“Not even you, Owen.”
“I won’t. But I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s a great house.”
It was a great house, Joe thought as they backed out of the drive. A great, big house. Big enough for a huge family, like Granddad’s and like his own parents’. But would it be too big for Joe and Van alone?
Chapter 6
Van had never seen so much flour, sugar, sprinkles and frosting in her life, and it seemed to her they were wearing most of it.
She was surrounded by bowls and racks and cookie sheets. Every counter was crowded with cookies in various states of completion. Across the hall the dining room table had been cleared to accommodate the colorful Christmas tins that would eventually be filled with an assortment of the seemingly endless variety of cookies, bars and clusters.
Van reached for the white piping. She was beginning to get the knack of outlining the lemon star cookies. Her first attempts looked more like Kayla’s than those of a proficient adult. Haley was the real pro. She’d perfected getting a straight line of frosting along the edges almost immediately, then she branched out to adding clusters of sprinkles and finishing each point with a silver dragée.
Van finished her outline with only a little blob and a few squiggles and glanced over to Haley, who was sitting next to her. The girl had added a face to her latest cookie, a face with flowing yellow hair and big blue star eyes made from edible confetti.
“Wow,” Van said.
Haley shrugged.
“I used to make paintings on sea shells and sold them in the five-and-dime,” Van said.
“You didn’t.”
“I did. So I can tell you that cookie looks pretty professional to me.”
Haley’s eyebrows lifted a minutely. “It does?”
Van nodded, then turned hers around for Haley to see.
Haley’s mouth twitched, then she hiccupped and a little laugh escaped.
“I know, pretty awful.”
“You just need practice,” Haley pronounced and went back to her cookie.
As far as conversations went, Van wouldn’t call it fascinating, but it was the most the girl had spoken to her all morning and they’d been sitting elbow to elbow for a couple of hours.
She tried again. “Do you make a lot of cookies?”
“No. We did when my grandma lived with us.”
Van nodded, wondering if her grandmother was dead and whether she should ask.
She cast a glance at Mom Enthorpe but she was busy on the other side of the room.
Should she interfere? Had Joe already contacted the grandmother to let her know that her daughter was in the hospital? What if she didn’t care? What if she was dead and mentioning her might upset the children more than they already were?
“But that was a long time ago.”
“I see. When you were Kayla’s age?”
“Not that long, last year.” Haley sighed. “When she left we stopped doing a lot of things. Mom doesn’t have the time. We don’t have the money. In case you haven’t noticed.”
Whew. Hit a nerve.
“We had more money when grandma was there.”
“Did she die?”
Haley’s head snapped toward her. “No, she had a fight with Mom and left.”
“Oh. Does she know your mom is in the hospital?”
Haley shrugged.
“Does she live around here?”
“No.”
Haley pushed her chair back and carried her finished cookie over to the counter.
When she sat back down and reached for another cookie to decorate, she turned away from Van. It was pretty clear Van’s attempt at conversation was over.
Kayla on the other hand, chatted nonstop from where she was perched on her knees on a chair at the head of the table. She seemed to be wearing as much cookie dough as there was on the counter in front of her. There was a glob of green icing stuck in her hair.
Van squelched a shudder. Who knew kids could be so messy? The children of her clients were always clean and immaculately dressed. She assumed that was the work of the nanny, though several clients gave Van credit for organizing their lives so that the craziness was kept under control.
“Look, Haley!” Kayla pushed a ball of red dough onto her nose.
Van made a note to dispose of it before it made its way back into the bowl.
“I’m Rudolph. Rudolph, the red nosed reindeer . . .” She began to sing in a loud monotone.
“Had a very shiny . . .” Mom added her smooth soprano voice to Kayla’s. And soon they were all singing about Rudolph. Van didn’t think she’d remember the words, but surprisingly she did. Even Haley deigned to mumble along, every now and then allowing a word to sound in its entirety.
They set the stars aside to dry. Moved onto “Frosty the Snowman” while they dropped chocolate chip cookies onto freshly greased baking sheets.
They were halfway through “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” when the back door opened, bringing in a frigid gust of air and the guys.
“Man, it smells great in here,” Owen said, shrugging out of his jacket.
Granddad headed straight to the counter. “Lemon stars,” he said, pulling off his gloves.
“One.” Mom held up one finger in case the verbal directive had passed him by.
“And all four of you get back into the mudroom and take off your coats and hats. And make sure your gloves make it to the basket and don’t wind up on the floor.”
The three Joes and Owen backed out of the kitchen. The sounds of scuffling ensued.
Mom shook her head. “Put home-baked cookies in front of grown men and they act no older than Kayla here.”
Kayla smiled a broad smile that showed her crooked little primary teeth, now tinged with blue from icing she’d been licking.
When the guys came back in, Mom pointed to the far corner of the counter. “You can have those broken ones. And don’t spoil your dinner.”
“We haven’t had our lunch,” her husband informed her.
She looked up at the kitchen clock. An old round wall clock that Van remembered had been there when she was a girl. “Good heavens, I just lost track of time. Come on, girls. We’d better call it a day and clean up. We still have a tree to decorate.”
