“But now your daughters are no longer—”
“Yes,” Nell said quickly. She didn’t want to hear the words spoken aloud. Now they’re no longer in need of so much care.
Eric suddenly leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The man at the far table, the one wearing the buffalo plaid jacket. He’s reading one of my early novels, The Map of Our Lives.”
Nell was glad for the radical change of topic. “I have a first edition of each of your books,” she told him. “The owners of the Bookworm hold aside a copy for me. I had the same arrangement with the local bookstore back in Massachusetts.”
“The beauty of the independent bookshop,” Eric noted. “You know,” he went on, “sometimes I still can’t believe things have turned out as well as they have for me. No one ever thought I’d amount to much, and for so long I never gave anyone reason to think otherwise. My head was always in the proverbial clouds.” Eric laughed. “It still pretty much is. I mean, look at what I do for a living. I earn money by telling tall tales.”
“How did you find your talent as a novelist?” Nell asked. “I have to admit it’s something I’ve often wondered about.”
“It’s an interesting story,” Eric began. “I was twenty-three and working as a bagger at a grocery chain and basically at sixes and sevens—I always mean to look up the origins of that saying—and one day my neighbor happened to mention she was taking a weekend workshop in unlocking creativity. It sounded sufficiently vague and maybe even fun, and having nothing better to do that weekend, I signed up. When I got to the old campsite in the Berkshires, I found that one of the seminars was in the art of writing fairy tales. I’d never given any thought to an actual person writing a fairy tale. You know, all those stories your parents read to you when you’re a kid seem somehow just there.”
“Right,” Nell said. “Part of what the world is and always was. Part of—forever.”
“Exactly. I realized I wanted to find out what actually went on when a person sat down to create a fairy tale. I wanted to understand the power of fairy tales, what they could accomplish, why they were necessary. And that was the turning point.”
“How do you mean?” Nell asked.
“Quite simply, it got me started writing. It was like a faucet had been switched on; stories just started coming, words just started flowing. Mostly awful stuff at first, but I stuck to it, read like crazy, wrote compulsively, until finally what I was writing was good. Then it was better.” Eric smiled. “And then, through a series of fortunate events, I got my first book contract.”
“At the tender age of thirty,” Nell said.
“Yup. I’m very grateful for the nature of my talent.”
Nell smiled. “Me too.”
“So, do you read my books because you feel some sense of duty having known me back when?” Eric smiled. “Be honest.”
“I read your work because I love it,” Nell assured him. “Every new book pleases and enlightens me. And I’ve seen every movie made of your work. They’re good, but I prefer the books to the films.”
Eric laughed. “Me too. Besides I can’t bear to go to openings. I mean, Hollywood? It’s not me.”
“You know, when your first book came out I was hesitant to read it,” Nell admitted. “I wondered if I would find myself in one of the characters.” The cold-hearted destroyer of a gentle-hearted man. “I know that’s silly,” Nell went on, “but I bet everyone who knows you has wondered at some point if he’s going to show up on the page thinly veiled as the hero or the villain.”
Eric nodded. “People I know are always seeking themselves in the characters I create, but the truth is that, while I might be inspired by a person’s story, I’d never violate his or her privacy. That’s not always a popular choice among writers, but it’s what I’m comfortable with.”
Before Nell could respond, Eric’s phone rang and with an apology—“It’s my publisher”—he answered. “Sure,” he said after a moment. “That sounds fine. Just email me the details. Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“A book tour in the works,” he explained. “They’ve got me going from coast to coast and everywhere in between.”
“I haven’t been farther away than New York City in years,” Nell told him.
“Do you not like to travel?”
Nell didn’t know how to answer. Why had it become so difficult for her to identify her likes and dislikes, her interests and passions? If her daughters made a gingerbread Pam, they could decorate the cookie with all sorts of symbols that represented their stepmother—skis; gold medals; expensive watches; flags from foreign nations. Pam displayed to the world a fully formed person, whereas she, Nell King, did not.
“I guess I’ve just been too busy to travel,” she said finally. It wasn’t true, but it was all she could find to say.
“I’d love to get together again,” Eric said suddenly. “Maybe we could meet tomorrow, late afternoon? I need to spend a solid three or four hours on the book, and for some reason mornings are proving to be more productive than afternoons this time around.”
Nell agreed to Eric’s suggestion, and they left the café. No sooner had the door closed behind them than Eric’s cell phone rang again. He looked at it and gave Nell an apologetic smile. “It’s my agent,” he said. “I should answer. She always takes my calls, no matter how busy she is.”
“Of course,” Nell said quickly. Eric nodded, took the call, and waved a farewell.
Nell got behind the wheel of her car, struggling against a feeling of letdown. She would be lying if she claimed she hadn’t been looking forward to another hug. But that had been silly on her part. Most likely the emotional high of having come across each other after all the years apart had already dissipated for Eric. Of course it had. He had so many other aspects of his life on which to spend his time and energy, while she had . . . Nell didn’t finish the thought.
