“By which you mean it seems irrelevant. That’s an interesting choice of words to use in relation to telling your children about someone you consider a friend.”
Nell opened her mouth to respond to Jill’s observation, but her mind was suddenly blank. What had she meant by choosing the words she had chosen? Before she could begin to puzzle out an answer, Jill was heading toward the kitchen door.
“I’ve got a chicken pot pie in the oven,” she said. “Enjoy the evening. And thanks for the pomander ball. My mother used to make these, you know. This will bring back happy memories of when I was her little girl.”
When Jill had gone, Nell wrote a note telling Molly and Felicity what she had prepared for their dinner. Once again she fibbed about with whom she would be having her own evening meal. Why hadn’t she told her daughters about Eric or offered to introduce them now that he was back in her life, if only for a brief time? Could it be that she was unwilling to share a relationship that felt so entirely hers and hers alone? That seemed childish if not exactly selfish. But maybe it was true all the same. Whatever the reason, Nell realized, she had better tell Molly and Fliss soon, before someone in town asked them how their mother knew a favorite writer, and they were left struggling for a reply.
* * *
The atmosphere at the Friendly Lobsterman could not be more different than the atmosphere at the Good Angel. Added to the usual photos of local lobstermen dating back to the mid-nineteenth century, the strings of little red lights in the shape of lobsters and clams, and the old wooden lobster traps suspended from the ceiling, plain pine wreaths hung on all four walls of the main dining area and a freshly cut pine tree decorated with red-and-green plaid bows stood in one corner of the room. A Santa hat was perched on the head of the life-size statue of a lobsterman behind the hostess station. Kitschy but fun, Nell thought, and the food was always good and plentiful.
When the waiter had brought their fish and chips and gone off again, Eric asked: “How did you and Joel meet? Okay, that’s another blunt question out of the blue.”
Nell smiled. “I don’t remember how we met,” she admitted. “He was always sort of there in the background, the son of my father’s business partner. We’d see each other a few times a year at parties and charity events. By the time we started to date not long after you and I broke up . . . Well, our marriage seemed a foregone conclusion. In a way there was no avoiding it. That sounds awful. Of course I had a choice, even if I thought I didn’t.”
“Free will. Choice. Pretty confusing concepts for us all.”
“Agreed. How did you and Katrina meet?” Nell asked.
“At a party given by a mutual acquaintance,” Eric told her. “It wasn’t long after the publication of my first novel. I think we were drawn to each other because we were both writers and understood things about each other’s lives it can be difficult for people working in more regular fields to understand. But like I told you, time proved that we weren’t truly compatible. You know, my parents never really took to Katrina. I think the dangerous and very public nature of her work made them feel as if she existed on a higher plane. They used to treat her with a sort of timid deference.” Eric smiled. “Thankfully, they still regard me as first and foremost their son. When I visit I’m still required to bring my dirty dishes to the sink after dinner and make my bed in the morning.”
Nell smiled. “You’re close to your parents.”
“Yes. I had a remarkably happy childhood. Sometimes I find it odd that being a person with such a drama-free past I chose to write about domestic tensions.”
“And I came from a family of drama—albeit of the quiet sort—and I sought a family life of peace at all costs. Growing up, I often felt my parents were looking at me and thinking, that’s not quite what we ordered, is it ? It’s why I set out from the start to make certain that my children felt loved and appreciated for being exactly who they are.”
“How do things stand with your parents now?” Eric asked.
“Relations are cool,” Nell said. “When Joel left me, my parents suggested I’d brought the divorce upon myself by not having been a good enough wife. I swore I’d always been one hundred percent supportive of Joel and argued that if he was unhappy he should have come to me and we could have dealt with the problem together. But nothing could change their opinion.” Nell smiled ruefully. “For a short time I wondered if my parents were right and that maybe I had in some way been responsible for Joel’s bad behavior. Luckily, I came to my senses. For the sake of the girls I maintain contact, but increasingly we see less and less of Grandma and Grandpa Emerson.”
