“Nothing against books,” Jill said, “but TV really is pretty fantastic these days.”
Nell added a bit of water to the mixture she was concocting. “You’re a television addict, Jill,” she said.
Jill shrugged. “I’m retired. I’m allowed to vegetate.”
“You’ll never vegetate,” Nell remarked. “You’ll be surprising us all until the very end, and I hope that end is a long way away.”
“Sheesh,” Jill said. “Me too. I’ve survived too many rough times to chuck it all in now.”
Life had indeed challenged Jill Smith, Nell reflected. When some forty-odd years earlier she found out she was pregnant, the father of her child demanded she have an abortion. When Jill refused, the cad hit the road, leaving her to raise her son on her own while building a successful gardening business. Jill had sold the business a few years back but still occasionally consulted for the new owners, had many friends, and was a docent at no fewer than three historical sites in Maine and New Hampshire.
But retirement wasn’t all rosy. Jill’s long-time beau had died the previous summer after a brief illness. Nell still had trouble accepting the fact that Brian Speer, a veritable force of nature, was gone from their lives. Brian, a retired banker, had been widowed when his son, Charlie, was only six and had raised the boy on his own. Charlie, now in his forties, had considered his father his dearest friend and had taken to Jill from the start. Jill’s son, Stuart, not the most predictable fellow, had nevertheless taken to Brian. How Jill managed to bear her loss without falling to pieces was anyone’s guess.
“What’s in the oven?” Jill asked, interrupting Nell’s musings.
“Blondies. I found a recipe that calls for the addition of coconut flakes and I thought it sounded interesting.”
“Never a big fan of coconut,” Jill said. “But if you’ve got any of those marzipan thingies left, I’ll have one of those.”
There were indeed still a few marzipan fruit-shaped candies left over from the other day’s candy making, and Nell fetched the tin. “I’ve got some very upsetting news to share,” she said, handing the tin to Jill.
Jill took a bite of a candy. “I’m listening. Yum. I love almond.”
So Nell told her what Molly had announced earlier. “She contradicted herself,” she said at the end of her tale. “On the one hand she said she wants to be with other men. On the other, she implied that the reason she’s breaking up with Mick is because he won’t leave Maine.”
“Sounds like she doesn’t really know what she wants. Not uncommon at her age. I read somewhere that it takes the human brain twenty-five years to fully mature.”
Nell shook her head. “I had visions of being one of the grandmas down the road. I just assumed that Molly’s life was going to play out the way she said it would and that my own life would follow right alongside.”
Jill raised an eyebrow. “You know what they say about assuming?”
“Yes, I do. It’s foolish. But Molly seemed to be promising she would stay here in Maine.”
“Promising who?” Jill challenged. “Not you, Nell. Maybe Mick and maybe even herself, but not her mother.”
“I know but . . .” Nell sighed. “I always expected that Felicity would fly far from the nest one day. But not Molly. She’s always been so rooted and content. You know, I was planning to give her my great aunt Prudence’s favorite serving platter for Christmas. Now I’m not so sure Molly would appreciate the platter, not since she’s turned her back on getting married and starting a family.”
“Single women need platters, too, Nell,” Jill pointed out. “They give dinner parties just like married women.”
“I know. I’m being silly. It’s just that I pictured going to Mick and Molly’s house on Sundays for dinner and Molly using the platter to serve the roast chicken and my helping to clean up afterwards and . . .”
“And all of you living happily ever after?” Jill sighed. “Sounds like you’ve got a major case of empty nest syndrome, Nell. Even the rooted ones move on. At least, they should.”
“Were you devastated when Stuart left home?” Nell asked.
“Not devastated, no,” Jill explained, “but not entirely happy, either. It was just the two of us for so long. Look, have you considered reaching out for some advice on how to handle the girls fleeing the coop?”
“No,” Nell admitted. “I haven’t, but it’s probably a wise idea.”
“Good,” Jill said, reaching for the woolly scarf she had tossed onto the counter upon her arrival. “Then I’ll leave you to your blondies. Um, could I have another marzipan thingie for the road?”
“Take the tin. I’ll make more. And by the way, what I told you is top secret. Molly doesn’t want anyone to know yet, not even Felicity, but I really needed to talk.”
Jill smiled. “My mouth will be too full of candy to say a word.”
Chapter 5
Molly had gone to Mick’s parents’ house for dinner, a weekly occurrence since the very earliest days of their relationship. Nell had sat at her own table with Felicity, trying to imagine what was going on around the Williamses’ table that evening. She wondered if Mick had detected signs of Molly’s withdrawing from him. He might not have, because he was extremely busy with running the farm. And why would he think that his girlfriend of almost six years was about to run off? If he did detect some unusual moods, he might simply attribute them to the difficult emotions a holiday could stir up. Mick was well aware of Molly’s troubled relationship with her father. He might assume that memories of the Christmases before the divorce were plaguing the woman who was effectively his fiancée.
