Christmas in Vermont

by Anita Hughes

  “To see Betty. Betty got all flustered and went to the bathroom to reapply her lipstick. Who puts on lipstick before they go to bed?” Lola wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t have minded, but he interrupted our bedtime stories for the teddy bears. We hadn’t finished reading Peter Rabbit.”

  “Maybe he was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by,” Emma suggested.

  “We’re in Vermont. You need to put on a coat and mittens just to walk outside,” Lola reminded Emma. “Then Betty asked if he’d join her for a cup of coffee, and I knew he’d be there a while.”

  “Why would you think that?” Emma wondered.

  “Betty doesn’t drink coffee at night; it keeps her awake,” Lola finished knowingly.

  “Stephen seems very nice,” Emma said, smiling.

  “I’m glad for Betty; she misses being someone’s wife,” Lola agreed. “When I went to bed, the light in my dad’s room was off. He must have got back early.”

  “We came back to The Smuggler’s Inn right after we walked around Dorset.” Emma felt herself blushing. “I had to do some work.”

  “I thought you and Dad would have lingered. Dorset is so pretty at night, and they have fireworks in the village square. Betty showed me in a brochure.”

  “Lola, were you trying to set us up?” Emma said suspiciously.

  “I’m nine years old.” Lola fiddled with her pockets. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Just because Megan left, it doesn’t mean they’ve broken up.” Emma ignored her comment. “And even if they do, your father and I are just friends.”

  “Of course they’ve broken up,” Lola insisted. “And I know my father likes you. He gets this distracted look when I mention your name.”

  Emma turned back to her laptop. “I don’t have time to talk about it. I have to finish some work.”

  “What’s the ad for?” Lola pointed at the photo of a model wearing a hooded jacket. The only color on her face was a bright red lipstick.

  “It’s a new lipstick called Christmas Red. I’ve been staring at it for hours, and I can’t think of a thing to write.”

  “What do you usually do when you’re stuck?” Lola asked.

  “Walk past the windows on Fifth Avenue, or take the escalator up and down Bloomingdale’s,” Emma mused. “But you won’t see women in designer heels strutting down Main Street in Snowberry, and the General Store doesn’t sell couture.”

  “You could visit the outlet stores in Manchester,” Lola suggested. “Betty says they carry all the big names, like Ralph Lauren. She’s going to take me there if we’re here next summer. I’ll be ten and a half, and she said she’d buy me some pretty perfume.”

  “The outlet stores—that is a good idea.” Emma grabbed her jacket.

  “You’re going now?” Lola asked. “Betty wanted to go over the contestants’ song selections.”

  “It can wait until after lunch,” Emma said sweetly. “It won’t make a difference if they’re performing ‘Jingle Bells’ or ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.’”

  * * *

  A taxi deposited Emma at the outlet stores, and she zipped up her jacket. Manchester was charming, with its quaint brick buildings and iron park benches covered in snow. A giant sleigh was parked in the middle of the village square, and a banner welcomed visitors to the friendliest town in southern Vermont.

  Lola had been right: there was a whole row of designer stores. The window of Ralph Lauren held piles of ski sweaters, the mannequins in Armani were draped in cocktail dresses for New Year’s Eve, and Eddie Bauer had displays of hats and mittens.

  In the past when Emma strolled through the department stores, ideas had flowed faster than she could jot them down. She recalled an ad she’d created for Lancôme Splash-proof Mascara; it had a photo of a couple playing tennis, with the copy: STEP UP YOUR GAME WITH LANCÔME SPLASH-PROOF MASCARA. The woman in the ad wore a pleated tennis dress, and the man had a sweater draped around his shoulders. A butler stood on the sidelines, holding two champagne flutes.

  There was the ad that had proved so popular for Sunkissed perfume, with two couples on a yacht and the copy: SUNKISSED: FOR WHEN YOU’RE RUBBING SHOULDERS WITH THE JET SET. Emma had gotten the idea from the Donna Karan cruise collection at Saks.