“Understandable,” Eric said firmly.
“Frankly,” Nell went on, “Molly and Felicity were never particularly close to my parents. In fact, the only grandparent who ever showed them real warmth was Joel’s mother, Josephine. Josie was furious with her son for leaving his wife and children. She told me that Joel’s father, Lawrence, had had several mistresses over the course of their marriage but that she had turned a blind eye because she knew he would never abandon his family. She felt that Joel shouldn’t have allowed the relationship with his mistress to damage his marriage.”
Eric whistled. “I’m not sure I know what to say to that. I’ve sunk a character or two in a marriage of extreme compromise, but when you encounter that sort of domestic dynamic in real life, well, it makes you feel a bit woozy.”
“Yes,” Nell agreed. “But hearing Josie’s story helped me understand more about Joel’s poor paternal role model. When Josie died, about a year after the divorce, I felt as if I’d lost my one genuine ally in the family. She was a good woman. She chaperoned Molly and Felicity at Joel’s wedding to Pam.”
“What’s the old goat Lawrence up to these days?” Eric asked.
“Married to a woman twenty-four years his junior. I last saw him at Josie’s funeral and Joel doesn’t have much more contact with him. Joel and Pam weren’t even invited to Lawrence’s wedding.”
Eric shook his head. “Happy families are all the same . . . Hey, listen. Hear this? It’s my favorite goofy Christmas song. ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’ ”
“Poor Grandma!” Nell laughed. “Thanks for listening to tales of my wacky family.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “And I promise you won’t find any of the more colorful Kings or Emersons in my books.”
Eric excused himself to visit the gents’, and while he was gone Nell entertained an odd thought. If one day she and Eric were to marry, she would definitely be getting the better end of the bargain as far as in-laws went. Poor Eric, she thought. What a rotten deal that would be for him. And how awkward it would be for Mom and Dad! And then she shook her head. It was a preposterous thought, she and Eric marrying. Almost as preposterous as Grandma getting run over by Santa and one of his reindeer.
Chapter 27
Nell was sitting at the table with a bowl of small Styrofoam balls, several plastic tubes of glitter, a packet of screw-in hooks, and a large squeeze bottle of Elmer’s glue when Felicity came into the kitchen.
“Glitter balls?” she said, going to the fridge and taking out a carton of low-fat yogurt.
Nell smiled. “How did you guess?”
“How many tubes of glitter did you buy this season anyway?”
“Five. No wait, six. Red, silver, blue, green, gold, and white. Hey, did I hear you on the phone a few minutes ago?”
“Yeah,” Felicity said, joining Nell at the table. “I was talking to Dad. I called to tell him I changed my mind about spending Christmas with him in Switzerland next year.”
Nell was stunned. She put the cap on the tube of glitter she had been using; her hands were shaking enough to cause a spill. “But you were so looking forward to the trip,” she said. “Did something happen? Did your father or Pam say something to put you off the idea?”
Felicity shrugged. “No. It was my decision. I thought you’d be happy, Mom.”
“Well, I am happy but . . . You’re not backing out
of the trip because you think I’ll be sad spending Christmas without you? I mean, I would be sad, but that’s my concern, not yours.”
“No, this is my own decision, and it’s all about me.” Felicity laughed. “Wait. That sounds horrible. What I mean is that I love Christmas here at home.”
“But what about the skiing and the fondue and the sauna and the gorgeous Italian guys?”
Felicity sighed. “Okay, you want the whole story?”
“Yes,” Nell said. “I do.”
