“Me, neither.” Andie smiled. “Though this crystal snowflake brooch might be nice on my fleece-lined hoodie.”
Daniel looked down at all of the precious objects that had once meant so much to his mother, objects that now had no owner, no one to cherish them. He felt sad and nostalgic for what had once been, but he also realized that for the first time since his mother’s passing he felt just a little bit free of the raw emotions that had been dogging him. His mother, he thought, had had every right to her secrets, to a friend named Susan, to a man not his father. The healing, he thought, seemed finally to be taking place.
“So, if you guys can’t wear a lot of this, what do we do with it?” he asked. “Certainly we can’t throw anything out. That wouldn’t be right.”
“We could include it in the general auction of furniture and crystal and china,” Anna Maria suggested.
“As a separate lot, of course. Or two lots, the real and the faux?” Emma asked.
Daniel nodded. “First we should each choose something special, something we remember Mom wearing.”
“There are some valuable pieces here,” Emma pointed out. “Like the Schlumberger blue enamel bangle. How did Dad afford this? It’s not a knock-off. It’s the real deal.”
“I’d forgotten about that bracelet. It was a gift from Mom’s parents,” Daniel told her. “They gave it to her for her twenty-first birthday.”
“So, do we keep the bracelet and anything else we can identify as important in the family? Or do we sell the important pieces and split the profit? Of course I don’t mean Dad’s watch and Mom’s pearls and her wedding set, the items they gave us specifically.”
Andie shrugged. “Whatever seems fair.”
“Some pieces have more financial value than others,” Emma went on, almost as if to herself. “To replace them if they were stolen might be too expensive for whichever of us has chosen the piece.”
Daniel felt a sudden surge of annoyance. “So? What are you saying?”
“I’m just thinking aloud,” Emma said. “Let’s say we don’t sell the important pieces. We should all be aware that whoever chooses the bracelet, for example, will be getting a far more expensive item than whoever chooses, say, this stickpin with the single pearl. We all need to be okay about those disparities. Of course, before we each make a choice we might bring in a jewelry appraiser, which we’d have to do anyway if we decide to auction off the lot. And to make things really fair we might decide that we each have to choose an item of similar value.”
“Do you think I care if you or Andie winds up with more money than I do?” Daniel snapped.
Anna Maria put her hand on his arm. “Daniel, that’s not what Emma is saying.”
“It’s not, Danny,” Emma said quickly. “Really. I’m not making any accusations. I’m just being practical. It’s my job. Where money’s concerned, people can become unusually sensitive or irrational.”
“Well, not me!” Daniel protested. And then he became painfully aware that every one in the room was watching him. Emma’s expression was tense with anticipation; Andie’s was guarded and wary. Marco looked puzzled, Sophia, a bit worried. And his wife . . . Well, “stern” wasn’t quite the word to describe the look on Anna Maria’s face. Maybe the word was “disappointed.”
Daniel burst out laughing. “You’re right. Sorry, Emma. Sorry, everyone. I was the one pushing for us to get this whole lot settled. Money does come into it—it has to. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.”
“That’s okay, Danny.” Emma smiled. “You know what? I say we just choose what pieces we like and to heck with the financial value.”
“I agree,” Andie said. “Danny?”
Daniel nodded. “It’s done.”
After a moment’s hesitation Emma opted for the Schlumberger blue enamel bangle and a strand of carved jet beads. “Grandma Martha used to wear these,” she told the others. “They had once belonged to her mother. I’m pretty sure the necklace dates back to the Victorian period when jet was all the rage in mourning jewelry, thanks to the queen’s favoring it when Prince Albert died.” Anna Maria chose a gold and jade ring Caro had bought on her trip to China with Cliff—“Green is my color,” she said—and Andie gathered a few paste and semiprecious stone pieces to give to Rumi. “Maybe she can repurpose the stones,” she said. “Incorporate them into her jewelry designs.”
Sophia was allowed the pair of clip-on dangly earrings her father had so bravely modeled. “We can have the clip removed and posts put on so you can comfortably wear them when you’re older,” Anna Maria told her. Marco huffed when he was asked if he wanted a keepsake.
