“She did buy a house. That’s something. And it’s one of those deals in which she’ll lose a chunk of money if she backs out. She’s serious.”
“Well, I’m very happy to hear that, for Mia’s sake.”
He held one of her hands up to his face, then kissed her palm. “I’ve missed you, Holly.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
He pulled her against him, and Holly closed her eyes, happiness flooding her from the tips of her toes to her brain, which wasn’t saying anything but okay. Even her warring shoulder angels hadn’t made an appearance.
And in less than a minute, their clothes were once again a tangled heap on the floor.
Holly woke at three a.m., likely because a strong arm was slung across her stomach. She was startled for a moment at how unexpected it was to find Liam beside her, in her bed. She stared at the fringe of dark lashes against the tops of his cheeks, noted the way his dark wavy hair tousled over his forehead. She leaned over and gently kissed his slightly stubbly cheek, taking in the utter gorgeousness of him.
She tried to sleep but it was useless, so after a half hour of tossing and turning and fearing she’d wake Liam, she got up and went downstairs to make a cup of chamomile tea. She brought it into the living room and picked up her grandmother’s diary.
May 1965
Dear Diary,
I have a boyfriend. Oh, how silly it feels to use that word. His name is Fredward Miller. He is not Italian. He is not Armando, not even close, but I like putting on my lipstick and perfume and being taken out to a restaurant on Saturday nights. After dinner, he likes to take me to the beach and stroll along, skipping pebbles in the water. He talks a lot about how the ocean is so vast that it reminds him to dream big. He’s a candy salesman, of all things. He supplies chocolate bars and lollipops and those Necco wafers I just love to accounts all over the New England area. You can imagine how much candy is in the bungalow for Luciana. She hasn’t met him yet; I’m not sure I want to introduce them. Right now, I like my Saturday nights, and he’s away selling his candy most weekdays.
Fredward thinks I’m exotic, but I’m not. I suppose for here, I’ll always be the Eye-talian from Italy with the heavy accent. I’m so at home here on Blue Crab Island that I don’t feel so different from everyone else, until of course, I feel someone’s eyes on me, and I’ll find Lenora Windemere staring at me from across the street or up the aisle in the general store.
I know how things will eventually end with Fredward. I also know that I’ll have many other boyfriends and that none of them will be anything like Armando either. But I am not looking for love, just companionship. I have this feeling, although Luciana is only seven, that she will seek something other than a great love. She will look for companionship, in lifetime form, and that is okay. I know that Luciana will be fine. Fine for her, which is all that matters.
What I know about love is this: when you have it, you know it.
I know it, Nonna, she thought, but I’m scared of it. What if Liam changed his mind again? What if he went back to Veronica? What if, when Mia learned that her father and her beloved cooking teacher were involved, that she never forgave Holly?
What if, what if, what if?
Holly set the notebook down on the sofa and patted the space beside her for Antonio, who’d waddled into the living room. He jumped up and sat down practically on her lap, resting a paw and then his little gray chin on her thigh.
She had no idea her grandmother had had boyfriends. It wasn’t something Camilla had ever discussed. And the few times Holly had asked her if she’d ever thought about dating or getting married again, Camilla had said she’d had her great love and there would never be another like Armando and she’d never settle for a lesser love. Though she’d been widowed so young, Camilla Constantina had never remarried. But she’d had her boyfriends, her companionship, her heart full of her memories of her Armando.
It was scary to think that Holly would have married John Reardon and been living a completely different life in California, had he asked, of course. She would not have met Liam Geller. Actually, she likely would have. She would have come to Blue Crab Island when her grandmother died and she would not have been able to sell the house and let Camilla’s Cucinotta go. She would not have done that, John Reardon or not. Not that she had any idea how all that would have worked. But it was a moot point, anyway.
And what she felt for Liam was different than what she’d felt for John, even in the beginning, when she’d been so madly in love she’d uprooted herself three thousand miles away. She’d been crazy about John. But Liam was inside her heart in a different way that she couldn’t quite explain to herself.
“’Night, Antonio,” she said to the cat, giving him a pat on his head.