“When Molly started talking about moving to Boston,” Felicity began, “I started to think a lot about wanting change just for the sake of change. It made me wonder if maybe Molly wanted to leave Yorktide because she thought it was something she should do and not really something she wanted to do. I don’t know the answer to that question. Only Molly knows—or she will know someday. And then when Molly broke up with Mick, who was like the love of her life, I started to think about how easy it is to lose track of what matters most to you. I started to ask myself why I was so excited about spending Christmas with Dad and Pam and Taylor next year, and what I realized was that Dad and Pam and Taylor weren’t the attraction. I think I just wanted to be able to tell my friends I was jetting off to Switzerland to ski with a former Olympic champion who just happens to be my stepmother. I realized that the glamour of the whole thing kind of blinded me, and that’s not cool. I mean, it’s not a crime or anything, but I thought I was more mature than to turn my back on what really matters to me—my home—just so I could brag about hanging out with a bunch of rich people who don’t know me and who probably don’t want to know me.” Felicity shrugged. “It’s like that old saying. Sometimes what you really want is right in front of you but you’re too close to see it. Or something like that.”
Nell fought back tears of pride. “I’m impressed,” she said feelingly. “It takes courage to examine your motives and find them lacking. Did you explain all this to your father?”
“No,” Felicity admitted. “I didn’t want to hurt him, so I just told him I’d changed my mind because I really love being at home at Christmas. It’s the truth, just not the whole truth.”
“You’ll miss hanging out with Pam.”
“Not really,” Felicity said. “Pam’s okay but she’s not you, Mom. She can be a drama queen. She’s used to getting attention after all these years in the spotlight. I kind of wish I hadn’t said yes to the Rolex, but Dad said she’ll be disappointed I’m not going away with them next year so I’d probably only hurt her feelings if I said no to the watch, too.”
“That’s kind of you,” Nell said. She had met Joel’s wife only once. It was during the days of the divorce, and it was clear that Pam was as uncomfortable with the meeting as Nell was. The few minutes Nell had spent in her presence had proved to be a step toward acceptance of the woman Joel had chosen over his family. The caricature Nell had imagined of the evil mistress was replaced by the far more realistic image of a flesh-and-blood human being—indeed a mother—with both strengths and weaknesses. The woman might be a diva but she wasn’t evil or unfeeling. “So, want to make a few glitter balls with me?” Nell asked her daughter.
“Sure. Pass me the green and the blue? I want to mix the colors. You know,” Felicity blurted a moment later. “I can’t stop thinking about Mick. He’s like part of the family. How are we supposed to get along without him? But we can’t stay friends with him, because that would be a betrayal of Molly. Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing to us by ending their relationship?”
“She’s not thinking about anyone other than herself right now,” Nell explained, “and not very clearly at that. Don’t be mad at her.”
“I’m not mad, Mom, really. Just—worried.”
“Me, too,” Nell admitted.
Felicity squeezed a ribbon of glue onto a Styrofoam ball and sprinkled the blue-and-green glitter mixture along it. “I keep thinking about all the times the Williams family came through for us,” she said, “and about all the times we came through for them. Is that all over now? Are we supposed to stop being nice to each other?”
“I don’t know how it will work from here on in,” Nell admitted. “The same thought has been on my mind, too. Remember before we had two cars and my old Mazda broke down? Gus gave me the loan of one of his pickup trucks while my car was in the shop. It was awfully nice of him.”
“And remember when Mrs. Williams had emergency surgery and had to stay in the hospital for six days? If it weren’t for us bringing Mick and his father meals, they would have starved.” Felicity laughed. “I thought everyone knew how to use a microwave, but those two were pathetic!”
“Spoiled is more like it. Are you done with the green glitter?”
Felicity passed the tube to her mother. “Relationships are so fragile, aren’t they? It’s so hard to count on anyone staying together. I mean first you and Dad, and then Molly and Dad, and now Molly and Mick, and maybe you and me and Mr. and Mrs. Williams.”
“Yes,” Nell said. “But the three of us will always have each other. You, Molly, and me.”
“And we’ll have Dad,” Felicity added. “I mean, I will and Molly can if she wants to.”
And in a way, Nell thought, I’ll always have Joel, too. That wasn’t a bad thing.
“What do you think?” Felicity asked, holding her glitter ball aloft by the hook. “Kind of psychedelic.”
“I like it.”
Felicity rose from the table. “Mom? How many more of these things are you going to do?”