“Jewelry is for girls. I’m not ever going to wear jewelry,” he said stoutly.
Daniel grinned. “Not even a wedding ring?”
Marco made a face. “Ick. I’m not getting married. Girls are gross.”
“I’m not gross!” Sophia protested.
Marco shrugged. “Yeah, you’re okay.”
“Hey,” Daniel said, “don’t forget those cuff links of Grandpa’s he left you when he died. The gold and onyx ones he bought when I was a kid and we all went to Italy. You’ll wear those someday, won’t you?”
“Yeah,” Marco said. “I forgot about the cuff links. They’re cool. Like the tie bar thing that Grandpa left you, Dad. Man stuff.”
Daniel smiled and finally decided that he would keep a small gold ring set with an Australian opal. “I remember being so fascinated with this ring,” he told his family. “I loved how the blues and greens and oranges shifted and flared when Mom moved her hand. It was magical.” He shook his head. “For some reason she stopped wearing it a long time ago. I never asked her why.” And now, he thought, I’ll never know. But that’s okay. I have the memories.
Anna Maria slipped her arm through her husband’s. “It’s a lovely piece, Danny.”
“Did someone mention ice-cream sodas?” Andie asked. “I’m simply dying of thirst! Or would it be hunger?”
“I’m on it! Marco, want to help me?”
The two men went off to the kitchen; within fifteen minutes they were back in the dining room, Daniel bearing a tray of ice-cream sodas in genuine old-fashioned soda fountain glasses. The long-handled spoons, too, were of the good old-fashioned variety.
“You always go all out, Danny,” Emma said with a smile. “Even a cherry on top!”
“Don’t forget the whipped cream!” Sophia said. “Dad always uses real whipped cream.”
Daniel felt pleased and yes, proud. “I found the glasses and the spoons at a flea market last year and I couldn’t resist. Sorry the straws are nothing special.” He distributed the ice-cream sodas to each member of his family and then raised his glass. “To Mom,” he said.
“To Grandma!” Marco added. He took a long sip of his ice-ceam soda and winced.
“Brain freeze?” Daniel asked sympathetically. His son nodded.
“What time did you say your reading was tomorrow?” Daniel asked his oldest sister, who was already halfway through her dessert.
“Three-thirty. Why? Do you think you can make it after all?”
“I’m going to give it my best try.”
“Thanks. Tonight was a good idea, Danny.” Andie grinned. “Especially the coffee-ice-cream soda.”
Sophia shuddered. “I hate anything coffee flavored, especially ice cream.”
“Good,” Daniel said with a smile for his sister. “That means there’s more for your aunt.”
CHAPTER 70
“Again, Ms. Reynolds, it’s so good of you to do this for the community.”
Andie smiled at Chris Owens, one of the most earnest and dedicated young men she had ever met. “It really is my pleasure,” she said. “And please, call me Andie.”
Chris had provided a table and chair from which she could read or, he said, if she preferred, he could bring out a podium he kept in the back of the store. She told him a table and chair would be fine. On the table was a pitcher of water and a glass or, he said, if she prefer
red, he could make her a cup of tea or coffee. She told him that water would be fine. It occurred to Andie that Chris was more nervous than she was, and she was nervous, and excited, too. Andie had never spoken professionally with members of her family in the audience, and she realized that she wished her parents could be there to see and support her. Am I still then a child, needing my parents’ approval? Of course I am. We all are. What was it that Shakespeare had written somewhere? “The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants.”
Daniel made good on his promise to try to attend by showing up five minutes before the reading was scheduled to start. “Anna Maria sends her apologies,” he told her. “Both kids woke with a bit of a cold this morning, and she’s worried things might get worse and ruin their Christmas.”
Andie thanked him for joining the crowd, and Daniel went to take the seat Emma had saved for him next to her in the front row; Rumi was sitting on Emma’s other side.