And then she headed back upstairs to her bedroom, where Liam lay sleeping, his arm up over his head. She crawled in beside him, took his hand, lay it back across her stomach, and closed her eyes.
Twenty
The next day, instead of floating like last time, Holly felt her feet were firmly on the floor. There was something very eyes-wide-open about last night. And this morning, after they made love again and showered together, steaming up the shower door more than the hot water. She made him Juliet’s scrambled eggs, which he pronounced delicious, and gave him two strong cups of Camilla’s espresso, and then he left to go home and get dressed for three-quarters of a day of work. He wanted to be home when Mia’s bus arrived, unsure what her mother may have told her.
Her one true statement into the eggs: I hope Mia will be okay. Holly wasn’t sure if she’d turn up for the class that night or if she’d rage at her father for the evening instead.
At six o’clock, Tamara and Simon arrived—giggling. Holly mock-narrowed her eyes at them and said, “I noticed you arrived together last week too. Is something going on I should know about?”
“Oh, something is going on, all right,” Simon said, taking Tamara’s hand and kissing it.
Well, well, indeed. Holly smiled. “You make a fine couple.”
“We’re taking things very slow,” Tamara said. “Not rushing in like fools.”
“Even if I was invited to a family wedding three months from now,” Simon said, grinning.
“They don’t call this The Love Goddess’ Cooking School for nothing,” Tamara added, smiling at Holly.
My cup runneth over, she thought. Until Juliet walked in, a tall, handsome man beside her with world-weary eyes. Her husband. Now her cup had tipped. “Hi, Juliet.”
Juliet was not wearing gray. Or black. Or dirty-beige, as Tamara called khaki. She wore an almost iridescent lavender-colored sweater over dark jeans, her feet encased in brown suede boots and not her usual gray skimmers. “Hi. Holly, this is Ethan Frears, my husband. Ethan, Holly Maguire. And this is Simon March and Tamara Bean.”
Hellos and handshaking later, Juliet asked if Ethan could audit the class, since they were leaving the next day, going home to Chicago, and Juliet wanted Ethan to meet the people who helped give her back her spirit.
“Oh, Juliet,” Holly said, running up to her and squeezing her slight body into a hug. “I’m so, so glad. And, yes, of course you can stay for the class,” she added to Ethan, who was holding on to his wife’s hand.
Holly glanced at the clock. Almost six fifteen, and no Mia. She collected the recipes for tonight’s class and handed them out.
“Lasagna,” Ethan said. “I’ve always wanted to know how to make that.”
“And it’s my special recipe,” Holly said. “With a little help from Juliet on the final ingredient.”
Holly noticed Ethan’s gaze slide down the recipe. One true statement. He squeezed Juliet’s hand.
And so for the third time that week, Holly set out to make her lasagna. She didn’t have to go over the steps for making the pasta; she heard Juliet teaching her husband how to make a well in the pasta and crack in the egg. Once he had his ball of dough, Simon, who joined the pasta team in his delight at having another
guy around, showed Ethan how to knead it, to fold it and twist it until it was elastic.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow?” Simon asked the Frears. “Which is worse, the Chicago winters or the Maine?”
Juliet smiled. “Chicago by a landslide. But we’re not going back to Chicago to stay. We’re subletting our house and Ethan is taking a leave of absence from the law firm and we’re traveling around Europe for an entire month. First stop, Milan, Italy.”
Holly smiled. “Land of Camilla Constantina. Send me a postcard?”
“You bet,” she said, the most hopeful of smiles on her face before turning back to the pasta, which her husband was having a heck of time sliding through the pasta machine. Simon came to the rescue, an old pro now.
Tamara was on the béchamel sauce, whisking the scalded milk into the roux of flour and butter, and Holly on the signature Bolognese when the front door slammed open against the frame and Mia came rushing in, stopping under the archway, tears streaming down her face. She stared at Holly.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! I just want you to know that!”
“Mia, I—”
“My dad told me everything,” she shouted. “This is all your fault! How could you steal him away from my mother?” Tears fell down her cheeks and she stood there for a moment just sobbing. But when Holly stepped forward, Mia screamed, “I hate you!” And then she went running out, the screen door slamming behind her.