Chapter 17
Nell had baked lasagna with ricotta cheese from a local supplier and tomato sauce she had made and frozen at the end of the season. Jill had eaten enough for two, somewhat making up in Nell’s mind for Molly’s lack of appetite. Jill didn’t much enjoy cooking for one; Nell feared she wouldn’t much enjoy it, either. Maybe once the girls were gone she could have Jill for dinner two or three nights a week . . . But that would be using her friend as a crutch, rather than making a true gesture of generosity.
“Hey, where were you before?” Felicity asked as she loaded the top basket of the dishwasher with glasses and small bowls. “I thought you’d be home right after work, but the house was empty when I got in from debate club.”
“I had some errands to run,” Nell said quickly.
Jill gave her a look that said “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” and Nell turned back toward the sink.
Felicity looked toward the door of the kitchen and lowered her voice. “I’ve been thinking about what Mick is going to give Molly tomorrow. It’s day five. Golden rings. Do you think he’ll give her an engagement ring?”
Jill shot a questioning look at Nell, and Nell ever so slightly shook her head. No, Felicity still didn’t know that her sister was planning to leave Mick after the holidays.
“I have no idea,” Nell said, fervently hoping not, though only weeks ago the idea would have delighted her. “But let’s not speculate in front of your sister.”
Footsteps in the hall announced Molly’s return. She had changed into sweats and a flannel shirt, perfect for spending a few hours with the rambunctious eight-year-old Robinson twins. “I’m going to grab some coffee before I go,” she said. “Is there any left in the pot?”
“Just enough for one cup, I think,” Nell told her.
“I forgot to tell you guys that Pam sent me a link to the hotel where we’ll be staying next year,” Felicity announced. “It’s amazing. It’s got all these twinkling white lights hanging from the balconies like delicate branches. So pretty. And there’s so much else to do besides ski. You can go horseback riding or get a massage or take a s
team in the sauna. They have a tennis court and a library and a sun terrace. And there’s a pool. And I’ll have my own room, of course.”
“Sounds like heaven,” Molly remarked dryly, taking a sip of her coffee.
“The reality is usually not as perfect as the hype would lead you to believe,” Jill pointed out.
Felicity frowned. “You guys are downers. Nothing’s going to spoil my excitement about this trip.”
Molly put her empty cup into the dishwasher and glanced at her watch. “I’m off,” she said. “I won’t be home until late. Mrs. Robinson said this holiday party she and her husband go to every year is pretty wild.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve got so many babysitting clients,” Felicity said. “Rents in Boston are super expensive. That’s what Dad says, anyway.”
Molly made no response.
“Drive carefully,” Nell said.
Molly promised and took her leave.
Felicity dried her hands on a dishtowel and tossed it onto the counter by the sink. “I’m off, too, but I won’t be late. Robina has such a strict curfew it’s ridiculous.”
“You be careful, too,” Nell said, closing the door of the dishwasher.
“Now that we’re alone,” Jill said when Felicity had gone, “I can ask how things went with Eric this afternoon.”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?” Jill pressed. “What did you talk about?”
“We mostly talked about his family and his work.” Nell hesitated before going on. “He told me there’s been no one romantic in his life since his divorce.”
“And no one romantic in your life since yours. Did you tell him that?”
“Yes. He asked if we could get together again.”
“And of course you said yes.”
“Not of course,” Nell said quickly. She didn’t want to admit to Jill that she had been so absorbed in conversation with Eric that her daughters had temporarily become shadowy figures in the background of her consciousness. “I mean, there’s no harm in having coffee with an old friend, is there?”
“There might be harm in just about anything,” Jill noted. “If there is harm in seeing your long-lost love in the here and now, that’s something for you to decide.”
“Sometimes you’re so maddeningly—” Nell broke off in frustration.
“Maddeningly what?” Jill asked.
Smart, Nell thought. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“Then I’ll leave you to get some beauty rest. Good night, Nell. Thanks again for dinner.”
When Jill too had gone, Nell was left alone in the kitchen with her thoughts. If there was harm in her meeting with Eric, well, the damage had already been done, hadn’t it? Still, it probably wasn’t wise to see him again. Clearly he had a rich and busy life that had nothing to do with hers. The more often they got together, the more obvious the vast distance between them would become, and the more likely it would be for Eric to decide to cut short his visit to Yorktide before any more of his precious time was wasted.
Nell sighed, turned off the overhead light, and left the kitchen. No, it probably wasn’t wise for her to meet with Eric again. But she knew without a doubt that she would.
Chapter 18
Nell and Molly were sitting at the kitchen table, the remains of breakfast before them. Well, the remains of Nell’s breakfast. Molly had taken nothing but a cup of coffee laced with milk and sugar. She hadn’t spoken, either, but to ask Nell if there was any errand she could run for her on the way home from classes. Nell had said there was not. The tension in the room was high.
When the doorbell rang, both women jumped in their seats. Nell looked at Molly, whose face had gone ashen. “Do you want me to get it?” she asked quietly.
Molly shook her head, slowly got up from the table, and left the room. Nell followed her as far as the little hall between the dining room and the living room, from where, if she kept close to the wall, she could hear and partially see what went on by the front door.
