To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater Page B

for him, which is why I wish he’d talk to me now. In the fall when I was still on campus, I would bake him honey wheat bread in the dorm’s kitchen and bring it to him still warm out of the oven.”
    Claire grinned. “I didn’t know you could bake bread. I thought you were a klutz in the kitchen. When are you going to make us a loaf ?”
    â€œI don’t feed people who call me a klutz.” A smile cracked Judy’s lips then disappeared. “But seriously, is that how you felt about Dad before you two got married?”
    â€œI still do, though in his case, brownies are the path from his stomach to his heart.”
    With a jolt, Claire realized that she was Judy’s age when she married Roger. Accepting that her daughter might be ready to make that big step would be difficult. Claire studied Judy’s face, shining with anticipation and heartfelt emotion, and felt a rush of maternal protection. Heaven help that young man if he breaks her heart.
    Claire stood. “Let’s shop and make that basket. We’ll take it over to the Continos tomorrow. Maybe Nick’ll be ready to talk to you then.”
    â€œI hope so.” Judy managed to look anxious and excited at the same time. She joined her mother in the hallway and donned her coat. “What are you planning to put in the basket?”
    Claire threw her muffler over her shoulder. “That’s part of the fun of putting a gift basket together—the thrill when I find something unique that really matches the occasion or the person who’s getting the basket. I thought I’d start with a nice pen and some high-quality thank you notes or blank cards Angela can use for thank you notes.”
    â€œThere’s a stationery store on Main Street,” Judy said. “We can walk there.”
    They stepped outside, and a blast of cold air peppered Claire’s face with snowflakes. “We may need a hot drink before long.”
    While she briskly walked the two blocks into town with Judy at her side, Claire smiled to herself. She was looking forward to spending the afternoon with her daughter, sharing the hunt for those elusive items that made one of Claire Hanover’s gift baskets special.
    Judy turned to Claire. “Thank you cards and a pen won’t fill a basket. What else do you have in mind?”
    â€œSome soothing things, like scented candles or a book of uplifting poems. Are the Continos religious?”
    â€œCatholic. Nick doesn’t go to church much, but his mom attends mass every Sunday.”
    â€œOkay, some religious poetry or a book about taking your grief to God, or something like that. And some soft music. A gift basket should have something for every sense—taste, smell, sight, touch, and sound. What kind of music do Nick’s parents enjoy?”
    Judy thought for a moment. “Classical, I think.”
    Claire rubbed her hands together as they turned onto Main Street. “Good, I’ll ask at the stationery store where we can find some nice CDs.”
    An hour later, they each lugged three plastic bags of purchases, including a dyed wicker basket Claire had found for thirty percent off at an import store that carried Middle Eastern furnishings. The basket exactly matched the colors in the Continos’ ski house living room and could be used to hold reading materials later.
    The wind tugged at the bags, flapping the plastic edges. It tore at Claire’s face, too. Her cheeks were raw, her whole body felt chilled, and her feet were killing her. She spotted a coffee and oxygen café across the street called Altitude Adjustment.
    She angled her head at the café. “I need to get off my feet and have a hot drink.”
    â€œGood idea.” Judy led the way.
    Claire ordered a couple of vanilla lattes at the counter and searched for a place to sit. She spotted the blonde from Sherpa & Yeti’s two nights before, sitting with a young man with a scraggly