In two strides Gincy was at her mother’s side, lifting her hand. A quick glance at the wound assured Gincy that it was minor, and therefore completely out of proportion to the reaction it had elicited. She led her mother to the sink, where she ran the damaged fingertip under warm water and then, with a clean paper towel, dried it. Her own hands were shaking slightly, not from the sight of blood. No. Her hands were shaking because never, not in the fifty years she had known her mother, had she ever seen her cry. She was shocked. She was frightened.
“Here, Mom,” she said, “let’s sit down.” She led her mother to the table and helped her to sit in her usual place. Tears were still streaming down Ellen’s face, and little whimpering sounds were still coming from her throat. There was no box of tissues at hand, so Gincy grabbed a few paper napkins from the plastic holder that lived on the table and pressed them into her mother’s hand.
“I’ll get a Band-Aid,” she said. She knew there was a box in one of the drawers she had cleaned and organized just the other day. A moment later, the small wound safely covered, Gincy leaned down and put her arms around her mother’s hunched shoulders.
“Don’t leave me, Virginia,” Ellen sobbed. “Not yet. Please.”
Gincy was stunned. How had her mother known she was planning to go back to Boston on Christmas Day? But maybe that wasn’t what her mother had meant at all. “I’m right here, Mom,” she said, gently smoothing her mother’s thin hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re all I have left, Virginia. Now that your father is gone.”
Gincy swallowed hard. She could choose to take this the wrong way. She could choose to believe that what her mother really meant was not “I love you and I need you” but “You’re my last choice but you’re better than nothing.”
She chose to believe the first. Above all, she thought, be kind.
And she remembered what she had been thinking the other day at dinner. She had been thinking that maybe her mother had been holding her grief so tightly to herself because she was afraid of its power if unleashed. Well, something seemed to have unleashed it.
“Sometimes,” her mother said through her tears, “I feel that I can’t go on without him. . . .”
Gincy became aware that Tamsin was standing in the doorway, her face drawn with concern. She shook her head and managed a small smile. Tamsin turned away.
“When I found him that morning,” Ellen went on, “I felt as if my life were over. I had made his breakfast, like I always did. I just wanted to see why he hadn’t come into the kitchen yet, so I went back to the bedroom. He was alive when I got up. I know he was. I heard him breathing. I saw him. I saw his eyelids flutter. But when I went back, only half an hour later . . .”
Gincy felt her legs begin to go out from under her, and she grabbed the back of the closest chair and sank into it. Her head began to spin and she thought she might be sick. She had never asked about the details of that awful morning. Her father had died in his sleep; of course her mother had been the one to find him! She had known that, of course she had, but somehow she had managed to block the horrible image from her mind, the image of her mother standing by the side of the bed she had shared with her beloved husband for over fifty years, alone and helpless with his body. The shame pressed down on Gincy, a terrible weight. She reached over and took her mother’s hand. She found that she couldn’t speak.
“I loved him from the first day we met,” Ellen went on, her voice trembling. “And there he was, just gone from me. I wanted to lie down next to him and just . . . just slip away. There are days still when all I want to do is die so that we can be together again.” Ellen looked up, her eyes searching her daughter’s face. “But here I am, still alive. I don’t understand. Why? Why am I still here?”
Gincy tightened her grip on her mother’s hand and looked her squarely in the eye. “Because we need you here, Mom,” she said, her voice trembling. “Me and Tommy and Justin and Tamsin. We need you.”
Ellen wiped her eyes with the soggy napkins. “Your father always told me that I could rely on you when he was gone. He said I could ask you for help if he died before me. But I didn’t want to ask you for help. I didn’t want to ask anyone, especially not you. I didn’t want you to think I was weak. I didn’t want you to think badly of me, you Virginia, of all people.”
Gincy shook her head as tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Mom, you stubborn old thing. We’re so much alike, you and I. Asking for help when you really need it is the smart thing to do. It’s the courageous thing to do. We’ve both had to learn that the hard way. Dad would be so glad that we’re here, together, finally.”