  But now she trudged past the pleated slacks at Theory and the quilted jackets at Kate Spade and her mind stayed completely blank. She was about to give up and get a cup of coffee when she noticed a familiar figure wearing a dark overcoat. Emma recognized Fletcher.

  “Fletcher?” she called. He turned, looking so handsome with his collar pulled up against his cheeks.

  “Emma.” He approached her. “This is a surprise.”

  Emma suddenly wondered if Lola was up to mischief again. “Don’t tell me Lola told you…”

  “I left the inn before Lola woke up.” He shook his head. “I needed to do some shopping. Why are you here?”

  “I’ve been trying to write copy for a new lipstick,” Emma explained. “Usually seeing beautiful clothes gives me inspiration, but it’s not working. I was about to get a cup of coffee and go back to the inn.”

  “Why don’t we have coffee together?” Fletcher suggested.

  “I suppose so.” Emma shrugged. “I’m not getting anything done, and Lola and Betty and I aren’t meeting until after lunch.”

  “Excellent!” He beamed. “You can help me shop first. I need a tuxedo for New Year’s Eve. I just remembered that my only tuxedo never made it over from England.”

  Emma was about to ask why he needed a tuxedo, and stopped. Perhaps Megan had called this morning and begged him to go to the New Year’s Eve party.

  “I don’t know if I have time,” Emma said, her resolve wavering.

  “Please? I’m terrible at choosing my own clothes.” Fletcher took her arm. “Don’t you remember how in college I had to attend a dinner for the theater department, and couldn’t find anything to wear?”

  Emma recalled combing the thrift stores together for a dinner jacket. All the jackets Fletcher tried on had been too narrow, with ragged stitching. Then Emma had noticed a midnight-blue jacket with red piping. Fletcher slipped it on and Emma thought he resembled an old-fashioned matinee movie idol.

  “All right,” she said reluctantly.

  They strolled through Brooks Brothers and admired the starched shirts and silk bow ties. At Armani, Fletcher tried on a black tuxedo that made him look like a young Gregory Peck. Emma matched it with a camel-colored scarf and tasseled loafers.

  “Thank you. If you weren’t here, I’d still be struggling to find a shirt with proper cuffs,” he said, collecting their parcels. “Let’s buy something for you.” He wandered to the women’s section and pointed to a red dress. “This would look wonderful with your hair.”

  “Why do I need a dress?” Emma asked, puzzled.

  “Betty wants everyone to dress up,” Fletcher said. “Maybe you brought something with you. We could buy a pretty wrap. Stephen said the theater will be heated, but every time I’ve been there, it’s freezing.”

  “You bought the tuxedo to wear to the talent show?” Emma inquired.

  “Why else would I buy it?” Fletcher asked. “Betty and Lola think if everyone is feeling festive, they’ll be willing to donate more money.”

  Why hadn’t Betty told her the attire was going to be formal? But she couldn’t think about that now; she was heady with relief that Fletcher wasn’t returning to New York.

  “I thought Megan called, and you were going to the party in New York after all.” She looked at Fletcher.

  “I called Megan last night,” Fletcher said slowly. “She’s going to leave the engagement ring on the kitchen counter, along with the extra key and the passwords to Netflix and Hulu.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma replied.

  “It’s for the best,” Fletcher said. “I had already decided to take Stephen up on his offer this summer, and I couldn’t have planned a wedding from Vermont.”

  “Oh, I see,” Emma s
aid, and felt oddly disappointed. “Lola will be thrilled. All she talks about is learning to fish. And Betty wants to teach her to make ice cream.”

  “That’s not the only reason I broke it off.” Fletcher was still talking. “There’s something else.”

  “Something else?” Emma whispered.

  “I want to ask you to be my date for the talent show,” Fletcher said. “And I don’t want anything standing between us.”

  Fletcher touched her arm and the air rushed out of Emma’s lungs. She looked up and her face broke into a smile.

  “I’d love to be your date,” she said and laughed. “But you’re right. I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Then we’re in the right place.” Fletcher smiled. “I’ll sit here, and you can try on some dresses.”

  “Won’t that be boring?” Emma wondered.

