Home for Christmas

by Holly Chamberlin

  Nell nodded. “Yes. I suppose we are friends.”

  “And friends share their thoughts and feelings, their desires and disappointments. Right?”

  Desires and disappointments. “Right.” Nell looked at her watch. “I should be getting home. It’s my turn to open the clinic tomorrow.”

  Eric paid for their drinks and linked his arm through hers as they left the restaurant. When they got outside they found a dark sky bright with stars.

  “There are few sights in this world that give me such a profound sense of peace as a clear night sky.” He smiled. “Not a very original sentiment, but true all the same.”

  Nell felt a remarkable sense of contentment at that moment, standing arm in arm with the man who was perhaps the dearest friend she had ever known.

  “Hey,” she said suddenly. “Why no puffer coat tonight? You must be freezing in just that sweater and leather jacket.”

  “I spilled coffee all over it earlier. I washed it as best I could in the bathtub, but it’s still drying out.”

  “The hotel could probably have tossed it in one of their washing machines,” Nell pointed out. “It could have been warm and dry by now.”

  Eric sighed dramatically. “Sadly, that thought didn’t occur to me.”

  Nell laughed. “Next time you have a laundry crisis, call me.”

  “It’s a deal,” Eric said, and he drew her into his arms.

  Nell rested her head on his shoulder for a moment until she felt him shiver. “You need to get home,” she said, reluctantly pulling away.

  “Talk tomorrow?” he asked.

  Nell smiled and nodded. She watched as Eric walked to his car. Then she got into her own car and turned on the radio. Frank Sinatra was singing “The Christmas Waltz,” and Nell found herself singing along as she drove toward her home on Trinity Lane. ‘It’s that time of year when the world falls in love . . .’

  Chapter 24

  Nell was in that state of semi-awareness that comes shortly before sleep, so when she heard the door to her room slowly creak open she thought that she might be imagining the sound. But when she heard Molly whisper: “Mom? Can I come in?” she hoisted herself to a sitting position and reached for the lamp on her bedside table. “Of course,” she said, glancing at the clock by the lamp. It was well after midnight.

  Nell was alarmed by her daughter’s appearance. Molly looked as if she had aged from a fresh-faced girl to a time and experience–ravaged middle-aged woman in the space of less than twenty-four hours. Her complexion was ashen; there were faint but visible lines at the corners of her mouth, and her usually bright blue eyes seemed dulled.

  Molly sat on the edge of the bed, and Nell reached for her hand. And although Nell felt sorry that her daughter was struggling, she was also pleased that Molly had come to her in her moment of need. There it was again, that difficult tension between letting a child go and keeping her close.

  “I can hardly believe what happened this morning,” Molly began. “The look on Mick’s face when . . . when I told him I didn’t love him. It was . . . Why did I lie? Oh, Mom!”

  Nell opened her arms, and Molly fell against her, sobs racking her shoulders. Nell smoothed her daughter’s hair and waited until the tempest had calmed before speaking.

  “Why don’t you reach out to Mick?” she suggested.

  Molly extricated herself and wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Right now? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Why not right now?” Nell argued. “This is no time to stand on ceremony.”

  Molly was silent for a long moment. Finally she said: “I’ll send him a text. I’ll tell him that I’m sorry and that I didn’t mean what I said. I’ll tell him that I love him.”

  “And when the two of you talk, you need to be honest with him regarding your fears about the future.”

  “I know,” Molly admitted. “So, you really think Mick will want to talk to me?”

  “I do,” Nell said. “And you should tell your sister what happened. She cares about you. She’ll want to help.”

  “I doubt Fliss can do anything, but I’ll tell her in the morning,” Molly promised. Suddenly, she looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Mom? Why aren’t there any Christmas decorations in here?”

  Nell remembered what Jill had said about her habit of undervaluing herself, but she could see no benefit in sharing that observation with Molly at this moment. “I guess I just ran out of steam by the time I’d decorated the rest of the house,” she said lightly.