And then, Gincy thought of the life-changing moment twenty years before when she told Rick that, yes, she would move in with him and Justin. It was not what she had planned to say. She had gone to Rick’s apartment to break up with him because she was so afraid of taking the emotional chance, so afraid of the risk involved with committing herself to another person. So afraid of love. But then, standing before the man she loved and admired, she had found the courage to accept his offer. She remembered thinking, “The necessary leap of faith. Someone had to take it.” Rick had taken the leap, and she had followed.
Now Ellen Gannon was the one who had found the courage to take the leap of faith and share her grief with her daughter. And I’ll follow, Gincy thought. She would accept her mother’s gift and try to make up for not having been brave enough to establish a better relationship with her before now.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry for not really listening, for not really seeing. I’m sorry for everything. I want to make it up to you. I will make it up to you.”
Ellen coughed and blew her nose. “Let me get you some water, Mom.” Gincy let go of her mother’s hand and went to the sink. And she remembered with shame that she used to consider her mother a failure. That was the word she had used over and over, a failure. And now, now she was mortified that she could have been so immature and blind to her mother’s achievements. What were those achievements? To truly love and care for her husband. To be the best mother she knew how to be.
What higher achievement was there, really, than to love another person with all of your heart and soul?
“Why don’t you sit with Tamsin while I finish getting dinner ready,” she said, handing her mother the glass of water. “Do you think you’ll be able to eat something?”
Ellen took a long drink and then sniffed loudly. “Yes, Virginia,” she said. “I think I can manage something.”
CHAPTER 40
“Rick.” Gincy sighed in relief. “I’m so glad you picked up.”
“Are you all right?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“Something happened, Rick. In fact, it happened just a few minutes ago. It was horrible, but it was wonderful at the same time. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so, yes. But maybe you’d better give me the details. You sound a bit shaky. Should I be concerned? Are you sitting down?”
“No. I’m in the backyard. I need the fresh air. I felt pretty awful earlier, but I’m all right now.”
And she told her husband what had happened.
“It was the first time I’d ever seen my mother cry, Rick,” she said. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same, and I think that might be a good thing.”
“Oh, Gincy,” Rick said. “I wish I were there with you right now.”
“You are with me, Rick,” Gincy assured him. “Always. And you were right. My mother does need me. I never really believed it until today. And she just couldn’t bring herself to tell me.” Gincy laughed. “And to think it was Bing Crosby who did the trick.”
“How does she seem now?” Rick asked.
“Subdued, but okay. Still, I have a favor to ask you, and it’s a big one. Rick, will you come to Appleville for Christmas? Justin, too? Will you ask him? Mom needs us all, I think, not just me. She needs to know that she has us, that just because she’s lost D
ad she’s not alone. And I think that Tommy needs us all, too.”
“Of course I’ll be there,” Rick said. “And I’ll call Justin later this evening. I’m proud of you for what you’re doing for your mother, and for Tommy.”
“Don’t say that!” Gincy cried. “You know I feel weird when someone tells me they’re proud of me. I feel like a fraud, like I’m putting something over on people.”
Rick laughed. “Okay. Look, why don’t I bring a few bags of tempting goodies from the North End. And some good wine. It sounds like you could use a nice Merlot. And I’ll arrange a turkey. Someone must still have one for sale.”
“That sounds like a great idea. And bring a decent roasting pan and our essential knives. My mother’s kitchen equipment is in pretty bad shape. Just don’t slice a hand off with the knives while you’re packing them, please.”
“I haven’t cut myself with a kitchen knife since . . . What was it, a month ago?”
“Six weeks,” she said. “And there’s Tommy’s truck. Have Justin take a look at it when he gets here, will you? I’m not sure Tommy should be driving it in its current condition. But I know he doesn’t have the money for repairs or to buy a new one.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Rick assured her. “The guy needs wheels. He has to feel independent.”
