“He’ll come to my parents’ house for dinner. My sisters will be there, too, with their husbands and at least a few of their kids.”
Andie grinned. “Baptism by fire for poor Jim.”
“Oh, I think he can handle it. I’m more worried about what to get him for Christmas. It’s been so long since I’ve given a man a gift—I mean, a man not my father—I’m still at a loss and the clock is ticking. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, for cripes’ sake!”
“There are always socks,” Emma suggested with a smile.
“I’m not trying to send the man running!”
“Any clue as to what he’s giving you?” Emma asked.
Maureen laughed. “As long as it’s not an engagement ring! But no, not a clue.”
Emma’s attention was suddenly caught by a family of four standing in the front hall of the restaurant. “Cute kid alert,” she said. “My gosh, could those children be any more adorable? Fur-trimmed red coats, no less! And ringlets. When was the last time you saw a little girl in ringlets?”
“Those are the Welsh girls,” Maureen told the sisters. “Identical twins. Tara and Claire. I believe they just turned three.”
“That’s refreshing,” Andie commented, peering at the sisters. “Two distinct-sounding names. There must be confusion enough with the matching outfits, not to mention the matching faces!”
Maureen sighed. “You know,” she confided, “every once in a while, like when I’m with my goddaughter or I see little kids like the Welsh twins, I feel a pang of loss, if you can feel the loss of something you’ve never had. Still, I’m eternally thankful to whatever God there is that I didn’t have a child with Barry. That would have been a disaster. He’s completely irresponsible, and I would have been entirely on my own.” Maureen looked at her watch. “Oops, I’d better get going. I promised my parents I’d have dinner at their house this evening and I’m on mashed potato duty.”
“We’ll go, too, okay, Andie?” Emma asked. “If you’re in the mood, I was thinking we could watch Chocolat after dinner.”
Andie smiled “Sounds like a plan. What will this be, our fourth or fifth time?”
“More like ninth or tenth!”
“Rats,” Maureen said with a pout. “I wish I could join you. Johnny Depp? Swoon.”
“Next time,” Emma told her friend. Then she thought, And there will be many a next time if I decide to come home.
CHAPTER 72
Christmas Eve day dawned gray and gloomy, but the weather didn’t dampen Emma’s spirits. She was up early and spent a pleasant morning puttering around the house and taking in the enticing aromas coming from the kitchen—Andie was baking pfeffernüsse cookies. All was finally calm in the Reynolds home. What was it Andie had said they were celebrating last night with Maureen? Peace and tolerance. And to that Emma would add excellent meals, thanks to her brother.
Carefully Emma placed the gifts she had gotten for Sophia and Marco under the tree. For Sophia she had chosen a massively comprehensive book on the history of clothing in the Western world; recently Sophia had taken to teaching herself how to sew on her Grandma Spinelli’s old machine. For Marco, Emma had gotten a video camera he could attach to his helmet for taking films while riding his bike. For Rumi, she had purchased a gift certificate to her favorite online shopping source. It felt like a bit of a cop-out, but it was better than no gift at all.
Emma and Andie shared a quick lunch of leftovers before Daniel, Anna Maria, and the kids—who had both thankfully recovered from their brief colds—came over to begin preparations for the celebratory dinner.
At about one-thirty in the afternoon, as Andie and the children were in the backyard playing a game of catch, and Emma was helping her brother and Anna Maria in the kitchen, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Emma said with a smile. “You guys are elbow deep in fish bones!”
She hurried out to the front hall and opened the door. For a moment she thought she was having a hallucination, because standing on the doorstep, wearing his camel-colored wool overcoat and carrying his familiar leather weekend bag, was Ian Hayes. So much for calm, Emma thought. This is now officially a tempest!
“Emma,” Ian said, giving her a big smile. “I’ve missed you.”
Emma stood frozen, her hand still on the doorknob. She couldn’t find the voice to ask the question that was burning a hole in her head. What are you doing here!?
Ian gestured toward the living room behind her. “Aren’t you going to ask me inside? It’s kind of nasty out there today.”
