Home for Christmas

by Holly Chamberlin

  “Good. That’s settled.” Felicity suddenly turned to her sister. “Any word from Mick?” she asked.

  Molly shook her head. “No. He can’t just continue to ignore me!”

  “Yes,” Nell said gently. “I’m afraid he can. And until he’s ready to face you you’re just going to have to accept his position, as difficult as that is to do.”

  Molly looked down at her plate and frowned. Molly is an adult, Nell reminded herself. She has to learn how to fix her mistakes on her own. She has to learn how to accept the consequences of her actions without my help.

  “So,” Nell said. “Last chance to protest. You’re sure you’re okay with having Eric here for Christmas?”

  Molly looked up and managed a smile. “Yes.”

  Felicity nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you,” Nell said. “Really, thank you.”

  * * *

  Nell looked at her watch. Eric had called earlier to ask if he could stop by the clinic on his way to Portland for a reading at a new independent bookstore. He had a book of poetry in which he thought she might be interested. The poet was a young Ugandan woman being touted as a voice to be heard.

  As soon as Nell looked away from her watch, her phone alerted her to a text. Eric was about a minute from the office. Nell grabbed her coat, hat, and mittens and the large box she had brought with her from home. To say that she was nervous about asking Eric to spend Christmas with her family was an understatement. The worst he could say was no, she reminded herself for about the hundredth time that morning.

  Nell opened the door to the clinic to see Eric’s car slowly approaching along the plowed drive. The drive would have to be plowed again before long. Snow was falling, and the temperature seemed to be stalled in the low twenties. Southern Maine was in for yet another whopper of a storm.

  Eric brought the car to a stop. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he quipped as he climbed out.

  “Nice hat,” Nell replied. He was wearing one of those intensely goofy hats with earflaps. What made it truly awful was the fact that it was a bilious shade of green. At least the puffer coat had come clean.

  “It does the trick. Here,” he said, handing her a slim paperback. “I ordered it from Amazon. My copy is back in New York or I would have lent it to you. Maybe we could talk about the work after you’ve read the poems.”

  “Thank you,” Nell said, slipping the book into the pocket of her coat. “I’d like that. And I have something for you.” Nell handed Eric the box.

  “What’s in this?” he asked with a laugh. “It weighs a ton.”

  “Treats for your audience. I told you how I’ve been going a bit crazy with baking this year.”

  “It’s one way to hold an audience captive. Promise them cookies.”

  “Eric, I told the girls that we’re friends,” Nell blurted. “I told them you want to meet them, and they invited you to spend Christmas with us.”

  Eric’s eyes widened. “They did? Wow. That’s really generous.”

  “There’s no pressure,” Nell went on hurriedly. “If you’d rather spend the day on your own or if you have other plans, I perfectly understand. We perfectly understand.”

  “I’m honored. And I’ll be there.” Eric leaned forward and kissed Nell’s cheek. His lips were cold, but Nell didn’t care.

  “Drive safely,” she said.

  Eric stowed the box of treats in the backseat of his car and got behind the wheel. Nell watched as he drove away through the rapidly thickening snow. When he was out of sight, she touched her cheek where his lips had been and smiled.

  Chapter 31

  “Who’s coming caroling with me this evening?” Nell asked. “It’s the usual group organized by one of the deacons of the Lutheran church.” Nell had already decided that if neither of her daughters accompanied her she would go on her own. There would not be a repeat of last night, when she had so cowardly walked away from the concert.

  “Not me,” Molly said. “Forcing anyone to listen to me sing is cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “You don’t need to have a fantastic voice to go caroling,” Nell pointed out. “It’s about the spirit of the season.”

  “But, Mom, it’s like ten degrees out! We’ll get frostbite!”

  “We’ll be fine,” Nell assured Felicity. “We’ve got plenty of cold weather gear. Plus walking from house to house will keep us warm.”

  Felicity sighed. “All right, but only for an hour. Then we come home and defrost. Where do we meet the others?”

