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nearly colliding with Alex.
    â€œHey, what’s with you?” he asked.
    â€œMom is being a jerk,” she muttered.
    â€œToni, watch it.”
    â€œSorry,” she said in a perfunctory way, and continued on into the hallway and up the stairs.
    â€œWhat was that all about, Chief?” Alex asked, calling Lacey by the nickname he had given her soon after the twins were born.
    â€œShe wants to go out . . . with Ryan tonight. After dinner.”
    â€œIs that a problem?”
    â€œIt’s Thanksgiving. It’s a family holiday.”
    â€œYeah, but if they went out later?”
    â€œYou always take her side.”
    Wink shot Margot a raised-eyebrow glance, as if this argument was nothing new.
    Margot knew to keep her thoughts to herself this time. She gathered the dishes on the table and carried them to the sink. Lacey rolled the pastry onto the rolling pin and lowered it into the waiting pie dish. The dough was a perfectly smooth disk, without a tear. After easing it to the center she crimped the edges, her head bent to the task, her mouth resolutely closed. Despite her apparent agitation, her hands moved smoothly and adeptly, capable of creating the perfect crust even though her mind was most likely elsewhere.
    Alex took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “I’m going for a bike ride.” He paused and zipped his jacket.
    â€œNow?” Lacey asked.
    â€œDo you need me here?” He glanced at her quickly, moving toward the door.
    â€œPlease put me to work,” Margot said. She grabbed one of Lacey’s aprons off the hook. Alex looked over at Margot as if suddenly remembering she was there.
    â€œYou’re sure?” he asked, his expression already relieved. Before she could answer, he hurried out.
    Not long after, Lacey put the pies in the oven and began to peel the potatoes. She looked furious, peeling fast, the blade glinting in the light as if she wanted to kill them. Margot cut them into quarters, and added them to the pot.
    â€œAre you okay, Mom?” Wink carried her juice glass to the sink. She looked over at her mother, whose lips were still pursed in concentration. “I can help Aunt Margot with that.”
    â€œPlease, Lacey. Go have a rest,” Margot said. “You’ve been cooking all morning. Wink and I will finish this.”
    Lacey blinked quickly, an odd mannerism that Margot hadn’t noticed before, and let out her breath. “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe I am tired.” She wiped her hands on a towel, gave them a quick smile, and left the kitchen. Wink shrugged and shook her head.
    Margot reached for another potato and began to draw the peeler across the uneven brown skin. Unlike Lacey, who accomplished this task with a masterful competence even when angry, Margot struggled along, some peels coming away long and thin and others falling into the sink in jagged, thick chunks. She couldn’t remember Lacey ever admitting to being tired, but everything was different now.
    Wink finished cutting up the potatoes, covered them with water, and set them on the stove to cook. They chatted idly about how long to boil them and Margot told Wink she would take over and keep an eye on the stove. Margot was glad to be with her niece and helping Lacey even though preparing mashed potatoes was such an insignificant contribution, ultimately forgettable, merely a side dish at the Thanksgiving feast. Margot took the dishcloth and wiped the counter to clean up the last bits of potato skins, resolving that from now on she would do more.
    Â 
    At the end of the afternoon, when Margot was alone, she reached for the phone in her room, thankful that it was not in use. With everything that had happened she had completely forgotten to call Oliver. First she tried his cell, knowing it was unlikely he had turned it on. Oliver was not a phone person. He claimed he loved a good conversation, but face-to-face, or in the company of good friends. He