“And a coat. He needs a decent winter coat. Do you still have that parka you bought and then decided didn’t fit you properly?” Gincy asked. “The one we couldn’t return because you had lost the receipt? Or did it make it to Goodwill already?”
“I’ve got it. It should fit Tommy.”
“And one more thing,” Gincy said. “Mom’s feeling pretty overwhelmed at the moment. I think that you and Justin should stay at the little bed-and-breakfast in town, assuming they have a room. I think it might be easier on her, not having a crowd in the house. Is that all right?”
“Whatever makes things easier for you, Gincy. I’ll call the place as soon as we get off the phone.”
“Thank you. Rick? I can’t wait to see you.”
“I’ll be there before you know it,” he promised.
“Good,” Gincy said, looking up at the old bare maple in the corner of the yard. “Good.”
CHAPTER 41
After dinner, at which Ellen had eaten heartily, Gincy once again got her mother settled in the living room with Tamsin by her side. Gincy had told Tamsin what had transpired earlier; she knew she could trust Tamsin to do and say the right and comforting thing. She was, after all, Rick’s daughter. And there was an old black-and-white version of A Christmas Carol on television. It would keep them occupied for a while, assuming the Ghost of Christmas Past didn’t send Ellen into another emotional meltdown.
Gincy retreated again to the kitchen and called Danielle.
“Look,” she said, once again without a greeting, “I’d like to take my mother on a cruise.”
“To whom am I speaking?”
“Ha, ha. Seriously, you’ve been on a million cruises.”
“Five,” Danielle corrected.
“Whatever. Can you give me some advice about choosing an appropriate line or destination? I’m clueless, and I don’t trust online travel services.”
“What’s been going on up there in Appleville?” Danielle asked. “One day you’re talking about matricide and the next day you’re going on vacation with your mother.”
“Things have changed.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Am I going to get the details?”
“Yes,” Gincy said, “but not now.”
“I could come with you two, if you decide you need the support,” Danielle offered. “I could work on my tan while you and your mother bond over yoga classes or tango lessons.”
Gincy laughed. “We’ll see. In the meantime, can you help me out?”
“Sure,” Danielle promised. “I’ll do some research and send you my recommendations for a cruise Ellen would enjoy.”
“Nothing raunchy, please,” Gincy warned. “No swinging singles.”
Danielle laughed. “Seriously? Do you think I’d send the formidable Ellen Gannon on a swinging singles cruise?”
“Maybe it’s what she needs.”
“Gincy. Behave.”
“I’m trying,” she said, “believe me. And guess what my brilliant daughter engineered the other day? A mercy visit from Clare.”
“Let me guess. It really did turn out to be a mercy visit, didn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” Gincy told her. “Clare was like a ministering angel or something. At least, that’s how my mother saw her. Clare managed to work a few minor miracles for me.”
“That’s our Clare, all right. Hey, you know what I remembered the other day?” Danielle asked. “Remember the time that first summer when I asked you and Clare to name your favorite television show, movie, designer, and cocktail? I thought it would be a way for us to get to know each other.”
Gincy frowned. “No. I don’t remember. What did I say?”
“You said, The Honeymooners, Cool Hand Luke, and something made with gin. Of course, if I had known you better I wouldn’t have bothered to ask about a favorite designer.”
Gincy laughed. “What was I back then, a guy? Well, I do still like gin on occasion. What did you say?”
“That’s the odd thing,” Danielle said. “I have no idea. And I don’t remember Clare’s answer, either. All I remember is your answer.”
“That’s because it was so weird!”
“Have a merry Christmas, Gincy.”
“You, too, Danielle. Well, you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Danielle said. “My girls would kill us if we didn’t put up a tree along with the menorah. And buy them presents, of course.”
“Of course,” Gincy said. “Who doesn’t like presents?”
