Home for Christmas by Holly Chamberlin (6)

Nell took a few sips of coffee before turning to the day’s edition of the Yorktide Daily Chronicle. The big story that morning of December thirteenth was the grand reopening of the dollar store in Wells. The event would feature the Silver Singers, a barbershop quartet whose members were all past seventy, and a professional balloon artist. Nell smiled—she hadn’t been aware that one could be a professional balloon artist—and turned the page. The first thing that caught her eye was a large ad taken out by the Bookworm, Yorktide’s independent bookshop.

There was a picture, too, a professional photo of the famous and beloved author. There was the so familiar slightly crooked smile; there were the large, dark eyes, so soulful in expression; there was the unruly dark hair. “Eric,” Nell whispered. She felt a strange tingling from head to toe. Only the day before she had twice thought with bittersweet nostalgia of Eric Manville. It seemed a very odd coincidence to find his name and picture in the morning paper. But of course it could be nothing other than coincidence.

Still, it struck Nell as odd that a New York Times best-selling author of popular novels, several of which had been made into successful movies starring big-name actors, would be doing an event in a virtually unknown little town in southern Maine in the middle of winter when there were no tourists to fill seats and stimulate sales. It couldn’t be that . . . Nell felt her cheeks flush. Could Eric have learned that she lived in Yorktide? Could he be coming here to see her? The possibility was remote but not completely out of the question. Was it?

Nell frowned down at the page. No. She had broken Eric’s heart when she abruptly ended their relationship in their senior year of college. There was no way he would want anything to do with her. Besides, Nell had read that he was married to a journalist who traveled the globe covering exciting stories in dangerous locations. Katrina Sinclair, whose picture was often to be found on the Internet as she was snapped accepting a prestigious award or interviewing harassed soldiers behind enemy lines, was tall and willowy with exotic dark eyes and a keen fashion sense. She was not the sort of woman from whom a man would easily stray, and Nell knew that Eric was not the sort of man even to contemplate a betrayal.

Even if Eric were single, Nell thought, what would a worldly, wealthy writer ever find attractive in Nell King at this point in time? She had done nothing particularly brilliant with her life. Correction. She had done nothing at all brilliant. Sure, since becoming office manager for Mutts and Meows she had upgraded the practice’s website and overhauled the billing system, and back when she was married and in charge of the country club’s annual charity ball she had routinely raised thousands of dollars over the club’s stated goal, but none of that was worthy of a headline. Add to those mediocre accomplishments the fact that she hadn’t aged particularly well and, Nell thought, you had a spectacularly average person on your hands. She had gained more weight than she felt comfortable carrying. She hadn’t bothered to eliminate the gray hairs that were creeping into view or to address the issue of the deepening lines around her mouth. Not like the old days when she had spent endless amounts of time on her appearance in an effort to uphold her status as Joel King’s perfect wife.

But long before those days, Nell thought, there had been Eric, a high-minded dreamer, aimless and happy-go-lucky. Intelligent, yes. A good student, no. Kind hearted. Generous. Gregarious, though someone who also appreciated the beauty and necessity of silence. It had taken about a moment for Nell and Eric to fall madly in love. It had taken about a month for them to decide they would marry after graduation.

All might have been well if it weren’t for the fact that Nell’s parents thought Eric unacceptable, and as soon as they realized their daughter’s intention of marrying him, they mounted a campaign to undermine the relationship. “He’s too bohemian for the likes of us,” Jacqueline Emerson declared. “He has no firm plans for his future,” Talbot Emerson added. “I want someone stable and ambitious for my daughter.” And that someone was Joel King, son of Mr. Emerson’s business partner.

In the end Nell simply hadn’t been strong enough to withstand her parents’ formidable will; she never had been. She broke up with Eric. She started to date Joel. They married, and soon after the wedding Nell stopped writing poetry; soon after Molly’s birth she stopped reading it, too. She had once known how to access the state of mind and heart that preceded both proper reading and writing, but those skills belonged to her old life. A life before marriage and motherhood.

Nell’s memories were interrupted by the appearance of Molly in the doorway to the kitchen. Around her neck she wore a silver pendant that had been a gift from Mick on her sixteenth birthday. It seemed an odd choice given Molly’s decision to end the relationship.

“I spoke to your father last night,” Nell said, closing the newspaper. “I told him about your plans.”

“Why did you do that?” Molly asked with a frown as she took a seat at the table and reached for the pitcher of grapefruit juice.

“Because I needed to.”

“What did he say about my moving to Boston? Assuming he even cares.”