Good manners kicked in and Emma stepped back, allowing Ian to enter the house.
“It looks beautiful in here,” he said. “The tree is massive! Let me guess—Danny picked it out.”
Daniel came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Who was th—?” he began, and then froze in midstride as well as word.
Ian came forward, hand extended. “Danny, good to see you.”
Daniel took the hand offered—the Reynolds children were so well trained, Emma thought, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation—and then managed a greeting that was also a question. “Ian?” he said.
Ian put his bag on the floor. “I’ll be right back,” he told them. “I must visit the gentleman’s.”
When he had gone off to the powder room, Daniel leaned in to his sister. “What’s he doing here?” he whispered. “Do you want me to tell him to leave?”
“First, I have no idea why he’s here. And no, Danny, but thanks. I’ll take care of Ian. Somehow.”
Daniel looked dubious, but he practically dashed back into the kitchen, no doubt to share the odd news with Anna Maria. And when Ian returned to the living room, Emma wasted no more time being shocked.
“We need to talk,” she said. “But there’s no privacy here. Let’s go for a drive.”
“We’ll take my car,” Ian said.
“No.” The word came out quickly and left no room for argument. “We’ll take my car.” Emma grabbed her coat from the hall closet and, neglecting gloves or a scarf, she strode out the front door and to her car in the driveway. Ian dutifully followed.
“You look well, Emma,” he said as she pulled onto the street. “Being away from the office these past weeks has done you good.”
If he only knew what I’ve been through, she thought. What we’ve all been through. But she said nothing.
Without much forethought Emma drove to Oliver’s Grove, parked along the curb, and climbed out. Ian followed and they stood side by side looking out at the bare ginkgo trees and the lacebark pines decorated with tiny white lights.
“I noticed the portrait of your parents wasn’t over the fireplace,” Ian said.
“Yes. We took it down.”
“Why?”
“A personal reason.”
If Emma had hoped Ian would be put off by her terse replies, she was disappointed. “I’ve always liked the Grove,” Ian said brightly “Well, the park as well as the town. It’s such a nice change from Annapolis. I—”
“Why are you here, Ian?” Emma blurted.
“We’re friends, Emma,” Ian said promptly. “We’ve known each other so long we have no choice but to be friends. Why can’t friends spend Christmas together?”
“Because we broke up,” Emma said carefully. “I didn’t want you here with me in Oliver’s Well this Christmas. I don’t want you here.”
“Oh, Emma,” Ian replied without missing a beat, his face a mask of—what was it?—mild amusement tinged with pity, like an adult fondly setting a silly child straight on some vital point. “You don’t mean that.”
Emma looked away from Ian, her mind racing. She remembered what Andie had tried to explain to her, that Ian was reluctant to let go of Emma and the rest of her family because they had become his family over the years. Ian was a man in pain. She had to remain kind in her dealings with him, no matter how final and disappointing her ultimate message.
But at that moment, standing at the edge of the Grove, hands sho
ved in her pockets and shivering in the cold damp air, Emma just couldn’t muster the sort of strength she knew it would take to finally extricate herself from this barely existing—and now, slightly ludicrous—relationship. Kind now, she decided, firm later. For the sake of her sanity and in an effort to keep yet more drama at bay, she would play along with Ian’s fantasy or delusion or whatever it was. For a little while.
“All right, Ian,” she said, looking out at the trees strung with delicate white lights against the gloom of the day. “You can stay. But we’re not sleeping together. That’s over.”
Before she could step away, Ian put his arm around her shoulder. She allowed it to stay for a short moment before moving out of his touch. “I should get back to the house,” she said. “Danny needs me.” Ian followed wordlessly as she walked back to the car.
CHAPTER 73
Daniel was preparing the stuffing for the calamari, a combination of rice, ground pork and lamb, minced herbs, and mushrooms. Anna Maria was putting together the clam sauce for the linguini. Their children had come in from the cold and were currently poking at the wrapped presents under the tree, trying to guess what was inside each. If it weren’t for the bizarre appearance of Ian Hayes, Daniel would have said that it was a perfect day before Christmas.