  “I am a father, and Lola does like to shop.” He grinned. “I’m used to spending an hour in a department store.”

  Emma tried on a green velvet dress and a silver gown with a shirred bodice. She finally settled on a red silk dress and paired it with a gold wrap.

  “I feel more festive already,” Emma said after the saleswoman returned her credit card. “I should get back to the inn. Betty and Lola and I still have work to do.”

  “I’d share a cab, but I have to pick up some props for the playhouse,” Fletcher said when they walked outside. The snow was thick on the pavement and the whole world was a bright white. “Would you like to have dinner tonight?”

  “I’d love to.” Emma nodded happily. “Tell Lola to pick somewhere that serves soups and salads. If I eat any more burgers or waffles, I’m going to get fat.”

  “I wasn’t planning on bringing Lola,” Fletcher said. “I thought it could be the two of us.”

  Emma looked at Fletcher and felt a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves.

  “The two of us sounds perfect,” she agreed before she could chicken out. “I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Emma hung the red dress in her closet and perched on the bed. She wanted to show it to Bronwyn, but when she FaceTimed her there was no answer. Bronwyn would have clapped her hands and pointed out that synchronicity was working. First Emma had found Fletcher’s watch in the jewelry store in the East Village. Then Megan and Fletcher had had a falling-out, and now Fletcher had asked Emma to dinner. Even running into Fletcher at the outlet stores this morning was synchronicity.

  Was it possible that she and Fletcher had a future? Being with Fletcher was the same as when they were in college: completely comfortable and thrilling all at once. None of the guys she’d dated over the years made her feel the same: not Theo, who’d graduated from Harvard with a Boston accent like a Kennedy; or Enrico, who came from Cuba and was part owner in a trendy nightclub; or Sylvan, who had the thickest eyelashes and loved to cook.

  When Emma told her the news, Bronwyn would start picking out flower girl dresses for Liv and Sarah to wear to Emma and Fletcher’s wedding. But Emma had never told Bronwyn the real reason she and Fletcher had split up. It wasn’t just the five thousand miles that had separated them when he left for London and she moved to New York. It was what happened before.

  She picked up Fletcher’s watch and remembered the night one week before graduation, when the campus was filled with seniors eager to start their new lives, and the future was as bright as the spotlights on the stage.

  May, 2008

  Waterville, Maine

  Emma entered Fletcher’s dorm room, surveying the bed strewn with textbooks and the pile of T-shirts waiting to be taken to the laundry.

  Tonight was the opening of Romeo and Juliet, and Fletcher had asked Emma to bring a copy of the script he left on his desk. She caught her reflection in his closet mirror and was pleased she had dressed up. The green dress accentuated the tan she’d gotten while studying on the lawn, and the low-heeled sandals made her bare legs look sexy.

  It was Fletcher’s last play, and Emma had reserved a table at Cucina’s in Waterville to celebrate. She’d called ahead for a bottle of their least expensive champagne, and she was going to present him with the watch she’d bought him as a graduation present.

  She could finally tell Fletcher the good news that had been bubbling inside her like the oatmeal she made on the hot plate in her dorm room.

  Ever since her interview with Ogilvy & Mather in New York two weeks ago, she had been on pins and needles. For the first few days, every time her phone buzzed, she was sure it was Walter. But he didn’t call, and her excitement turned to panic. She even mustered up the courage to call him, and Walter’s secretary said she’d give him the message.

  Another week passed, and she was certain she hadn’t gotten the job. It was too late to set up interviews, and she would have to wait until graduation. She was glad she hadn’t said anything to Fletcher. He was swamped with rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet, and didn’t need to be burdened with her worries.

  Then yesterday Walter had called and apologized. He’d had an emergency appendectomy, and was finally back in the office. Everyone loved Emma, and they wanted her to start right after graduation: assistant copywriter with a salary of $32,000 a year, plus health benefits.

  Emma had hung up the phone and bicycled straight into Waterville. She spent almost all the money her parents had sent for graduation: she bought the green dress, the watch for Fletcher, and a pair of pumps for her new job. For once she didn’t worry about the price tags. In three weeks she’d be a working girl in Manhattan.

