Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane

by Mary McDonough

  “As I loved you and still do.”

  Andie reached across the table and squeezed Bob’s hand. “At least that part of my life is blessedly simple. Our love for each other.” True love, she thought, is born of understanding. The Buddha had preached that.

  Bob smiled. “Ain’t that the truth!”

  “Still . . . I wish I had known myself better back then. I wish . . .” Andie laughed. “There I go again, wishing.”

  Bob leaned in. “What were you going to say, Andie? Go ahead.”

  There was never any point in keeping things back from Bob, Andie realized yet again. “Getting married and having a family,” she said, almost as if she was talking to herself. “It was what I was brought up to do. And face it, Bob, I never showed any particular promise academically or musically and certainly not athletically! I guess I thought, what else was I supposed to do?”

  “Why are you dredging all this up now, Andie?” Bob asked, his tone urgent. “What’s going on?”

  “I guess it’s being back here in Oliver’s Well. I guess it’s both Mom and Dad being gone. I guess . . .”

  “I don’t have to tell you, Andie, that it’s not healthy to dwell on the past. Especially not now, when your life is so good.”

  Is it? Andie thought. “What about Rumi?” she asked. “Clearly she’s upset with me.”

  “You’re a fine mother, Andie. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be hard on myself?” she argued. “We should all hold ourselves to standards of good conduct.”

  “But the standards you’ve set for yourself are so awfully high.”

  “And I seem to have fallen seriously short of them lately.”

  “If you set your standards too high, aren’t you just setting yourself up for failure?” Bob challenged.

  “Not necessarily,” Andie argued. “I think we need to aspire to be perfect. Even if we never achieve perfection.”

  Bob looked intently at Andie. “I’m going to tell you one very important truth right now, Andie, and I want you to really hear me. Your daughter needs you.”

  “Does she?” Andie asked ruefully.

  “Of course she does. Why else would she be punishing you for missing a silly party? She wanted you to be there. And she’ll get over being miserable.” Bob smiled. “She’s my own child, but I’ll be the first to say she can be a bit of a drama queen. Now, enough of Rumi. Tell me more about you. Are you still walking through the world alone?”

  “Not alone but on my own, yes. There’s something about me that allows me to do well without a partner. A self-sufficiency. I haven’t suffered, Bob, you know that. At least, not because of being unattached.”

  “I’m glad. Suffering is never good.” Bob raised his hand. “Now, don’t go all spiritual on me and say that sometimes suffering is good, because I just won’t change my mind on that one.”

  “All right,” Andie conceded. “I won’t argue, but I can’t agree with you. You know, Danny mocked me the other evening about being a vegetarian. I wasn’t going to bother you with that tidbit, but I can’t seem to stop myself from confessing all when we’re together!”

  “People always mock what they don’t understand,” Bob said. “It’s not right but it happens. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

  “But he’s a chef, Bob. He of all people should be open-minded about food cultures. How can I not take it personally? Besides, it’s not like my being a vegetarian is news. I’ve been one for the past nine years and he’s never said a word before.”

  “ ‘Ignore those that make you fearful and sad,’ ” Bob said, “ ‘that degrade you back toward disease and death. ’ ”

  “I wonder how successful Rumi was in living his own words of wisdom.”

  “Who knows? Anyway, I’ll agree that Daniel hasn’t seemed his usual self lately. I put it down to the business expanding almost too quickly for its own good and his needing to get your mother’s house off his back.”

  “So, you really like Danny?” Andie asked.

  Bob raised an eyebrow. “What’s not to like?”

  “Well, he can be self-righteous about his place in the family. A bit holier-than-thou.”

  “He doesn’t see it that way,” Bob argued. “He takes his role in the family very seriously. He’s gone out of his way. I think he feels entitled to recognition for all he does. That’s different from being self-righteous.”

  “Maybe,” Andie conceded. After all, Bob spent far more time with Daniel than she did, as brother-in-law, friend, and employee. His assessment was valid and quite possibly more accurate than hers.

