Home. The word settled inside her. Despite years of drive-through visits to her father, she felt strangely comfortable beneath the covers of her old bed. A place free of life’s dilemmas. The great escape from her current problems turned out to be the one location she couldn’t wait to leave years ago.
She wished Erik had answered her call last night, maybe hashed over some of the pros and cons with her. He’d have seen how much she wanted to make things work for them. For a brief moment she wished he were here, squeezed into this teeny twin bed, limbs intertwined, and his tender lips tasting hers.
She rolled to her side and lifted her handbag from the floor. Groping inside the bag, she hoped to land on the smooth plastic covering of her cell phone but didn’t. After sitting upright and dumping the entire contents on the bedspread, she still didn’t find it. The car. It must be there.
She tossed off the comforter. Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. She put on last night’s socks, sweatpants, and sweatshirt over the T-shirt she’d slept in. Wandering into the combined living room/dining room, she stopped at the thermostat and raised the temperature, missing how her father would usually shout out that she shouldn’t raise it too high because heat cost money.
Today she’d make this house cheery for her holiday, decorate it the way her father had always liked. On her way to the kitchen, she spotted a photo on the wall of her parents’ wedding day. As a child, she’d often studied this picture of them at the church altar. Her dad’s face, calm on the surface no matter what was going on, his hair neatly parted, his suit crisp and simple. Mom’s calf-length dress came from another era, as did the flipped ends of her hair. Both of them wore tentative smiles, expressions that belied their joined hands.
She continued to the kitchen, her stomach growling. A box of breakfast bars left in the cabinet from a visit this summer would have to suffice. Nibbling on one, she sat at an oak pedestal table made by a carpenter in the next town over and jotted down a list of groceries and errands. She showered, tossed on jeans with a wool sweater, and went outside to her car.
After checking the floor and between the seats for her cell phone, she still couldn’t find it, so mentally retraced her steps. The last time she used it was at her apartment, the call to Erik. Then she’d plopped it on the bedroom dresser. She groaned, certain now where she’d left the phone. The one thing this house didn’t have was a landline phone, disconnected after Pop passed away.
With all ties of communication cut, she didn’t bother to dwell. Instead, she drove into town.
She turned into Bellantoni’s Market. Cars filled the lot, not surprising with the holidays tonight and tomorrow. Wandering the inside aisles, she filled her cart with necessities and treats for the days ahead and happily hummed along to Bing Crosby’s version of “White Christmas” as it played through the store’s speakers. Even back when she used to shop here with her mother, the store had a reputation for always playing the oldies. When the song ended, Frank Sinatra’s smooth baritone voice confidently shared with shoppers that he’d be home for Christmas. Beryl got lost in the lyrics and choked up a little. Home. Selling Dad’s house suddenly meant more than selling a structure. More like tossing away a piece of her history.
As she unloaded her groceries onto the conveyer belt, Beryl ran into an old high school friend who invited her to an open house over the weekend. People were so friendly here. The gesture lifted her spirits and eased the loneliness of being here alone.
She left the market and drove a short distance on Lake Shore Drive into the center of town. Pine swags and ribbons wrapped the black streetlights, and storefronts were decked out for the season with window displays and sale signs. Near the gazebo at the park sat a nativity scene and a tall pine tree, glittering even in the daylight from multi-colored lights. Cars parallel parked along the sidewalks and busy shoppers hurried along the sidewalks. The start of flurries added a charge to the air.
On her approach to the Northbridge Methodist Church, she admired a huge pine wreath set against the white clapboard exterior. She turned into the church driveway. Buying a tree from their annual fundraiser was a Foster family tradition, and she hoped there were some good ones left.
A half hour later, she drove through town with a tree strapped to the top of her car and happy after a great conversation with Pastor Felton. Her stomach growled. She parked along the main street, right near Sunny Side Up. The cold air would keep the perishable groceries refrigerated while she ate a decent meal.
After ordering an omelet, she flipped through a copy of the Blue Moon Gazette that she’d purchased at the register. Cliff Rogers, her elementary school friend’s father, was still the editor. She hadn’t thought about Sue in years, their times together filled with laughter and some great memories. Had her friend stayed in Northbridge or left like her? Perhaps she’d contact Mr. Rogers and ask.
She finished eating and left. On her way back to Dad’s house, she passed property for sale by the Tate brothers, who owned a local farm. She’d heard from her sister that one of her old friends, Sophie Shaw, had been trying to buy the land to turn it into a vineyard but some developer outbid her and planned to turn the place into a resort. Either way, it surprised her that any property in Northbridge was in such high demand.
Or maybe it didn’t.
Something about the town withstood the test of time. Many of her classmates had chosen to stay here for a reason. Relaxing and friendly, it really had been a wonderful place to be raised. Probably even a great place to live now. Peacefulness settled inside Beryl. Visits back to her hometown after she’d moved to the city had been brief, her mind always back in Manhattan with work concerns. Yet deep down, she was beginning to realize how much the things around here really did matter to her, a fact she hadn’t ever considered in her haste to leave.
Beryl drove slowly on each country road leading home. Unexpected tears filled her eyes, the short adventure proving one thing: Northbridge really was home.
