Today I calmly opt for my strawberry-red Forties-style dress to color-match the roofing of the hotel. Like you do. Then I decide to speed up my hairstyling by scooping it into a bun on the top of my head, pinning a tiny scarlet velvet ribbon at its base.
“Wow!” Harvey scrambles to his feet as I appear before him. “When did the team of hairstylists arrive?” He peers more closely at my bun. “Did you really do that by yourself?”
“I used a hair doughnut, it’s really easy!”
“A hair doughnut?” he hoots. “Gosh, you really take this cake stuff seriously!”
“Which reminds me,” I laugh, “I never did tell the others about the man who invented the doughnut hole!”
His eyes narrow. “You’re just messing with me now, aren’t you?”
“No!” I laugh as we step aboard the shuttle. “We were supposed to visit Rockport in Maine, but we never got that far.”
“Okay,” he turns to face me. “You have the duration of this shuttle ride to bring the story to life.”
“You don’t want to hear it!”
“Yes I do,” he replies. “I like listening to you.”
The feeling is so mutual.
“Let me take you back to New England in 1847,” I begin with my grandest intonation. “Elizabeth Gregory, mother of ship’s captain Hansen Gregory, would often make deep-fried dough treats for her son and his crew, filling the center with hazelnuts or walnuts and thus call them doughnuts.”
“But what about the hole?”
“Well, that came about during a terrible storm at sea. Hansen suddenly needed both hands free to steer so he jammed his doughnut onto one of the wooden spokes, thus creating the first hole.”
Harvey looks unblinkingly at me.
“Of course, there is another theory that says the dough was rarely cooked properly in the middle so that’s why they poked it out.”
“My money’s on that,” Harvey opines.
“You know the funniest thing?” I add, as we pull up outside the main hotel. “Hansen Gregory was buried at Quincy—home to the very first Dunkin’ Donuts. Coincidence? You decide!”
• • •
We’re just about to step through the entrance when my phone rings—Krista! I explain that I just need to check that everything is on schedule for our meet-up tomorrow.
“No problem, take your time. I’ll rustle up some drinks and meet you on the veranda.”
“Perfect!” I grin. “Hello? Is that the loveliest friend any girl could wish for?”
“Someone’s in good spirits!”
“Yes I am! Everything is going peachily. Well, except for a new accommodation challenge which I’ll e-mail you about later. Anyway! Is everything cool with you? Are you driving?”
“I am! I’ve just found out about this dog-themed chapel at St. Johnsbury—I thought I’d take Mitten for a quick nose!”
“Sounds absolutely barking.”
“Funny . . . So listen,” I notice a change in her voice, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Why does my stomach drop at her tone?
“It’s Jessica. She called.”
That’s why.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I know. But I feel duty-bound to tell you.”
“Why?” I challenge. “Has something happened?”
“No. Well, nothing bad.”
“Okay, then I don’t want to know.”
Krista sighs. “She’s coming over to America and she really wants to meet up with you.”
“Well I don’t want to meet up with her.” I step away from the doors. “Look. I know you want me to face this thing, Krista, but honestly, I think it would make matters worse.”
“Okay, okay,” Krista backs down. “I’m just saying.”
I huff. “You know I don’t mean to be rude to you.”
“And you know I don’t mean to be a killjoy. It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“You’ve been talking a lot about forgiveness lately, with Ravenna anyway, and I thought some of it might have rubbed off.”
Oh, that’s a low blow.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Okay,” she chirps. “See you tomorrow.”
I sigh. Now I feel like a horrible person.
• • •
The veranda at the Mount Washington resort is beyond compare. Stretching for nearly a thousand feet, the broad expanse of whitewashed wood is lined with elegant Grecian pillars interspersed with hanging baskets spilling pretty pink petunias. Beguiling enough in its own right, but then you layer in the spectacular view: the gracious curve of the lawn, the turquoise pool, the wedding terrace and, in the distance, the Presidential mountain range. So much to marvel at, and yet, try as I might to conjure my brightest smile, Harvey instantly senses something is awry.
“Not bad news I hope?”
“No, no,” I say as I settle into the white rocker beside him. “She was just letting me know that my sister is trying to get in touch.”
“Are you guys out of touch?”
“Very much so.”
He cocks a brow. “So who’s not forgiving who?”
I don’t react well to this. Does he think this is a case of one sister having borrowed the other’s dress and spilling red wine on it?
“Some things are just unforgivable,” I clip.
“Yes,” he nods. “I used to think that.”
I wait for him to expand on his comment but instead he hands me my drink—another elegant flute of champagne. We chink. We sip. We look at the view. I can’t let it lie.
“My friend seems to think I’m being a hypocrite, having spent the week preaching forgiveness to Ravenna.”
