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was golden, glistening with butter rubbed all over. Four more loaves and twelve more taps before she closed the door and said, “Another ten minutes.”
    Nick headed for the fridge, peeked inside. “What’d you have for dinner?”
    “Your favorite. Stuffed peppers with parsley-buttered potatoes.” She smiled and ran a hand through her hair. It was cut just above her shoulders, dark brown streaked with gray, like a copse of pine trees topped with snow. “I fixed you a dish to take home.”
    “Thanks, Mom.” At sixty-three, she was still a handsome woman, tall and slender, her movements measured and graceful.
    “Don’t think Gloria Graeber has ever stepped foot in a kitchen.”
    …with an opinion about everything. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    “You do that.” Her dark eyes narrowed on him. “And the same goes for that rent-a-heart doctor you’ve been flitting around with lately. She strikes me as a take-out kind of lady.”
    Lisa… she was talking about Lisa. How had his mother found out about her ?
    “And that’s no way to raise a child. Justin would hate it. You remember that.” She tsk-tsked at him. “No way at all,” she said under her breath.
    “Lisa cooks.” He paused, added, “Some.”
    “Oh.” She waved a wooden spoon at him. “Her name’s Lisa. I see.” She tapped the spoon against the palm of her hand. “And what did this Lisa cook for you, Nick?”
    How had they gotten into this conversation? He wished he could stop it, right now, yank the words back, start again. He’d shut up this time.
    “Nick?”
    He shrugged, jammed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Some kind of pastries with spinach and crab.” They were pretty tasty, too. “And shrimp cocktail.”
    His mother nodded her head, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “I know what you’re talking about. Sure do.” Her head bobbed up and down. “The pastries come twenty-four in a box at the Market Basket.” She tilted her head in his direction, lowered her voice and said, “In the frozen food section.”
    Nick wasn’t going to let on that she’d gotten to him. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll buy you a box sometime, see how you like them.” So what if she couldn’t cook? The woman was a doctor, not a culinary expert for Chrissake. And it was just a few dates, a diversion, that’s all. Lisa Kinkaid, staff cardiologist for North West Pennsylvania Cardiologist’s Group was a city girl, addicted to Sak’s, the theater, five-star restaurants and sushi bars, none of which could be found in Restalline.
    “Yes, let’s do that, Nicholas. And you’ll have to invite Lisa so I can meet her.”
    He smiled. “Sure, Mom. I’ll have her check her schedule.” No sense telling her Lisa wouldn’t be back for another month.
    “Well, I’m glad that’s settled.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and turned back to the oven. “I’ll just get these loaves out and you can take one home with you.”
    “Thanks.” Nick grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer, lifted the tin foil on the casserole dish. “Where’s Justin?” he asked, digging out a chunk of stuffed pepper.
    “He’s out back. Come to think of it, he’s been there quite a while. Maybe he wandered over to Frank’s workshop.”
    Nick took another bite of pepper, set his fork down. “I’ll go find him.” He went out the back door, down the steps and looked around, raising a hand against the sun. The memories came rushing back, crowding his senses, like they always did when he looked out over the land, acres and acres of it, some treed, some fields, but Androvich land, all of it. His chest still swelled with an indescribable feeling when he gazed out over it. There were a lot of memories here, most good, some bad. He and Michael used to climb the maple tree to his right, shimmy fifteen feet in the air, arms hardly able to circle the thick branches, skinny legs dangling in the air. It was just the two of them then, Gracie was still a baby. And Nick