“From what I hear about you, it will be hard for you to sit idle for even five minutes, but just pull a stool up to the breakfast bar and visit with us. You’re going to love this,” he promised, turning back to the stove. “How about a glass of wine?”

“Perfect,” she accepted. “Something white and maybe dry?”

“Red is better for you,” he said. “How about a merlot?”

“Office hours are over, Carl,” Vivian scolded, getting out the glasses and pouring Maureen the same chardonnay that she had for herself.

When Maureen had her glass, she said, “Now, I want to hear all about how the two of you met.”

Carl had a rumbling laugh that Maureen instantly loved. He was truly a beautiful man; his blended background gave his complexion the color of heavily creamed coffee and his large, dark eyes had a slight, almost exotic slant. He was well over six feet, perhaps as tall as six-four, while Vivian was a small average at about five-four. She was petite and he was large; he was dark brown and she was pale blond. And yet they seemed perfect for each other. They joked and bantered and shared quick affectionate pets and pats in the kitchen while they worked together.

“How we met is pretty boring. My partner hired Vivian. The practice was getting very busy and, rather than bringing in a fourth doctor, we decided on a PA.”

“I worked for a women’s health clinic in Santa Rosa for years before moving up here with Franci. I didn’t think my chance of finding a good PA’s position here was very good, given the size of the county. And it turned out I landed the best job at the best doctor’s office in the entire state.”

Carl turned from the stove and grinned. “She might be just slightly prejudiced about that. We have a nice little practice. We do some good work.”

“So, your partner hired her, and then what happened?” Maureen boldly asked.

Both Vivian and Carl turned and gave her their full attention for a moment, as though it was curious she asked. Then Carl answered, “We had good rapport but, at the time we started working together, my wife was very ill, and shortly after that she died. Honestly, I couldn’t focus on much else at the time. It was a year after my wife’s death before I asked Vivian for a bona fide date. We’ve been dating since—a little over a year. But my wife has only been gone two years, and my kids, still under twenty, haven’t adjusted very well. My nineteen-year-old daughter, especially. She really can’t imagine me with a significant other and I’m giving her plenty of time.” Then he smiled broadly, put his arm around Vivian and pulled her closer. “Plenty of time, but not forever. She’s in her second year of college and soon we’re going to talk about how everyone gets a life, not just the kids.”

Carl prepared an astonishingly good goulash and they sat around the dining table long past dinner, visiting and laughing. Carl was the one to clear the table and serve slices of cheesecake with coffee, extending their good time. When it was time to clean up, Vivian and Carl wouldn’t let Maureen in the kitchen. She was shuffled off to the living room to watch TV, read or do her needlepoint, and they promised to join her in just a few minutes.

While she sat in the chair that had become hers, she found herself thinking that even though she’d lived independently, happily, she’d somehow allowed her life to become too narrow. She had quite a lot of friends, but they were acquaintances really—people she’d known for years, but none of them felt as close as Vivian had become in just weeks. She’d been constantly busy—activities day in and day out, and yet nothing really got her motor running. She never took chances, never tried anything the least bit daring. She was stunned and embarrassed by her surprise to find Vivian in love with a black man, and how narrow was that?

Or how about an almost-nun traveling the country in an RV with a minister?

In the end it was what she heard in the kitchen that filled her with envy. When the water stopped running and she could hear the quiet sounds of conversation and soft laughter as dishes and flatware were being stored away, she longed for that in her life. A deep and romantic relationship, love and affection, laughter and adventure.

She heard Vivian giggle and Carl purr. Six months suddenly seemed like a very long time, and right then she offered up a promise to herself.

I’m in my sixties; it’s late to become enlightened. I hereby vow to be relentlessly happy, ridiculously daring, outrageously open-minded and passionately optimistic.

At the onset of Thanksgiving week, specifically on Sunday at noon, Jack’s Bar was full of people with bags and boxes filled with nonperishable food items. Jack and Preacher had been collecting the donations for Thanksgiving baskets for a couple of weeks. Jack liked the idea of presenting the food in a classy Harry & David type basket with a beautiful arrangement of food, but that was impractical for what they had in mind. Instead, he went to a shipping outlet and bought some sturdy boxes.

For the past couple of months Jack and Preacher had had a jar on the bar with a sign on it that said Donations for Thanksgiving Baskets. They had collected more than enough money to buy nonperishable canned turkey and ham and some apples and oranges. In this, the first year of their project, they estimated they would deliver fifteen boxes of food to needy individuals and families. Noah Kincaid and Mel Sheridan had managed to come up with a list of folks who could use some help. If they had surplus after arranging these boxes of food, Mel would have no trouble coming up with more names; she was the one with the most experience in outreach.

Jack was supervising the stocking of the boxes—cans of vegetables, powdered milk, instant potatoes and rice, gravy mix, boxed stuffing, even canned cranberries. There were things that didn’t really fit on the Thanksgiving menu that people would be happy to have if their budgets were tight—fruit cocktail, canned pork and beans, chili mix, lentils, black-eyed peas, chicken soup. “Cocktail weenies?” he asked, holding up a little can. “Who gives cocktail weenies to a needy family?”

