Chapter 28
They had decided to meet again at the Butter Churn. Nell was able to get the same table at which she and Eric had sat before. She had been there almost fifteen minutes before Eric came through the door. The sight of him brought a smile to her face.
“Sorry I’m late,” Eric said, joining her. “I usually am late, aren’t I?”
“Not today,” Nell told him. “I got to Kennebunk about a half hour ago so I could spend some time in the cemetery, but it was so cold I had to come inside after a few minutes. Puffer coat still out of action?” she asked, noting that Eric seemed to be wearing three sweaters under his leather jacket. The neck of one of the sweaters was torn.
“I got ketchup on it,” he explained. “But this time I asked the hotel if they could clean it. Hey, remember that tiny little cemetery we stumbled on when we took a day trip to Lexington and Concord? Some of the stones were so degraded we had to trace what remained of the writing with our fingers to figure out names and dates.”
“I remember. I don’t know why people consider cemeteries morbid places, though a lot of the modern ones do look so sadly cold.”
“You’re a romantic, Nell, as am I. It’s one of the reasons we’ve always got on so well.”
Yes, Nell thought. I am a romantic. “How was your morning?” she asked when a waiter had taken their order for coffee and a cherry-filled pastry Eric insisted they share.
“Interesting,” he said. “I wrote for about an hour and then I hit a snag, so I went to the beach for a long walk. It was so unbelievably beautiful, and it was just the sand, the ocean, the occasional seagull, and me. And some snow. By the time I got back to the hotel I’d gotten myself out of the hole I’d inadvertently dug. That sort of thing never happens when I’m wandering the streets of Manhattan.”
“The healing power of nature?” Nell suggested.
Eric nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The waiter appeared with their order, and as Eric sliced the pastry in half he asked Nell how her morning had passed.
“Interesting as well,” Nell told him. “Felicity took me completely by surprise when she told me she’d canceled the trip to Switzerland with her father next Christmas. She said she realized just how much she enjoys being home for the holidays.”
“Why do you look doubtful?” Eric asked.
“Do I? It’s just that I’d like to believe her, but I’m afraid she’s giving up what might be an exciting opportunity to spare my feelings.”
“Teenagers get a bad rap, don’t they?” Eric said. “Not all are totally self-focused. Plenty of them are familiar with making a willing sacrifice. Still, do you think Felicity would lie to you about her motives?”
“Not really,” Nell admitted, “but lately there are times when I feel my daughters are strangers to me. I realize I don’t know what they’re thinking, and I’m surprised by their decisions.”
“Every day they’re becoming more autonomous beings.”
“I know, and that’s the point of raising children, and I would never dissuade either of them from following their dreams.” Nell smiled. “But I’m not above trying to get their attention and their gratitude with sugar and crafts. I’m even knitting them Christmas stockings—and I’m a lousy knitter.”
“What you’re experiencing is totally natural,” Eric said. “Which doesn’t make it any easier, but at least you know you’re not losing your mind.”
“But I am losing the role that’s been my identity for the past twenty-one years.”
“Surely that role won’t be gone entirely,” Eric argued. “Surely a parent is never done being a parent. Sorry. I don’t mean to imply that what you’re feeling isn’t important. And what do I know about the emotional trauma parents experience when a child leaves home, other than what I’ve learned while researching.”
“You don’t need to research to understand universal feelings like love and loss. But I suppose that reading about other people’s experiences does give you food for thought.”
“Exactly. So, would it be all right if I met Molly and Felicity?” Eric asked. And then he smiled. “Or is this really bad timing on my part?”
“I haven’t told them about you,” Nell blurted.
“Why not? Do I embarrass you? I have learned how to comb my hair.” Eric ran his hand through the loose wild curls. “Sort of.”
“Of course not,” Nell said hurriedly. “It’s just . . .” It was just, Nell thought, that this renewed friendship with Eric was not irrelevant, no matter how casually she had implied just that when talking to Jill. It was anything but irrelevant; it was by far the most important thing that had happened to her aside from the birth of her children. And bringing together the most important people of her life . . . Well, the thought was challenging. So much could go so terribly wrong. So much could go so very right. “Why do you want to meet them?” she asked finally.
Eric reached across the table for her hand. “Simple. I knew the old Nell, and now I’m getting to know this Nell. And this Nell has spent the last twenty-one years being a mother, and that makes her in some ways an entirely new person to me.”
Getting to know this Nell . . . “I promise to talk to the girls,” Nell said promptly. “I’ll tell them we’re old friends and that you’d like to meet them. They’re fans of your work, you know.”
Eric grinned. “As long as they don’t ask me where I get my ideas. I never know how to answer that question.”
“Okay. I’ll tell them not to ask. And by the way, where do you get your ideas?”
“From the back of cereal boxes,” Eric said. “That’s my answer and I’m sticking to it. Now, eat your pastry.”