“You could still be friends with Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” Molly argued.
“Molly. It’s not that simple.” Nell resisted the impulse to rub her temples. It was difficult to believe her daughter could be so naïve or so willfully ignorant of the effects of what she was so poorly planning to do. Hadn’t those psychology courses she had been taking for the past four years taught her anything?
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Mom,” Molly said suddenly. “I’ve got to go. Call me later if you need me to get anything from the store on my way home from school.”
When Molly had gone, Nell picked up the scroll that had somehow found its way to the couch, removed the ribbon, and unrolled the song sheet. Just as Mick had told them, its borders were decorated with colorful images from lords a-leaping to maids a-milking. Nell shook her head. It must have cost Mick a pretty penny, money he could have spent more wisely if only he had known that the recipient of his thoughtfulness would be unappreciative.
Nell returned the scroll to the couch, and with a troubled sigh she prepared to leave for a half day at Mutts and Meows.
Chapter 9
Later that afternoon Jill stopped by to return a book she had borrowed. She had been in the house only a moment before Nell told her about Mick’s “Twelve Days of Christmas” scheme, to which Jill replied: “Ouch. This could very well be a train wreck.”
“Felicity thinks it’s sweet, and of course so would I in other circumstances. I don’t know what to do,” Nell admitted. “My heart broke watching Mick all excited and Molly standing there like a statue.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Jill pointed out. “This is Molly’s potential train wreck, not yours.”
“Yes, but you know how it is when your child is making a mess of things. The urge to step in and fix everything is so strong.”
“I certainly do know,” Jill said shortly. “That’s a new apron, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t resist. It was only three dollars, so I got matching ones for Molly and Felicity.” Nell lifted the bottom of the apron and looked at the upside down images of chubby bunnies and pert-faced foxes wearing winter garb. “Kind of silly, I guess.”
Jill shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Nell looked closely at her friend. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Jill said with a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about Brian all morning. I’ve been remembering the way he’d rattle the ice in his drink and the way his knee bounced when he was forced to sit for too long. Both habits used to drive me crazy, but I’d do anything to have Brian back, making my nerves stand on end.”
“I’m sorry, Jill,” Nell said with genuine sympathy.
“I suppose I should be thankful the end came so soon. Brian would have hated a long, drawn-out illness. Still, it seems so unbelievably unfair . . . But why should death be fair? Life isn’t. Anyway, this is the first Christmas in seventeen years I’ll be without him. I’d be lying if I said it’s going to be easy. I’ll miss the old routine of Brian going to see Charlie in Augusta, my going to see Stuart in Connecticut, and our reuniting the day after Christmas to celebrate, just the two of us.”
“At least you’ll be spending time with Stuart.” Nell grimaced. “Sorry. One person doesn’t replace another. I don’t know why I said that.”
“It’s okay. Anyway, Charlie sent me a lovely Christmas card with a heartfelt message thanking me for being so good to his father through the years we were together. It made me cry, and I don’t cry easily.” Jill nodded toward the counter. “On another note, what’s that you’re hiding?”
Nell lifted the large dishtowel that was covering a baking pan. “I made gingerbread people.”
Jill peered down at the pan. “This one looks suspiciously like me.”
“It’s meant to. See the yellow dots around her neck? That’s the strand of citrine beads you bought in Portland last month.”
Jill put a hand to the silver-and-lapis necklace she was wearing that afternoon. “I didn’t know my jewelry had become a hallmark.”
“Your jewelry is one of your signatures. And this one is Molly and this one is Fliss.”
“Obvious from the glasses and the ponytail respectively. So, where’s the cookie that’s meant to be you?”
Nell laughed awkwardly. “It never occurred to me make one in my own likeness,” she said. And she wondered why. Was it a mother’s ingrained habit of self-effacement? Or was it something else, a long-standing inability to accord herself the respect and recognition she was due as a unique individual, not just someone’s daughter, wife, or mother? What are my signatures? she wondered. What do people see when they look at me? What do they remember when I’m gone?
“Nice work with the icing, by the way,” Jill said, interrupting Nell’s unsettling musings.
“I made it from scratch and used food coloring to get exactly the shades I wanted.”
Jill laughed. “Better woman than I am. Are we actually supposed to eat these cookies? I’m not sure how I feel about biting off my own head, or Molly’s or Felicity’s for that matter.”
“I hadn’t really thought about anyone eating them. You could take an anonymous gingerbread person instead,” Nell suggested.
“I think I’ll pass on devouring anyone, thanks. I’ve been eating enough sugar these days. Those butter cookie sandwiches with chestnut cream almost did me in.”
“They were pretty decadent, weren’t they? But they weren’t a big hit with the girls.”
“Maybe they’re sated, too.”
Nell looked down at the baking pan of gingerbread figures. Sated might be another way of saying the girls were fed up. Bored. Ready to move on.
“Don’t you think you’re overcompensating just a wee bit this holiday season?” Jill asked quietly.
“Overcompensating for what?” Nell asked, looking back to her friend, aware of her defensive tone.
