“Standing still.” Which is something I know an awful lot about, Nell thought. “I’ve read a few of your wife’s articles,” she said. “I found them very perceptive and well written.”
Eric nodded. “Katrina is an excellent investigative journalist, but she’s no longer my wife. We’ve been divorced for two years. Katrina’s contacts helped us keep the news out of the press.”
“Oh,” Nell said. After a moment she added: “I’m sorry.” And she genuinely was sorry. But she was also not that sorry. She bent her head and took a spoonful of chowder, hoping very much that Eric, the observant writer, wouldn’t be able to read the mixed emotions on her face.
“Thanks,” he said evenly. “It was probably as amicable as a divorce can be. When you routinely don’t see your spouse for months on end, well, not many relationships can survive that. Ours couldn’t, though we stuck it out for ten years. That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be sticking out a marriage. You should be thriving in it. And before you ask, no, we had no children. I would have liked a family, but I knew from the start that Katrina wasn’t interested. Who knows, maybe I just didn’t want kids badly enough. If I had, maybe I would have made different choices. But that’s all hindsight.”
Hindsight. Different choices. You should be thriving in a marriage. Suddenly Nell felt desperately sad, much as she had the night before at the Bookworm when the reading had come to an end and she had come to her senses.
“I should get back to the office,” she said abruptly, before the tears could begin to flow.
“Of course. And I should get back to my computer.”
Eric paid their check and they went out to the cold and bright December day. Eric pointed at a vehicle that might charitably be called a beater. “I call her Mustang Sally,” he said, “though she’s about as far from a Mustang as she can get. I’ve never been into fancy cars. As long as it gets me where I’m going, it’s fine by me.”
“I remember that old VW bus you had in college,” Nell told him. “One of the doors was held on by wire and a broken window was covered with duct tape.”
“Yeah, it probably shouldn’t have been on the road. When I tried to sell it for parts the mechanic just laughed at me. At least Sally’s passed inspection.”
Nell managed a smile. “It was good to see you again, Eric,” she said. “Goodbye.”
Eric frowned. “Didn’t I mention that I’m staying on for a few weeks?”
“No,” Nell said. Surprise made her almost shout the word. “You didn’t.”
“Really? I could have sworn I had. The thing is, I don’t really have any reason to go home at the moment. Wait, that sounds pathetic. It’s just that I’ve gotten out of the habit of celebrating holidays with anything other than take-out Chinese. With Katrina traveling so often Christmas sort of fell by the wayside, and with my own crazy schedule even my family doesn’t expect me to show up until a week or two after the fact.” Eric smiled. “So, I know you’re busy, but maybe you could show me the sights?”
“You might be bored,” Nell warned. “Yorktide is pretty quiet at all times, and even Ogunquit is a bit of a ghost town in winter.”
“I won’t be bored,” Eric stated, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “May I have your phone number?”
“Of course.” Nell gave it to him and then put out her hand. “Well, goodbye for now.”
“I think we’re beyond handshakes,” Eric said, and before Nell knew what was happening she was engulfed in his arms. Tears pricked at her eyes as she eased her arms around him.
When he released her he was smiling and Nell, blinking back a few tears, responded in kind. “Thanks,” she said.
“Hope I didn’t squish you with the coat. I found it in a thrift shop for thirty dollars, and it’s the warmest thing I own. I figured it was the right thing to bring to Maine.”
Nell laughed. “It is pretty . . . large.”
“That it is. I’ll call you, Nell. Goodbye.”
Eric got in his car, pulled out of the lot, and turned in the direction of Ogunquit. Nell got in her own car and headed toward Yorktide. Only when she had reached the clinic did the full reality of what had just transpired hit her. Eric was divorced. He was staying on. He wanted to see her again. Nell felt exhilarated. She felt terrified. She felt confused. But she no longer felt sad.
Chapter 15
“We got a Christmas card today from Dad and Pam.” Nell looked up from her bowl. “Really? I didn’t see it.”
“I put it in the basket with the other cards,” Felicity told her. “It’s a picture of the three of them in Colorado. They went skiing there for a week in March.”
Molly made a dismissive sound and put her spoon on the table next to her bowl. Nell had made a Portuguese style fish stew, but even the rich and savory dish couldn’t tempt Molly to take more than a few bites.
“What do your friends think about you going to Switzerland next Christmas?” Nell asked Felicity.
“They think it’s awesome, of course,” Felicity said, ladling more stew into her bowl. “Except for Ricki. She hates the cold. She said if someone paid for her to go somewhere special for the holidays it would be a tropical island with plenty of sand and sun and fit guys in tiny bathing suits.”
“Banana hammocks,” Molly muttered.
Felicity laughed. “I bet Mick wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those! Not that he has the time to be hanging out at the beach with all he has to do at the farm.”
Molly suddenly rose from her seat. “I’m off,” she said. “Mick and I are meeting some other members of the Young Farmer and Rancher Committee at the Blue Mermaid.”
“What’s with the long face?” Felicity asked. “You look like you’re going to the dentist or something. It’s just a bunch of people meeting in a pub.”
“I’m sure these gatherings can get pretty heated,” Nell said hurriedly.