Holly excused herself to call Liam and rushed upstairs with her cell phone, bursting into tears the moment she walked into her bedroom and closed the door. She dialed his number and he picked up on the first ring.
“Mia?”
“Holly. She just left. She ran in sobbing and yelling that I betrayed her and that she hates me, and then she just ran out. I was hoping she went back home, but clearly she didn’t.”
He was silent for a moment. “I’ll go look for her. You stay put.”
This time she wasn’t the comforter. She was the Jodie.
“Holly—everything will be okay. Okay?”
She burst into tears again, trying to keep silent. “Okay,” she managed. She dropped down on her bed and took a deep breath, picking up the white satin pouch. “Please let this work out okay,” she said to the stones, and she set the pouch down on the bed and went back downstairs.
For the next hour, the two couples cleaned up every speck of the kitchen while Holly paced the living room, coming in every few minutes to help, but being shooed back out with a glass of wine. With the twenty-fifth assurance that she’d be all right, Holly walked both couples to the door.
“I promise to stay in touch,” Juliet said. “You’ll be getting that postcard from Milan.”
“I’d better,” Holly said, hugging her tight. And after good-byes all around, Juliet in her lavender sweater and her husband, his arm around her shoulder, were gone, heading up Blue Crab Boulevard.
“It’s a nice night for a romantic walk,” Holly said absently as Tamara and Simon put on their coats, hoping Mia was safe and sound at home and not in one of her four places—three places, Holly corrected, as the swing on her side yard was not going to be one of her safety zones tonight. Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away.
“She’ll be okay,” Tamara said, rubbing Holly’s back. “It may take some time, but she’ll be okay.”
“She thinks I betrayed her, though. And she’s twelve.”
“A twelve-year-old who’s going through her first romance and who’s been talking about betrayals and breakups for weeks,” Simon said. “She’ll come to understand that you didn’t betray her.”
“I hope so.”
Simon put his hand on Holly’s shoulder. “If my daughter can come around, anyone can, trust me. And wait till she finds out I’m dating the mastermind of her space-wizard bedroom.”
Holly offered a brief smile and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for everything tonight, you two. Now go. Make out or something.”
“Or something,” Tamara said, a gleam in her eyes as she and Simon headed out, hand in hand, toward his car.
Holly waved as the car left the driveway and then she sat down on the porch, wrapping her sweater tight around her and straining to hear down Cove Road, as if Mia’s voice could carry that far.
An hour later, no call. Which meant Liam hadn’t found Mia yet. He’d call to assure Holly that Mia was safe, Holly knew that. But just when she was about to call him, her phone rang. He’d found Mia in their unfinished basement, which they used for storage and the washer and dryer. She’d been lying in her sleeping bag, which she’d dusted off and unfolded next to the dryer. Liam hadn’t even thought to go down there, since Mia was usually scared of the basement, but when he’d heard the dryer, he went down and found her, leaning against it for company and warmth. She’d been there the entire time.
“She’s so exhausted and upset that she didn’t push me away,” Liam said. “She let me hold her for a half hour without saying a word. And then I picked her up and carried her to her room and stayed with her for a while till I thought she was asleep, but as I was tiptoeing out, she broke my heart.”
Holly braced herself. “What did she say?”
“She sat up in bed and said, ‘Daddy? I’m really sorry about all the stuff I said. I just wish things were different.’ And I said, ‘I know, sweetheart.’ And then we talked for another half hour about how you can care about someone very much but just not love them the way you once did, and she started crying again and said she was afraid I’d feel that way about her, and I assured her I never would, that it didn’t work like that with parents and kids, and she finally let it all out about her mother having left for those two years, that she was afraid I’d up and do that too one day, that that was why she wanted us back together so bad, so that she’d at least have one of us at any given time.”
“Oh, Mia,” Holly breathed. “What a thing to have to worry about.”
“Give us a few days, okay? I know I keep saying that. I guess I might be saying that a lot. But I’m not going anywhere, Holly. And if you need me, I’m here. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The last time he needed a few days, he was full of I’m sorrys for hurting her.
