed out, his lips framing a pout. “So, what’s the difference?”

“The difference is,” she began impatiently, “that the Bob-Whites weren’t like Wart.” Her upper lip curled as she said the name.

“What’s wrong with Wart?”

Trixie took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. “For starters, none of the Bob-Whites had a criminal record.”

“Dan spent time in juvie hall, and I assume he didn’t get thrown in the kiddie clink because he was such a law-abiding citizen.” Bobby smirked smugly at his sister. “You’re a hypocrite, Sis.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Bobby shrugged. “Well, you yap at me about being friends with a juvenile delinquent when you were buddies with one yourself.”

Trixie spent many hours dealing with hardened criminals; she wasn’t going to be intimidated by one teenager currently too big for his boxer-shorts-revealing britches. “Dan was nothing like Wart, Bobby,” she argued heatedly. “Dan has always shown remorse for his past, which is a lot more than I can say for your so-called friend.”

“What do you know about Wart?” Bobby snorted scornfully; he had become accustomed to the fact that his behavior was never questioned, and it was obvious Trixie’s concern irritated him greatly. “You’re a schoolgirl shamus, not a frickin’ cop.”

“I have my connections, Bobby,” she remarked. “I talk to Spider on a regular basis, and he never has anything pleasant to say about Kirby Larson. He’s warned me repeatedly that you shouldn’t be hanging around with that little punk.”

Bobby made a point of noisily exhaling so his sister would be sure to know he was highly annoyed. He began to walk away, but a five-foot-two-inch roadblock impeded his progress. “Get out of my way, Trix.”

“Not until you talk to me,” she responded, firmly clasping Bobby’s upper arm. She looked up into the familiar face, her features softening as she took in the bright blue eyes that had once pleaded for “just one more story”. She continued in a much gentler tone. “I’m worried about you, sweetie.”

“Now’s not the time to start worrying about me,” the surly teen insisted. He angrily yanked his arm out of his sister’s clutches, his brusque actions accidentally knocking her out of his way.

Trixie stood motionless as she stared after her brother’s retreating form, frustrated tears blurring her vision. “Bobby! Come back here!”

However, without so much as a perfunctory glance back at her, the stubborn teen got inside his red Pontiac Sunfire and sped away, the tires kicking up several pieces of gravel as they spun out of the driveway. Trixie remained rooted to the spot, her body frozen with more than the bitter cold. She watched as the sporty little car made its way down Glen Road, growing smaller and smaller as it zipped into the night. So entranced was she with the sight that she didn’t hear the sound of the screen door slamming closed.

“Here.”

Trixie looked up to see her jacket being offered to her. “Thanks,” she muttered, gladly accepting the warm coat and immediately sliding it on her shivering body.

“Did he leave?” By Helen’s defeated tone, it was obvious she already knew the answer to that question.

“Yeah,” Trixie acknowledged with a terse nod. She nonchalantly reached up and wiped away a few tears, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice.

If Helen did notice, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she sighed heavily. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with that boy.”

“Ground him?” Trixie suggested dryly. “Don’t give him any spending money? Take away his car? Lock him in his room and throw away the key?”

“If your father and I thought that would work, we would’ve already tried it,” Helen told her. “Unfortunately, I think Bobby’s the only one who can help Bobby.”

Although Trixie nodded, she secretly wondered the veracity of that statement. However, Helen was a wise woman, especially when it came to her children, and she instantly picked up on her daughter’s hesitancy.

“You don’t believe me?” Helen prodded. “Because if there’s something you could suggest we do that would work, your father and I would gladly try it.”

“I don’t know,” Trixie admitted with a shrug of her shoulders, “but it seems like you could do something. Right now, you’re not doing anything.”

Helen smiled wearily. “We’re doing more than you think, sweetheart. However, you have to remember that we’re dealing with a young man, not a little boy. He’s going to do what he wants to do.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to put up with it,” Trixie argued. “Why don’t you just threaten to kick him out if he doesn’t shape up?”

“And lose him forever?” Helen’s eyes suddenly grew very dark as she imagined the repercussions of that action. She shook her head back and forth adamantly. “I refuse to lose him, Trixie. Right or wrong, he’s my son, and although your father and I will never condone his actions, we’ll always love him. Kicking him out of his home is not an option.”

“So, you aren’t going to do anything?” Trixie muttered. “That seems kind of wishy-washy.”

“It worked with you,” Helen commented in an offhand manner. “I didn’t particularly want you to move to California, but I reminded myself that you were an adult who could make her own decisions, and I kept my mouth shut.”

“Yeah, but I came back,” Trixie pointed out.

Helen crossed her arms in front of her, smiling smugly. “Exactly.”

Trixie scowled at her mother. “I didn’t come back because of you.”

“I know, but you would’ve stayed away longer because of me,” Helen wisely remarked.

Trixie really hated it when her mother was right.

“Besides,” Helen went on, “we don’t just want him to do what’s right; we want him to want to do right, so he’ll make a habit of it.”

“I know,” Trixie whispered fervently. “But it’s just so hard watching him screw up!”