“Regarding her mother?”
“Yes. But their situation is different. Pamela didn’t have any bad intentions. She was trying to make the best choice for herself and her child. Admittedly she’s been a bit of a slowpoke in terms of bringing Ravenna up to speed—”
“So the intention is key?”
“I think so, yes.”
“And with your sister . . . ?”
“Well, I’m not saying she intended for my mother to die, but she was certainly fully aware of how destructive her behavior was.”
Harvey looks shaken. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
I shrug and look away.
“What happened?” he asks gently.
I hesitate. I never talk about the details. But the words start to form of their own accord.
“They were arguing again. Jess wanted money. Again. For once my mother said no to her. My sister flew into a rage, stormed out of the house, my mother followed. She was so upset she didn’t check the street and a car . . .”
His hand reaches for me.
“It’s okay. No need to continue.”
“She didn’t even look back,” my voice wobbles. “Jessica. She just kept running.”
He sighs.
“I had to hear about it from one of the neighbors.”
“Oh Laurie.”
As he expresses his sympathies, his words feel like a gentle stroking of my hair.
“So when you think of your mother now . . .” he ventures.
“I’m just so sad. Like my heart is broken. I can’t bear to think of how distressed she was in her last moments. I hate that there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”
He nods. “And when you think of your sister?”
“I’m just so angry.” My eyes flare as I look up at him.
“Understandably.” He holds my gaze.
I get the feeling he wants to say something more.
“What is it?”
He sighs. “Well, you know the problem with holding on to the anger is that you’re the one who suffers the most.”
“Sooner or later you have to put it into practice or it will be the ruin of you. And I wouldn’t want to see that.”
His eyes are so kind. I can tell his concern is genuine.
“Do you want me to help you try and break this down?” he offers.
“Right now?”
“Right here, right now, with this beautiful view to motivate us.”
I feel uneasy.
“It’s just a conversation.”
I take another sip of fizz. If there is anything he can say that can ease the pain, I suppose it has to be worth a try. “Okay,” I say in my tiniest voice.
“So. First question: have you ever done anything you’re not proud of?”
“Yes, of course.”
“A few things you regret, a few things you’re a little ashamed of?”
I nod.
“Where you could, did you try and make amends?”
“Yes.”
“You seem annoyed with your sister for trying to do the same.”
“It’s too late with her,” I explain. “Too much damage has been done.”
“What if it had been you who caused the accident?”
I feel instantly sick.
“How would you feel?”
“I would never forgive myself,” I reply. “I’d be haunted every day.”
He lets me sit with this feeling for a while. Which I don’t really appreciate. It’s just too awful to comprehend. The burden would be unbearable. The same burden that Jessica carries . . .
“Let’s talk about the drugs for a minute. You’re not buying that the addiction is something beyond her control—you see it as a personal weakness.”
“I know it sounds harsh, but yes I do.”
“Is there any aspect of your life where you’ve felt you don’t have complete control? Any actions you have taken that weren’t really in your best interests?”
He’s got me there. When I think of all the appalling, degrading choices I have made regarding men. If anyone really knew what I had tolerated without speaking up and defending myself—well, I don’t suppose they’d have a very high opinion of me. They would wonder what on earth was holding me in such a toxic place. Why I didn’t just walk away and leave the relationship. Oh my goodness—was that my addiction? I just happened to get the less visible, more socially acceptable version?
I look up at Harvey.
“Different weaknesses have different taboos,” he observes. “We’re none of us so very different from the other.”
I let my head fall back in the chair, glad I’m sitting down.
“Ultimately I think it comes down to this question: What do you want to honor? The crime, as in the awful thing that happened that day, because that’s what you’re holding on to the tightest, or do you want to honor your mother’s memory? All her wonderful qualities.”
My heart aches as I answer. “I want to honor her.”
“The thing is, she’s still here in you, isn’t she? Half of you is made up of her DNA.”
I nod.
“And half of your sister. She lives on in your sister too. Do you really want to turn your back on her? Is that what your mother would want?”
“Not at all,” my face crumples. “She’d want me to take care of her. But I just can’t seem to find those feelings for her anymore; all the trust has gone. I don’t even think of her as my sister now.”
“I know the drugs can do that. They can create a whole new persona with no redeeming qualities. But what if Jessica is still in there? What if your little sister is trying to come back to you?”
My eyes instantly well up—little Jess! My little Jess, the one I used to protect so fiercely. Perhaps too much. Perhaps I didn’t let her fight enough of her own battles, so that when temptation came a-knocking she didn’t know how to say no.
Harvey reaches for my hand. “There are no guarantees with this. Much as we wish things could go back to the way they were before, they will never be quite the same. But she is your mother’s daughter. And she needs you.”
