Free One Week In December by Holly Chamberlin

machines, pretty much everything they have in casinos. Roulette, too, I think. Cliff’s into gambling now.” Lily paused. “At least, he was when I last talked to him.”
    â€œThis—contraption—sounds expensive.” And, Nora thought, the young man clearly hadn’t been worth the time, effort, or expenditure. He was into gambling? Did her granddaughter not find something problematic about that?
    â€œI know,” Lily admitted. “It was expensive, at least for me. I probably shouldn’t have spent so much money. But I thought he would really like it, so . . .”
    â€œI hope you’ve returned this thing.”
    â€œWell, not yet.”
    Had she taught her favorite grandchild nothing? Nora stopped stirring—her fingers were cramping a bit anyway— and put her free hand on her hip. “Lily, if I learn that you gave that boy the Lose Your Shirt on the Ponies or whatever it’s called in some ill-advised attempt to win him back, I’ll give you a talking-to the likes of which you’ve never heard from my mouth.”
    Lily smiled, but the thought of such a major reprimand scared her. Nora could be formidable. “I’ll return it first thing when I get back to Boston. I promise.”
    â€œAnd if you two do get back together, it’s that young man who will be buying you expensive presents for some time to come.”
    â€œYes, Grandma.”
    Nora turned back to her work, but Lily’s thoughts were still fixed on her former boyfriend and how he was supposed to have spent the holiday with the Rowan family. From there her mind latched on to the fact—she thought it was a fact—that Becca had never brought anyone home for Christmas or for any other special occasion. Not even a girlfriend.
    Lily asked her grandmother to confirm this. She did.
    â€œIn fact,” Nora said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Becca mention a close friend. Which, of course, do esn’t mean that she doesn’t have any friends. Becca’s been somewhat—private—since . . .” Nora glanced toward the door, then lowered her voice. “Since she was sixteen.”
    Lily watched Nora deftly, and with one hand, crack an egg into the blue ceramic bowl. Lily liked to eat baked goods, but she didn’t have her grandmother’s skill at making them. Maybe if she watched closely, her own skills would develop in time. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t. As long as there was someone around to bake cakes and cookies for her, Lily thought she’d be just fine. Cliff, she noted, was not a baker. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure he had any culinary taste or talent whatsoever. His diet consisted mostly of soda and processed foods. He liked Sno Balls, those pink and white things that came two in a package. And, when visiting the Rowans’ house, Nora’s cinnamon rolls.
    â€œWill you hand me that wooden spoon?”
    Shaken out of her reverie, Lily handed Nora the spoon and asked, “Grandma, do you think Becca seems kind of weird this holiday?”
    The dough ready, Nora began to shape small balls of it and drop them onto a greased cookie sheet. “I’d prefer to use the term ‘troubled,’ ” she said. “But yes, something is going on with her. When she was a child she was never good at hiding anything, feelings, little lies. She was the proverbial open book. I haven’t seen that part of her—the transparency—in a very long time.”
    Michael and Malcolm charged into the kitchen, interrupting the women’s conversation. Lily wondered if they ever did anything at normal speed.
    â€œAre the cookies ready yet?” they chorused.
    Lily looked at the fraternal twins, Malcolm so like Naomi, blond and of medium height and build, Michael brown-haired and lanky like his father.
    â€œThe first batch is over there. They’re still hot so