There was quiet in the other seat.
“Not so well.”
“Really?” She pulled onto the main road.
“Well, he didn’t actually have any news to react to.”
“Why’s that?”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“What? Why?” Lanie couldn’t believe it. Her sister had chickened out.
“I just couldn’t. I got there. I sat across from him and looked into those lost eyes and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.”
“But now what? I mean, wasn’t telling Max the whole point of your trip? To let him know that he’s going to be a daddy?” Her voice quavered. She could feel the frustration simmering beneath her words.
“Yes,” Ellen said curtly. “But don’t be so quick to judge. You weren’t there. Things change, you know.”
“I can’t imagine how things can change any more than by having a baby—”
“I don’t have the energy to explain,” Ellen interrupted. “Let’s just say that Max doesn’t deserve any favors from me right now.” There was a weariness in her voice, and something else. Was it sadness?
“Do you have any intention of telling him? Ever?”
“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just . . . the moment wasn’t right. Trust me.”
Max had a right to know, Lanie felt it in her bones.
“You know, Ellen, that Max was never right for you? Never has been, never will be.”
“I know.” Her sister said the words softly, resignedly.
“For some reason, you seem to think that he was the be-all and end-all.” Lanie could feel herself falling into lawyer mode. “Even after the divorce, I think there was a part of you that still felt that way.” She paused to let her words sink in. “I think, too, that you might worry Henry doesn’t compare, that he’s somehow dull compared to Max. That he might be a bit like dad.”
She tried to see Ellen’s face from the corner of her eye, but her sister wasn’t giving anything away. She knew Ellen harbored the theory that their mother had once been in love with another man, a high school sweetheart, whom their grandfather had eventually forbidden her to see because of some shady dealings with the law. Lanie had come to understand over the years that her sister had always doubted the contours of their parents’ marriage, found it hard to believe that the vivacious, ebullient Harriet McClarety would choose their pensive, reserved father to be her one and only.
But Lanie never did. Perhaps it was because she only remembered their parents’ relationship through the rose-colored glasses of a six-year-old, but she didn’t think so. Her mother had once told them that a good husband was like a good soap: strong, reliable, sweet-smelling, cleansing. The description had stayed with her all these years. With her parents, she had sensed a love that was true, stable, secure. She aspired to have that same bond with her own husband.
“Mom loved dad, loved him deeply. It might not have been the crazy, go-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of love that you get from all your books, but it worked, Ellen, it stayed the course, they were happy together.”
She waited for any reaction from her sister but only got a throat clearing. Then, after a minute, Ellen said, “I think you’re probably right, Lanie. I really do.”
• • • •
They were quiet for the rest of the drive. When they pulled into the driveway, Ellen turned to her and asked, “Before you go, there’s something I want to give you. Can you come in for a minute?”
Lanie followed her into the foyer, then the living room. It was dark and the house smelled dank, in need of air.
Ellen plopped her suitcase onto the couch and unzipped it. She reached in to produce a necklace woven from miniature ivory shells and handed it to Lanie.
“These shells are special, I’m told. They’re supposed to bring their owner peace and tranquility. Thought they’d go well with your new part-time gig.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Lanie. “Thank you.” She strung the delicate chain around her neck.
She turned to leave. She should be getting back to the boys.
“There’s just one more thing. Hold on a minute, I’ll grab it.” Ellen headed for the stairs, lugging her suitcase behind her.
Lanie sat down on the couch while she waited. What was it that Ellen had to retrieve from upstairs? she wondered. She cracked open a window behind her before her sister returned, an envelope in hand.
“What’s this? Beach sand?”
Ellen shook her head. “Something better, I think.”
Lanie turned the envelope over. Her heart stopped. Her mother’s handwriting was on the front. She felt her anger toward Ellen dissipating like tiny bubbles in the air.
“I’ve been holding on to this much too long,” Ellen explained. “Mom wanted me to give it to you when you turned forty, but I don’t think she’d mind if you had it a few years early. It’s the last one I’ve been saving for you.”
Lanie felt her eyes well up.
“It dawned on me in the car that you must be sick of me always trying to be your protector. You don’t need me looking out for you anymore. You’ve got Rob and Benjamin and you’re the one giving me the advice these days.
“Anyway, I thought you should have mom’s letter. You can decide when you want to read it.”
Lanie turned the envelope over in her shaking hands a few more times. “Thank you,” she said quietly before tearing it open. The faint scent of lilacs escaped from the seal.
As Ellen sat down on the couch next to her, she began reading aloud. It felt as if their mother had swept into the room and was sitting beside them.
My dearest Lanie,
It’s hard to imagine you as the grown, beautiful woman that I know you must be. Do you still wear your hair down past your shoulders with bangs in the front? Somehow I doubt it! But I’ll bet that you’re just as striking today as you are charming and adorable at six.