“I mighta done that,” said Hope McCrea, pushing her big black glasses up on her nose.

“The can is bulging,” Jack said.

“Been a while since I had a yen for cocktail weenies,” Hope replied, unrepentant.

Jack pitched the can in the trash. “Sorry, Hope. Can’t take a chance on killing anyone our first try at this.” He pulled out a bag from the Dollar Store that was filled with little can openers. He passed them out to his wife, Noah and Ellie, Preacher and Paige, Mike and Brie. George Davenport was on hand to help, of course. “Make sure one of these goes in every box. Mel, are you taking care of the boxes for families with babies? We’ve got diapers, formula and baby food.”

“I’m on it,” she said. “The neediest people Noah and I see are either families with small children or the elderly. Right, Noah?”

“Right,” he affirmed.

“There’s more than fifteen families who need help, huh,” Jack said, and it wasn’t a question. “We should’ve been doing this for years. Preacher, why didn’t we ever do this before?” he asked.

“Because we do everything else,” Preacher said. And this was true—wherever help was needed, they tried to pitch in. It wasn’t unusual to see Jack and Preacher under the hoods of cars and trucks, or picking up groceries for widows and young mothers while they bought their bar stock. They helped Mel and Cameron at the clinic when asked, and of course they were on hand for any kind of search and rescue around the mountains. Last winter a school bus slid off the road and down the mountainside and all the men from town were there instantly, ready to assist emergency responders. Jack was the first one on the scene and Preacher was the second.

Noah laughed at Preacher’s remark. “From all I can see, people in this town do a fine job of lending a hand wherever they can. My house is almost habitable, thanks to the neighbors. We might not be able to cook a turkey in it this year, but we’ll be in there for Christmas. The kids are going to have Santa in their own house.” He looked around the bar. “Who’s on board to deliver these boxes of food?”

Every hand went up and Noah laughed again. “Then I guess the job gets done fast and easy! Just don’t leave anything on a doorstep—you have to put it in the hands of an adult, otherwise wildlife could get into it. If there’s no adult, we’ll go back a second time. I know it’s not Thanksgiving till Thursday, but I think it’s practical to distribute now. Those who are able might try to save this for a holiday dinner they wouldn’t otherwise have and those who are not able…” He paused. “Are not able to wait,” he finally said.

“I’m a little embarrassed it took some city-boy preacher to get a project like this going in our own town,” Jack said. “We should’ve been on this. We start for Christmas right away. And then we get going on holiday baskets for next year in July. And, Hope, don’t be throwing any of your old weenies in the basket.”

“You never know who’s in the mood for a weenie,” she said with a sparkle in her eye.

“I would give anything to see the inside of that mausoleum you live in,” Jack muttered.

“It’s filled to the ceiling with little cans of cocktail weenies,” she said.

The door to the bar opened and Dan Brady and Cheryl Creighton came in. Dan was carrying a large box and Cheryl held on to two bags. “Are we too late to add to the Thanksgiving baskets?” Dan asked. “We meant to get this done sooner…”

“You’re in time, no problem. In fact, if we figured right, you might be bringing us surplus, which means we can add a couple of families to our list,” Jack said. He looked in the box Dan held and pulled out a jar of dark liquid. “Prune juice?” he said.

“I am not drinking that stuff. Ever,” Dan said.

“Jack,” Noah said with laughter in his voice. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gave a little shake. “Really, you can’t be judging people’s contributions.” But he laughed some more.

“It’s icky, but it’s nutritious,” Cheryl said. “Lotta vitamins in it. And I stopped in at the truck stop diner I used to work in and talked the owner out of some bulk-size canned goods—they’re out in Dan’s truck. You can probably figure out a way to use them in your food drive.”

Jack was just standing still, looking at Cheryl with a smile on his face. “It’s nice you’re here,” he said. “I don’t know what possessed you to hook up with that lunatic,” Jack said, smiling at Dan.” But it’s real nice you’re here. Thanks.”

She threaded her fingers in Dan’s, staking her claim, but she smiled at Jack. “No thanks necessary.”

“Did you put that house of yours on the market?” Jack asked.

“I did. The Realtor seems to think it’ll sell pretty easy. Dan made it beautiful.”

“Will you come around sometimes after it’s sold?” Jack asked. “Maybe let me buy you dinner?”

She laughed. During her drinking days, Jack wouldn’t let her in the door. “You serve food in this place?” She slipped her arm around Dan’s waist and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll pop in once in a while, just to say hello.”

“We’d like that, Cheryl,” Preacher said. “Come Thursday if you don’t have other plans.”

“I work at the community college during the week.”

Dan laughed and gave her a squeeze. “Not this week, honey. It’s Thanksgiving.”

She looked momentarily startled. “And you’re open on Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“A few of us like to get together,” Preacher said. “And I put on a real culinary show. You shouldn’t miss it. Four o’clock.”