“Let me rephrase the question. Don’t you think you might be trying a bit too hard to prove to the girls that Christmas here at home with you is better than Christmas in the Swiss Alps or in Boston or indeed anywhere else they might choose to wander?”
For a moment Nell didn’t reply. There had been mention of overcompensating behaviors on a few of those websites dedicated to dealing with empty nest syndrome. There had been mention of a tendency in the mother anticipating a child’s departure to ignore her own needs and desires more so than she ever had before. No Christmas decorations in my room, Nell thought. No cookie in my image. No . . .
“Maybe I am overcompensating a little,” Nell said finally, “but what’s wrong with trying to make this Christmas truly memorable?”
Jill shook her head. “Sorry. There’s nothing wrong with it, and I have no right to judge when my one concession to holiday decorations has always only been a single white candle in every window. So, are you still on for the reading tomorrow night? I’ll drive.”
“Sure,” Nell said with more confidence than she felt. And she was grateful that Jill had offered to drive. She wasn’t at all sure what kind of state she would be in after the reading, a weeping, nostalgic mess, devoid of any feeling at all, overcome by regret. Whatever state she was in, it probably would not be conducive to getting them home safely.
“Maybe I’ll take the gingerbread me after all,” Jill said suddenly. “I’ll bite off my own head so no one else has to.”
Nell managed a smile. “Thanks, Jill,” she said.
“For what?” Jill asked.
“For keeping me honest.”
Chapter 10
“Do you like the chicken?” Nell asked that evening as she and her daughters were at the table. “It’s one of Julia Child’s recipes.”
Felicity, whose mouth was full, nevertheless managed to mumble something that sounded like, “’Sgood.” Molly nodded.
“Pam said the photo shoot for the watch company went really well,” Felicity announced suddenly. “The stylist works with some of the c
ast of that new science fiction show on HBO, and she once dressed an A-lister for the Oscars. Can you believe it? Pam said she couldn’t tell me the name of the A-lister for some reason, but anyway, she’s sending me her old Rolex by FedEx.”
“Why do you need a Rolex?” Molly asked with a frown. “Do you know how much it costs to maintain those things? Basically she’s sending you a bill.”
Felicity sighed. “Can’t you ever admit that Pam is a decent person? You always find something negative to say about her. You always suspect her motives.”
Molly made no reply.
“Be sure to send Pam a thank you note,” Nell advised, “and not just an email or a text.” “Okay. Hey, I wonder what Mick will bring by tomorrow. I mean how is he going to handle turtledoves? I don’t even know what they are really, besides some sort of bird.”
Molly shrugged.
“Aren’t you curious?” Felicity asked her sister.
“Not really,” Molly said. “I mean, I’ll find out in the morning.”
“I’m dying to know. The whole thing is so romantic.”
Romantic, Nell thought. Like the things Eric Manville used to do for her. She remembered how he would slip humorous messages of encouragement into the notebook she used for a course she found particularly difficult. She remembered how he would drive to a bakery three towns away to get her the cinnamon donuts she loved. She remembered—
“Mom?”
Nell startled. Felicity was looking at her curiously. “What?”
“I just said that those gingerbread cookies you made look amazing. But where’s the one that’s supposed to be you?”
“I didn’t make one,” she said with forced nonchalance.
“Why not?” Molly asked.
Nell shrugged, and then some small perverse impulse made her ask: “If you were going to make a cookie that people would recognize as me at first glance, what would it look like?”
“I don’t know,” Felicity admitted after a moment. “You’re just you. You know, you’re just Mom.”
Nell managed a small smile. “Molly?” she asked.
“You know I’m not creative,” Molly said. “Besides, Fliss is right. You’re just Mom.”
Nell took a bite of chicken, but it tasted like ashes in her mouth. When had she become so much a part of the woodwork, so taken for granted that she was now in effect invisible? But isn’t that what I’ve always wanted, Nell wondered as she chewed, to be so integral a part of my children they hardly know that I’m there? But at that moment, being indistinguishable didn’t feel like such a good thing after all.
Chapter 11
“Would you grab the paper?” Nell asked her older daughter the next morning when they had finished breakfast and were gathered in the living room. “It wasn’t there earlier. Our paperboy must be running late.”
Molly went to the door and a moment later returned with the Yorktide Daily Chronicle under her left arm and a square box wrapped in bright green paper in her right hand.
“From Mick?” Nell asked unnecessarily.
Molly nodded.
“I wonder why he didn’t ring the bell,” Felicity said. “He was probably in a hurry. Well, aren’t you going to open it?”
Molly dropped the newspaper onto an end table and slowly removed the green wrapping paper. In the box and carefully nestled in tissue paper was a Wedgwood blue Jasperware disk ornament depicting the image of a turtledove. Threaded through the top of the ornament was a white silk string with a tassel.
“It’s lovely,” Nell said.
“It is,” Felicity agreed. “You know, I bet you’re going to miss Mick when you’re having a wild and crazy time in Boston.”
“I didn’t say it’s going to be wild and crazy,” Molly said testily.