Though Andie recognized a few familiar faces—Morgan Shelby, Maureen Kline, and Alexis Fitzgibbon, the wife of Mary Bernadette’s grandson PJ, were all there, as were Bob and Ralph, the young man she had met in the Eclectic Gourmet—many other faces were new to her. And many of the audience were young, certainly no older than thirty, too young for Andie to remember them as anything other than toddlers in their strollers. In so many ways, she thought, I’m no longer part of Oliver’s Well. And yet at this very moment, and for this moment only, I am a part of my hometown. And that matters.
Chris Owens introduced Andie—“Oliver’s Well’s very own Andie Reynolds!”—to enthusiastic applause, and after thanking her audience for being there with her, Andie began to read from her latest book, The Root of the Root of Love.
She looked at the faces before her with frequency as she read; it helped, of course, that she was very familiar with the passages she had chosen and didn’t need to keep her eyes glued to the page. And unless her brother was a good actor, and Andie didn’t think that he was, Daniel was truly paying attention, sitting forward in his seat, his expression one of concentration.
About halfway through the twenty-minute reading Andie was aware that Rumi was quietly slipping out, but not without giving her mother a small wave. Her leaving caused Andie a twinge of worry, but she carried on smoothly. “Remember,” she said, “life is a beautiful gift from God.” Before the applause could begin, Andie added, “And thank you all for coming. I hope you all enjoy a blessed holiday season.”
When the applause had died down Chris Owens announced that Andie would be available to sign copies of her books. “Just give her a moment to speak with her family,” he requested with a smile.
Andie joined her siblings, who were standing aside with Morgan Shelby and Bob.
Morgan offered Andie his hand. “Thank you for this gift to Oliver’s Well,” he said. “I bought your latest book just this morning.”
Andie shook his hand and smiled. “Thank you for coming today. And for helping my family settle our mother’s estate.”
Morgan smiled at Andie and then at Emma. “It’s been my pleasure,” he told them. “But now I must run. I’m off to my family’s place in Baltimore. I hope you all have a happy Christmas.”
When Morgan had gone off, Bob kissed Andie on the cheek. “Well done, Andie,” he said. “As always. But I’ve got to run, too.” He nodded at his brother-in-law. “Daniel’s got me covering for him at a party this evening.”
“Just until I get there,” Daniel explained. “With Anna Maria home with the kids, we’re a bit short-staffed tonight.”
Bob left to prepare for the catering gig, and Daniel went back to his house to check on his family.
“Where did Rumi take off to?” Andie asked her sister when the men had gone.
“She got a last minute call to take a shift at the Angry Squire. She asked me to apologize for having to slip out.”
Andie nodded. “I’m just glad she was here at all. Now, to sign some books! Will you wait for me?”
“Of course,” Emma said. “I’ll chat with Maureen while you’re busy. She’s over in the romance aisle at the moment.”
Andie found that the people who had come to the reading were without exception enthusiastic seekers of peace and understanding. None of them were present to toss an ill-considered insult or criticism her way, and for that she was very grateful. The signing took about twenty minutes, and when the last appreciative reader had gone off with Andie’s latest book in tow, she rejoined her sister and Maureen.
“I love when I get to meet and talk with the people who read my books,” she told them.
“You looked so at ease chatting with everyone,” Emma said. “You really are connected with your readers, aren’t you?”
Andie nodded. “It’s a wonderful thing, though sometimes it can be difficult to keep boundaries in place.” She smiled. “I do value my private life.”
“Then it’s probably a good thing you live where and in the way that you do,” Maureen commented. “Not out in constant view of the public.”
“Life in my quiet little community definitely has its benefits. Hey, how about a drink at the Angry Squire?” Andie suggested. “I feel like celebrating.”
“The successful reading?” Maureen asked.
Andie smiled. “More like a renewed state of peace and tolerance.”
CHAPTER 71
“To Andie!” Emma and Maureen chorused.
“To all three of us,” Andie amended.
Because it wasn’t quite five o’clock, the bar at the Angry Squire was quiet. The women had been able to secure what Maureen told them was her favorite table in the corner. “See? There’s a perfect view of the front hall so you can keep an eye on who’s coming and going. It’s the busybody in me,” she explained.