“I can’t believe Ian just showed up,” Daniel said for about the twentieth time. “What do we say to the guy? Emma broke up with him. We can’t pretend we don’t know.”
“Just be polite,” Anna Maria advised. “He’s a nice enough man. And if Emma says he can stay, she must be able to handle the situation herself.”
“If he upsets my sister . . .”
Anna Maria sighed. “Daniel, there’s no need to be macho. Look, Ian’s been a part of this family for a long time. I feel bad for him, really. He probably couldn’t face spending Christmas alone. What it must have taken for him to show up unannounced . . . Either courage or desperation, maybe a bit of both.”
“He could have some self-respect,” Daniel argued. “Doesn’t he realize he’s making a fool of himself showing up like he did?”
“Daniel, be nice. If not for Ian’s sake, then for Emma’s.”
“I’ll be nice. Heck, I like the guy. Or rather, I used to like him. Now I’m just confused by him.”
Anna Maria yawned hugely.
“That’s the third big yawn in the past half hour,” Daniel said worriedly. “Didn’t you sleep well last night? Was I tossing and turning again? You know you should wake me if I disturb you. I can easily sleep on the couch.”
“I slept just fine,” Anna Maria assured him. “And you were as quiet as a mouse. I just feel tired lately. It must be the fact that we’ve been working nonstop for the past six weeks, first with the Thanksgiving parties, then with the demands of the Christmas season.”
Daniel reached out and drew his wife into his arms, where he hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry it has to be like this,” he said, resting his cheek against her hair. “Once we sell this house we can afford more help with the business and you can take it easy.”
“Don’t ever apologize for our life, Daniel,” she whispered. “It’s exactly the life I want. Exactly.”
And at that moment Daniel felt gratitude flow through him as it never had before. This, he thought, is exactly the life I want, too.
CHAPTER 74
Rumi and Bob arrived together at the house on Honeysuckle Lane that afternoon. Andie was at the door to greet them.
“A bit nippy out there today, isn’t it?” she said.
Rumi shivered. “I totally should have worn my heavier jacket.”
“We had a bit of excitement here earlier,” Andie went on, lowering her voice. “Ian showed up unannounced. It was quite a shock for Emma.”
“I’ll say.” Bob frowned. “Is she okay? What did she do?”
Andie shrugged. “She didn’t send him packing, but I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Bob took his coat and Rumi’s jacket to the hall closet. “Well, it’s Emma’s business,” he said, “not ours, but if she needs our support, we’re here.”
“Dad’s right.” Rumi shook her head. “I hope he’s not here to start a fight with her. That would be awful.”
“Let’s not imagine the worst,” Bob said. “Well, I was told that my chopping skills are required, so I’m off to the kitchen.”
Andie and Rumi sat on either end of the living room couch. The aroma of freshly baked gingerbread filled the house, along with sudden waves of a more savory smell Andie couldn’t quite identify.
“Hey,” Rumi said, pointing to the fireplace. “Where’s the painting of Grandma and Grandpa?”
Andie thought quickly. She hated to lie, but she didn’t want her daughter to know the truth, either. “It’s being reevaluated,” she said carefully. “We thought we should redetermine its worth.”
The explanation seemed to satisfy Rumi. “You were pretty good yesterday at the reading, Mom,” she said. “I’d be so nervous standing up in front of a lot of people like that. I’d be afraid of hecklers.”
“You learn over time how to handle the pressure and the nerves,” Andie told her. “And how to defuse hecklers. It took practice. I wasn’t a natural. And I still get upset when a hater sends me an e-mail or text. It happened again just the other day, in fact. It feels like such a violation.”
“That’s so not right,” Rumi said stoutly. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that sort of abusive treatment. I’m sorry, Mom.”
Andie shrugged. “Comes with the territory, I’m afraid. And with the relative anonymity electronic communication allows, some people feel they have a right to bully and attack without repercussion.”