While Nell’s thoughts had been with Molly, Felicity had gone on about how Pam had emailed her to say that she had gotten another promotional deal, this time with a big watch company Nell had never even heard of, and that the company was flying her to Los Angeles for the first photo shoot and that if Felicity wanted, she could have Pam’s Rolex because as part of the deal she had signed with this premier company Pam would be given their latest model ladies’ watch and would be expected to wear it in public. Nell had given the trusty Fossil watch she had been wearing every day for the past four years a surreptitious look and pretended to be interested in Pam’s news.
Now in her room, the kitchen tidied and Felicity doing her homework, Nell reached for her cell phone. She didn’t like to turn to her ex-husband for advice and certainly not for comfort, but when it came to their children she put her own feelings aside. Still, she hoped that Pam wouldn’t answer the phone. Nell didn’t feel up to hearing that perky voice that announced by its very tone that the speaker was beautiful and successful and a good deal younger than her husband’s ex-wife. Little wonder Joel had fallen for Pam hook, line, and sinker when they met at a very expensive fund-raising dinner for a very fashionable cause that Nell had been too sick with the flu to attend.
Fortunately, Joel answered.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Nell began, sitting back against the pillows on her bed.
“No. Taylor’s asleep and Pam just headed out to meet some friends. What’s up? Are the girls okay?”
So Nell told him about Molly’s decision to end her relationship with Mick and to move to Boston with, it seemed, no particular plan in place. “It’s come out of the blue,” Nell told him. “I can’t understand it at all.”
“Maybe she just has cold feet,” Joel suggested. “Maybe she just needs to sow a few wild oats before settling down.”
“But she’s never been the cowardly or the wild type,” Nell protested.
“Well,” Joel said, “whatever her motive, I’ll be happy to help support her until she finds a decent job. And I’m sure Pam won’t mind if she wants to stay at our apartment. We’re hardly ever there.” Joel sighed. “But why do I think she’ll reject my help? There’s been no change in her attitude toward me, has there?”
“Sadly, no,” Nell told him. “She doesn’t talk much about it, but it’s clear she’s still
angry about the divorce.”
“Not about the divorce,” Joel corrected. “About my instigating it.”
“Things could change. Maybe when . . .” Nell laughed ruefully. “I was going to say that maybe when she has children of her own she’ll feel moved enough to accept you back into her life. But now it looks as if she might not be having children any time soon, if ever.”
“Don’t leap to conclusions, Nell. You’ll only drive yourself crazy.”
But isn’t that a mother’s job? Nell asked silently. To drive herself crazy? “I’ll try,” she said. “Good night, Joel. Thanks for listening.”
“Good night, Nell,” he said. “Be well.”
Nell plugged her cell phone into its charger, slipped into her favorite flannel nightgown, and brought her laptop into the bed. Okay, she thought. Let’s see what the experts have to say about empty nest syndrome.
It didn’t take long for Nell to realize that the experts had an awful lot to say. One website claimed that the transition from full-time mother to “independent woman” could take up to two years. That was an interesting choice of words, Nell thought. Were the authors of the website implying that a woman caring for young children was somehow dependent on those children as they were dependent on her? Another website advised that a mother be gentle with herself while grieving the loss of her children’s presence under her roof. Good advice, Nell thought. If only she knew exactly what being gentle with one’s self meant. A third site declared that sympathy for the grieving parent could be scarce as children leaving the nest was normal and indeed desirable. That was understandable. And yet another explained that making empty nest syndrome more difficult to bear for so many women was the fact that they were also going through menopause and that in addition many had the financial burden of helping to support their parents. Nell was not menopausal; neither was she funding her well-off parents. In fact, her parents didn’t seem to need anything at all from her. Nor did her ex-husband. And soon, her daughters wouldn’t need her, either. What then? “I’ll have been made redundant,” Nell whispered to the room. “Unnecessary. Unwanted.” And who were you if you couldn’t define yourself as someone who was needed?
Nell read on. This particular website urged that a person choose to see the “empty nest” as an opportunity to revive old interests. But I have no interests other than my children, Nell thought. And she hadn’t had any other interests since the days when she had known and loved Eric Manville. The Eric Manville. Long before he had become a household name he had been her friend, her lover, and the greatest supporter of her passionate love for poetry. The man she had wanted to marry.
But that was all in the past. With a determined shake of her head, Nell exited the website and went on to another. The authors of this online support group opined that anticipation of the loss of a child under one’s roof was often greater than the reality of the loss. They suggested a parent try to imagine particular moments without the child in the house, for example, a Saturday evening or a Monday morning. “Without X, there is Y,” was the structure of this imaginative exercise. The future, referred to on this site as the “post-parental period,” should be seen as a time of great freedom. Post-parental. Nell shuddered. It was a cold and awful term.
Nell had had enough. She shut the laptop, turned out the light on her bedside table, and slid under the covers. She had taken her friend’s suggestion and had sought advice from the experts, but she wasn’t at all sure the words of wisdom had done her any good.
It was a long time before Nell was visited by sleep.
Chapter 6
Nell took a few sips of coffee before turning to the day’s edition of the Yorktide Daily Chronicle. The big story that morning of December thirteenth was the grand reopening of the dollar store in Wells. The event would feature the Silver Singers, a barbershop quartet whose members were all past seventy, and a professional balloon artist. Nell smiled—she hadn’t been aware that one could be a professional balloon artist—and turned the page. The first thing that caught her eye was a large ad taken out by the Bookworm, Yorktide’s independent bookshop.