Nell surveyed the pile of sparkly ornaments on the table. “Just two or three more.”
“The tree is already decorated,” Felicity pointed out. “There isn’t room for even one more ornament on it.”
“I suppose I could buy another small tree and—”
“Mom!” Felicity groaned dramatically. “Three trees are enough! You’re obsessed! By the way, I sent Molly a text telling her I’ll be around for Christmas next year. I thought she should know right away. I’m not sure why I thought it might help, but . . . See you later, Mom.” Felicity gave her mother’s cheek a quick peck and left the kitchen.
Obsessed with Christmas. Nell decided right then that after the holidays she would donate a good many of the ornaments she had made or bought in the past weeks to the hospital’s pediatric unit. And about that designer handbag Felicity wanted for Christmas. Well, now Nell knew for sure what she should have known all along, that she didn’t have to bribe her daughter with expensive goods to win her love. She already had her daughter’s devotion and as of this moment she would stop comparing herself to Pam Bertrand-King and finding herself lacking. After all, could Pam make such perfect daughters? Nell thought not.
* * *
“So she really told her father she wasn’t going to Switzerland with him next December?” Jill asked.
Nell’s cell phone was on speaker mode. Her hands were busy forming crescent cookies. “She did.”
“Wow. Okay, not to burst your bubble or anything, but Felicity could change her mind again. And one day she will indeed be gone.”
Nell rolled her eyes. “I know that. I’m not entirely in denial, Jill.”
“I didn’t say that you were. So, how was dinner with Eric?”
“The fish and chips were delicious.”
“Not the food, silly.”
“It was a lovely evening.”
“Are you sure a romance isn’t budding?”
“Yes,” Nell said quickly. “I’m sure.”
“Look,” Jill went on, “I know the idea of a relationship is scary, but you can’t allow yourself to feel guilty for finally wanting something just for you.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Nell protested. “It’s just that nothing romantic is happening between Eric and me.”
Jill sighed. “Okay, be negative, I can’t stop you. See you soon.”
I’m not being negative, Nell thought when the call was ended. I’m just being realistic. Yes, she loved Eric, and yes, they were
friends, but he would be leaving for New York before long. They might become email buddies for a while; they might even talk to each other via phone once or twice. But then the inevitable would happen. Time would pass, and they would drift apart. Eric would meet another woman and fall in love, marry, and maybe even start that family he said he had wanted.
At least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that he doesn’t hate me, Nell thought as she placed a crescent cookie on the baking sheet. At least I’ll have the memories of the days we spent together as friends this Christmas season. And those memories would have to be enough to sustain her during the lonely years ahead with the girls gone and the house empty. But there would be poetry, if she allowed there to be. And suddenly Nell remembered something C. S. Lewis had said, words that had given her great encouragement so many years ago. “You can make anything by writing.”
As she slid the baking sheet into the oven, Nell felt her spirits lift. She knew the process of crafting a fulfilling future, one in which writing played a significant but not the only part, wouldn’t be easy. But it could be done. At least, Nell thought with determination, she could try.
Chapter 28
They had decided to meet again at the Butter Churn. Nell was able to get the same table at which she and Eric had sat before. She had been there almost fifteen minutes before Eric came through the door. The sight of him brought a smile to her face.
“Sorry I’m late,” Eric said, joining her. “I usually am late, aren’t I?”
“Not today,” Nell told him. “I got to Kennebunk about a half hour ago so I could spend some time in the cemetery, but it was so cold I had to come inside after a few minutes. Puffer coat still out of action?” she asked, noting that Eric seemed to be wearing three sweaters under his leather jacket. The neck of one of the sweaters was torn.
“I got ketchup on it,” he explained. “But this time I asked the hotel if they could clean it. Hey, remember that tiny little cemetery we stumbled on when we took a day trip to Lexington and Concord? Some of the stones were so degraded we had to trace what remained of the writing with our fingers to figure out names and dates.”
Home for Christmas Page 13