I can’t tell you how difficult it is to know that I will miss these intervening years with you, years that I’m sure have been filled with too many successes and joys to count . . . and probably also some hurts. That is life, I’m afraid. I wish I could have been there to wipe every tear, to hold your hand each time you were afraid, to rub your back till you grew old enough to be embarrassed by it, to slap high fives over your latest achievement.
My one consolation is that I know your father and Ellen have been watching over you, worrying over every little thing, applauding each success, just as I would, all these years. True, Ellen is not your mother, I hear you saying—and no little girl should have to do without—but I know she and your father love you just as fiercely as I do. It’s a big responsibility for a big sister, though, so please, be generous with her, be patient, as I know you will.
If you’re reading this, you’re now well past those angst-ridden teenage years, the stress of college, and quite possibly you’re now a married woman with children of your own? If I do have any grandchildren, please, please cover their faces with kisses, cradle them in hugs. You’re such a sprite, spinning with energy all the time. It’s hard to imagine what you’ll do with it all! Whatever you decide, I know that I would be so proud. And if things don’t always work out the way you intend, it’s all right. Remember, sometimes it’s okay to walk away.
My worry with you, sweet girl, is that you’re so driven that you’ll forget to stop, enjoy it all, to revel in the moment. I worry sometimes that you’re so intent on the goal ahead (even at six!) that you lose sight of all the fun you’re having getting there. Please, please my dearest Lanie, enjoy life to the fullest, whatever it may bring. Always remember, each day, your three good things.
Know that I’ll be watching you and Ellen from above, with enormous love and pride. With wonderment at all you’ve become and have yet to become.
Love always,
Mom
Lanie clasped Ellen’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “It’s as if mom’s here, isn’t it?”
Ellen nodded.
“I still
miss her.”
“I do, too.”
“A lot.”
“I know.”
“And I’m beginning to forget things . . .”
“Me too.”
Lanie folded up the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
“We’ve done okay for ourselves, though, haven’t we?”
“We’ve done more than okay, thanks to you.” Lanie sniffled. She hugged Ellen, then pulled away. “Here we are, two grown women in tears over something written thirty years ago.”
Ellen wiped at her eyes. “I think I’ve cried more in the past forty-eight hours than I have in the past decade.”
“I mean it, though.” Lanie turned to her. “I don’t know as though I’ve ever properly thanked you for all you’ve done. I know it can’t have been easy. So much of the burden to raise me fell on you.”
“Thanks,” Ellen said. “Thanks for saying that.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess we’re our own goddamned Lifetime special, aren’t we?” She got up and unbuttoned her coat.
“Pretty close.” Lanie tucked the envelope into her purse. “I better get back to the boys before the whole house falls apart.”
“What’s this?” Ellen asked then. Lanie had completely forgotten about the basket of baby gifts she’d left on the dining room table the day before when she’d snuck into the house with her spare key.
“Oh, nothing. Just a little something to get you thinking about the baby’s room.”
She watched as her sister peeled back the layers of cellophane to reveal a sea of rattles, teething rings, pacifiers, bath towels, and blankets hiding underneath. “It’s perfect. Just perfect. Thank you so much.” She came over to give her a hug. Lanie squeezed back, hard. “I love it. This makes it all feel real.”
“You’re welcome, momma. And by the way, it’s very real.” Lanie dug her keys out of her purse and turned to go. “Call Henry, would you? I’m sure he misses you.” Lanie looked at her sister with all that those words implied.
Ellen nodded. “I will.”
“Serve kringle either piping hot from the oven or freshly chilled from the refrigerator. Cut into even wedges for an appealing display and a flavorful treat.”
—The Book of Kringle
After she gathered herself together and threw cold water on her face, Ellen dialed Henry, who picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Henry?”
“You’re back!” She could detect the heady cheers of football in the background. She’d called him the day before after her breakfast with Max, told him she was going to catch the next flight back in the morning. When he’d offered to pick her up at the airport, she declined and said Rob was picking them up. Yet another white lie, but somehow she felt that she needed to see Lanie first; it was Lanie who could ground her.
“I am. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. And you’ve brought good luck with you. Packers are ahead twenty-one to six.”
“Mind if I come over and join you?”
“Not at all, though wouldn’t it be easier if I head your way? That way you can unpack, settle in.”
“What, have to chase all the girls out of your house?” She teased. “I don’t know that I have any food here, but sure, come on over.”
“I’ll be there at halftime. And don’t worry: I’ll bring my own beer and chips.”
In the meantime, she called to check in on Larry. The other week she had promoted him to manager since he was doing just as much work as she was around the shop, if not more, these days, even now that he was back in school. He’d thanked her profusely, so much so that she was almost embarrassed. When she found a small CONGRATULATIONS! card for him in the back room from Erin, loopy hearts drawn all over it, she felt as if she’d finally done something right.
“Everything is great, boss,” he said. “Customers are coming in demanding more apple-rhubarb kringle. I think we’re going to need to make it by the caseload . . . and oh! I almost forgot to tell you. Some guy from the New York Times called yesterday.”
Her ears perked up. “Really? What for?”