Molly shot Nell a look of gratitude and was on her way.
“You know that bag I have my eye on?” Felicity asked. “This online store has it on sale. I sent you the link.”
“Thanks,” Nell said abstractedly.
“Do you want me to help clean up?”
“No,” Nell said. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Okay.” Felicity took one last bite of stew, got up, and brought her bowl to the sink. “I’m going to call Dad. Should I say hi from you?” she asked.
Nell smiled. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
When Felicity was gone, Nell’s thoughts were finally free to turn again to Eric. Conversation at lunch had come easily for the most part. Eric hadn’t mentioned their painful breakup or asked about her writing, for which Nell was grateful. He had suggested they see each other again, and she had assented. All of that was good.
Except for one thing, Nell realized, as she brought her empty bowl to the sink for rinsing. Here she was professing to be unhappy about her soon to be empty nest, and yet while her children were still with her, instead of focusing entirely on their well-being her thoughts were being tempted by the memory of a lost romance. It’s not my fault, she thought defensively as she turned on the water. It isn’t. It was just that Eric Manville’s turning up in Yorktide this Christmas season was the last thing Nell had expected to happen. The absolute last. It was understandable that she should find herself to some extent preoccupied with him. It was understandable. Wasn’t it?
* * *
It was almost midnight. The house was quiet but for the ticking of the miniature grandfather clock in the living room and the sound of the wind rattling the few old windows Nell was always meaning to replace. Softly she opened the door to her room and stepped into the hall. The doors of the girls’ rooms were closed. Felicity was probably deep in sleep, but Molly might very well be staring into the darkness much as her mother had been doing since she had retired for the night.
Quietly, Nell began the journey she had decided upon only moments earlier. The attic of the house on
Trinity Lane was accessed via a steep and narrow staircase hidden behind an equally narrow door at the end of the hall. The door creaked when she opened it, and Nell flinched. She reached for the pull cord, and a bare bulb overhead illuminated the stairs before her. Nell closed the door behind her—it creaked again—and, holding the banister, climbed the fourteen steps to the attic.
There she turned on another light that allowed her to see the center of the room if not every shadowy corner. Nell walked purposefully across the bare wooden boards to a plastic storage container labeled PRIVATE. There was a low stool nearby; Nell brought it closer and sat. She hadn’t opened this container since she had packed it just after graduation from college. With a deep breath Nell snapped off the lid.
There they were, her old notebooks, and under them the journals in which her poetry had been published. The notebooks were five and a half by seven and a half inches and spiral bound. Nell had never written early drafts of her poems on a computer. She had felt the physical act of writing was in itself a part of the creating.
Nell lifted one of the notebooks from the plastic container and opened it. Immediately she recognized Eric’s writing along with her own. She smiled as she remembered how she had so often asked for his input and how he had happily encouraged her process—This works so well!—and suggested changes—Not sure about this word; try another? She had never felt his contributions an intrusion or an attempted usurpation of her work. They had shared a sympathetic dialogue, a true give-and-take of ideas.
Nell took another notebook from the container and held it to her heart. These notebooks were all the tangible evidence that remained of her relationship with Eric. After the breakup she had packed into a separate box Eric’s letters and the photos taken of them together and the trinkets and books he had given her and stored it in her parents’ attic with the other boxes that contained memorabilia of her youth. When she married she had left that one special box where it was; to bring evidence of her earlier love affair into the home she was going to share with her husband seemed wrong. After the divorce Nell had been so occupied with the task of rebuilding a life she had virtually forgotten about the box, until three years earlier, when her parents had decided to sell their house and move to Florida. Nell had told her mother she would visit to pick up what remained of her belongings.
“Oh, I got rid of all that old junk that was littering up the attic,” Jackie Emerson had said lightly. “That box from your college days weighed a ton. Your father almost threw his back out hauling it to the curb.”
“But it was mine,” Nell had replied, stunned and horrified. “That box contained my history. You had no right to deprive me of my past.”
To which her mother had said, “Well, what’s done is done.”
Though there was much to be missed in that box, there was one photo in particular Nell would do anything to have in her possession. It had been taken at a picnic with friends one idyllic summer day. Nell could still hear the drowsy sound of bees buzzing; she could still smell the heady scent of roses; she could still feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and taste the tartness of the cold lemonade they had drunk. It had been a day of simple pleasures and deep happiness. She wondered if Eric remembered it as she did. Maybe, if things continued to go well between them, she would ask him. Maybe—
Nell shivered. The attic that could be so warm in the summer months was bone-shatteringly cold at this time of the year. She put the notebooks back into the plastic container and with some difficulty brought it down to her room, where she stowed it in her closet. Reading her old work would be an emotional experience and one Nell would have to approach carefully, but it was an experience she very much wanted. She removed her bathrobe, laid it across the end of her bed, and crawled under the covers. With the light turned out, Nell looked into the dark and remembered.
Chapter 16
Nell poured a second cup of coffee. Usually she drank only one in the morning, but she had been awake until almost two, haunted by memories of that long-lost summer day when she and Eric had been so simply and blissfully happy, so ignorant of the sadness and separation that was to come. Nell had been haunted, too, by thoughts of what happiness, however temporary, might be in store now that Eric had returned.