  “Oh. Gosh, I’m so tired. Good night, Mom.”

  Nell gave her daughter’s hand a final squeeze and watched as Molly left the room. When she was gone, Nell turned out the light and lay back against the pillows, suddenly bothered by a pang of conscience. Maybe she shouldn’t have encouraged Molly to believe that Mick would want to reconcile; sometimes damage done could not be undone. But the thought of the young man Nell had been so glad to welcome to her family suddenly being gone from their lives seemed too awful a thing to consider.

  Please, she prayed. Let things be okay for Molly, whatever okay means. Please.

  Chapter 25

  Nell placed a plate of bacon on the table. As far as she knew Molly had not eaten anything since the previous morning, and it was a rare person, other than a vegan or vegetarian, who could resist the temptation of bacon. But Molly didn’t even glance at the plate.

  Felicity frowned at her sister. “Do you feel any better this morning?” she asked. “You look kind of pale.”

  Molly sighed, looked to her mother and then back to her sister. “I broke up with Mick yesterday.”

  “You what?” Felicity cried, setting her glass of orange juice on the table with enough force to cause the liquid to splash over the rim. “Why?”

  Nell wiped up the spill with her napkin and waited for Molly to respond. When she didn’t, Felicity went on.

  “I know you said you were going to move to Boston for a while, but you never said anything about breaking up with Mick!”

  “I didn’t say anything to you, but I was thinking it. And I told Mom. It’s just that I’ve been confused lately . . .”

  “What do you mean confused?” Felicity pressed.

  “Fliss, maybe we shouldn’t—”

  “It’s okay, Mom.” Molly sighed. “The thing is, I don’t really want to move away. And I do love Mick, and I told him so in a text last night and one this morning. But he hasn’t gotten back to me, so how can I convince him?”

  “In person,” Felicity said firmly. “You’ll just have to see him face to face. This is not a time to rely on social media. Too many misunderstandings, and it’s never entirely private.”

  “But what if he refuses to see me?” Molly covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, what have I done?”

  “It’s only been twenty-four hours, Molly,” Nell said gently. “Give him time.”

  “What did you do with the ring?” Felicity asked.

  Molly put her hands in her lap and replied dully. “It’s in my dresser. I know I have to return it, but I’m not sure how.”

  “Why do you have to return it?” Felicity asked. “If you tell Mick you’re sorry and he believes you, he’ll want you to keep the ring.”

  “Will he?” Molly shook her head. “Anyway, I feel guilty about having it with the way things stand.”

  “I suppose you could mail it to him,” Felicity suggested. “Though that seems kind of cold. And sending it back might only reinforce the message you gave him—that you don’t love him—when you really do love him.” Felicity frowned. “It’s very confusing. What do you think, Mom?”

  “I think that Molly should do nothing for the moment,” Nell said. “I think she should just breathe deeply and wait.”

  The rest of breakfast passed in an unhappy silence. Finally the girls went off to school, and Nell prepared to leave for work. She took up her car keys and bag and headed for the front door. As she passed through the living room, she noticed that a window
shutter had broken off the gingerbread house. The velvet ribbon tied around one of the pillar candles on the mantel had loosened and slipped. Three of the tiny lights on the string wound around the standing lamp by the chintz-covered easy chair had gone out.

  Tears sprang to Nell’s eyes. Were all of her efforts at making this Christmas absolutely perfect for her daughters destined to fail? Was every attempt to create an atmosphere of joy to end in a cruel deception? She knew she was overreacting, but at that moment these minor calamities seemed signs of some larger catastrophe awaiting her family this holiday season. Happiness could be so terribly elusive, and even if one was fortunate enough to possess happiness it could be so terribly fleeting.

  Which is why one should appreciate whatever bit of happiness presents itself, she thought as she opened the front door and stepped out into the December morning. It was advice worth remembering.