We’re thrilled to announce that New York Times best-selling novelist Eric Manville will be giving a reading at seven o’clock on the evening of December fifteenth. Doors open at six-fifteen. The first ten people through the door will receive a signed copy of Mr. Manville’s latest novel, The Land of Joy.
There was a picture, too, a professional photo of the famous and beloved author. There was the so familiar slightly crooked smile; there were the large, dark eyes, so soulful in expression; there was the unruly dark hair. “Eric,” Nell whispered. She felt a strange tingling from head to toe. Only the day before she had twice thought with bittersweet nostalgia of Eric Manville. It seemed a very odd coincidence to find his name and picture in the morning paper. But of course it could be nothing other than coincidence.
Still, it struck Nell as odd that a New York Times best-selling author of popular novels, several of which had been made into successful movies starring big-name actors, would be doing an event in a virtually unknown little town in southern Maine in the middle of winter when there were no tourists to fill seats and stimulate sales. It couldn’t be that . . . Nell felt her cheeks flush. Could Eric have learned that she lived in Yorktide? Could he be coming here to see her? The possibility was remote but not completely out of the question. Was it?
Nell frowned down at the page. No. She had broken Eric’s heart when she abruptly ended their relationship in their senior year of college. There was no way he would want anything to do with her. Besides, Nell had read that he was married to a journalist who traveled the globe covering exciting stories in dangerous locations. Katrina Sinclair, whose picture was often to be found on the Internet as she was snapped accepting a prestigious award or interviewing harassed soldiers behind enemy lines, was tall and willowy with exotic dark eyes and a keen fashion sense. She was not the sort of woman from whom a man would easily stray, and Nell knew that Eric was not the sort of man even to contemplate a betrayal.
Even if Eric were single, Nell thought, what would a worldly, wealthy writer ever find attractive in Nell King at this point in time? She had done nothing particularly brilliant with her life. Correction. She had done nothing at all brilliant. Sure, since becoming office manager for Mutts and Meows she had upgraded the practice’s website and overhauled the billing system, and back when she was married and in charge of the country club’s annual charity ball she had routinely raised thousands of dollars over the club’s stated goal, but none of that was worthy of a headline. Add to those mediocre accomplishments the fact that she hadn’t aged particularly well and, Nell thought, you had a spectacularly average person on your hands. She had gained more weight than she felt comfortable carrying. She hadn’t bothered to eliminate the gray hairs that were creeping into view or to address the issue of the deepening lines around her mouth. Not like the old days when she had spent endless amounts of time on her appearance in an effort to uphold her status as Joel King’s perfect wife.
But long before those days, Nell thought, there had been Eric, a high-minded dreamer, aimless and happy-go-lucky. Intelligent, yes. A good student, no. Kind hearted. Generous. Gregarious, though someone who also appreciated the beauty and necessity of silence. It had taken about a moment for Nell and Eric to fall madly in love. It had taken about a month for them to decide they would marry after graduation.
All might have been well if it weren’t for the fact that Nell’s parents thought Eric unacceptable, and as soon as they realized their daughter’s intention of marrying him, they mounted a campaign to undermine the relationship. “He’s too bohemian for the likes of us,” Jacqueline Emerson declared. “He has no firm plans for his future,” Talbot Emerson added. “I want someone stable and ambitious for my daughter.” And that someone was Joel King, son of Mr. Emerson’s business partner.
In the end Nell simply hadn’t been strong enough to withstand her parents’ formidable will; she never had be
en. She broke up with Eric. She started to date Joel. They married, and soon after the wedding Nell stopped writing poetry; soon after Molly’s birth she stopped reading it, too. She had once known how to access the state of mind and heart that preceded both proper reading and writing, but those skills belonged to her old life. A life before marriage and motherhood.
Nell’s memories were interrupted by the appearance of Molly in the doorway to the kitchen. Around her neck she wore a silver pendant that had been a gift from Mick on her sixteenth birthday. It seemed an odd choice given Molly’s decision to end the relationship.
“I spoke to your father last night,” Nell said, closing the newspaper. “I told him about your plans.”
“Why did you do that?” Molly asked with a frown as she took a seat at the table and reached for the pitcher of grapefruit juice.
“Because I needed to.”
“What did he say about my moving to Boston? Assuming he even cares.”
“Of course he cares, and frankly, he’s as puzzled as I am. Still, he offered to help fund you until you’re settled and have a good job. And he said you could stay at his apartment.”
Molly’s expression grew hard. “I won’t take his money or stay in his home.”
Nell restrained a sigh. “You could at least admit it was good of him to offer to help you.”
“Dad thinks all problems can be solved with money.”
“That’s unfair,” Nell said sharply.
Molly reached for her mother’s hand. “Look, Mom, there’s a reason I haven’t spoken to him since I turned eighteen. I don’t like what he did to you. He treated you badly, and I’m not letting him off the hook so easily.”
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