“Christmas tree,” Kayla squealed and clapped her hands.
Haley didn’t comment, just bent over another cookie she was decorating with a moon and star.
Van stood, dislodging flour and bits of dough from her lap.
She looked up to see Joe and his granddad looking at her.
“What?”
Joe’s smile turned to a grin.
“What?”
The grin turned to a laugh. “Come on.” He took her by the shoulders, turned her around and marched her out of the kitchen and down the hall to the powder room. Held her while he turned on the light then nudged her toward the mirror.
Van gaped at the image reflected back to her. There was flour in her two-hundred-dollar take-no-prisoners haircut. A series of icing dots and dashes created a colorful holiday Morse code across her cheeks and forehead.
She shook her head minutely, became aware of the Joes and Owen, and the two girls and Mom Enthorpe crowded into the bathroom doorway.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so festive,” said Granddad. “It’s a good look on you.”
Van looked back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at him.
“I mean it.”
“It was Owen’s fault,” she said.
“Me? I wasn’t even here.”
Van laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Then they were all laughing. Everyone but Haley.
“Good grief,” Mom Enthorpe said when they’d finally backed away from the door. “We were having such a good time, I forgot to put the lasagna in the oven.”
“Lasagna?” Owen asked.
“We always have lasagna at Christmas,” Joe said.
“Then go get it out of the back fridge while I clean up the kitchen.”
Joe and Owen went off to retrieve the lasagna while Joe Jr. and Joe Sr. looked on in amusement.
“I’ll help clean up.” She brushed past them and hurried back to the kitchen.
It was a disaster area. She took a deep breath. She knew how to deal with messes.
Mom Enthorpe was transferring trays of cookies into large plastic containers. “Another day or two and we should have enough sweets to pack up and deliver.”
Another two days?
“Who are they going to?” Van asked as she carried two big containers out to the dining table.
“Friends, neighbors. We’ll take some over to Drew and his crew, and there are several family members we don’t really see much of during the year. And the girls at the post office and the hair salon and . . .”
The list went on. Van thought how much easier it was to send a fruit basket or stick a check in an envelope and call it Happy Holidays. And no cleanup time, she thought as she surveyed the mountains of dirty dishes and leftover cookie makings.
But not nearly as much fun.
She methodically set about cleaning up. Haley hung around the fringes of the room, doing a chore if she was told, but not taking the initiative. Kayla started carrying things she could reach to Mom who was rinsing bowls and loading the dishwasher. “It makes so much noise, but it will be finished by the time the lasagna is ready to eat.”
Small favors, Van thought, thankfully.
Van sent Haley to the closet for a broom and dustpan. Then she sat Kayla down to clean the cookie dough off the bottom of her sneakers.
She was retying the girl’s shoes when Joe came in. He stopped on his way to the stove, watched her without a word, then got a glass of water and left the room.
Van stood to find Mom watching her; she looked away. She had to stop reading meaning into every gesture or look. It had gotten worse since she’d moved in with the Enthorpes.
She’d been horrified at the prospect when Joe first suggested it. But Joe and Mom and Suze and Dorie had talked her into it. Now she loved living here, and she loved Joe. But still there was that little thing—big thing, really—about children. She just wished she knew what to do.
She and Joe had talked and talked and talked. But she couldn’t help looking down the road as the years went by and there were no children. Every time she saw him with Owen, she felt it down to her gut. Not jealousy, but a sense of not being enough. Ever.
It didn’t take long to clear the kitchen. The lasagna was in the oven. Salad was made; the table was set. Everything in its place and on schedule for dinner like a well oiled-machine. Or an active well-used, well-loved kitchen.
Joe came in to tell them he had called the hospital. Mrs. Davis was doing better but visitors were still not allowed. The news cast a pall over the next few minutes until Granddad mentioned the Kennans’ Labrador had just had puppies a couple of weeks before and they all piled into Mom’s car to go check them out.
“Do not come home with any more dogs,” Mom called after them, then turned to look at Van.
“See what you have to look forward to?”
And Van lost it. Without warning, without even knowing what she was feeling or that this simple sentence could unleash all her misgivings, Van burst into tears.
“Van, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just can’t—Sorry, so stupid.” Van rushed from the room.
She’d managed to pretty much pull herself together by the time she reached her and Joe’s room. She felt like such a fool and was humiliated to lose it in front of Joe’s mom, who would probably tell Joe and Joe would be all sympathetic and attentive and worried. None of them would get that she just wanted to be treated normally.
The pressure was more than she could bear sometimes. She should just leave and go back to the life she’d made for herself. She’d been happy then, happy enough—but not as happy as here with Joe and the Enthorpes.
There was a tap at the door.
She didn’t want to talk to Mom. But she had to let her in or things would get blown totally out of proportion.
She got up from the side of the bed and opened the door.
Mom Enthorpe held up a bottle of wine and two glasses. “My bad. Brought us these. Sitting room?”