“Is that from Mick?” Nell asked, nodding at a gift bag from which red and green tissue paper stuck up like flames.
Felicity nodded. “I was up when he came by.”
Molly suddenly appeared in the doorway, dressed in a cable-knit wool sweater over a pair of jeans. When she saw the gift bag on the table, she stopped in mid-stride.
Felicity held out the bag to her sister. “This is for you from Mick.”
Reluctantly, it seemed to Nell, Molly continued toward the table and took the bag. “Did you say anything to him about Boston?” Molly asked, her tone urgent.
“Of course not. You asked me not to.”
“Sorry.” Molly reached into the bag and removed a little bundle wrapped in more tissue paper. Inside the bundle was a delicate painted glass ornament in the shape of a bird.
“A calling bird?” Nell guessed.
“Mick said he wasn’t exactly sure what a calling bird was but he figured a songbird came close enough, and a nightingale is a songbird. Funny,” Felicity added. “I always thought nightingales were really colorful, not mostly brown.”
Nell looked closely at her older daughter, who still had not commented on the gift. “Molly?”
Molly shook her head quickly, as if to bring herself back to the moment. “It’s nice,” she said, wrapping the nightingale in the tissue paper and putting it back into the gift bag. Then she took her usual seat and poured a cup of coffee.
“Who was in the attic last night?” Felicity asked. “And don’t say Santa Claus.”
“Sorry,” Nell said. “I was looking for something. Well, I’d better get a move on. Today is Mutts and Meows’ annual open house.” Nell kissed Molly’s forehead on her way out of the kitchen. “You okay?” she asked softly.
Molly nodded.
“Eat something,” Nell said. “You’ll feel better.”
As Nell was getting into her car a few minutes later, her mind preoccupied with Molly and her troubles, her phone alerted her to a text. It was from Eric. He wanted to know if she could meet at the end of her workday for a coffee. Without a moment’s hesitation she sent him a text suggesting they meet at the Golden Apple again at three-fifteen. He agreed.
It was only when Nell was halfway to the clinic did she realize that all thoughts of her daughter had flown the moment she had seen Eric’s text message. So much for being an attentive, devoted parent, Nell thought guiltily. Keep a clear head, she told herself, her hands tightening on the wheel. Your children are your priorities. Not a relationship that ended in the long distant past.
* * *
The Golden Apple was almost empty when Nell and Eric arrived within moments of each other. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp scent of freshly brewed coffee. “It smells like heaven in here,” Eric noted as they took seats at a table. “Bread and coffee, two of life’s greatest gifts.”
“I agree, as would my daughters,” Nell told him. “Molly has been drinking coffee since she was fifteen and Felicity could easily eat a loaf of bread a day.”
When they had ordered, Nell asked how Eric’s day had passed. “Busily,” he replied, and he described a writing challenge with which he had been struggling. “You’d think that by now I’d know what I’m doing,” he said, “but every so often a problem arises that makes me feel like a complete novice.”
“What do you do when that happens?” Nell asked.
“Drink coffee,” Eric said as the waitress delivered their orders. “And call my mother. She can usually talk me off a ledge.”
“I should have asked after your parents before now,” Nell said. “I hope they’re well.” Nell had met them only once, along with Eric’s sister, Sarah, who had been about ten at the time. She remembered Mr. and Mrs. Manville
as almost complete opposites of her own parents—warm, welcoming, and uncritical.
“They’re great, thanks,” Eric told her, handing Nell his phone. “That photo was taken this past summer in my parents’ backyard. That’s Chris, home on leave. Mom and Dad are on the right, Sarah is next to Dad, and those are my nephews. Peter’s the ham and Luke’s the one wearing the red t-shirt.”
“Everyone looks very happy,” Nell said, returning the phone to Eric. “And the boys are adorable.”
“Sarah and Chris are doing a fine job. Peter and Luke are fantastic kids.”
Nell smiled. “And you’re a proud uncle.”
“And the fun one. The kids are too young to understand that what I do is not really very important. All they know is that I’m occasionally on television and that the parents of their friends ask if they can get me to sign copies of my books. That makes Peter and Luke celebrities by proxy. Their father is the real hero, not me.”
“They’ll come to see that, I’m sure.” Nell hesitated before going on. Only on the drive to the cafe had it struck her like a nasty blow that while not married, Eric might be romantically involved. True, he hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend when they had talked about their marital status the day before when it might have been natural to do so. True, he had admitted he didn’t have any particular reason to return home. But that didn’t mean that he was single. If he was in a relationship, Nell thought, even if it was relatively new, she would not feel right about their spending time together. She had always had an unfashionably strict view of monogamy, a view it turned out that her former husband had not shared.
Before Nell could voice her question, Eric spoke. “I bet you’re wondering if I’m in a relationship,” he said. “The answer is I’m not. There’s been no one since my divorce. And you?”
When Nell’s head had ceased to whir—was Eric now a mind reader?—she answered his question. “There’s been no one since my divorce, either,” she told him. “These past six years I’ve been totally focused on making a good life for my daughters.”
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