  “Outside the post office at seven. Molly?”

  Molly shook her head. “Sorry, Mom, but you can count me out and not only because of my voice. I know Mrs. Williams goes caroling every year with that group. I won’t be able to face her.”

  “You’ll have to face her some time,” Felicity pointed out reasonably.

  “But it doesn’t have to be now.” Molly turned to leave the kitchen. “Have a good time,” she said, and then she was gone.

  “What happens if Mick’s mother is there tonight?” Felicity asked quietly.

  “We say hello,” Nell said, “and wish her a merry Christmas. And I say how sorry I am that Molly and Mick are going through a rough patch, especially at this time of the year.”

  Felicity sighed. “What a mess. I wish I could wave a magic wand and have everything go back to the way it used to be.”

  “Don’t we all,” Nell said, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “But some things are just fine the way they are right now. We shouldn’t forget that.”

  “I know, Mom,” Felicity said. “I really do.”

  * * *

  In spite of the frosty weather and the sometimes perilous walking conditions, the caroling had been an awful lot of fun. Mary Williams hadn’t shown, and for a moment Nell had wondered if the thought of running into the Kings had put Mary off attending. More likely she had something else scheduled. Mrs. Williams was not one to be intimidated by awkward social situations or minor adversities. She was the sort who just got on with things.

  As was Jill. She had joined the carolers, and though her voice was even worse than Molly’s, it hadn’t stopped her from singing at the top of her lungs. Nell and Felicity had stopped at Jill’s house afterward. When Nell told her that Eric Manville would be joining them for Christmas dinner, Jill had fetched the whiskey and added a celebratory shot to her cup of coffee and one to Nell’s. “Let me know if you want me to bring mistletoe,” she whispered when Felicity went off to the powder room. To which Nell had replied, “Jill, really!”

  Now, tucked up in bed, Nell reached for the book of poetry Eric had given her earlier that day. She hadn’t had a chance to open the volume before now and was surprised to find an inscription. For Nell, whose words are as beautiful as her soul. Eric’s signature followed, the robust capital E, followed by the scrawl that represented the r, i, and c. Nell felt her heart leap. Surely it was the sentiment of a man in love? But, as she had thought before, perhaps a man in love with who she had been, not with whom she had become. Before Nell could puzzle out the message any further, her cell phone rang. It was Eric. With a smile, Nell answered.

  “I’m back,” Eric said. “Half frozen but back.”

  “How did it go?” Nell asked.

  “Well, your cranberry crumble cookies were a big hit. At least three people asked for the recipe.”

  Nell snuggled down further under the covers. “But how did the reading go?”

  “It went well,” Eric told her. “But something odd happened afterward. A woman came up to tell me she had just found out about my divorce and was upset that the news had been kept quiet. She said she felt deceived.”

  “Oh. How did that make you feel?” Nell asked.

  “It reminded me of how people feel so bonded with their favorite writers and musicians and actors. They feel we owe them not only attention but affection.” Eric paused. “On the one hand, to know that you and your work means so much to a virtual stranger is humbling.�
�

  “Yes,” Nell said. “I imagine it must be.”

  “On the other hand,” Eric went on with a laugh, “it’s kind of frightening. I’m just an ordinary guy. No one should be putting me on a pedestal, because I’m sure to fall right off!”

  Nell laughed. “Your balance never has been good.”

  “Can’t even ride a bicycle!”

  “Did your fan ask for an apology?” Nell wondered.

  “No,” Eric said, “but I gave her one anyway. But enough about me. Have you had a chance to take a look at Gabrielle Lagum’s poems?”

  Nell touched the book by her side. “I’d just opened the cover when you called. All I’ve read so far is your inscription. It’s lovely, Eric.”

  “I meant what I wrote.”

  “Thank you.” Nell suddenly felt tongue-tied. Before words could come to her, Eric cleared his throat, and when he spoke his tone was light.

