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that, are you?”
    She shook her head, regaining her composure. “Nothing I ever did was this good. Besides, I’d never tell you something was good if it wasn’t.”
    She could see that pleased him. “Maybe we could get together again,” he suggested.
    Tanni nodded. “I’d like that.”
    “When?”
    “Anytime,” she said softly.
    “Tomorrow? Oh, forget that, it’s Thanksgiving and you’re probably tied up with family and stuff.”
    “What time?” She didn’t care what day it was; she wanted to be with Shaw.
    “You can get away?”
    She nodded again.
    “Five?”
    “I’ll meet you here at five,” she promised.
    Shaw stretched his hand across the table and clasped hers. He held on tightly, intertwining her fingers with his own. Perhaps, Tanni thought, she’d found a friend, after all.

Chapter Four
    E arly Thanksgiving morning, Emily Flemming tiptoed into the kitchen, moving as quietly as possible. She didn’t want to disturb her sleeping husband or the boys. As was their tradition, her parents had driven over from Spokane to spend the holiday with her family. She could hear her father snoring in the back bedroom, the sound comforting as she made a pot of coffee.
    Soon the house would be bustling with activity. Dave and her father would be watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on television, while the boys raced around the house and Emily and her mother worked in the kitchen, preparing the twenty-two-pound turkey for the oven. Most likely these few moments of peace were all she’d get. If she was going to pull off today’s dinner without her mother suspecting anything was awry, then Emily would need this time.
    She’d always been close to her mother, and it wouldn’t be easy to fool Barbara Lewis. Emily sat at the kitchen table, taking deep calming breaths, trying to control her emotions. Her unopened Bible rested in front of her. She’dbegun reading it every morning, seeking and finding solace in Psalms.
    The coffeepot gave one last sizzling refrain. She got up and had just reached inside the cupboard for a mug when her mother strolled into the kitchen.
    Barbara tied her long housecoat at the waist and covered a yawn. “I thought I heard you up and about. My goodness, what time is it, anyway?”
    “It’s early, Mom.”
    Barbara frowned at the oven clock. “It isn’t even five!”
    “I know.” As it was, Emily had awakened before three, tossing and turning before giving up any hope of going back to sleep.
    Her mother sat down. “The coffee smells great. Is it ready?”
    “It is.” Emily poured a second mug, added cream to both, and brought them to the table, joining her mother.
    After a few sips, Barbara looked directly at Emily, who tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t.
    “Something on your mind, Em?” her mother said, eyebrows raised.
    Hoping to distract Barbara, she murmured, “I was reviewing our menu. I was thinking we should make a double batch of stuffing this year. Everyone loves leftovers.”
    “We could.”
    “I made the cranberry salad yesterday before you arrived.” The salad, which was more of a dessert, was a longtime family favorite and served only at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Cranberries, gelatin and whipped topping were stirred together and placed in the freezer.
    Seeing that her mother was about to speak, Emily interjected. “Instead of Brussels sprouts this year, I thought I’dmake a broccoli casserole. I found a recipe on the Internet that looks absolutely delicious.”
    “Em…”
    “By my calculations, we should get the turkey in the oven around eight if we want to have dinner on the table by four this afternoon.” Emily knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself.
    “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or are you going to make me guess?” her mother asked.
    Emily closed her eyes, then abandoned the pretense and buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t someone who easily gave way to emotion. If she had been, the tears