Mick had already come into the house. In the palm of her hand Molly was holding what was unmistakably a ring box. Oh, no, Nell thought. Please not this.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Mick asked. There was a mix of hope and fear in his voice, of excitement and just a little bit of dread.
Without a word, Molly lifted the hinged lid on the little box. Nell couldn’t quite see the look on her daughter’s face, though she didn’t fail to notice the tense set of her shoulders.
“It’s real gold,” Mick said hurriedly. “It belonged to my grandmother. My grandfather gave it to her on their tenth wedding anniversary. They were too poor to afford a ring when they got married. She wore it until the day she died. Since she had no granddaughters she left it to me.”
Nell swallowed hard. The implication was clear. Mick would give the ring to the woman he married.
“Oh.” Molly managed a ghost of a smile.
“It’s a promise ring,” Mick went on. “I promise to love you forever. Here, let me put it on for you.”
As Mick slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of Molly’s right hand, Nell fought the urge to dash forward and put an end to the farce. No, she thought. This is not a farce. This is the stuff of tragedy, and I have no rightful place in it.
“Thank you,” Molly said quietly. She did not return Mick’s promise.
Mick didn’t seem bothered or disappointed by her simple response. “We’ve got a plumber coming to the house this morning so I’d better be off.” He leaned forward and kissed Molly on the cheek.
When Molly had closed the front door behind him, Nell came into the living room. Molly looked at her mother and laughed a bit wildly. “What’s he going to give me for Christmas, a marriage license?”
“You accepted the ring,” Nell stated. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I . . . I didn’t know what else to do!”
“You can’t keep it,” Nell said quietly. “Not if you’re intending to break up with him. You don’t have a right to it. You have to be honest with him, Molly. It’s not fair what you’re doing.”
“I know,” Molly cried. “I know! It’s just . . . I’m confused, Mom. Suddenly, I don’t know what I want. Moving away . . . Mick . . . the farm . . . It’s all so . . .”
“What’s going on?” It was Felicity, thundering down the stairs. “Was Mick here? I thought I heard the doorbell but I was in the shower so I couldn’t be sure.”
Nell turned to her younger daughter. “Mick gave your sister a promise ring. It belonged to his grandmother.”
Felicity squealed. “OMG, it’s like you’re engaged!” she cried. “Let me see it!”
“No,” Molly said curtly. “It’s not like I’m engaged. I’ve got to get to class.”
She was gone before either her mother or her sister could say another word.
Felicity frowned. “What was that about? I thought she’d be thrilled. I mean it looks like Mick’s going to propose soon, maybe on Christmas Day. That’s probably the big surprise.”
“I told you the other day,” Nell said lamely. “Your sister is under a lot of strain at school. I think we just need to give her some space.”
“I’ve never understood what that means, giving someone space. Is it like a polite way of ignoring someone? Well, whatever. I’m off to school.” Felicity kissed her mother’s cheek, grabbed her bag from the small table just inside the front door, and hurried out of the house.
Nell sighed. Her older daughter had always been a straightforward, even a transparent person, but now Nell felt sure that Molly was hiding something important, possibly even from herself. After all, she had admitted that she no longer knew what it was she really wanted. I’m her mother, Nell thought, her frustration mounting. I should be able to help her understand what it is that she needs to be happy.
Nell’s cell phone rang, distracting her from her thoughts. It was Jill.
“Do you by any chance have dried mustard?” Jill asked. “I’m feeling too lazy to dri
ve into town.”
“Sorry,” Nell said. “It’s not something I usually have around.”
“It was worth a try. By the way, I haven’t heard from Stuart in weeks. Usually we’ve made a plan for Christmas dinner by now.”
“Our children are keeping us on our toes this season,” Nell commented.
“As in Molly and her plan to run away?”
“I’m not sure she would call it running away,” Nell said, “but yes. And guess what just happened. Mick gave her his grandmother’s wedding ring as a promise to love her forever, and she accepted it. To be exact, she didn’t protest his putting it on her finger.”
“Almost as bad as an engagement ring,” Jill said. “Well, you know what I mean. What’s she going to do?”
Nell sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine. I just hope she speaks up soon. The longer she keeps silent about her intentions, the more damage she’s doing to Mick and to her own peace of mind.”
“Agreed,” Jill said. “But remember, this is Molly’s life, not yours. Try not to let her woes overwhelm you.”
“I’ll try,” Nell promised, and they ended the call.
With the girls gone and her phone back in her pocket, the house suddenly felt very empty. The silence was thundering, and into that thundering silence came the call of the old notebooks and journals stashed in Nell’s bedroom closet. Again she realized that at some point before Eric left town he might ask about her poetry. Nell had no idea how he would react to the news that she hadn’t written a word in more than twenty years. Possibly the information wouldn’t affect him in the least. And maybe he wouldn’t ask in the first place, having long ago ceased to be invested in the girl who broke his heart. But if that were true, why did Eric want to see her again?
Nell rubbed her forehead. Eric Manville. The temptation of poetry. The joys and sorrows of the past, both before and during her marriage. They were all dragging her attention away from what was really important. Making this Christmas, possibly their last together as a family of three, perfect for her children.
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