  “About that cranberry crumble cookie recipe. I told your fans that I’d try to wrangle it out of you and pass it on. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” Nell told him.

  “I’ll speak to you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Nell said. “Good night, Eric. I’m glad you called.”

  “Sleep well, Nell.”

  Nell set her cell phone on the bedside table and once again read the inscription Eric had written. Then with a smile she turned the page.

  Chapter 32

  “You’re up early.” Nell, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a half-eaten corn muffin, looked closely at her older daughter. There were dark circles under Molly’s eyes and her face looked drawn.

  “I’ve been awake since four,” Molly said, slumping into the chair next to Nell’s.

  Nell noted that Molly was once again wearing the ring that had belonged to Mick’s grandmother. For a moment she wondered if she should comment upon it and then decided not to say a word.

  “Can I get you some breakfast?” she asked.

  “No,” Molly said. “That’s okay. But I will have a cup of coffee.”

  Nell reached for the press pot and poured coffee into one of the mugs on the table. “Still no word from Mick?” she asked.

  Molly shook her head. “Can I talk to you, Mom?”

  “Of course,” Nell said.

  “Where do I even begin?” Molly took a sip of coffee before going on. “You know, it’s ironic. I’ve been studying psychology for the past four years. You’d think I could have applied some of what I’ve learned to my own situation and understood myself better.”

  Nell patted her daughter’s hand. “Self-knowledge is usually the most difficult to achieve. Don’t punish yourself for being human.”

  “Not easy. Anyway, I’ve finally come to understand that for the past few months I’ve been terrified. And yet, I didn’t feel afraid when I was going on about breaking up with Mick and seeing other men and leaving Yorktide behind. I felt brave. I didn’t know I was afraid of what a life here in Maine with Mick represented until he started to give me those gifts, and then it all became so clear. I was afraid.” Molly looked at the ring on her finger and shook her head. “Can fear tell you lies? I mean, can it make you believe your motives are good and healthy, like wanting to experience new things and meet new people, and not what they really are, which in my case was cowardice?”

  “Yes,” Nell said. “Fear can lie to you. It can make you do terrible things. It can lead you to make decisions against your own good.” Like walking away from Eric, she thought. Like turning my back on poetry.

  “I realize now,” Molly went on, “that the depth of the love I feel for Mick frightened me. It didn’t help that a lot of my friends thought I was nuts to want to get married to my first and only boyfriend.” Molly smiled ruefully. “Some of them even congratulated me when I told them I’d broken up with Mick.”

  “I hope you realize that some of those critics might simply have been jealous of your relationship with Mick.”

  “I see that now.” Molly paused for a moment before going on. “It’s like, you graduate from college and you’re supposed to start making adult decisions and living an adult life. For me, that meant marrying Mick like I’d planned. But suddenly, it felt as if everything was moving too fast. It felt as if the future was already here when I wasn’t done with the present.”

  “And so deciding to move to Boston was a way to avoid making the most adult decision of all,” Nell said.

  “Exactly. To stay with someone I loved and who loved me. I want to be with Mick forever, Mom. I really do. I want to be an important part of his family and an important part of the farm.”

  “I know you do,” Nell assured her. “And when you marry him I know you won’t allow your true self to slip away, no matter how much a part of his family and the farm you become. Mick wouldn’t want that, either. What you have with Mick is truly lovely.”

  Molly pulled her robe closer around her. “What I had with Mick. Now I have nothing.”

  Nell put her hand on her daughter’s. “Don’t be so sure,” she said gently. “He needs time to heal. A young man’s ego can be a very sensitive thing, and he’d put so much time and effort into making this Christmas special for you.”

  “I feel so ashamed, Mom,” Molly confessed. “Sometimes I forget that men feel just as deeply as we do. What’s wrong with me that I could ignore that fact?”

  Nell wondered if Molly was thinking of her father as well as of Mick, but she refrained from asking. What she said was: “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Molly. None of us are immune to fear. Sometimes it wins and sometimes it loses. I wish it lost all the time, but it doesn’t.”