Snowflakes drifted from the sky, now covering the ground with a few inches. She made several trips into the house with her purchases, leaving the tree on the porch for later. Once inside, she unpacked groceries, then went into storage to haul the decoration boxes into the great room.
After plunking down the last box, she allowed her gaze to flit around the room. Soft knotty-pine walls, a stone fireplace, three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Up in a loft overlooking the spacious main living area, her father kept a desk and chair looking out at the tall trees surrounding the property. A beautiful and undisturbed place. A wonderful place to write.
A sensation started in the pit of her stomach, danced through her veins. A perfect place to write! The job she went to daily wasn’t really all she had. She had her writing, always taking second place to what she did at Global.
But it didn’t have to.
Excitement surged inside her, the idea of writing full time the answer to everything. The pros and cons list on her computer should include one more choice: moving to Northbridge and pursing a full-time writing career.
The pros were easy. Foundations for success were already planted. Full-time writing work meant she could produce more books. She’d be her own boss. A quick calculation of her bank account and assets showed money wasn’t an issue for her. She’d done well over the years, saved frugally, made smart purchases like the co-op in the city. If she bought out her sister’s half of Pop’s house, she could leave the city, set up an office in this house, and live here, also. Only two hours away from the city.
From that distance, she could date Erik. Easily and openly. The weight of worry following her to town lifted. In its place was joy and love for Erik. A true second chance. Excitement burst inside her chest and she rushed over to her purse, about to dig out her phone when she remembered it was in her apartment.
She half considered leaving right now, driving back to Manhattan to let him know. From the picture window, she watched the mounting snowfall, though. It would have to wait,
but she bathed in the joy of a great solution. Hopefully, Erik would agree.
* * * *
Snowflakes filled the sky, like a pillow fight of the gods. Erik hurried into the parking garage, and gave the attendant he’d called twenty minutes ago his name.
“Ready and waiting.” The attendant pointed to Erik’s SUV. “Be careful out there.”
“Thanks.” Erik gave him a tip. He tossed his overnight bag and the gifts for both his family and Beryl in the backseat.
He pulled from the garage and made his way to Madison Avenue to pick up the highway, still uncertain where he was headed. His entire family expected him in Larchmont. And then there was his second option, to find Beryl, who according to Darcy, had gone to Northbridge. But Beryl wasn’t answering her cell phone. The white pages had no listing for her or her father in the small Connecticut town, either.
He swung between varying degrees of worry over Beryl’s unanswered calls. Maybe she was out of cell-phone reach. Still, part of him wanted to drive all the way to Connecticut and make sure she was fine. Tell her his idea to make this all work out and deliver his gift.
But would he be welcome? She had asked for space to think.
Traffic wasn’t too bad considering the weather, and Erik reached the highway in good time and continued north onto FDR Drive. He had a few miles to decide exactly where he was spending this holiday.
* * * *
Beryl removed three gold-plated ornaments from the Danbury Mint: a manger scene, a couple ice-skating, and a jack-in-the-box. Her mother had adored the collectibles retailer, and delighted in the revival of these goodies from storage each Christmas. A gentle ache for Mom seared the edges of Beryl’s heart. She hung the old ornaments on the five-foot balsam fir, adorned now with large multicolored bulbs her dad had always insisted upon, always grumbling about “those trendy little white lights all the stores sell.”
The fireplace crackled, and heat from the flames warmed as far as the sofa. She sank into the well-worn cushions and hummed along to “Winter Wonderland” playing on the kitchen radio while picking through the last few items in the box from storage. She inhaled the scents surrounding her. Woodsy pine. Burning wood. Garlic and spices, doused all over a roasting chicken.
Once she disregarded the lack of company, the familiar setting gave her the peace and comfort she’d hoped to find by leaving Manhattan. Tomorrow on Christmas morning, she’d work on her manuscript in the loft, a sort of test run to make sure the location felt as suitable as it appeared. Maybe later, she could find a phone in town and call Erik with her news of her plan.
She stood and went to the window. Despite the darkness, snow heaped on everything outside brightened the yard. More than a foot must’ve fallen, and the forecast called for close to two feet by morning. Luckily she had year round maintenance already arranged for the house, which included snow removal.
On her way to the kitchen, she passed the inoperable old wall phone, placed against a backdrop of tan and brown gingham wallpaper. Yikes. Updates were needed if her plan for moving and working here panned out.
Thud!
Beryl cocked her head.
Thud!
Again? Probably snow falling off a branch. She lifted an oven mitt to check the chicken.
Clunk-thud. Clunk-thud. Clunk-thud.
She tossed the mitt and turned on the outside floodlight. There wasn’t a car in the driveway. She squinted, certain there were footsteps cutting across the snow-filled yard.
Knock, knock.
She went to the window near the front door, pulling aside the curtain.
The porch light cast a beam on a tall man wearing a navy parka, the fur-trimmed hood tied tight to his cheeks and a wool scarf wrapped around his neck. Snow covered him right down to the tips of his gloves. She lifted her hand to bang on the window and he turned around.