  * * *

  The hours spent at Mutts and Meows had served to distract Nell from the troubles waiting at home. One of her favorite clients had come by for his annual check-up, a noble German shepherd named Roger, and the staff had been introduced to four three-week-old kittens born to a calico named Annabelle who had once famously survived an attack by a fisher cat and a life-saving surgery that resulted.

  Now home, Nell was further intent upon keeping sadness at bay by focusing on another Christmas craft. On the kitchen table a magazine was open to a page of instructions for making pomander balls. Nell had laid out the components: several large fresh oranges and lemons; a coil of narrow red-velvet ribbon; small bowls filled with ground cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cardamon; a jar of whole cloves; and a plastic container of orrisroot powder. For holiday ambience Nell had tuned the old-fashioned radio that lived next to the toaster to a station that was playing nothing but classic holiday songs and carols.

  “It smells so good in here,” Felicity said. “All these Christmasy spices. I wonder what sort of holiday desserts we’ll have in Switzerland next year. I should read up on traditional foods. There’s got to be a lot more than fondue.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Nell said. Before she could suggest that Felicity research a few vegetable options, the front door opened, and a moment later Molly joined them in the kitchen. Her big blue scarf was still wound around her neck and her cheeks were flushed with cold.

  “The temperature dropped again,” she said. “I’ll bring in more wood for the fireplace later.”

  “Thank you. How were classes?” Nell asked.

  “Fine,” Molly said, leaning against the counter by the radio. “Not that I could concentrate all that well. Mick still hasn’t been in touch.”

  “I’m sorry. Give him time.”

  “He’ll come around,” Felicity added.

  Molly ignored the words of support. “What are you guys doing?” she asked.

  “We’re making pomander balls,” Felicity told her sister. “You hang them in a closet.”

  “So your clothes can smell like nutmeg?” Molly asked. “I definitely smell nutmeg.”

  “And cinnamon,” Nell added. “And citrus. You can also put them in your linen closet to freshen the sheets and towels. The scent can last for years if you sprinkle the balls with orrisroot powder. It acts as a preservative.”

  Molly managed a smile. “Orrisroot powder? It sounds like something the witches in Macbeth might use in one of their midnight concoctions.”

  “Pomander is from the French term pomme d’ambre,” Felicity said. “That means apple of amber. Doesn’t that sound pretty? Originally, people carried pomanders as protection against infection in times of plague. It didn’t work, of course, but people believed it did. Pomanders were also used to mask bad smells. Basically it was an early form of aromatherapy. Ow! These cloves are sharp!”

  Nell glanced at the magazine by her left elbow. “The instructions suggest you use a pin or a nail to make the holes before inserting the cloves.”

  “I wish I had known that before we started! I’ll go find a pin.” Felicity dashed over to the junk drawer beneath the microwave and returned a moment later with a paper clip. “This should do,” she said.

  Molly came over to the table, picked up the little bowl of cinnamon, and sniffed. “Mick’s mom would probably like these,” she said.

  “You could make one for her,” Nell suggested.

  “Why?” Molly laughed grimly. “I’m sure Mrs. Williams wants nothing to do with me.”

  “You could give it to her as a sort of peace offering,” Felicity suggested.

  “But how would that change anything between me and Mick? She’s not going to accept a gift from the girl who broke her son’s heart. Anyway, Mick probably hates me.”

  “I’m sure Mick doesn’t hate you,” Nell said gently.

  “Mick wouldn’t hate anyone,” Felicity added.

  “Well, he can’t much like me right now.”

  Before Nell could protest this, Felicity said, “Sssh! It’s the weather report.”

  The three women turned toward the radio as if looking at it would allow them to hear more clearly. And what they heard was that temperatures were dropping severely, as Molly had noted, and a massive snowstorm was predicted in the near future. The usual warnings and caveats were given.

  “At least it hasn’t become a blizzard warning,” Nell said when the newscaster had finished delivering his report and Nat King Cole was singing a holiday song. “Yet. Anyway, we’re stocked up on groceries and batteries and water. And I checked that the backup generator is working. If we’re stranded, at least we’ll be stranded in comfort.”

