Page 72 of Lonesome Moon

To Luci. Love, Mom

Inside were three more small dolls. Two children—a boy of maybe six and a smaller girl with pigtails—and an older woman with silver hair wearing a cardigan just like my mother.

“Mom,” I said, laughing. “What’s this mean?”

“What?” Mom said, the picture of innocence. “A house that size needs filling up. It’d be a shame to let all those bedrooms go to waste.”

Jack laughed way too hard, doubling over.

“I don’t know what you think is so funny,” I said to my brother. “You’re the one promising to make me an auntie.”

My mother took a drink of her cider, entirely unbothered, while the rest of the room broke into laugher. “These days, a household needs a grandmother, what with all you women working so hard.”

“Carol Wilder,” June said, clearly delighted. “You are shameless. But I think our grandmother doll needs a partner. Some dear little old man.”

“I don’t think so,” my mother said, clutching the cross around her neck. “I think that ship’s sailed.”

I put the children in the nursery upstairs and the grandmother in the kitchen by the black iron stove.

Ivy handed me another small box. “Given Carol’s gifts, this one’s even funnier than I intended.”

Inside was a baby doll, the perfect size for the carriage.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Ivy said. “Other than I couldn’t resist putting a baby in the nursery.”

More laughter.

“What? It’s the truth.” Ivy laughed, tossing her hair behind her back.

“Open the rest,” Knox said. “Here’s mine.”

He’d found a guitar on a stand.

“For when musician friends visit,” Knox said.

“Adorable,” I said, placing it in the parlor.

Blake’s was an old-fashioned turntable. “You have to have music, right?”

“How cute,” Ivy said. “If only we had some small Jack Wilder records in the shelf.”

“And some Ivy James,” Jack said, wrapping an arm around Ivy.

“Clearly, Knox and I are the most self-centered of the group,” Beck said, handing me his box. Inside was a miniature grand piano.

“I love it,” I said. “It’ll make me think of you.”

“Open mine next,” Madeleine said.

It was an expensive looking, very small, handbag.

“A little fashion never hurt anyone,” Madeleine said. “Anyway, accessories are important.”

“God forbid she doesn’t have the right handbag,” Knox said with a wink to Madeleine.

“This one’s from me,” Rhett said, placing a box in front of me. “And I’m sorry I was the only one who didn’t ask Santa to bring the dollhouse for you back in the day. I feel badly about that.”

“Don’t,” I said, holding up my hand. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”