Van nodded and followed Mom back to the extra guest room that had been converted to a snug little den.
They sat down; Mom poured. They clinked glasses. Sipped. The wine was good. Not theirs, but from a French vineyard where Joe had apprenticed.
“We’re all trying just too damn hard,” Mom said.
Van blinked. She’d never heard Alice Enthorpe say anything worse than shoot.
“We love you so much, and want you to stay with us, that we’re falling over our own feet and end up saying or doing stupid stuff to drive you away.”
Van shook her head, but it was true.
“It was unthinking of me to say that.”
“No,” Van blurted out. “It’s what it should be. It’s what families expect and should be, and what I can’t be.”
Mom sipped, considered. She didn’t rush in to deny it and Van’s hope sank on the dim horizon.
“I guess that’s what most people expect. That the younger generation should carry on the family name. That’s a pretty lame excuse for marrying someone.”
“Not if that’s what you want.”
“Ah.”
Neither of them spoke for a while, then Mom put down her glass. She took Van’s hand. “I can’t speak for Joe, only he can. But I can tell you that you’re my daughter just as sure as if you were born an Enthorpe. You have been since the day Joe first brought you to visit. And those three kids out there, they could be, if it comes to that. But I don’t know what you think, what you feel—what you want. Do you?”
Van shrugged. “I did. Before. I thought I would marry Joe and we’d spend the rest of our lives together on the dairy farm.”
Mom sighed a smile. “So did we.”
“And that we’d have lots of children like we talked about. He told me I’d be a good mother, even though I didn’t have a good home life. That when I was married to him I would know my real self and know that I could do anything.”
“Just like a man. But you have to love them in spite of their rocks for brains sometimes.”
“I know it seems silly and arrogant, but it kept me going all through high school and then after—after I screwed everything up and had to make a different life. It kept me going, him saying that I could do anything.
“But now I can’t do the one thing that means the most to him.”
“Huh.” Mom poured a little more wine in both their glasses. “You’re talking like it’s the nineteenth century. If you want kids, there are thousands of children who need loving parents like you and Joe would be. I’ve told Joe that and I’ll tell you. We don’t need any more grandchildren to carry on the name of Enthorpe. God knows the Enthorpes litter the whole east coast. And if you don’t want any kids at all. That’s fine, too.”
“I do. I just don’t know how to . . .”
“You will.”
“Will I? It seems like I take two steps forward and then everything gets screwy. How did you make it work?”
Mom laughed. “You’re working with a basic flaw in your expectations.”
“I don’t know anything about kids.”
“That’s not it. You think life goes in a straight line. A to B, then if you do C, it goes to D? It doesn’t.”
“It would be better if it did.”
“Maybe, but it’s sloppy and zigzaggy and exasperating and wonderful—and sometimes painful. You just have to hang on for the ride.”
“But you always kept things running smoothly.”
“Ha. Most of the time it’s like herding soap bubbles, or should I say snowflakes? Look out the window.”
Van did. It was snowing. Flakes drifted past the window, so delicate that most of them would disintegrate when they landed.
“Now I’d better get back to th
e lasagna or we’ll have some real unhappy folks. You stay and finish your wine, have a good cry if you need to.”
Van shook her head. “Don’t tell Joe. I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re more than fine, Vanessa Moran. And I’d be proud to have you as a daughter-in-law.”
Chapter 7
Van finished her wine, took a quick shower and looked for something festive to wear for the tree decorating. She came up with not much. Black jeans and a burgundy boat-neck sweater that she’d bought on a whim on one of her rare trips to the mall with Suze. She’d mentally filed the sweater under expanding-your-horizons, put it in the back of the closet and promptly forgot about it—until tonight.
She quickly put on makeup, checked that she hadn’t missed any dabs of dough or food coloring in her quick ablutions and went down the hall to help with dinner.
She felt kind of stupid about her outburst earlier and wanted to apologize to Mom Enthorpe before the others returned, but she was too late. She ran headlong into the group coming through the front door.
Granddad took a look at her and whistled. Joe elbowed him in the ribs and came to give Van a kiss.
“It’s snowing and we saw puppies,” Kayla announced. “I got to hold them.”
“Had to pry her away,” said Joe, still holding Van.
“Good thinking. Christmas isn’t exactly the easiest time to house train.”
He laughed. “You are a wealth of information.”
Van shrugged. “Part of the services. Now let me go help your mom get dinner on the table.”
“You or lasagna? Hmmmm.” Joe dropped his arms and opened his palms, pretending to weigh the options. “You . . . lasagna . . . you . . lasagna. You . . .”
“Lasagna!” their audience yelled.
Van punched him and went into the kitchen.
Dinner was consumed at lightning speed. It seemed even Mom Enthorpe was looking forward to decorating the tree. Van offered to do the dishes, but Mom nudged her out of the kitchen and into the living room where Christmas music was playing from the CD player and Granddad was handing out ornaments.
“It’s going to be a free for all,” Van said.
“Always is,” Mom said, handing her a paper-wrapped ornament.
Christmas at Whisper Beach Page 5