“Tell me about it!” Helen wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and drew her close. “I’m just thankful the rest of you didn’t go through this rebellious stage.”

“I told you that you spoiled Bobby too much,” Trixie couldn’t resist saying.

“Maybe you’re right,” Helen remarked. “But Bobby’s different than you and your brothers. You all were close together in age, so you had a support system in each other. Bobby wasn’t so lucky; he’s always felt like he was on the outside looking in at everyone else.”

“I suppose that’s true.” With an impish grin, Trixie added, “But that still doesn’t give him an excuse to act like a twerp.”

“True,” Helen agreed, laughing. She hugged her daughter close to her, and Trixie gladly enveloped herself in her mother’s safe embrace.

“Oh, Moms,” Trixie cried, “why do things have to change? Why can’t they stay the same?”

“That would make for a boring life, sweetheart,” Helen murmured. “I thought you were my adventurous child; since when have you been afraid of change?”

“Since I started seeing so much of it on the horizon,” Trixie admitted.

Helen pulled away so she could study her daughter’s expression. “You’re not feeling overwhelmed about the wedding, are you?”

“Actually, the wedding is the one thing I’m not worried about,” Trixie said with a grin.

Helen brushed back the ever-present curl from the middle of Trixie’s forehead. “Then what has you so concerned? Something at work?”

Trixie shook her head. “No, work’s going great.”

“Then what’s bothering you?”

“Except for the stuff with Bobby, nothing major, I suppose,” Trixie began with some hesitance. “I’ve been worried about the rest of the Bob-Whites, although I’m probably blowing everything out of proportion.”

“It just shows what an empathetic person you are, sweetheart,” Helen told her, lovingly stroking her daughter’s hair.

Trixie grinned at her mother. “Maybe, but more likely it shows what an out-of-control imagination I have.”

If Helen agreed with that statement, she never let on. Instead, she smiled warmly. “Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can appease your worries.”

“Or maybe you’ll just start worrying, too,” Trixie pointed out.

“Possibly,” Helen conceded with a rueful chuckle. “But it’s probably something that I’ve already been concerned about anyway.”

Trixie nodded in silent agreement. “Well, I’m worried about Dan giving up his dream of being in the NYPD and moving back to Sleepyside. I hope he’s making the right decision.”

“That’s understandable. However, I’m sure Dan’s given this a lot of thought.”

“I know,” Trixie replied. She sighed deeply, and then continued, “It’s just a shame that he’s leaving the city before he met someone. I hate seeing him alone.”

Helen smiled knowingly. “Sweetheart, there are plenty of fish in the sea, even in the small pond of Sleepyside.”

“But Dan’s already caught the majority of our fish and thrown them back,” Trixie said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s destined to remain alone forever, just like Regan and Mr. Maypenny.”

“Let me remind you that up until a few months ago, you had a habit of throwing perfectly good fish back into the sea,” Helen responded, one sandy brow cocked.

“Well, I just hadn’t caught the right fish yet,” Trixie defended.

“Maybe Dan hasn’t either,” Helen responded wisely. “Give him time, Trixie. I’m sure he’ll eventually meet Miss Right. And who knows? Maybe Regan and Elijah will, too.”

Trixie giggled. “Maybe.”

“So, what else is bothering you?”

Trixie nervously began gnawing the hangnail on her thumb. “I’m worried that something is wrong with Honey. She’s been quiet lately.”

“Perhaps she’s just had a lot on her mind,” Helen suggested. “I’m sure she’ll have some adjusting to do, what with Brian moving back in a few weeks and you and Jim getting married in July.”

“I wonder when she and Brian will get engaged,” Trixie commented thoughtfully.

“Wow! Now that you’ve set the date, you’re anxious to get everyone married off,” Helen teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Trixie hedged with a smirk. “Moms, I’ll just die if they don’t get married soon!”

Helen gave her an impulsive hug. “Dear, you didn’t die when your father couldn’t buy you that horse, and I doubt you’ll die if you have to wait a little longer for Brian and Honey to marry.”

“I might,” Trixie quipped. “And by the way, I’m still waiting for that horse.”

“Trixie, just be patient,” Helen encouraged, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement. “We’re all expecting Brian and Honey to make their relationship more permanent, especially now that Brian’s finished his residency and will be joining Dr. Ferris’ practice.”

“I know,” Trixie said with a deep exhale.

“And who knows; maybe we’ll have a double wedding,” Helen mused aloud.

That thought seemed to satisfy Trixie, who nodded thoughtfully as if she were imagining the glorious affair from beginning to end.

“So, is there anything else you need to talk about?” Helen prompted.

Trixie aimlessly twirled a curl, wondering if she should tell her mother about the tension she’d sensed surrounding Mart and Di. Deciding it would only worry her mother unnecessarily, she shrugged her shoulders. “No, that’s about it.”

With a warm smile, Helen hugged her daughter close, simply enjoying their rare moment alone. When the two broke apart, they stood arm-in-arm, gazing up at the star-filled sky.

“You know, sweetheart,” Helen said, breaking the peaceful silence, “in this ever-changing world, there’s one constant you can always count on.”

“What’s that?”