Erik smiled and yelled, “Hi, gorgeous. Can I come in?”
A dam of happiness burst inside Beryl’s chest. “Oh my God! Yes! Hold on,” she yelled, and rushed to the door. Swinging it open, she took his arm and guided him inside, quickly closing the door as a wind gust tried to sneak inside, too. “I didn’t see a car. Did you walk here from Manhattan?”
“No.” He laughed, and his eyes crinkled. The tip of his nose and cheeks were bright red. “My car is stuck at the bottom of the driveway. Thank God, I made it that far. The roads were passable in New York, but they’re terrible here.”
“Go ahead and shake off on the rug. We’ll get this wet stuff by the heat. I can’t believe you’re here. I wanted to call you so badly. I left my phone back in my apartment.”
He kicked snow off his boots and removed his gloves. “Oh. I tried you quite a few times. I started to worry when you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry. And you drove all the way here in this mess. How long did it take?”
He pulled off the snowy knit cap and his dirty-blond strands jumped with static. “I’ve been on the road for almost four hours, about double what I’d expected.” He dropped his jacket to the floor and pulled her into his arms. “One thing kept me going.”
He softly kissed her. She melted against his body, sank into the sensation of his arms around her. Real, but she almost couldn’t believe it. She cupped his cold cheek in her palm.
He snuggled against it. “Mmm, worth every second of battling those winds.”
A puddle of melting snow formed near her stocking feet. “Hold on.” She took a hanger from a nearby closet then hung his coat in the bathroom.
She stepped back into the main room, where he lowered himself near the heater and lined up his damp hat and gloves.
He stood upright and walked over to her, arms opened. She slipped hers around his waist. “I still can’t believe you’re here. I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too. Holding you has never felt so good.”
“Listen, I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“Yeah?” He raised a brow. “Me too. I will never run the risk of losing you again. I’ve made a decision about my job at Global.”
“So have I—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “You don’t need to go anywhere. I’m resigning, at least when I can legally get out of the job. I did sign a contract. I have a good lawyer and will make sure the firm has a good replacement. Then I’ll find something in the city. Or maybe even start my own consulting firm. I’ve always thought about doing that, but just didn’t. This way we can be together.”
She studied his serious gaze. “You’d do that for us?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Tears stung her eyes, her love for him at this moment almost disabling.
“What?” He pressed his forehead to hers and quietly said, “I thought you’d be glad.”
“I’m thrilled. I came up with a plan, too. To quit my job at Global and write full time.”
“But if I quit, you can stay.”
“No. I want to do this. You know, I think it’s always been a dream. One I never gave myself permission to indulge in. But I’ve worked hard, and maybe it’s time for a new dream.”
He lifted his head, the hope glistening in his eyes making his concerned expression fade. “You’re serious.”
“More than I’ve ever been. I can work up there.” She pointed to the loft. “We could enjoy weekends together away from the city or I could head into Manhattan. Even during the week.” She softly kissed his cheek. “So close, the distance won’t matter.”
“It’s perfect.” He twirled a piece of her hair in his fingers. “But are you sure? Because, I meant what I said about resigning. I don’t want you doing this for me.”
“I wouldn’t and I’m not. I’m doing it for me.”
“It’s perfect, then. Just like the gift I found for you. Hold on.”
He kneeled beside his bag and searched. “I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but let’s not wait.”
“But I didn’t get you anything.”
<
br /> “I got my gift when I walked inside this house.” He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Take a seat and open this.”
She chuckled. “When did you become so impatient?”
He shook his head. “Probably when I walked into the room at the museum and found you again. Suddenly everything I tried not to think about became important, even necessary.”
She kissed his cold cheek. “For me, too.”
Together, they sat on the sofa. Erik extended his hands toward the fire and rubbed them together, while Beryl pulled the tape on the nicely wrapped gift. She tossed off the box top, gazed inside at a bracelet with charms representing each of the “Twelve Days of Christmas,” spaced evenly across the chain, each one separated by a plum-colored glass bead. “It’s beautiful.”
Taking it by the latch, she let it dangle in the air. Their first Christmas season together he’d given her twelve gifts. She glanced up.
He watched her, excitement and anticipation in his eyes. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
He took her hand and said softly, “It made me think of our first Christmas, the nights of twelve gifts. Back then, I wanted to make sure you knew how much I loved you.” He traced his long finger over the pad of her palm. “Now I want you to know how much I still love you. How I’d do anything to prove to you my love. Just like I did on those twelve nights.”
She lowered the bracelet and cupped his cheeks. “That was a special Christmas, one I’ve never forgotten.” Beryl brought her lips to his, kissed him softly. “I love you, too.”
He wrapped her in his arms, drew her body against his, slipped his hand through her hair. Then he kissed her, deep and sweet. He took his time, making the kiss quite thorough and when he finally drew away, he winked. “Want to try on your gift?”
She handed him the bracelet and stuck out her wrist. While he snapped the clasp, she said, “Do you remember every present you gave me over those twelve nights?”
“I’ll bet I can.” He tilted his head and thought for a moment then cleared his throat. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a necklace with a heart key.”
Twelve Nights Page 10