by Beth Labonte
Maple Sugar Crush
Beth Labonte
Contents
Last Thanksgiving
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Next Thanksgiving
Other Books by Beth Labonte
Last Thanksgiving
“I’m just so excited about the inn!” I said, scooping mashed potatoes onto my plate and passing the bowl along to my sister. “I have so many ideas! I’m thinking wind spinners for the front lawn! They have some amazing ones on QVC right now, so I went ahead and ordered ten. If Kit and Amy don’t want them, I’ll just donate them, well…somewhere! The funeral home could always use some brightening up! Oh, and you should really see the drawings that Kit’s mother did in her journal. They’re so gorgeous. Amy is so lucky she gets to work there—part-time, of course, since she’s still writing her books. She’s the best author. I’m hoping they let me work there too, even though I’m already so busy at Pumpkin Everything, and—"
I looked across the table at my mother, whose face had frozen into a semi-interested half-smile. I do tend to ramble. Or perhaps she’d gone in for a bit of pre-Thanksgiving Botox.
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve had something to look forward to.”
“What I don’t understand, is why do you still want to work at all?” asked Mom. “All this talk about working at the inn, working at the store. Why not just relax? You could be living down here with us, by the ocean, where it doesn’t always smell like pumpkins and manure. You could buy a yacht!”
“Autumnboro doesn’t smell like manure, Mom. And you know I’m not crazy about boats. Way too many ways to drown. Besides, I’m only thirty. I’d go out of my mind if I retired now.”
I glanced across the table at my father, because even in his fifties I knew he probably felt the same way. I often thought he’d have been happier had I never won all this money. All this money being the $458,000,000 Powerball jackpot I’d hit five years ago. I know, right? Go ahead and pick yourself up off the floor. I sure had to when I found out.
“I’m happy for you, Josie,” said my sister Meg, giving my hand a squeeze. “It’s nice that you’ve made a home for yourself in Autumnboro. And found such good friends.”
“Yeah, it must be so tough being a multi-millionaire,” said my cousin Audrey, glopping a spoonful of potatoes onto her plate. “I feel so bad for you.” She passed the bowl to her husband Randy, who snorted in agreement.
“Tell us, Josie,” said my uncle Burt, from the other end of the table, “have you booked a seat on that spaceship to Mars yet?” He let out a loud guffaw, clearly pleased with his cleverness. He made that same joke every time he saw me.
“Not yet,” I said, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of wine. “But I’m happy to pay for your trip, Uncle Burt. I hear it’s a one-way.”
“You’d better take her up on that,” said my aunt Carla, pointing a fork in her husband’s direction. “That’s the most generous she’s been with any of us.”
“That is not true!” said Dad, his own fork clattering to his plate as he glared down the table at his sister. “Josie has been very generous with all of us! It’s not her fault if you people don’t know how to manage your finances.” He loosened his collar and went back to eating.
This was typical.
I’d already spent the greater part of the day dodging requests for money. Everywhere I turned, another relation seemed to pop out of the woodwork with their hand out. Not to be one of those winning the lottery ruined my life types, but family get-togethers have become a major source of anxiety. It’s just a fact. My money, and what I’ve been doing with it, is pretty much all we ever talk about. They think I’m wasting it. The funny thing is that I mostly try to do good things with my money, rather than blowing it on the frivolous materialistic sort of junk they would choose.
After I’d won, I’d taken care of my immediate family first. I bought Meg and her husband Dave a nice house up in Kennebunkport, and set up college funds for my two nieces. Then I made sure they quit their jobs and pursued their dream of opening up a coffee shop, which they’d kindly named Josie Beans.
I bought my parents and my grandmother an oceanfront home on Cape Cod—where we were now enjoying Thanksgiving dinner—and pushed them into a relatively early retirement. Mom quit her office manager job of thirty years, and gleefully leaped into a life of leisure. She made friends with all the neighborhood ladies, took up golf, and sought out every anti-aging potion money could buy. I’d introduced her to QVC—along with the fact that Amy’s mother was a host—which may have been a mistake, but there was no stopping her now. Dad, who maybe hadn’t been quite ready to retire from teaching, seemed bored. He wasn’t interested in shopping or golf. He’d taken to walking up and down the beach with a beat-up metal detector he’d found at a local flea market. Granny lives in the in-law apartment and has been having trouble with her memory these past few years. Having her around to care for might be the only thing still grounding my mother to reality.
As for the extended family, I’d followed the advice of my financial planner by paying off their debts and gifting them with enough money that—had they invested it wisely—would have taken care of them for life. I looked over at Uncle Burt, who was picking his teeth with the wishbone. Not all of them had been so wise.
“She could always be slightly more generous, couldn’t she?” asked Audrey. “It’s not like she’s in danger of ever running out of money.”