“The love of your family, future husband, and friends.” Helen deftly placed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, and then looked up as a husky redhead came out the back door, obviously in search of Trixie. Trixie, however, hadn’t noticed his approach. “Speaking of your future husband, I think he’s missing you.”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Trixie’s lips. “Why would you say that?”

“Because he’s sneaking away from the Rose Bowl to come find you.” Helen pointed towards the footpath at Jim, who was flashing that charming lopsided grin of his which was adored by women, young and old alike.

Helen watched in amusement as she beheld the visible change in her daughter. Five minutes ago, it had been a struggle to elicit even a faint smile from Trixie; now just a glimpse of Jim had her grinning from ear to ear. The sight of her daughter— eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, dimples accentuated, curls bouncing— took her back almost three decades to the instant she met Peter.

It was the sight of true love.

Although Helen had seen that sight many times, there was something particularly satisfying about seeing one’s children experience it. Now, as she watched Jim look down adoringly at her little girl, Helen knew her work consoling Trixie was done.

“I’ll go back inside now and finish cleaning up the kitchen,” Helen murmured, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

“Okay, Moms,” Trixie said as she snuggled into Jim’s warm embrace. “I’ll be back inside in a minute to help.”

“And I promise to not keep her out here too long, Mrs. B,” Jim vowed.

“See you in a bit, then.” Helen smiled at the couple as she turned to walk back in the little white-frame farmhouse. Briefly, she wondered the exact same thing her daughter had earlier: Why can’t things stay the same? She peeked back at the couple as they shared a sweet kiss, and suddenly a revelation answered her question.

If things stayed the same, nothing could change for the better.

Comforted by that thought, she began humming the beginning of “Auld Lang Syne” as she walked down the path leading to the house. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne?”

Casting one last smile at her daughter, Helen opened the kitchen door and went inside, symbolically crossing the threshold from the old year to the new.

Credits:

This story is a submission for CWP 2.6. Required elements are:

Long, dark, dreary days for the northern hemisphere or long, hot bright days for the southern hemisphere (Brian mentions that depression occurs more frequently during winter), hunting season (Diana mentions Mart isn’t as attentive during this time), hockey (Peter mentions that one scores goals in hockey, not football), Cary Grant, in any context (Honey tells everyone that there is a Cary Grant marathon on AMC), a book or work by Edgar Allen Poe (Mart quotes “A Premature Burial”), a power outage (Trixie threatens to cause one by throwing the braker), a warm corpse (Dan tells Trixie not to bother them unless she’s found one), the phrase, “You know, Photoshop can be a very powerful tool” (quoted by Diana while teasing Brian), holly/holly berries (the sports commentator on the sidelines of the game, Holly Rowe), an UNwanted piece of mail (the bill for Bobby’s tuition), a hula recital (according to Di, if they gave one in the buff during the game, the guys wouldn’t even notice), a misunderstood word, written or spoken (Di mistakenly thinking Trixie said “foreskin” instead of “foresight”), tag (the ones Trixie sometimes forget to take off her clothes), and the required carryover items: lipstick smudges and pumpkin bread to name a few.

Thank you very much to my faithful editor and one of my bestest friends, Steph H. Steph, you’ve been with me through thick and thin. I love you bunches, my dear friend. {{{HUGS}}}

It had been a while since I wrote a story with those frisky Belden seniors in it. They insisted they deserved some airtime, and I was happy to oblige.

According to my husband, there is no better television than the 60-inch, high-definition, wide-screen plasma television mentioned in this story. He, like Peter, admires them from afar, and unfortunately we have no wealthy neighbors who own one. *wink*

For the record, you cannot earn a degree for sleep deprivation and hottie wooing, much to Bobby’s dismay.

“The blue team with the sparkly helmets” is a sly reference to my team, the West Virginia Mountaineers. How ‘bout them ‘Eers?!?!

Wheaties is a brand of cereal, and it’s best not to eat the ones that have been urinated in.

More about Mart and Di later…

Subway is a fast food-type restaurant that specializes in subs.

Holly Rowe is a real-life, college football sideline commentator, and yes, she did say the ‘Eers were from “western” Virginia. It’s a tragedy that our college-educated citizens aren’t aware of the fact that there are FIFTY states. Grrr…

Edgar Allen Poe did indeed write “The Premature Burial”, which was quoted.

Trixie’s mention of Mart wanting to start a family comes from “Why Do Fools Fall in Love”.

Dessie, Jim’s secretary at Ten Acres, was introduced in “The Gumshoes”.

Thank you to various Jixsters who gave input about their favorite traditional New Year’s meals.

Grace and Sarah Lynch were named by me. Ed decided all his little girls needed names worthy of a princess; therefore, he has Diana, Grace, and Sarah.

According to my story, “Blue Christmas”, Peter, Helen, Carolyn, and Ed were all friends during Helen and Carolyn’s high school days (the men were older, and since Helen was new in the area, she hadn’t gone to school with them).

Bobby’s issues have been hinted about, and this story gave us a bit more insight. More about this coming later. And please don’t think I’m being mean to him; I ‘dore Bobby and I have great plans for him.