“Said he was out visiting his in-laws in Wisconsin for the weekend and got a taste of your kringle at the Fall Fair. Said he wanted to know if you shipped it out east. He also asked if you’d be interested in being interviewed for an article.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, you should call him. I’ve got his number right here. Jason Jackson.”
She grabbed a pen and scribbled the information on the back of her TV Guide.
After she hung up, she called and got a voice mail for Jason Jackson, Arts & Leisure section. The very section she loved! She was thinking what a nice-sounding voice he had, when the beep came on and she was caught short.
“Um, Jason Jackson,” she hesitated. “It’s Ellen McClarety from Amelia returning your call. My manager told me you were looking for some information on kringles, and I’d love to talk with you. Let me give you my home phone . . .” When she hung up, she was certain he’d never call back; she’d sounded like such a bumbling idiot.
She was about to go upstairs and unpack when the doorbell rang.
“That was fast!” she said, after pulling the door open. Henry stood on her stoop, beers in one hand, a bag of chips in the other.
“I couldn’t wait till halftime.”
Before she could respond, he dropped the chips and grabbed her in a long kiss, the cold beers digging into her back. “Ouch, Henry!”
“What? What is it?”
“The beer cans. They’re cold!”
He set the beers down and swept her up, without much difficulty she noted, and carried her into the living room, where he fell onto the couch with her.
“What’s come over you?” She laughed.
“I missed you. Can’t a guy miss his girl?”
“I missed you, too.” She gave him a kiss after he’d retrieved the snacks and sat down next to her.
He grabbed the remote and flicked on the television. Such a grand entrance had prepared her for more, but apparently the man really was there to watch football. The Packers came up on the screen. “We’ve got to win this one. It’s an important game, critical even.”
Ellen had no more understanding of football than she did horticulture, but maybe there was hope for her yet. After all, she was opening up her life to all sorts of new things these days. Why not football? On the plane ride home, she’d debated telling Henry what she’d learned on her trip. But how to divulge that news without admitting she’d lied to him about the very reason for her getaway in the first place? And now that he was here sitting on her couch, she saw that telling him the truth about Charlotte and Max was impossible. Henry didn’t need to know right now that his wife’s lover had been Ellen’s ex-husband. From that news at least, she could protect him—for the moment. And the baby, well, that could wait a few more hours, too. Clearly, he wasn’t going to notice her bump with his favorite team playing in the background.
She had one more thing to do: She slipped upstairs for a minute and quickly checked her e-mails. Then she went to the site on which she’d been meaning to post a collector’s item for the highest bidder: a rare first edition of Fowler’s. She felt slightly ashamed that it had taken her this long to say good-bye to Gretchen and Anthony. Any money she got she would use to open a savings account for the baby.
Before heading downstairs, she retrieved her small gift for Henry from her suitcase, an island stone, turquoise and translucent, and smooth beneath her fingers. Back in the living room, she settled into the cushions, the stone in her pocket. Henry patted her knee. “It’s nice to have you home.” Then, “Come on, run the ball, you fool!” She’d wait till halftime to give him his present.
Ellen smiled to think this was what her life had come to. It certainly wasn’t all bad. In fact, much of it was quite good. The Packers on a Sunday afternoon. A good man on her couch. A baby in her belly.
• • • •
&n
bsp; Later that night, Henry noticed the basket of baby toys lying open on the table and asked, “What’s this? Something for Benjamin?” She only had the heart to say, “Something like that.” But he had looked at her skeptically.
When they lay in bed, Ellen propped herself up on her elbow and turned toward him. She thought it best to speak hypothetically. “You know, Henry, all this time I’ve been spending with Benjamin makes me think that I might like to have one of my own.”
“What’s that?” He propped himself up on an elbow and faced her.
“A baby,” she whispered, as if it was an ethereal thing, floating off her lips and not growing inside of her.
He was quiet for a moment. He looked down, then back up at her. He was smiling.
“Don’t you have something else to tell me?” He reached out and gently stroked her stomach through her nightgown.
“You know?”
He nodded. “Well, only as much as a man can know about these things.” He grinned widely. “I guessed.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Probably a few weeks. It’s not like you’re getting fat anywhere else.”
“Henry!” She swatted him. “That’s not funny.”
“Wouldn’t you be more worried if I hadn’t noticed? I mean, what kind of guy doesn’t notice his girlfriend’s expanding belly?”
“Is that what I am now? Your girlfriend?”
“I certainly hope so. I’m glad you finally told me.” He paused for a beat, cleared his throat. “I’m guessing the baby’s not mine, though. Am I right?”
How to tell him? How to tell this dear, sweet man that she was pregnant by her ex-husband but that she really hoped it wouldn’t discourage him from loving her?
“I wish it was yours.” She paused. “Ours. I’m sorry, Henry. It was one night, before you and I were serious. It meant nothing. I didn’t think in a million years that I could get pregnant.”
He was quiet.
“But Henry?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sorry about this baby. I want this baby. I’ve been waiting pretty much my whole life for this child.”
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