Page 6 of Postmarked December

“The coffee’s in the pantry,” she said, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above the sink.

Marion helped herself to the bag of coffee and began scooping grounds into the filter basket of the coffeemaker as the phone continued to ring. “You gonna get that?” she asked.

Heather eyed the caller. “It’s an unknown number.” She handed the mugs to Marion, then filled the carafe with water and dumped it into the machine.

When her phone finally stopped ringing, she swiped up to clear the notification, but paused. There was a message. “Let me just make sure this isn’t something important.” She opened the screen, hit play, and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, this is Anderson Miller with Nashville News Tonight. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your late husband. We’d love to do a story on his life and work. If you could give me a call back at this number at your earliest convenience, that would be great. Congratulations, by the way, on the success of the album this year and the number one spot for ‘Christmas With You’—”

She ended the call.

“Anything interesting?” Marion slid a mug of coffee her way.

Heather set the phone on the counter. “Another reporter.” She sucked in a breath, went over to the fridge, and took out the cream. “I have no idea how they were able to get my number, but everyone seems to have it.” She handed the cream to Marion, who topped off her mug, as Heather’s mind went to what might happen when they went back to work after Christmas. Would people find out her place of employment and try to contact her there?

“Nothing’s private these days. It’s amazing how they can find that stuff out.” Marion stirred her coffee.

“Yeah…”

The coffeemaker beeped to alert that it was set to warming.

Marion came up beside her. “You look concerned. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“‘Christmas With You’ is number one again this year, apparently.” She climbed onto the small barstool next to Marion and slumped over her mug. “I should be thrilled, but it just reminds me of what I’ve lost. I have zero holiday joy.”

Marion put an arm around her. “Start by appreciating the little moments—baby steps.” She patted Heather’s back. “Maybe delight in a couple of nice dinners with friends and then a Christmas card or two. Slowly, you can build up to full-on holiday joy.”

“Speaking of Christmas cards, I haven’t checked my mailbox downstairs in two days. It’s probably overflowing.”

“Go check it then. If you find me a pan and a few eggs, I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Glad Marion was there to bounce her feelings off of, Heather gave her a squeeze. “Thank you.” She pulled a pan from one of the bottom cabinets and got out the eggs, bread, and butter. “I’ll be right back.”

Marion blew her a kiss.

When Heather returned, Marion had set them each a place on the oversized table that seated eight. When Heather bought it, she’d hoped to give her and Toby an opportunity to entertain smaller groups without having to use the dining space, but they hadn’t gotten the chance to do that.

Marion had lit the candle between their settings. How thoughtful.

Heather lumped the mail onto the counter while Marion set her mug by one of the plates.

“How can I help with breakfast?” Heather asked.

“I’ve got it. Scrambled eggs and toast aren’t exactly culinary enigmas.”

Heather chuckled and started sifting through the mail. “Toby used to do all the cooking, so I never really learned how. I probably should’ve gotten him to teach me a few recipes.” She ripped up a credit-card solicitation. “He used to make this meatloaf casserole that was out of this world. I used to make him cook batches of it so I could give them as housewarming and new-baby gifts. It doesn’t sound like much from the title, but it was delicious.”

“You don’t have the recipe written down?” Marion asked, untwisting the bread tie.

“Sadly, no. He was one of those people who just threw things together.”

Marion dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster.

“So much junk,” Heather said, setting a car insurance flyer on the trash pile she was making. “And not even the good junk. Remember when we used to get those sales catalogs during the holidays? My grandma got them every year, and we’d pick out what we wanted for Christmas. Did you ever get those in the mail?”

Marion shook her head, holding her mug with both hands. “I just wrote three or four things on a sticky note and handed it to my mom.”

Heather laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She set her electric bill to the side, then continued opening and discarding various mailers.