“How much did you win, dear?” asked Granny, leaning forward with interest, as if I’d hit twenty bucks on a scratch ticket. No matter how much the family went on about it, Granny never managed to remember. The one time I refreshed her memory, she had to be taken to the emergency room with heart palpitations, so I’ve been playing it down ever since.
“That’s not important, Granny. More wine?” I refilled her glass with cranberry juice.
“What are you down to now?” asked Audrey. “Four hundred and fifty-seven mil?” Granny’s eyes widened and she clutched at her necklace.
“She’s joking,” I said, shooting Audrey a look. “Weren’t you?”
“Of course,” said Audrey, giving Granny a patronizing smile. “I was totally kidding. It’s all one…big…funny…joke.” She eyed me as she annunciated the last four words.
“What do you even do with it, anyway?” asked Randy. “You don’t travel, you don’t have a boyfriend…” He ticked each item off on his beefy fingers. As if he had any right to comment on my love life. Audrey’s no peach, but how he even ended up with her is beyond me.
“I donate to countless charities,” I said, placing one hand on my chest. “I just invested in my friend’s inn! Haven’t you been listening at all?”
“And here we are, struggling to pay for groceries each week,” said Audrey, shaking her head and looking around the table for sympathy.
“I have five dollars in my purse, dear,” said Granny, rewarding her with an understanding frown. “I’ll give it to you after dinner. But you have to promise to split it with your brother.”
“Granny, keep your money.” I turned back to Audrey and Randy. “I gave you two plenty,” I hissed, out of Granny’s r
ange of hearing. “How can you possibly not be able to pay for groceries?”
“Speaking of being thirty, Josie,” interrupted Mom, apropos of nothing. “Have you met any men up there in New Hampshire?” She talked about New Hampshire as if it were a faraway land, even though we’d lived there most of our lives. It was only two years ago that my parents moved from Nashua to Cape Cod, and I decided to start over fresh in Autumnboro.
“Of course, I’ve met some men,” I said, grateful for the change of subject. Even if the subject was still me, at least we weren’t talking about my money. “There’s Kit and Riley. Moose and Donnie. And Tom, of course. He’s the best.”
“Oh,” said Mom, her face lighting up. She gripped the edge of the table with perfectly polished, burgundy nails. “Who’s this Tom?”
“Amy’s grandpa. He owns Pumpkin Everything, remember? Drove his Jeep through the front of Dunkin Donuts? That’s why Amy had to come home in the first place, to make sure he didn’t get moved into assisted living and—”
“Never mind,” groaned Mom, resting her forehead in her palm and holding the other hand up in the air. “I remember. For a minute I thought maybe Tom was your age.”
“I wish. He has a girlfriend, anyway. Maggie. She used to be married to Peter Hays, who co-owned the funeral home. She still works there part-time.”
“Of course, she does,” mumbled Mom, running her fingers through her dyed blonde bob. “Meg, the wine please.” My sister passed her the bottle and Mom refilled her glass.
“The turkey was delicious, by the way,” said Dad. “You did a wonderful job, Josie. As usual.”
“Hear, hear!” said Meg, clinking my wine glass.
“The Winchesters hired a chef this year, did I tell you?” said Mom. “Michelin starred.”
“Which means they cooked up some sort of frou-frou tofurkey nonsense,” said Dad. “I’ll take Josie’s regular cooking any day. She’s dad-starred.”
“Thanks, Dad” I said, blinking back a few tears. His jokes were lame, but sweet. Exactly what you needed from a dad on Thanksgiving.
The first Thanksgiving after I’d won the lottery, Mom wanted to hire a professional chef to cook us dinner. I was so uncomfortable with the thought of us lounging around like kings, waiting to be served, that I told Mom if she didn’t want to cook anymore, I’d be happy to do it. She didn’t put up much of a fight, and I’ve been doing it ever since.
Once dinner was over, I went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and prepare for dessert. I may have gone a little overboard with the desserts. I’ve always liked to support Autumnboro’s small businesses, so this year I ordered pies from both The Plaid Apple and The Shaky Maple. But then, some high school kids stopped by the store selling pies to support the marching band, so I’d ordered a few from them, as well. Then some more kids had come by, selling pies to support the football team, and when I tried to tell them I’d already ordered from the marching band, they looked seriously offended and said, “We have literally nothing to do with each other,” and also, “Didn’t you win the lottery?” So, I ordered five more.
Then there was the flyer somebody left in my mailbox, saying that Grayson’s Turkey Farm was donating half of their Thanksgiving pie proceeds to the animal shelter, so I went ahead and ordered twenty from them. Twenty. I know. I ended up giving some away around town, and I left a few in the freezer at home, but even so…it’s a good thing Mom and Dad’s new house came with a big refrigerator.
I was half inside said refrigerator, trying to extricate the pie boxes, when the doorbell rang.
“Josie!” called Mom. “Could you come out here, please?”