She wondered if anyone in the state of Maine knew how to make sa cordula. She should just get it over with now. In her dreams, he would like it and she’d know he was The One, her great love.
But Holly was beginning to think that there was no real Great Love. That maybe there was just love. And like her grandmother had written, when you had it, you knew it.
• • •
That night Holly and Antonio curled up on the sofa, both of them staring into the fire that Holly had dared start in the stone fireplace. So far, the house had not burned down. Her heart feeling like it might burst any second, Holly reached for her grandmother’s diary to read the fourth and final one, hoping to lose herself in Camilla’s world, find comfort in her voice.
June 1966
Dear Diary:
I always knew I had the gift of knowing. As a child, I would suddenly get a notion, so strong, such as a man proposing, and sometimes it would be accompanied by the image of a man I couldn’t quite see, on one knee, a ring proffered in a velvet box. And then I would actually see Adrianna, my mother’s young sister, slipping into the yard from the chicken coop, her cheeks flushed, her eyes full of love and hope. And if I watched for a full five minutes, I’d see Guiseppe, the neighbor’s son, sneak away in the opposite direction. And I’d know that a proposal was coming. Sometimes I would see more in my mind, sometimes less. And sometimes there would be nothing. I realized the nothing was fine too.
I can remember having the flashes as a little girl of three—seeing things with my mind’s eye that hadn’t happened yet. Such as Daddy coming home from the war. Such as our married neighbor kissing our other married neighbor. I was so young and the flashes sometimes so confusing. In one of the flashes, I was picking stones from the shore of the Po River, so when we went there on on
e of our many family picnics, I chose the three I remembered in the flash. They were just there, set in a semicircle at the water’s edge, waiting for me. When I picked them up, I remember feeling a tingle in my hand. I slipped them into the pocket of my shorts and they’ve been with me ever since. They are not the source of my knowing, of course, but I was meant to choose them for a reason. I believe they heighten my knowing. As I would hold them and look at someone or think of someone, I would sometimes feel something very strongly when I otherwise would not.
Anyway, the more I started telling fortunes, the more I used the stones, since people responded to them so well, as though they were crystal balls. That made it easier for people to accept. Especially Luciana. She could blame the stones for my “witchery,” not me.
She will go her own way as I went my own way, off to America with Armando at twenty-two, saying good-bye to my homeland. My daughter has never gotten over being different from the other girls in Maine and that never changed. But all the flashes I’ve gotten about Luciana have been fine. That she’d settle down with the dull man, si. But she would be happy. And she would not have a dull child. No.
The child, my grandchild, will be mine. It won’t be obvious. The child will not have my gift of knowing. She will not be able to scramble eggs without sloshing the egg out of the bowl. She will not be full-blooded Italian like her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother. She would be half of what I started by coming to America. But she will be mine. There will be an unbreakable bond that will carry on. Of that I am sure as I am of anything.
The diary left Holly with the urge to look through Camilla’s photo collection, so she headed upstairs to the beautiful mahogany wardrobe in her bedroom for the stacks upon stacks of albums. Holly had looked through them over the years. Black-and-whites of Camilla as a young girl, with shiny black hair so long it almost reached her waist. Polaroids of Camilla and Armando having great fun, in the yard of the house Camilla had grown up in. In front of quite possibly every lighthouse in Maine, one of Armando’s weekend missions. Snapshots of Camilla pregnant in her maternity dresses, achingly beautiful. Way too many shots of Antonio doing nothing more than staring at the camera looking very bored. And album after album of Luciana growing up, reading books in the very living room Holly had been sitting in. Helping her mother cook in the kitchen that had changed Holly’s life. One album was devoted to shots Camilla had taken at Luciana’s wedding. And there were more than twenty devoted to Holly, of visits down to Newton, Massachusetts. Of summers spent on Blue Crab Island. There were several of Holly and Juliet in flowered bathing suits and sunglasses. In Holly’s favorite, they were jumping off a low cliff into the ocean, holding hands. Holly would scan it and email it to Juliet.
The Love Goddess’ Cooking School Page 23