  “I think the idea of a big snowstorm on Christmas is kind of romantic,” Felicity said. “We can sit around a roaring fire and light candles and tell ghost stories. Like in the lyrics of that song they played before, ‘we’ll tell tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago.’ ”

  “Storms are not fun or romantic,” Molly said fiercely. “Do you know how many accidents happen due to people mishandling backup gas generators? Do you know how many people die of heart attacks from shoveling snow? Think about Mick’s situation. The farm buildings are all winterized, but animals are just as prone to hypothermia and frostbite as we are. And Mick’s father has heart trouble. What if Gus tries to do too much and . . .” Molly took off her glasses and wiped tears from her eyes.

  Felicity looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t mean to ignore the realities.”

  “No I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m going to my room.”

  When Molly had left the kitchen, Felicity looked to her mother. “This is awful, Mom. What are we going to do? It’s like the worst time of the year for someone to break up. Everyone’s singing about being happy and in love and giving gifts, and half of the commercials on TV are for jewelry stores and engagement rings. If I were Molly I’d want to lock myself in my room and not come out until the middle of January.”

  Nell sighed. “I really don’t know what we’re going to do, Fliss. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  Chapter 26

  About forty minutes later Nell opened the front door to find Jill, holding out a wreath made of dried flowers and herbs. “Here,” she said. “This is for you. Not like you need another wreath, but I found myself with some spare hours on my hands. Until Brian died I didn’t realize just how much time we spent together. He’s left such a gaping hole in my life . . .” Jill smiled ruefully. “And I’m filling it with dried flowers.”

  Like I’m filling the anticipated hole in my life with butter and sugar and glitter and ribbon, Nell thought.

  “Come in,” Nell said. Together the women walked to the kitchen. “Felicity and I made pomander balls earlier. Here, this one is for you.”

  Jill accepted the gift and inhaled deeply. “Mmm. Thank you, Nell. I think I’ll keep this on my bedside table. Maybe the scents will bring me pleasant dreams.”

  “If that works, let me know. Poor Molly is miserable. I don’t know if I should call Mary Williams and try to
explain the situation.”

  “How can you explain something you don’t understand?” Jill asked.

  “There is that. But maybe I should reach out to her, offer, I don’t know, sympathy.”

  Jill shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Nothing’s really settled between Molly and Mick, is it? They’ve been together too long to let the relationship go without a struggle. Okay, Mick’s gone silent, but I doubt that will last, and you don’t want to muddy the waters by interfering.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Nell admitted. “But what if Mary reaches out to me? We’ve been such good neighbors to each other since just after the girls and I moved to Yorktide.”

  “Not to resort to a cliché, but old-time Mainers are a fairly reticent breed. Stoic, too. I don’t expect Mary will be phoning any time soon to discuss her son’s personal business. And I doubt she’d much welcome anyone, well, like I said, anyone interfering.”

  Nell sighed. “What a mess.”

  “And not your mess to clean up,” Jill pointed out. “It’s tough to let a child go, but it’s something you have to do, for her sake as well as for yours.”

  “I know,” Nell admitted. “And frankly, I’ve been wondering how pure my motives are. Do I want Molly to marry Mick because I believe that’s what will really make her happy? Or do I want her to marry Mick because it will make me happy?”

  “Good question. On another note, how is your Mr. Manville?” Jill asked.

  “He’s hardly mine.”

  “Just an expression.”

  “I know. He’s fine. When we met last night we agreed that we’re friends. I’m happy about that.”

  Jill looked at Nell closely. “Are you falling in love?” she asked.

  “How can I be?” Nell replied promptly. “I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

  “Of course. When are you seeing him next?”

  “I’m meeting him for dinner later.”

  “Have you told the girls about him yet?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Jill asked.

  Nell laughed a bit and shrugged. “It doesn’t seem relevant.”