  “Do you ever hear from Rita?” she asked.

  “No. Rumi has been in touch with her lately, though.”

  Andie felt a twinge of jealousy. But wasn’t love, after all, the whole point of this world? And Rita had been good to Rumi and for that Andie was thankful.

  “So,” Andie asked, “Rita is happy?”

  “I hope so. I should never have married her just to provide Rumi with a mother figure. Someone who could be there for her when I had to be at work, someone who could talk to her about girl things as she got older. Pretty stupid, huh?”

  “Not the impulse,” Andie said firmly. “Not the love behind it.”

  “Maybe, but I rushed into it. Rita might have been good for Rumi, but she wasn’t good for me and I wasn’t good for her. Luckily we didn’t have kids together. Our divorce was tough enough on Rumi. Well, my two divorces.”

  Andie shook her head. “We both seem to be in a reminiscing mood today. What about the present, Bob? Is there anyone on the horizon? Rumi said you weren’t seeing anyone but . . .”

  Bob laughed. “She worries about me. But no, there’s no one special. I’m not concerned about it.”

  “Good. We’re all sufficient on our own. We have everything we really need for a happy, fulfilled life already inside us.”

  “But it’s nice to have a friend, Andie.”

  “Yes,” she said. “We all need friends. Bob, do you really think Rumi will forgive me for not being at her party?”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure. It’s just that she took her grandmother’s death pretty hard and I think she doesn’t know what to do with her grief. She seemed to bounce back pretty much until her birthday came around, the big two-oh, no longer a teenager. Since then I think a lot has been preying on her mind. On Caro’s birthday in July I found her holed up in her room, going through every card she’d ever gotten from her grandmother. I tried to get her to talk about what she was feeling, but she said she didn‘t want to talk.”

  “Poor thing.” Andie sighed. “Emma also suspects that Rumi’s being so emotional about her birthday this year had to do with losing her grandmother.”

  “Mourning takes as many forms as there are people to mourn, Andie, you know that. Anger, lashing out, depression, lethargy, overeating, self-starvation. It’s all hard to witness, harder still to experience.”

  Andie smiled. “And I’m the so-called life coach!”

  “I learned from a pro. You might have heard of her, Andie Reynolds?”

  “Vaguely.” Andie looked at her watch, a Timex she had been wearing for the past twelve years. The leather strap had been replaced twice, but the watch itself still kept perfect time. “I’d better be going,” she told Bob. “Danny wants me to sort through something or other today, I can’t remember what.”

  “And I’ve got to let in the electrician. I might know a lot about pipes but not about wires.”

  Andie paid for their coffee, and with a warm hug they parted. She watched as Bob walked down Main Street toward where he’d parked his car, and she knew without the shadow of a doubt that she was so very, very blessed to know and to love Bob Dolman.

  CHAPTER 28

  Emma parked her car in the municipal lot and headed toward the Angry Squire. The evening was a cold one; she had read earlier that the overnight temperature was expected to drop to thirty. But being a person for whom preparedness was an ingrain
ed habit, she had brought a suitably warm three-quarter-length coat with her from Annapolis, along with a beige cashmere scarf, both of which she was wearing.

  Andie hadn’t asked where she was going, and Emma hadn’t offered her sister an explanation of why she was heading downtown at seven in the evening. And Daniel and Anna Maria were catering a private party that night for close to ninety people. The only thing her brother had time to be concerned with at the moment was cold shrimp, mini quiches, and making sure there were enough wineglasses to go around.

  Morgan was already at the restaurant when she arrived, at a table for two in the bar. She smiled as she joined him. “No grog?” she asked, taking her seat.

  “I figured I’d wait for you before ordering anything, grog or not grog related.”

  A waitress appeared and took their drink order, a glass of Prosecco for Emma and a shot of Jameson’s for Morgan.

  “I love this place,” Emma said when she had gone off. “It’s so unbelievably cozy.”