  The script lay on the desk and she picked it up. An envelope fell to the floor and an airline ticket slipped out. Emma turned it over and read Fletcher’s name. It was a one-way ticket to London, and there was a letter from someone named Harry Stone.

  Emma scanned the letter and sank to the floor. Why hadn’t Fletcher told her about Harry’s offer? She had assumed he was going to look for a theater job in New York. Even Boston or Philadelphia would have been all right, because they could have visited each other on weekends. But London! Fletcher would get on that British Airways flight two days after graduation, and she’d never see him again.

  She could ask him about it at dinner, but Fletcher would know she was snooping. She would have to wait for him to bring it up. She slipped the ticket back in the envelope and grabbed the script. How was she going to pretend nothing had happened, when their whole future together was in jeopardy?

  * * *

  Emma sat across from Fletcher at Cucina’s and dipped garlic bread into melted butter. Everything about the restaurant was perfect: the table was lit by flickering candles, the fettuccine marinara with sea scallops and lobster was delicious, and even the champagne was passable. But every time she tried to swallow, her stomach tightened, and she had to force herself to take another bite.

  “You didn’t have to order all this,” Fletcher said, waving at the caprese salad in a silver bowl and the sides of sautéed vegetables. “We could have shared a burger at the Proper Pig.”

  “It’s your last play at Colby.” Emma clutched her champagne flute. “When will we celebrate opening night again?”

  “It did go well, didn’t it?” Fletcher said happily. “I was afraid the actress playing Juliet would forget her lines. She had the stomach flu and missed the last week of rehearsals. But she remembered every word, and the actor playing Romeo was better than I hoped. Ryan is from California, and I thought he’d come across as a surfer instead of the scion of a noble Venetian family.”

  “Everyone was wonderful, and it was because of you,” Emma agreed. “You’re the star of the theater department. Producers are going to line up offering you a job.”

  Fletcher put down his fork, and Emma thought he was going to tell her about the letter. He’d say he told Harry he couldn’t accept the job because he wanted to stay in New York, and she’d tell him about the offer from Ogilvy & Mather.

  “I met a British producer, and he said my plays made Shakespeare accessible to young people.” Fletcher�
�s eyes were bright. “It’s wonderful when someone understands what you’re trying to do. It makes all the late nights and slices of cold pizza worthwhile.”

  Fletcher had never looked so excited, like a child on Christmas morning. Emma suddenly understood why he hadn’t told her about the letter. He desperately wanted to accept Harry’s offer, and was afraid Emma would stop him. She had to tell him she knew about the job offer. But how could she do it without Fletcher knowing that she’d seen the letter?

  “Wouldn’t it be exciting if you got a theater job in London?” she returned. “You’d learn so much and be so successful. Covent Garden is one of the theater capitals of the world.”

  Fletcher started to say something and changed his mind. He concentrated on dipping lobster into steaming butter. “That’s about as likely to happen as pigs flying. There are a lot of talented assistant directors in England, and I’m just an American college kid that staged a decent production of As You Like It. I’ll have to settle for something off-off-Broadway in New York, or maybe Chicago or Philadelphia.”

  Emma looked down at her plate so Fletcher couldn’t see the hurt in her eyes. If Fletcher wasn’t going to tell her about the letter, it was obvious he was planning on going to London without her. He’d call from some bedsit in London and say long distance romances didn’t work, and it was better if they broke up.

  “I want to hear about you,” Fletcher returned. “You said you had exciting news.”

  “I finally heard from Ogilvy & Mather. I got the job.”

  “I knew you’d get it.” He beamed. “You’re going to be working on Madison Avenue and eating expense-account lunches at swanky restaurants in Midtown.”

  Emma gulped her champagne and had never felt so betrayed. How could Fletcher lie to her? She didn’t want him to think she was pining for him in New York. It was better if there was a way to make a clean break. But if she broke up with him now, what would be the reason? She tried to think of a place that didn’t have a proper theater scene, somewhere Fletcher couldn’t possibly follow her.