Christmas Box Set

by Nella Tyler

  My second full day in Italy passed much like the first, with plenty of sightseeing to distract myself from the crushing disappointment and loneliness I was experiencing. It wasn’t that I hated traveling alone—I actually preferred it sometimes—but since I’d envisioned this trip with Maggie by my side, it was extremely difficult to now be by myself. The only light on the horizon was my excitement over seeing the Alfa Romeo Stradale 33. That excitement had only intensified in the last two days. If that car worked out, it would make up for this whole miserable trip. Until then, I’d continue to burn through time with shopping—I’d bought a few things for my parents, Jane, and Maggie, not able to help it when I found items I was sure she’d love—and playing tourist.

  Maggie

  Tuesday

  I couldn’t believe how pissed off I still was at Banks over the hidden bank account. What was worse, I was furious with BJ too, and that made me feel such intense guilt. But I couldn’t shake the anger, even days later. I avoided everyone, trying to work through it, even keeping the door to my office closed at the shop so I could try to process my feelings. Nothing was working. I didn’t even consider calling Mom. She wouldn’t understand. I did the best thing I knew—I called Brian Sr. to see if we could meet as soon as possible. He invited me over for breakfast at his place and I was so happy I almost cried on the phone. I could trust his sound judgment and I needed that right now in my life since if felt like all the other men I’d trusted had lied so easily to my face.

  I arrived at Brian Sr.’s at 9 o’clock. I’d already told Jackson I’d be in late at the garage. He told me to take the whole day if I needed it. I’m sure he and the other guys had noticed something was wrong with me yesterday. They probably didn’t mind having my crabby ass as far away from the shop as possible.

  As soon as Brian and I were seated at the small dining room table in his sunny kitchen, I just blurted everything out. I couldn’t stand keeping it to myself anymore. I needed the advice of someone I could trust, and he was my top choice. It was an added bonus that he knew BJ and Banks as well as he did.

  “I just found out something that really upset me the other day,” I said, dropping my eyes to the frittata Brian had made along with a heaping bowl of winter fruit salad. He was cutting and serving it as I spoke, dishing a slice onto my plate and another onto his own. “And I’d really like your opinion on it, because I’ve never been this furious with BJ and Banks. It doesn’t feel healthy, but I can’t change how hurt and upset I am over how they lied to me.”

  Brian froze, his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, which had dropped open, his bushy eyebrows pulled together in utter confusion. He set his fork down before he spoke, neglecting the bite of frittata he’d been about to take. “What happened?”

  I explained about my visit to the bank last Friday, getting worked up as I recounted the conversation I’d had with Jessica. “There was some hidden account I never knew about that the guys set up behind my back.” I was breathing heavily now and tears were stinging my eyes. I needed to calm down, but now that I’d gotten started, I didn’t know if I’d be able to do that. “Can you believe that?”

  Brian’s dark eyes surveyed me as he kept silent for a few seconds. I could see he was trying to decide the best way to move forward given my obvious distress. He knew me so well now, especially after the last trying year, but that worked both ways. I knew the meaning behind every single one of his facial expressions.

  “I actually can believe it, Maggie, because I knew about the account,” he said in a low voice.

  “What?” The word came out much louder than I intended and seemed to bounce off the walls around us.

  “Before we go on, I want you to try to calm down. Your hands are shaking and you look ready to burst into tears.”

  I pulled my hands into my lap and twisted them together. It wasn’t just them. My entire body was trembling. I could handle being mad at Banks. He was still alive and could redeem himself. But being this angry at BJ was killing me inside. I didn’t like that he’d gone behind my back, but I hated feeling this sudden distance between us. I didn’t want to be disappointed in him or to believe that he hadn’t respected me as his wife and equal.

  Brian Sr. continued to speak in a low, soothing tone that did me good just to hear, even if I didn’t agree with his words. “I knew about the bank account. BJ told me when he set it up that he wanted it to be a rainy day fund for the shop in case anything ever happened to him. Judy and I were actually the beneficiaries in the beginning, but after he met and married you, he switched everything over to you, as he should have.”

  I sat back in my chair, the emotions swirling in my gut and thickening into a soupy fog inside my head. The anger made less sense the more Brian spoke, like it was becoming disjointed, but I couldn’t shake it. I felt lost and betrayed by the men I loved, the feelings so big I couldn’t see a way around them.

  “Why didn’t he tell me about it?” I asked, my voice still elevated, but not as loud as it had been a moment ago.

  “He might not have thought about it, Maggie,” Brian said. “You weren’t married very long. He probably thought he had more time. Or maybe he wanted to use the money for something that would surprise you. I was the one who helped him set up the trust that included this account, first naming Judy and me as beneficiaries and later just you. There was no ill intent. He wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on you. He wanted a way to take care of you and the shop if something bad happened to him.”

  I wiped angrily at my eyes, smearing the tears that had welled up and fallen. “But that doesn’t explain why it was still hidden after he died. Look at this.” I fished through my purse and pulled out the print out Jessica had given me at the bank, showing the account activity over the last year and a half. Nothing had changed after BJ’s death. Banks kept depositing money and lying to my face by not telling me what he was doing.