  Morgan agreed. “I’ve been to England several times on buying trips,” he said, “and let me tell you, Richard Armstrong has done a bang-up job reproducing the atmosphere of the classic English pub.”

  “And he hasn’t skimped with the Christmas decorations, either,” Emma noted. “I love the fact that it’s not at all gaudy but still festive. Simple evergreen wreaths, bowls of pinecones, that lovely tree in the lobby, decorated only in blue and red ornaments.”

  “Richard Armstrong,” Morgan said, “is what my mother would call a class act.”

  Emma smiled. “My mother used that expression, too.”

  Their waitress arrived with their drinks. “May I propose a toast?” Morgan asked.

  Emma raised her glass. “Sure,” she said. “To whom? Or to what?”

  “To Cliff and Caro Reynolds.”

  Emma was moved. For a very brief moment she thought she might cry. “To Mom and Dad,” she said, touching her glass to Morgan’s.

  “So, Emma Reynolds,” Morgan went on, “who are you? I mean, aside from being Cliff and Caro’s daughter.”

  That was a very good question, Emma thought. Who was she, really? It was what she needed to find out. It might even be why she was here in Oliver’s Well, to discover the answer to that question.

  Emma told Morgan as succinctly as she could about her career in Annapolis, that she owned a condo there, and that she had recently broken up with someone after ten years together. “Most people start to glaze over when I go any further, so I’ll spare you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Even if it’s for the best, I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

  “Easier than you think, for me at least,” she admitted. “See, it was something I should have done long ago. It was overdue. I feel bad about not having let Ian go long before, so that he could get on with his life.”

  “I don’t think anyone ever gets relationships—the beginning, the middle, or the end—completely right, do you?”

  Emma shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t know. Before I met Ian I’d never had a serious long term relationship. I guess I was too busy establishing myself, finishing grad school, working hard, saving up to buy a home, all of that.” Emma laughed. “There were years when I might have gone on one date, tops.” Then, though she already knew the answer, she asked, “But what about you? Are you involved with anyone?”

  “I’m single at the moment,” Morgan told her. “It’s been a long moment. About two years back I started to fall in love with someone I shouldn’t have. Thankfully I came to my senses. Since then, there’s been no one special.”

  Emma remembered what Maureen had told her, that Morgan was an honorable man, and guessed that Morgan had begun to fall in love with a married woman. But she didn’t feel she had the right to ask. The past, after all, was the past, and it was private. It could only harm you if you insisted on digging it up. “Children?” she asked.

  “No. You?”

  “No.”

  “It was a deal breaker in an early relationship, actually,” Morgan went on. “The woman I was involved with in my early twenties really wanted a family and I really didn’t. I still don’t. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that sometimes love alone isn’t enough when it comes to making a marriage work over time. So many other elements have to be in place, shared moral outlook, shared values, compatible goals.” Morgan smiled. “And a hefty dose of luck.”

  Emma nodded. Ian had never mentioned having children, she thought. For that matter, neither had she. “Did she leave you?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. . . .”

  “Oddly, no,” Morgan said. “I was the one to end the relationship. She said she would give up her desire for a family for my sake, but I knew that if we stayed together it would have been a disaster. I’d be constantly feeling guilty for not giving her children, and she’d come to resent or even to hate me for forcing her to make such a sacrifice. She’d come to see her decision to stay together and give up on her dream of a family as my fault.”

  “It must have been a difficult breakup,” Emma said sympathetically.

  “It was. It was a mess for both of us because we really were fond of each other.” Morgan smiled. “But I’m glad to report that she’s now married and mother to two boys, so there’s a very good chance that she’s happy. I hope so. On another topic entirely,” Morgan went on, “I meant to tell you, I was a guest at a small garden party your brother catered this past summer. He’s very talented. He could easily head up a good restaurant—if he were crazy. From what I hear, catering is tough, but it’s far more sane than the restaurant world.”