“Cowards.”
“Yes. But enough of that.” Andie went to the breakfront and removed a velvet pouch from the top drawer under the display shelves. “I set aside some of Grandma’s jewelry for you,” she said. “I was thinking that you might want to use some of these stones in your work. They’re not valuable money-wise, but . . .”
Rumi opened the pouch and smiled. “They have sentimental value, as much as the expensive stuff that Grandma gave me over the years. The gold bangle she got for her sixteenth birthday, and the signet ring once belonged to her aunt.”
“Exactly,” Andie said, sitting by her daughter’s side. “Your grandmother really enjoyed wearing her jewelry. It seems a shame that it sits around unworn.”
Rumi nodded. “Unloved. I know, I know. It’s an inanimate object. But I can’t help thinking that personal belongings become infused with a person’s spirit. I know little kids do it all the time; their teddy bear, or whatever, is totally real and alive to them. But I still do it, and I don’t mean just with things from the natural world like stones. Of course they have an energy and a personality! Who couldn’t understand that? What I mean is, stuff like that little Native American doll you sent me a few years ago from Arizona. She’s got a soul, Mom. I love her.”
Andie smiled. She was so very glad that Rumi was once again sharing her thoughts and her feelings with her. This was their relationship, this was the easy and natural give and take they had always enjoyed. “I’m glad you love the doll,” she said. And then she gathered more of her courage. “I was thinking that you might want to visit me in Woodville Junction next summer,” she said, “when school’s out. You don’t have to make a commitment now, and I know you’ll need to work, too. Just think about it.”
“That might be fun,” Rumi said. “I could finally meet some of your friends, the ones you’ve told me about.”
“And they could finally meet you.” Andie laughed. “I talk about you so often I’m sure they feel they already know you.”
“You talk about me?”
Andie put her hand over her daughter’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “Of course. You’re my daughter. I might be an . . . an unusual mother, but I’m still a mother.”
Rumi laughed. “Well, at least you’re not boring! Most of my friends’ mothers are deadly dul
l. Some of them have never been farther away than DC. Can you imagine?”
“No,” Andie said. “I can’t. Look, Rumi, I can’t make up for the time we’ve lost over the years—and for missing your twentieth birthday—but I can promise not to waste the future.”
“Thanks, Mom. And I promise not to be so childish.”
“Grief and longing aren’t childish emotions.”
“But acting like a jerk to someone you love because you’re upset is childish behavior.”
“Well, yes. Can I quote my poet?”
Rumi smiled. “Sure, Mom.”
“ ‘Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.’ ”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, Mom, I forgot to tell you! The Artful Soul sold all of my jewelry. I must have gotten the creative gene from you.” She laughed. “Dad can’t even draw a straight line.”
“That’s wonderful, Rumi. So, do you still think your making jewelry is just an unimportant hobby?”
“I guess not,” she admitted. “But I’m not giving up on being a dental hygienist just yet.”
“There’s no reason why you can’t pursue both paths. Life is long, if you’re lucky. At the very least there’s room for more than one adventure. Now I’m quoting the Buddha: ‘It is better to travel well than to arrive.’ Enjoy the journey, Rumi.”
Rumi laughed. “So, I can have it all?”
“No,” Andie said. “No one can have it all, and why would they want to? But you can enjoy what you do have and let go of what might have been.”
Rumi pulled one of her grandmother’s pieces from the velvet pouch and looked down at it lying in her palm. It was a cocktail ring featuring a cabochon lapis. After a moment she said, without looking up, “Dad always talks about how you’ve helped so many people with your work.”
“It’s what I try to do. Help people.”
Rumi raised her eyes and looked directly at her mother. “Maybe you should have stayed home and tried to help me. I’m not being a jerk again, Mom,” she added quickly. “What I mean is, sometimes when you try to be there for everyone, you wind up not noticing the person right in front of your nose. I guess since Grandma died I’ve been feeling a bit—ignored. Lost.”
Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane Page 33