  Molly smiled wanly. “Thanks for listening, Mom. And thanks for trying to make me feel like less of a jerk. I really appreciate all you do for me.”

  I am needed, Nell thought. I must never allow myself to forget that. “It’s my pleasure,” she said honestly.

  “So, what’s the craft of the day?”

  Nell sat back in her chair. In truth all she had planned for the day other than preparing for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner was to continue to read the book of poems Eric had given her. She laughed. “Nothing. I guess I’m finally out of ideas.”

  “There’s still the window on the Advent calendar to open,” Molly pointed out, getting up from the table. “December twenty-fourth,” she said as she pulled open the last of the little cardboard windows of the big brick house. “It’s a sprig of mistletoe.” Molly turned to Nell. “Maybe it’s a good omen.”

  “Maybe it is,” Nell said. Maybe it is for us both.

  * * *

  Nell was sitting in the book nook of the living room when Eric called on her cell phone.

  “Hi,” he croaked.

  “You don’t sound very good,” Nell said worriedly.

  “I don’t feel very good, either. I’ve got a cold coming on. But all I need is to stay in bed for the day. Works every time.”

  “I could bring you anything you need,” Nell told him. “Cough medicine, aspirin, chicken soup.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble, Nell. I’ll be fine,” he assured her.

  “I was reading Gabrielle Lagum’s poems when you called. Her work is really lovely. The poems are sharp and clear. They glitter with truth.”

  “I had a feeling her work would speak to you. I—” A cough interrupted Eric’s next words.

  “You should be trying to get some sleep,” Nell told him. “You’ll call me if you need anything, won’t you?”

  “I will, I promise. Thanks, Nell. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Goodbye.” In fact, it was only now that Nell realized just how much she was relying on Eric’s being with her and the girls for Christmas. If he wasn’t able to join them . . . The appearance of the girls turned Nell’s thoughts away from the unhappy possibility.

  Felicity went to the window that looked out onto the side yard. “I can’t see anything but a wall of snow, not e
ven the Masons’ house, and that’s only like twenty yards away. Isn’t it awesome that no two snowflakes are identical,” she said, turning to face the room.

  Molly, still looking wan and pale, sank into the armchair across from her mother’s. “You know, white is supposed to be the color of hope and purity and innocence, but sometimes it’s scarier than black. Like today. The world looks so blanched and drained of life.”

  “In Chinese culture white is sometimes a symbol of death,” Nell pointed out. “People wear white to funerals.”

  Felicity plopped onto the floor and sat cross-legged. “You two are depressing. What are you reading, Mom?”

  “Eric gave me this book of poems by a young Ugandan writer.”

  Molly reached out for the book, and Nell passed it to her. She opened the book at the beginning and slowly turned a few pages. A moment later she returned it with a small smile. Nell realized that Molly must have seen Eric’s inscription.

  Felicity suddenly sprang up from the floor and pounded upstairs with no explanation.

  “Does she ever sit still for long?” Nell asked rhetorically.

  Molly rose from her chair. “Nope. I’ll be back soon, Mom. I want to make one last delivery of goodies to the Pine Hill Residence for the Elderly before the weather gets any worse. And yes, Mom,” she added with a smile, “I’ll be careful.”

  Chapter 33

  The weather was growing nastier by the minute. The windowpanes in the small mudroom at the back of the house were frosted inside and out. Snow laced the branches of the pine trees that marked the edge of the property and virtually obscured the stone birdbath in the center of the backyard. Nell was grateful for the blessing of her cozy home and hoped that Molly would be back before long. Molly was an excellent driver, but people rarely won when Mother Nature was the opponent.

  Nell was in the living room admiring the decorations on the tree when the doorbell rang. She assumed it was the mailman with a package too big to slip through the mail slot or a Federal Express or UPS driver there to deliver something Felicity had ordered online. But when she opened the door she found her former husband instead.