1225 Christmas Tree Lane by Debbie Macomber Page A

her.
    â€œBen likes it with bacon crumbled on top.”
    â€œI can do that.” Olivia made a notation on her pad to add bacon to please Ben.
    â€œDid Jack make his special cookies?”
    Generally speaking, Jack in the kitchen was a laughing matter but he had managed to prepare his favorite cookies—chocolate-dipped crackers sandwiched with peanut butter. They were a hit every Christmas. The cookie had been his own invention, and considering Jack’s pride in the recipe, anyone would think it had won him a Cooking Channel top-chef award.
    â€œThe cookies are ready, as well.”
    â€œAnd what did the kitchen look like afterward?” Charlotte asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.
    â€œA disaster. I helped with the cleanup.”
    â€œYou’re a good wife.”
    Her mother had set a good example.
    â€œJustine wanted to serve beef Wellington, so I thought we’d do a turkey tomorrow.”
    â€œYou can’t go wrong with that,” Charlotte said.
    â€œNo, you can’t,” Olivia agreed. There’d be stuffing and plenty of gravy, too. Her mother would work with her and add her personal assortment of herbs and spices to create the distinct taste everyone loved. Although Olivia had watched carefully and taken notes, hers never turned out quite the same.
    â€œAnything else?”
    Olivia hesitated. With her mother, everything was homemade, from the dinner rolls to the desserts, of which there was always a wide variety. Pecan pie, fruitcake, rum cake, apple strudel and more.
    â€œI bought a couple of coconut cream pies from the Pancake Palace.” Half expecting her mother to berate her for taking the easy road, Olivia held her breath.
    â€œOh, that’s wonderful.”
    Wonderful? Olivia could hardly believe it. Her tensed shoulders sagged with relief.
    â€œEveryone knows the Pancake Palace makes the best pies in town.”
    Olivia understood how difficult it was for her mother to deal with change. It wasn’t easy for anyone, but the older people got, the harder it was. In her eighties now, Charlotte had coped with the transition from home to the assisted-living complex pretty well. She’d given up the house where she’d lived so many years of her life and surrendered much of her independence. Olivia was exceptionally proud of Charlotte and Ben. Naturally, there’d been doubts along the way, but all in all, the move had been a success.
    â€œAnything else you’d like on the menu?” Olivia asked.
    â€œMy homemade applesauce.”
    â€œOf course, with the sweet pickles from last summer.”
    Charlotte rested her hands in her lap. “Those will be the last sweet pickles I put up,” she said and, after a short pause, resumed her knitting.
    Olivia opened her mouth to reassure her mother that there’d be more pickles and more summers, then realized this was Charlotte’s way of telling her she was willing to give up that part of her life. No longer would she maintain a large garden or make applesauce and sauerkraut. The time had come to set all those endeavors aside.
    A sharp pang of loss stabbed Olivia, but then she brightened. None of those activities, those special times, were really lost. With a little planning and foresight, they could continue into the next generation, and the one after that, too.
    â€œJustine was talking about your pickle recipe a little while ago,” Olivia said, and gently patted her mother’s knee. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she decided to put up sweet pickles next summer.”
    Her mother nodded approvingly. “I’ll help if she needs advice.”
    â€œI know you will.” A shift had taken place in their family. It hadn’t been apparent at first and the irony of it was that Charlotte had recognized it before anyone else. Olivia felt a burst of joy. The recipes, the special familytimes, the laughter and the pleasures of being together would remain intact. Each