  “I knew that, too,” Brian admitted, his kind face serious. “Banks is like a son to me. I watched him become the man he is today and I know how loyal and honest he is. None of this was done to hurt you or make you feel like a fool, Maggie. The boys told me what they were doing and why. It was an honorable thing when they did it for Judy and me, and it’s an honorable thing now. I hope you can find your way to seeing that.”

  The fury left me in a gush of exhaled air as my shoulders sank under the weight of everything Brian had just said. He was right. I’d been incredibly foolish to yell at Banks like that and then refuse to go to Italy with him. I’d probably ruined whatever had been growing between us. I’d just been so angry and hurt. I dabbed at the fresh tears running from my eyes as I wondered if Banks would understand why I’d reacted the way I had. I didn’t like thinking of him and BJ scheming behind my back and lying to me.

  The rest of the breakfast passed peacefully, with me wallowing in despair and Brian trying his best to cheer me up. I left a little before noon, still feeling like the weight of the world was trying to press me into the light dusting of snow on the ground.

  Eliza was home from work today, so I went over to her place, not wanting to be at work or at home alone. She pulled me into a hug the instant she opened the door.

  “You need ice cream,” she said, not even asking what was wrong yet. She knew me as well as I knew myself and could read me like a picture book. “Get in here.”

  I let her lead me to her overstuffed living room couch and sat there obediently while she went to the kitchen to get us each a bowl of ice cream. She returned with cookies and cream, our mutual favorite. I ate a single spoonful and burst into tears, sobbing all over my ice cream.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, putting a hand on my shaking shoulder.

  “I messed up!” I blurted out in a voice squeezed hard with tears and my too-tight, hitching chest. I set my bowl into my lap and dropped my head, really crying now, like what I’d done earlier at Brian’s had only be a dress rehearsal to this opening night performance. It was an ugly cry, but nothing Eliza
hadn’t seen before. Not just when BJ died, but during a few high school tragedies that looked so stupid in retrospect.

  “Tell me what happened,” Eliza said. She’d moved closer and now had an arm around my shoulders.

  I recounted the whole sorry tale while I blubbered and choked on tears. Eliza held me even tighter, ignoring her own ice cream to comfort me. I told her about the bank account and finding out that both Banks and BJ had purposely kept me in the dark about the small fortune just sitting there drawing interest. Even Brian Sr. had known about it and hadn’t said anything.

  At the end of the tale, Eliza said, “I don’t think things are as bad as they seem. Banks is levelheaded. If you just tell him what you told me and how it made you feel, I think he’ll understand. Just don’t let yourself get too worked up.”

  I nodded as I wiped away the flood of tears that was finally starting to abate. But I didn’t feel any better about where Banks and I stood. The anger had disappeared as though it had never existed in the first place. Now all I felt was a heavy sadness that was all-consuming, and dread that I’d derailed my relationship with Banks before it even had the opportunity to become something real.

  Banks

  Wednesday

  I wasn’t meeting with Mr. Mantovani until 11 o’clock, but I was so excited to finally get to the business that had actually brought me to Italy in the first place that I woke up much earlier than was necessary and couldn’t get back to sleep. I groaned when I looked at the bedside alarm clock. It was only 4 in the morning. I laid in bed for another 30 minutes, trying to coax sleep back into my grasp, but I knew myself and how my mind worked. Attempting to go back to sleep was futile. Ever since I was a kid I’d never been able to sleep past about 4 or 5 on a big day. Christmas, a fun vacation, a presentation at school or work, it didn’t matter what it was. If I was looking forward to something or dreading it, I could forget about getting a full night’s sleep.

  I finally resigned myself to getting out of bed around 4:30. I didn’t have to drag myself out of bed, either. I was wide awake and ready to go—yet another curse of how I operated. But it was too early to order breakfast by a few hours. I took my time remaking my bed and then laying out the clothes I planned to wear for the day. I’d arranged for a driver to pick me up in front of the hotel at 10. That left about five hours to burn.

  Groaning at my chronically overactive brain, I went to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. By the time I shaved, dried myself off, and got dressed, it was getting close to 6. That was well within room service range.

  I sat down on my bed and called in my order—another frothy cappuccino with the same selection of airy pastries. I could eat that same thing for breakfast for the rest of my life and not feel deprived in any way. I’d had some truly great food in the last few days. It almost made up for the fact that Maggie had left me to my own devices. Almost. Speaking of Maggie…

  While I waited on my breakfast, I retrieved my phone from the nightstand and checked it for incoming text messages and missed calls. But Maggie hadn’t tried to get in touch with me at all. I had more messages from my parents and even Jackson, who asked me to let him know how things went with the Alfa Romeo today. I had emails upon emails too, but I ignored those to answer the door for room service. Along with my meal, they also delivered an American newspaper.

  I sat down at my little table set up next to the doors leading out to the impressive balcony. It was a shame it was so cold or it would have been lovely to sit out there and eat while I read my newspaper. I had the time to read every article, no matter how boring, and get halfway through the crossword before 9:45 finally arrived.