  “I’m not sure Danny’s ever seriously considered opening a restaurant of his own,” Emma admitted. “I’ve never asked him about it. He catered the Evergreen Ball at the Lower Waterville Country Club last night. He got tickets for my sister and me to attend. Supposedly there was a serious run on the shrimp puffs.”

  Morgan smiled. “I’ve had his shrimp puffs and I’m not surprised. You know, I can’t say I’ve ever taken to the idea of belonging to a country club. It might be because most of my family—the generations before me at least—are die-hard country club members and in my opinion, pretty obnoxious about it. Plus, I have an aversion to anything even remotely political, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve witnessed conversations over cocktails and canapés get heated over some ridiculous issue like a new traffic light or an empty promise of a tax cut. That was all back in the days when I was dragged along to country clubs by my Important Old Maryland Family.”

  “My parents belonged to Lower Waterville,” Emma told him. “After my father died my mother let her membership lapse. Actually, I used to enjoy going with them for Sunday brunch. I liked the pomp and ceremony, the sense of it being a special occasion. But the idea of actually becoming a member of a country club at this point in my life doesn’t appeal.” Emma smiled. “Maybe it’s the fear of fisticuffs and flying cocktails over a new traffic light or the empty promise of a tax cut.”

  “Do you know, I’ve just remembered something? I’m sorry it didn’t come to me before. It was about a year, maybe eighteen months after I moved to Oliver’s Well. My car died out by the Joseph J. Stoker House. I was about to call AAA when your father happened to drive by. There was no need for him to stop—I waved that I was fine—but he did stop, and he insisted on giving me a jump.” Morgan smiled. “Problem solved and a heck of a lot less expensive than AAA.”

  Emma laughed. “Dad fancied himself a mechanic. I think it was his secret wish to have his own garage!”

  “But was he happy being an accountant?”

  Emma considered this. “Yes,” she said, “he was. He liked to be needed. And he really helped people by sorting through their money problems and keeping them out of financial trouble. He provided a service and he was proud of that.” Emma leaned forward and folded her arms on the table. “You know,” she went on, “it’s kind of fascinating to hear someone’s impressions of your parents. Both my niece and my fr
iend Maureen told me things about my mother recently that took me totally by surprise. As children, even adult children, we see our parents with such a narrow perspective; we view them through such a blurry lens. I don’t think it’s possible for us—for children—to ever know a parent as a whole human being.”

  Morgan nodded. “I agree. Knowledge of a parent as a fully rounded individual is impossible, no matter how long you have them in your life.”

  “And I didn’t have mine for all that long, did I?”

  Morgan smiled sympathetically. “It must be tough losing your parents so young. I might complain about my parents on occasion, but at least they’re still alive.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said. “It is difficult, and not only because it makes you so brutally aware of your own possibly limited mortality. And it seems so unfair that someone who had achieved as much as my parents had in life shouldn’t enjoy a more extended period of, well, of relaxation. I don’t mean to glamorize old age. It’s not, I hear, for wimps.”

  Morgan laughed. “My grandmother reminds me of that every time I see her. Sometimes I think she blames me for having the nerve to be young in her presence. And from the way she tells me how challenging it is to get old, I think she’s implying that I don’t have the nerve to hack it.”

  “Yikes. Your grandmother sounds . . . formidable.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. And formidable women run in my family. Some day I’ll tell you about my Aunt Agatha.”

  “Still,” Emma went on, “I know my parents would have loved to spend another ten or twenty years together. They would have been a comfort to each other during the difficult times.”

  “Mortality. It’s a very good reason to make every single moment of your life count. I know that’s an almost impossible thing to achieve, but it’s certainly worth a try.”

  “My sister and I were saying the same thing the other day. Frankly, she beats me hands down when it comes to living consciously and, well, fully.”

  Morgan smiled. “Tomorrow is a new day?”

  “Yes. So, tell me more about yourself,” Emma requested. “Where did you go to school? What do you do when you’re not hunting down antique armoires and armchairs?”