“At least you’re not a gossip,” Emma pointed out, remembering Maureen’s particular ability to keep a person’s secrets.
“Gossip is foul,” Andie said with a shudder, taking a sip of the mulled wine she had ordered. “Sociologists say it serves a purpose, but I’ve never understood its value myself.”
“How’s the eggnog?” Emma asked her friend. She herself had ordered her favorite Beaujolais.
“Excellent. Richard makes his eggnog from scratch. And it packs quite a punch if you’re not careful. Hey, it was nice of Morgan Shelby to show up at the reading.”
Emma took a sip of her wine before answering. “Yes,” she said. “It was.”
“He’s an attractive man,” Andie said, “and I don’t only mean physically. There’s something good about him, something solid and real. I can sense it.”
Emma was aware that Maureen was giving her a look of disarmingly mild curiosity. “Yes, he’s a nice man,” Emma said in as neutral a tone as she could manage. “He went with me to the auction house in Winchester, and it wasn’t something he was obliged to do.”
“So things are all patched up with Danny?” Maureen asked the sisters. “He certainly seemed to be enjoying the reading.”
“Yes,” Andie said. “Things seem to be better all around. Peace and tolerance.”
Emma smiled at her sister. “All we had to do was believe that things would change for the better.”
“It was a bit more work than that,” Andie corrected with a laugh. “You know, there’s a Buddhist teaching that goes like this: ‘Know well what leads you forward and what holds you back and choose the path that leads to wisdom.’ I think that Danny has started to understand what it is he’s been allowing to hold him back.”
“I’m glad.” Maureen turned to Emma. “On another note entirely, has Ian given up pestering you?”
The question took Emma by surprise; she realized that she hadn’t given Ian a thought in what seemed like an age. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I haven’t heard from him in two days. Not one electronic peep.”
“Good,” Maureen said. “Maybe he finally got the message. Or he’s changed his strategy.”
Emma frowned. �
��What do you mean?”
“Even the most mild-mannered of men don’t like to be thwarted in achieving their goals. All I’m saying is that you might not have seen the last of him.”
The thought unsettled Emma; she hoped that when she got back to Annapolis she didn’t find Ian waiting on her doorstep.
“Where will Ian spend Christmas?” Andie asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Emma admitted. “But he has some very good old friends. He won’t be on his own unless he chooses to be. And what about you and Jim?” she asked Maureen. “Will you spend the day together?”
“He’ll come to my parents’ house for dinner. My sisters will be there, too, with their husbands and at least a few of their kids.”
Andie grinned. “Baptism by fire for poor Jim.”
“Oh, I think he can handle it. I’m more worried about what to get him for Christmas. It’s been so long since I’ve given a man a gift—I mean, a man not my father—I’m still at a loss and the clock is ticking. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, for cripes’ sake!”
“There are always socks,” Emma suggested with a smile.
“I’m not trying to send the man running!”
“Any clue as to what he’s giving you?” Emma asked.
Maureen laughed. “As long as it’s not an engagement ring! But no, not a clue.”
Emma’s attention was suddenly caught by a family of four standing in the front hall of the restaurant. “Cute kid alert,” she said. “My gosh, could those children be any more adorable? Fur-trimmed red coats, no less! And ringlets. When was the last time you saw a little girl in ringlets?”
“Those are the Welsh girls,” Maureen told the sisters. “Identical twins. Tara and Claire. I believe they just turned three.”
“That’s refreshing,” Andie commented, peering at the sisters. “Two distinct-sounding names. There must be confusion enough with the matching outfits, not to mention the matching faces!”
Maureen sighed. “You know,” she confided, “every once in a while, like when I’m with my goddaughter or I see little kids like the Welsh twins, I feel a pang of loss, if you can feel the loss of something you’ve never had. Still, I’m eternally thankful to whatever God there is that I didn’t have a child with Barry. That would have been a disaster. He’s completely irresponsible, and I would have been entirely on my own.” Maureen looked at her watch. “Oops, I’d better get going. I promised my parents I’d have dinner at their house this evening and I’m on mashed potato duty.”
The House on Honeysuckle Lane Page 32