  I put on my winter coat and left my hotel room, riding the elevator down to the ground floor to wait for my chauffeured ride. The concierge let me know when the car had arrived and I walked outside and climbed into the rear door of the long, sleek Mercedes-Benz when the driver held it open for me.

  I buckled my seat belt and sat back as we took off, watching the city rush by my window until we moved outside of it and into the rolling countryside. I especially loved the rural towns I’d visited here and in France. They had so much character. The cities had their own unique character as well, but I preferred the smaller spaces. It probably came from living an hour outside of Manhattan in a smaller city. You got used to a slower life, even though Danbury wasn’t exactly a tiny country hamlet.

  “We’ve arrived, sir,” the chauffeur said after a solid 40 minutes of driving, his Italian accent heavy.

  I perked up as we turned off of the main road and onto a long rutted dirt path. It was a bumpy ride through the winter landscape. In the distance, I could see a small house with a garage behind it that looked like little more than a glorified utility shed. The dilapidated appearance of it reminded me of the barn BJ and I had found the Caddy inside of, the roof so damaged it had fallen in, the tiles and rotted wood peppering the ground.

  The driver pulled up to the front of the house just as a man I assumed was Mr. Mantovani stepped outside, dressed in a puffy coat, a knit cap pulled down low on his head. He lifted one gloved hand in greeting.

  I got out of the car, a friendly smile on my face. “Ciao!” I called.

  “Ciao,” he replied, and then, fortunately, surprisingly, switched to nearly flawless English. “The car is in the garage.” He smiled at my shocked expression. We’d gone back and forth via email, but mostly in Italian. I’d used an online translator to read his messages and had run mine through one as well, making sure I was saying exactly what I meant to say.

  “My mother is German,” he explained. “She taught me the three languages she knew. One of them was English.”

  “My parents did the same,” I said, and laughed. “Unfortunately, that only accounted for English.”

  Mr. Mantovani chuckled.

  I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you in person.”

  “Likewise,” he said, and then nodded in the direction of the garage. “Let’s see my hidden beauty.”

  “Now you’re talking a language I really understand.”

  We walked around the side of the house while the car idled in the yard, the chauffeur sealed inside that warmth. The air was brisk on our faces as we crossed the yard and the Alps were tantalizingly close, their peaks capped with snow. Being here at this moment with the sky so clear over my head and the mountains hunched in the middle distance, I could fully understand why someone would choose to live out here full-time instead of running through the concrete jungle in downtown Torino. I often pictured myself working remotely from some isolated country estate—it couldn’t be so isolated that I didn’t have internet for obvious reasons, but it would be nice to look around my property and see nothing but open land with no other people in sight. All of the properties Mom and Dad owned were well within driving distance of a city, if not in the middle of a city themselves. I understood the desire for convenience, but having a remote country estate where Alice, Maggie, and I could live in peace just enjoying each other’s company would be a dream come true.

  Damn. I needed to stop thinking about a future with Maggie in it.

  Mr. Mantovani pulled open the clunky sliding door on the front of the garage. The metal on metal squealing of that door peeling open made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my spine straighten on its own.

  “It needs the oil,” he remarked, and then plunged into the musty-smelling garage.

  I went after him, breathing deeply, inhaling the smell of old machinery, which I loved even more than the smell of a good meal. Mr. Mantovani went to the corner and pulled an old cover off onto the dirt floor, revealing the Alfa Romeo. I drew in another breath as I approached it, taking in the sight of it. The curvy body and low windshield, the distinctive headlights—both of which were cracked along with the front and rear windshields. It was in rougher shape than I’d thought from the emailed pictures, but it was still quite a find. Jackson had already looked into parts for her and assured me, though it would be costly to restore this
car, we’d definitely be able to do it.

  “Can you start her up?” I asked, not taking my eyes off of the car.

  “Si, si.” Mr. Mantovani got into the car, put the key into the ignition, and started the car. The engine didn’t sound great, but the fact that it started at all given its condition was a bonus. The Caddy hadn’t done that.

  I walked around the opposite side of the car, moving in a complete circle to drink in every detail. I asked a few more questions that Mr. Mantovani answered easily. He’d owned the car for a number of years but stopped driving it some time ago, which explained how rough she was. I was an old hand at these kinds of negotiations, but this guy knew full well that he had a real gem here, and he wasn’t going to let go of it unless the price was right. I had to respect that, even if it did mean I was going to end up paying more.

  “How much do you want for her?” I asked. He’d popped the hood and I’d gotten a good look at her guts. She needed plenty of improvements, but I was confident that I could make her shine again.

  “Three million American dollars,” Mr. Mantovani said.

  I didn’t react, though the number was quite a bit higher than I’d expected to hear. But the fact of the matter was, once I got the car restored, I’d be able to sell her for double that amount, easy. I shook my head.

  “That’s too high,” I said. “The engine sounds like it’s about to give out and there’s a fair bit of damage to the body and glass.”

  “Make me an offer,” he replied, not taking offense at my words.