Winter of Wishes by Charlotte Hubbard

together when Megan was here.
    But he couldn’t blame everything on his ex. The sound of his son’s voice repeating
     the grace he himself had said as a child made him vow to do better in the God department.
    After the quick amen , both small hands grabbed for the syrup bottle, but Brett withdrew his. “After you,
     Taylor the Toad,” he said in a debonair voice.
    His sister’s eyes widened as they did when she was ready to protest her brother’s
     teasing, but then she demurely removed the bottle’s cap. “Why, thank you, Brett the
     Baboon,” she replied in a honeyed falsetto. “How very kind of you to wait.”
    Andy glanced down the table. Rhoda was smiling—and smearing peanut butter on her pancake,
     followed by some of the apple butter she’d brought from home. “May I please have the
     peanut butter when Rhoda’s finished with it?” he asked.
    Taylor poked a large bite of pancake into her mouth. “Who ever heard of peanut butter
     and jelly on pancakes? And you’re gonna eat that, too, Dad?”
    “Never hurts to try new things,” he replied. “Adds some protein and fruit, instead
     of pouring on straight sugar. Is that the Amish way to eat pancakes, Rhoda?”
    “It’s the way I eat them,” she said as she passed him the apple butter. “But then,
     my sister Rachel has always made fun of me for doing it, too.”
    One bite made a believer of him. The peanut butter added a richness, wonderfully complemented
     by apple butter that was darker and spicier than any he’d ever tasted. “Maybe we could
     entice Mom to the table for this—but don’t wait on us,” he added. He plucked a strip
     of bacon from the platter as he rose from his chair. “Might take her a while to come
     out if she’s still asleep.”
    Andy realized he was feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long, long time. No
     dull ache hovering behind his eyes. No knots in his stomach from juggling work and
     classes and fussy kids and an ailing mom. As he opened the downstairs bedroom door,
     another pleasant surprise awaited him, too: his mother sat in the chair beside her
     bed, putting on her slipper socks. Her hair looked like a gray haystack caught in
     a windstorm, but she’d gotten up without his nagging at her about eating regular meals.
    She glanced at him. “Bacon?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
    “It’s the real deal, Mom,” Andy replied as he stepped in to help her. “Rhoda’s making
     pancakes. She’s already got the kids eating out of her hand, too.”
    A clipped laugh escaped her. “Sounds . . . messy.”
    His brow furrowed—and then he got it! His mother had caught the old play on words
     and she’d played back. Andy slipped an arm around her as she started up out of her
     chair. “Actually, Rhoda straightened the kitchen and wiped down all the surfaces before
     she started to cook. Messy might be something that disappears from this house now. Can you imagine that?”
    “Nope. Too hungry.”
    Andy’s eyes widened. Here was yet another minor miracle: his mom wanted to eat! Was
     it wishful thinking, or was she walking a little faster, with more confidence, as
     they headed toward the kitchen?
    “Gram, look! Alphabet pancakes!” Taylor crowed as they approached the table. “I got
     a T and then an L, for my initials!”
    “I got a B and B, for Brett the Baboon!” his son chimed in. He was spreading peanut
     butter on his pancake, and he had fetched the grape jelly from the fridge.
    “ My pancake!” Andy’s mother teased, pointing a wrinkled finger at Brett’s plate.
    “B is for Betty.” Taylor glanced toward Rhoda, who was already pouring more pancakes.
     “But I don’t think Brett’s gonna share this one, Gram.”
    Andy took his seat again, content to watch this peaceful scene . . . letting the anger
     that had once filled this room fade from his memory, along with the vicious words
     his wife had hurled at him before she walked out. Megan had been a reluctant cook,
     at best. He could