CHAPTER 42
“We’ve got a big surprise for you, Grandma,” Tamsin said at breakfast on Christmas Eve morning.
“Now, I know you don’t usually like surprises, Mom,” Gincy said quickly, before her mother could protest. “But I think you’ll like this one. Rick and Justin will be joining us later today and they’ll be here through Christmas.”
Ellen smiled and put down her spoon. She had eaten all of the oatmeal Gincy had prepared for her, along with a piece of the homemade coffee cake Adele Brown had dropped off earlier.
“That is a nice surprise,” she said. “I haven’t seen either of them since . . . since your father’s funeral. But where will I put them? There’s Tommy’s old room, but it’s so small.... They’ll be so crowded in there. . . .”
“Rick and Justin will stay at the bed-and-breakfast on Main Street,” Gincy told her. “Luckily, there was a cancellation. And we’ll take care of everything, Mom. You don’t have to lift a finger. I’ll even wash the dishes after Christmas dinner.”
“You hated washing the dishes when you were young, Virginia,” Ellen said with a frown. “And you were very bad at it. I always had to rewash at least half of the glassware.”
Gincy smiled. “I still hate it, but I think I’ve done okay these past few days, haven’t I? Still, I’m lucky to have a dishwasher at home.”
“But sometimes she doesn’t load the dishwasher right,” Tamsin said. “Sorry, Mom, but sometimes you don’t. The stuff in the top basket comes out with gunk on it.”
“I’m sure your mother does her best,” Ellen said.
Tamsin, looking a bit chastened, announced that she was off to take a shower.
Alone with her mother, Gincy felt awkward, almost shy. At least she knew enough not to refer directly to yesterday’s. . . incident. “How is the cut?” she asked. “Did you change the Band-Aid this morning?”
“Yes. It’s healing nicely. Thank you, Virginia.”
Gincy brought the breakfast plates, bowls, and cups to the sink. With her back to her mother she asked, “So, you’re feeling better, Mom?”
“Yes, Virginia,” Ellen said firmly. “I’m feeling better.”
“Your f
irst Christmas without Dad,” Gincy said gently, turning once again to face her mother. “You must have so many good memories of all your years together.”
“I do. And it’s your first Christmas without your father. I know you miss him, too.”
“I do,” Gincy said. “Mom, just so you know. Tommy will be okay. I mean, Rick and I have talked . . .”
“I know what you mean. Thank you, Virginia. And Virginia? I don’t think your brother needs to know . . .”
“Of course not, Mom,” Gincy said. “Of course not.”
* * *
Around eleven that morning a huge box arrived from what Gincy recognized as a high-end specialty online shop. It was addressed to Mrs. Ellen Gannon. Gincy carried it into the kitchen and placed it on the table.
“Boy, this thing is heavy!” she said.
“What on earth is that?” Ellen asked. “I didn’t order anything.”
“It’s from my friend Danielle and her family,” she said. “Do you want me to open it for you?”
Ellen did, so Gincy picked up a kitchen knife and with some difficulty sliced through the tape sealing the cardboard. Inside was a large wicker basket chock full of boxes of candies and bottles of wines and packages of dried fruits and other delectable treats.
“Oh, look,” Tamsin cried. “Cheese straws! I love cheese straws. Can I have one, Grandma?”
“Of course.” Ellen shook her head. “How will I ever eat all of this?” she asked.
Gincy refrained from laughing. “I’m sure you’ll manage, Mom. And we’re here to help.”
Not minutes later the doorbell rang again, and Gincy, half suspecting what might be waiting on the doorstep, went to answer it. She was right. It was a gift from Clare and her family. This time it was a gorgeous array of white roses and green pine boughs and red carnations, all tied with a red, green, and gold plaid ribbon. She figured that Danielle had told Clare about her breakthrough with her mother. The extravagant gifts were her friends’ way of offering congratulations to both women.
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