She had a sudden, unexpected wish that their mother could be here, just for a moment, to see how her daughters had turned out—to meet her grandchildren, to see Hope so happily settled with Rafe, to see the completely unexpected success of their Sparkle book.
December always left her a little maudlin. She supposed that wasn’t unexpected, considering it had been the month that had changed everything, when she, her sisters and their parents had been hostages of a rebel group in Colombia. Her father had been killed in the rescue effort by a team of US Navy SEALs that had included Rafe Santiago, who was now her brother-in-law.
She wouldn’t think about that now. This was a time of celebration, a time to focus on the joy of being with her family, not the past.
She grabbed a black olive out of a bowl on the counter and popped it in her mouth as she carried the bowl to the table.
“I talked to Joan this afternoon,” she told Hope.
“I know. She called me, too. I reminded her that any decision about making a movie had to be made jointly between us, and each of us had veto power. Don’t worry, CeCe. I told her firmly that I wouldn’t pressure you. You created the Sparkle character. He belongs to you.”
That wasn’t completely true and both of them knew it. She might have written the words, but it was Hope’s illustrations that had brought him to life.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted as Faith and Mary joined them at the table carrying bowls and trays of food.
“Your problem has always been that you analyze everything to death,” Mary pointed out. “You know someone is going to make a Sparkle movie at some point. It’s as inevitable as Christmas coming every year. People love the story and the characters too much. If you like this production company and think they’ll do a good job with it based on their reputation, I don’t know why you’re dragging your feet.”
Mary was right, she realized. She was overthinking, probably because she was so concerned with making the right decision.
She hated being afraid all the time. She knew it was a by-product of the trauma she and her sisters had endured at a young age, but neither Hope nor Faith seemed as impacted as she had been.
Hope seemed absolutely fearless, spending years wandering around underdeveloped countries with the Peace Corps, and then on her own teaching English. Faith had plowed all her energy and attention into her family—her marriage, her children, the ranch.
Celeste’s life had become her job at the library and the stories she created.
In some ways, she supposed she was still a hostage of Juan Pablo and his crazy group of militants, afraid to take a move and embrace her life.
“Everything’s ready and I’m starving,” Mary said cheerfully. “What are we waiting for? Let’s eat.”
Dinner was noisy and chaotic, with several different conversations going at once.
“How did story time go?” Faith asked when there was a lull in the conversation.
She instantly remembered the shock of looking up from Dr. Seuss to see Flynn and his daughter.
“Good.” She paused. “Charlotte Delaney’s grandson, Flynn, and his daughter were there. I guess he’s in town to clean out Charlotte’s house.”
“Flynn Delaney.” Hope made a sound low in her throat. “I used to love it whenever he came to stay with Charlotte. Remember how he used to mow the lawn with his shirt off?”
Celeste dropped her fork with a loud clatter, earning her a curious look from Hope.
“Really?” Rafe said, eyebrow raised. “So all this time I should have been taking my shirt off to mow the lawn?”
Hope grinned at him. “You don’t need to take your shirt off. You’re gorgeous enough even when you’re wearing a parka. Anyway, I was a teenage girl. Now that I’m older and wiser I prefer to use my imagination.”
He shook his head with an amused look, but Celeste was certain his ears turned a little red.
“You said Flynn came into the library with his daughter,” Faith said, her voice filled with compassion. “That poor girl. How is she?”
Considering Flynn’s connection to Charlotte, whom they all had loved, everyone in Pine Gulch had followed the news reports. Celeste thought of Olivia’s big, haunted eyes, the sad, nervous air about her.
“Hard to say. She limped a little and didn’t use her left arm while we were doing the craft project, but other than that she seemed okay.”
“Who is Flynn Delaney and what happened to his daughter?” Rafe asked.
“It was all over the news three or four months ago,” Chase said. “Around the time Charlotte died, actually.”
“You remember,” Hope insisted. “We talked about it. He was married to Elise Chandler.”
Understanding spread over Rafe’s handsome features. “Elise Chandler. The actress.” He paused. “Oh. That poor kid.”
“Right?” Hope frowned. “What a tragedy. I saw on some tabloid in the supermarket that Flynn never left her side through the whole recovery.”
Somehow that didn’t seem so surprising, especially considering his devotion to his daughter during story time.
“What happened to her?” Louisa asked. At eleven, she was intensely interested in the world around her.
Her mother was the one who answered. “Elise Chandler was a famous actress,” Faith said. “She was in that superhero movie you loved so much and a bunch of other films. Anyway, she was involved with someone who turned out to be a pretty messed-up guy. A few months ago after a big fight, he shot Elise and her daughter before shooting and killing himself. Even though she was injured, Olivia managed to crawl to her mother’s phone and call 911.”
Celeste had heard that 911 call, which had been made public shortly after the shooting, and the sound of that weak, panic-stricken voice calling for help had broken her heart.
“She seems to be doing well now. She didn’t smile much, but she did tell me she loves the Sparkle book and that her dad used to read it to her over and over again in the hospital.”
“Oh, how lovely!” Hope exclaimed. “You should take her one of the original Sparkle toys I sewed. I’ve still got a few left.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Mary exclaimed. “We definitely should do something for that poor, poor girl. It would have broken Charlotte’s heart if she’d still been alive to see Flynn’s little girl have to go through such a thing.”
“You have to take it over there,” Hope insisted. “And how about a signed copy of the book and the new one that hasn’t come out yet?”
Her heart pounded at just the idea of seeing the man again. She couldn’t imagine knocking on his door out of the blue. “Why don’t you take it over? You’re the illustrator! And you made the stuffed Sparkle, too.”
“I don’t even know him or his daughter.”
“As if that’s ever stopped you before,” she muttered.
“It would be a really nice thing to do,” Faith said.
“I baked an extra pie,” Aunt Mary said. “Why don’t you take that, too?”
All day long people had been pushing her to do things she didn’t want to. She thought longingly of jumping in her SUV again and taking off somewhere, maybe Southern California where she could find a little sunshine. As tempting as the idea might be sometimes, she knew she couldn’t just leave her family. She loved them to bits, even when they did pressure her.
She