“No,” Felicity agreed. “You’re not the nightclub type. In fact, I think you’re going to miss Mick so much you’ll decide to come home after a few weeks. Why don’t you just move to Portland instead of Boston? Portland’s only like forty minutes away, and it’s a lot less expensive than Boston. It would be way less of a hassle to move there and back.”
Nell restrained a sigh. Now she felt as if she were betraying her younger daughter by allowing her to go on blithely as she was, assuming that nothing in her sister’s life had changed while the reality was something quite different.
Molly closed the lid of the box and put it on the end table next to the newspaper. “Don’t mention my going to Boston when you see Mick, okay?” she said, ignoring her sister’s suggestion.
“Why?” Felicity asked. “Is he upset that you’re going?”
“Let’s just respect Molly’s wishes,” Nell said quickly.
Felicity shrugged. “Sure.”
“So,” Nell went on, “haven’t either of you noticed the crèche I set up last night?” She gestured toward a small end table on which sat a three-sided wooden barnlike structure with a thatched roof. At the apex of the roof, which stood about nine inches from the base of the structure, Nell had attached the figure of an angel holding aloft an undulating banner proclaiming “Peace on Earth.”
“I bought it the last time I was in Portland,” she said. “The Nativity is such a sweet scenario. What’s lovelier than a newborn baby and his mother?”
Felicity went over to the scene and picked up the figure of an older man carrying a staff. “Don’t forget Joseph,” she said, moving the figure closer to the baby in his cradle of hay. “The father is a big part of the story, even though he’s not technically the father.”
“Yes,” Nell said, with a twinge of guilt. Had she been aware of excluding the father from the heart of the scene? “The father, too. I know we’ve never had a crèche before, but I thought it would be a nice addition to our home.”
Molly shrugged. “Whatever. It’s your house, Mom, you can do what you want.”
Nell felt stricken. “No,” she said. “It’s our house. It’s our home.”
“You know what I mean,” Molly said. “Fliss and I won’t be living here forever. I’d better get going.” Molly reached for her backpack and coat, both flung across a chair.
“Aren’t you going to put Mick’s gift somewhere safe?” Nell asked.
Molly, at the front door, looked briefly over her shoulder. “It’s fine where it is,” she said. In a moment she was gone.
“What’s up with her these days?” Felicity asked. “She’s never been moody and short-tempered, except for the time she had that really bad flu that took forever to go away.”
Nell picked up the box with its green wrapping paper still partly attached. “She’s under a lot of strain with school,” she said evasively. “I’ll put this under the tree.”
“Well, whatever’s bothering her, I hope she gets over it before Christmas. Oh, I almost forgot,” Felicity cried. “I know I said I’d go to the Christmas fair at Saint Pat’s with you later, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” Nell asked. “We go every year.”
“The thing is I’m going to the fair with a bunch of girls from school instead. Don’t be mad, okay? It’s just that after the fair we’re going down to the outlets in Kittery.”
Nell didn’t see what one thing had to do with the other, but she didn’t argue. “Sure,” she said, managing a smile.
Felicity grinned. “Thanks, Mom. Bye.”
And then Felicity was gone as well, the front door slamming behind her.
Alone, Nell suddenly had the strange feeling that the grinning faces of the cherub figurines that sat on either end of the mantel were mocking her. She wanted so badly to make this Christmas perfect but try as she might, her efforts didn’t seem to be garnering the results she had hoped for. And what results are those? Nell asked herself. My daughters declaring they’ll never grow up and leave me? With a shake of her head, Nell strode from the living room.
Chapter 12
When the girls had gone off after dinner Nell snuck a look at the newspaper ad she had stashed in her copy of Cold Weather Cooking. She no longer ha
d the impression that Eric Manville was trying to say something to her or that he was actually seeing her, and she was glad about that. It had been a silly notion, most likely brought on by the shock of learning that he would be in town in a matter of days.
She had returned the ad to its hiding place and gone to her room to change. She took special care in dressing, though she remembered that Eric had never bothered about clothes and other outward trappings. But that was a long time ago. Fame might have changed him in so many ways. For all she knew he might look at her and see not only a stranger but a poorly dressed one at that, one to whom time had been cruel.
Would he be angry she had shown up at the reading? Or would he be unaffected by her presence? Nell’s stomach was in knots thinking about these questions. If she hadn’t told Jill about her past with Eric, she would back out of the plan to attend the reading. If she cancelled now Jill would call her on her cowardice, and Nell didn’t have the energy for an argument.
At precisely six-thirty Jill pulled up to the house. “You look very spiffy,” she said as Nell slid into the passenger seat of her black Volvo.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone if that’s what you’re implying.”
Jill raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t implying anything. I was sharing my opinion of your spiffiness.”
“Sorry,” Nell said. “Guess I’m a little nervous. In fact I did take care getting dressed tonight.”
“Did the girls notice?”
“Molly is babysitting and Felicity was in her room doing homework when I left. I told them I was going out with you, but neither asked where.”
“Sometimes the self-centeredness of the young can be a blessing,” Jill noted.
A blessing or a curse, Nell thought, remembering that at dinner Felicity hadn’t bothered to ask if her mother had gone to the Christmas fair at St. Pat’s on her own. In fact, Nell had not.
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