I took a step back, closed the refrigerator doors, and took a deep breath. Some distant relative must have decided to stop by to beg me for money. This was nothing new, but I still hated it. I walked toward the living room, my palms starting to sweat as I rehearsed in my head how I was going to tactfully say no. Maybe if things hadn’t gone so wrong for me so early on, I’d still be handing out cash left and right. But people lie, and people take advantage, and I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes I just have to say no.
I walked into the living room to find Mom standing in front of the couch surrounded by three floppy-haired men. They were all various shades of blond and tan, dressed in khaki pants and identical black peacoats.
“Josie, this is Quinn, Dylan, and Brady. They’ve come by for dessert!”
“Oh,” I said, nodding around at the three of them. “Hello. Are we… related?” I glanced at Mom for assistance. I’d never heard of there being a Quinn, Dylan, or Brady in the family, but you never did know. Like I said, they popped out of the woodwork.
Mom laughed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I certainly hope not! Boys, introduce yourselves!”
“Hey there,” said Quinn, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the couch. “I teach golf lessons at the club. Shelly’s a real natural.” He gave my mother a wink as he mimed a golf swing.
“I clean your parents’ pool in the summer,” said Dylan, attempting to follow Quinn’s lead by miming a pool vacuum, which didn’t look nearly as cool as he’d probably hoped. He tossed his coat on top of Quinn’s.
Brady gave me a small wave. He seemed a bit shy. Almost as if Mom had thrown him into a sack and kidnapped him from his Thanksgiving dinner, which wasn’t out of the question. She’d had a lot of free time while I was busy cooking. “I shampoo at your mom’s salon.”
“Very nice,” I said, nodding politely as understanding sank in. “Would you three excuse us a minute?” I grabbed my mother by the elbow and marched her back into the kitchen.
“Aren’t they just adorable?” she asked.
“How much have you told them about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you told them that I won the lottery?”
“Of course, I did. Everybody around here knows that. They certainly don’t think a retired teacher and an office manager could afford a place like this!” She laughed as she leaned back against the island, sliding her hands across the granite.
“Mom,” I sighed. “I’ve told you this before. Dating in my situation is extremely complicated. Have you already forgotten about Dean?” Just saying his name made my stomach turn over.
“Oh, please. These boys are nothing like Dean. You met Dean online.”
“Who’d she meet online?” asked Uncle Burt, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. He whistled when he saw the stack of pie boxes, then walked to the refrigerator and helped himself to another beer. “One of those Nigerian princes? I bet she’d give a boatload of money to him if he asked.”
“Maybe if he asked me nicely,” I said, turning back to my mother. “Look, it doesn’t matter where I meet them, Mom. There are two things that I know about men: if they’re not after my money from the very beginning, they’re going to be after it eventually. And it doesn’t help when you’ve gone and filled them in on all the details before they’ve even met me.” I motioned toward the living room. “Although, Brady does seem sweet.”
“Doesn’t he? And he has the gentlest hands.” She practically moaned as she pushed me back toward the door. “Go! Talk to him! He can love you for your personality and your money!”
“Mom, no,” I said, turning back around and planting my feet. “I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t understand how hard this is. Now, I’m going to set out the desserts, and the guys are welcome to stay since I brought twenty different pies, but I will not be flirting with them or playing any sort of dating games. Do you understand? Promise me that you won’t keep on giving them the wrong idea.”
“Okay,” said Mom, holding her hands in the air. “I promise.”
I love my mother, but she didn’t keep her promise.
By the end of dessert, she’d talked me and my money up so much that Meg had to take Granny upstairs for a nap, and I found myself declining a dinner invitation, a weekend in Nantucket, and a marriage proposal.
; “I’m sorry,” I said, as the guys filed glumly past me and down the porch steps. “It’s not you, it’s me! You all seem very sweet!” Brady was the last one out the door, and I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “By the way, my mother mentioned that she’d like you to be a bit rougher when shampooing her head. Really shake her around, if you could.”
As I watched their taillights disappear down the road, I had a brief longing for the way Thanksgiving used to be. Back when I was young enough that my mother wasn’t obsessed with finding me a husband, and nobody wanted anything from me other than simply being present at the table. Then a wave of guilt walloped me in the stomach, as it always did when I thought about the possibility of life having been better before I’d won the lottery.
I drove home the next morning, happy to be on my way back to my quiet life in Autumnboro, where I had my job at the store and my upcoming involvement with the inn. My life was full. So what if I didn’t have a boyfriend? Nobody was meant to have it all. I’d already won Powerball, which made me luckier than nearly everybody else on Earth. It was a one in three hundred million chance.
How dare I expect anything more?
Chapter 1
“Do you know how many people in this town have no place to go for Thanksgiving?” I asked, looking over the top of the newspaper. It was the week after Halloween, and things were pretty quiet at Pumpkin Everything. Most of the tourists were gone, though they’d be back soon enough for ski season. Tom was dusting shelves while I sat behind the counter reading a copy of The Autumnboro Times. My dog, Pixie, sat on the floor by my feet.