“Of course he cares, and frankly, he’s as puzzled as I am. Still, he offered to help fund you until you’re settled and have a good job. And he said you could stay at his apartment.”

Molly’s expression grew hard. “I won’t take his money or stay in his home.”

Nell restrained a sigh. “You could at least admit it was good of him to offer to help you.”

“Dad thinks all problems can be solved with money.”

“That’s unfair,” Nell said sharply.

Molly reached for her mother’s hand. “Look, Mom, there’s a reason I haven’t spoken to him since I turned eighteen. I don’t like what he did to you. He treated you badly, and I’m not letting him off the hook so easily.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, Molly, I really do, but it hurts me that you won’t even listen to what he might have to say to you. I’ve forgiven him. Why can’t you?”

Molly withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t want you to feel bad, but I just can’t.”

Nell decided to drop the subject of reconciliation. To the young, the world was black-and-white. The young were notoriously unsympathetic and couldn’t be expected to be otherwise.

“You’re still going ahead with your plans?” she said instead.

“Nothing has changed overnight, Mom.”

“All right. But since you confided in me in the first place I’m asking you to hear me out.”

Molly nodded. “I guess I can’t stop you.”

“No,” Nell said. “You can’t. Molly, there are a lot of good reasons to end a relationship, and a lot of bad ones, too. Be very certain breaking up is what you want to do. Some mistakes can’t be corrected.” And I should know, Nell added silently, glancing at the newspaper on the table. Eric Manville.

Molly sighed. “I know that, Mom. I do. It’s just that I don’t want to be someone who gives up her life just to be a wife and mother, and that’s what will happen if I marry Mick. I’ll be . . . I’ll be consumed by Mick and his parents and the farm. I’ll be Molly Williams of Williams Family Farm. I won’t have any identity apart from them. I won’t be me.”

“You could look at the situation and see servitude rather than a partnership,” Nell agreed. “But I think you’re being unfair in assuming that Mick would be unwilling to respect your concerns. You block out all sort of possibilities when you assume someone is going to react a certain way.”

“He won’t understand my position,” Molly replied flatly.

“He loves you,” Nell insisted. “Even if he doesn’t understand at first, he’ll try to understand. I know he will.”

“You can’t know that.”

Nell sighed. “Okay, maybe I can’t. But sometimes it’s wiser to cherish what you have instead of tossing it aside for some unknown, supposedly better thing. Sometimes what you really want is right in front of you. You just have to blink a few times to clear the smoke other people are blowing in your face.”

“No one is blowing smoke in my face, and I’m not going to change my mind, Mom. There’s nothing new for me with Mick. I know exactly what he’s going to say and do next. He’s so predictable. How can I spend the rest of my life with someone I know better than I know myself?”

“Just because you think you know someone doesn’t mean he won’t surprise you,” Nell said carefully. “We all change over time. We surprise each other and ourselves over and over again.”

“Did Dad surprise you when he said he was leaving you for his mistress?”

For a moment Nell wasn’t quite sure how to answer honestly. “He did surprise me,” she said finally. “But maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe I should have seen certain signs beforehand. But this conversation is not about your father and me. This is about you and Mick. What about the silver money clip you were planning on giving him for Christmas? You can’t give it to him and then end the relationship.”

“I’ll return it. I’ll get something less personal.”

“You can’t return it. It’s monogrammed with both your initials.”

“It’s just a thing, Mom,” Molly cried. “Why are you getting all worked up about a thing?”

“I’m not getting all worked up,” Nell protested. And then she sighed. She suddenly felt exhausted. “How was dinner at the Williamses’ last night?” she asked wearily.

Molly got up from the table. “Fine. I’ve got to go to class.”

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m okay. I’ll see you later.”

And then she was gone. Nell sighed again. She doubted the evening had been “fine.” Even if Mick and Gus hadn’t picked up on anything amiss in Molly’s mood, Mary Williams must have sensed that something was wrong. Women usually did, especially when it in some way involved their children.

So why didn’t I sense that something was troubling Molly? Nell wondered guiltily. Have I been so obsessed with the idea of my own impending loneliness that I’ve been ignoring signs of trouble brewing in the here and now?

Nell opened the newspaper again. She stared at Eric Manville’s image, and for a moment she had the distinct and disturbing feeling that he was looking back at her, about to speak to her, about to say . . . Nell abruptly closed the paper and shook her head. She had to keep her wits about her this Christmas if she was to provide her daughters with an experience they would never, ever forget.

Even when they were long gone from Yorktide.