The Mistletoe Promise by Richard Paul Evans Page B

Marie Callender’s.”
    “Thank you. I like making pies. Except mincemeat. We bought the mincemeat.”
    “I’m not a mincemeat fan either. It’s really just for Grandma.”
    “That’s what Nicholas said.”
    “He didn’t bring it one year. Grandma let him know that she wasn’t happy.” We both looked over at the old woman. “It’s a lot of work making pies. Especially the lattice tops,” Sharon remarked.
    “I enjoy making them,” I said again. “And Nicholas helped.”
    She looked at me with surprise. “Nicholas helped you make pies?”
    “Yes.”
    “Wow,” she said. “You domesticated him. Things must be going well with you two.”
    I didn’t know how to respond. Finally I said, “We’re having fun.”
    “Fun is good. He said you met at work.”
    “Sort of. We work in the same office building. I’m four floors beneath him.”
    Sharon donned hot mitts, then opened the oven. “Time to bring out the bird,” she said as she pulled a large roaster out and set it on the granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen. She lifted the lid, exposing a large browned turkey.
    At that moment, Nicholas walked in, trailed by Scott. “I see you put her to work,” Nicholas said to Sharon.
    “I did,” Sharon said.
    Nicholas said to me, “She comes across as nice, but she’s really a heartless taskmaster. Last year she made Scott and me put together the boys’ Christmas bikes before we could eat.”
    “Shhh!” she said. “They’re right there. Santa brought those bikes.”
    Nicholas grinned. “Sorry.” He turned to me. “Did you meet Grandma?”
    “Not yet,” I said. “She’s asleep.”
    “And don’t wake her,” Sharon said. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”
    “I heard that,” Grandma shouted. “I’m not a dog. I’m old, not deaf.”
    I glanced furtively at Nicholas, who looked like he might burst out laughing.
    “I want a Dr Pepper,” she shouted. “No ice.”
    “Would you mind?” Sharon said to Nicholas. “There’s one in the fridge. She likes it in a plastic cup, no ice.”
    “Sure,” he said. He retrieved the soda, poured it into the cup, then took my hand and led me over to the woman. “Here you go, Grandma,” he said, offering her the drink.
    She snatched it from him, took a long drink, burped, then handed the half full cup back to him without thanks.
    “Elise, this is Grandma Wilma,” Nicholas said. “Grandma, this is Elise.”
    “Did you bring the mincemeat?” she said.
    “Of course.”
    “One year he didn’t bring it,” she said to me.
    “That must have been really awful,” I said.
    Nicholas stifled a laugh. Grandma just looked at me. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Elise.”
    “You his wife?”
    “No. We’re just friends.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with marriage,” she said. “No one gets married these days. Why would they buy the cow when the milk’s free?”
    “Grandma,” Sharon said from the kitchen. “That’s enough.”
    “It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
    “It’s time to eat?” she said back.
    “She said meet, ” Nicholas clarified.
    “We got a turkey,” she said. “That’s all the meat we need.” She turned to Sharon. “When do we eat? I haven’t got all day.”
    “Nick,” Sharon said. “Will you carve the turkey? Then we can eat. Scott, take the rolls in. Boys, stop playing that stupid game.”
    The boys just continued playing. Nicholas walked over to the bird. “Where’s your electric knife?”
    “I don’t know where it went,” Sharon said. “I think Scott ruined it making the boys’ pinewood derby cars.”
    “That’s possible,” Scott said.
    “You’re going to have to do it the old-fashioned way,” Sharon said.
    Nicholas pulled a knife from a wooden block and began carving while I helped Sharon carry the last of the food over to the table.
    “I’d have Scott do the carving,” she said to me, loud enough for her husband to hear, “but he just makes a mess of it. I end up using most of it for turkey