Old Friends and Fedoras: A Jess and Libby Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Afterlife Issues Book 3) by A.W. Hartoin

Author:A.W. Hartoin [Hartoin, A.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The smell of turkey filled the house, every nook and cranny. I’d gotten up early and made two versions of stuffing. One went in the bird per Mom’s instructions. She was old school. Turkeys had to be stuffed. The other version went in a casserole dish to be baked later by me.

I got the bird in the oven on time, made coffee, and crawled into bed with Jess to watch the Macy’s parade. We’d done that every year since the kids were born. Hal would’ve been the one putting the turkey in the oven if we were at Jess’ house. We’d been there for Hal’s last Thanksgiving. Jess and I did all the prep work, giving my mom a break from it since it was the first Thanksgiving without my dad. As a reward for doing what he called the heavy lifting, Hal made us Pillsbury orange rolls and gallons of coffee, bringing them to us in their bed where we lounged until the last minute when it was time to get dressed and force the boys to set the table.

It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. Leo advised me not to try to replicate something that couldn’t be replicated, so I went down to The Grind where Sylvia was working until noon, providing the non-bakers of St. Seb with pies, rolls, and biscuits. I got us chocolate croissants and an assortment of Danishes, which the kids destroyed the second I got them on the island. Jess’ croissant remained largely untouched on the tray at the foot of her bed.

“I just want to sleep and have it all be over,” she said.

“I’m right there with you,” I said, wishing I’d bought more croissants. You can never have too many croissants when your philandering husband is coming for Thanksgiving.

“Do you think Derek will really come?”

“McCloud says he will.”

“My money’s on McCloud,” Jess said.

“Never bet against McCloud.” I slid out of bed. “We need more coffee.”

Jess snuggled down and pulled her comforter up to her chin, dislodging the cats who were curled up on either side of her hips, purring like mad.

“I’ll stay here,” she said.

The whole day?

“Okay. Be right back.” I turned to leave and Mariah walked in, fully dressed with her hair done. I have to say I was very surprised, and so was Jess, if I went by the stunned look on her face.

“I’m making Dad’s potatoes. Where’s the recipe?” she asked.

Jess just sat there, and I said, “I love Hal’s potatoes. I think they have cream cheese.”

Jess nodded.

“Mom?” Mariah asked.

“I’m thinking.”

“We have to have Dad’s tatoes. Everybody loves them.”

“I can help,” I said.

A quake went through Jess like she’d been shaken. “No,” she said. “I’m coming.”

I picked up Poptart, and she got out of bed slowly like she had before we’d moved to Number Eight. She was hurting again, mentally, physically, the whole rotten deal.

Mariah went over and hugged her. “We can do it.”

They stood there wrapped up together, and I said, “I’ll go make some more coffee.

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