My eyes bulge with tears.
“Let me grab you a tissue.”
I try to hold my face steady so the tears don’t spill over. This pain feels different. It goes even deeper. Jess lost her mum too. Now we’re all we have left of her, on this planet at least.
I look out across the mountain range and feel that she’s everywhere, her love reaching as far and wide as I can see.
“Oh Mum!”
“Laurie? Are you all right?” It’s Pamela and Charles approaching with matching looks of concern.
I blink away my tears, sniff all the emotion back in as I get to my feet.
That’s when I see someone who faintly resembles Ravenna.
• • •
Her hair has been blown dry into sheeny, voluminous waves. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked black chiffon dress with cream lace panels, managing to look both sexy and demure.
“What do you think?” she twirls before me. “It’s the other dress I got at Anthropologie—bit Downton Abbey, isn’t it?”
“It’s stunning—you’re stunning!” I reach for her hands. But her attention has already wavered. She looks beyond me. “Have you seen Harvey?”
“Yes, he’s just—”
“I’m right here,” he says, discreetly palming the tissue.
I give him a little smile to know that I’m all right. And I am. It’s hard not to be buoyed up with so much happy energy surrounding me. I can feel it in every photo we pose for—the easy way arms are wrapped around the person next to us, the closeness of the huddle. It’s like a group hug every time we reconfigure.
And then the attention turns to the cakes.
Harvey keeps quiet about the part he played, and Charles, as predicted, is equally discreet.
“I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.” Pamela takes in the golden gleam. “You’re one-of-a-kind, Laurie.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Do you want a taste?”
“Oh no, I trust you.”
“Is that code for ‘I don’t want to get an upset stomach before dinner?’”
“Nooo,” she laughs. “I can tell they are perfect.”
While the others get embroiled in a conversation about what this place must be like in the snow (Krista would be interested to learn that they do dogsledding here), I lean in to Pamela and whisper, “Did you tell her?”
“I did, but—”
“You did?” I gasp. “Oh, that’s wonderful! She’s obviously taken it brilliantly.”
“Mum, are you coming?”
Time for dinner.
As I watch them walking off, arms linked, I feel all the more churned up. Perhaps it is possible. If Ravenna can do it, and look so radiant on it, perhaps I can too.
I’m just getting up to leave when Harvey comes dashing back.
“Did you forget something?” I look around our chairs.
“Yes,” he says as he scoops me into his arms. “This.”
And then he kisses me. It’s full force yet dreamily tender, all pent-up passion and compassion, desire and yumminess. I feel I might faint from the rush.
“Mmm,” he smiles into my eyes, clasping me closer, intensifying the yearning. I think he’s about to lean in for more, but instead he gives me a kiss on my nose, making me giggle.
“Speakeasy at ten?”
“I’ll be there!”
Chapter 47
I forgo the shuttle bus on my way down the hill—I want to savor this sensation of soaring and zinging, and revel in this reviving air. He
kissed me! The most wonderful man I’ve ever met just kissed me! In this moment I feel utterly invincible and my heart feels huge. Suddenly I can’t wait to solve his accommodation issue, show him what I can achieve when I set my mind to it. But, first things first. I need to apologize to Krista.
“No you don’t,” she counters. “After I put down the phone I was thinking about the ways you’ve been like a mother to me—how you’re always interested in the minutiae of my day, always have my best interests at heart, are always cheering me on. You know I never had that with my own family, and if I lost you—”
“You won’t lose me. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know,” she sighs. “I’m just saying, I understand. And I won’t mention Jessica again.”
“Well,” I can’t help but smile. “Here’s the thing—I may have had a mini-breakthrough. Just enough for me to consider seeing her.”
“What?” she gasps. “I-I can’t believe it!”
“Neither can I.”
“You know I’ll be there with you for the whole thing, if you want?”
“Thank you. I suppose it’s time. And if it doesn’t go well, then I’m no worse off.”
“I think it’s very brave of you.”
“Well. If my two favorite people think I’m being a stubborn ass—”
“Two favorite?”
I smile. “I really hope Harvey comes to Vermont tomorrow so you can meet him, and tell me if he’s really as lovely as he seems to my eyes.”
And my heart, I want to add.
• • •
For the next hour, Krista and I get busy with the Newport situation, checking availability and finding that even the basic $60 motels have jacked their prices way up and only have the odd room available.
“I don’t like the idea of having them dotted around town,” I tut. “I need a block booking. And a big pile of cash.”
“What about some kind of fund-raising event?” Krista suggests. “Old English cakes come to New England? I’m sure you could get a bit of media coverage for that—maybe even the local TV station?”
“Mmm, Pamela is a bit camera-averse at the moment.”
The Traveling Tea Shop Page 26