Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane

by Mary McDonough

  Andie sighed and brushed a lock of her daughter’s hair away from her face. “Oh, Rumi,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what or who you wanted me to be. I am. And you’re right. Sometimes people do lose sight of the needs of the individual when they focus on the greater good. I’m more than sure I have! But hey, your dad was here and he didn’t do such a bad job on his own after I left Oliver’s Well, did he?”

  “No. Dad’s great.”

  “He is,” Andie agreed. “I have a lot of love for your father, and a lot of respect.”

  “Hey, did I ever tell you that not long before Grandma died I read Pride and Prejudice to her? We got through the entire book in about two weeks. You know it was one of her all-time favorites.”

  “I do. But wasn’t she able to read on her own?” Andie asked. “Was she too weak to hold a book?”

  “She said that reading hurt her eyes too much,” Rumi explained, “but I think she just enjoyed the company of someone else’s voice. Anyway, she told me that every time she was in a bookstore or a library and she saw someone with one of your books, she felt really proud of you. She used to think, ‘My own daughter, on the shelves with Jane Austen!’ And she also said she liked to listen to your interviews on the radio because she thought you had a very good speaking voice.” Rumi smiled. “You know how she had to take elocution lessons when she was young. She was always commenting on people’s lazy speech.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Andie said, unabashedly wiping away her tears. She wished that her mother could have told her how she felt about her directly, but Andie finally truly believed Caro Reynolds had done all that she was capable of doing. Like Andie had told Rumi, it was vital to appreciate and enjoy what you had and let go of what might have been.

  “I’m so glad you had Grandma and Grandpa for as long as you did,” she said. “They will always be in your heart. And you still have your father and Danny and Anna Maria and your cousins. And Emma, of course.”

  “And you?”

  Andie smiled. “And me. If you’ll have me.”

  “Duh, Mom,” Rumi said, rolling her eyes. “Just remember that I want to feel necessary to you. I want to really matter to you. And sometimes, though I’m not a kid anymore, even though I can act like one, I need to hear you say that to me. That I mean something necessary to you.”

  Andie took her daughter’s hand again and held it tight. “I won’t ever forget to tell you,” she promised, “and in my own words.”

  At that moment Bob came back into the living room bearing a plate. “Snacks, anyone? An amuse-bouche? An appetizer?” Bob laughed as he offered the plate to his daughter and his former wife. “Whatever you call them, nothing beats stuffed mushrooms hot out of the oven!”

  CHAPTER 75

  Anna Maria and Daniel traditionally spent Christmas Eve with her family, but this year, because Emma and Andie had come home to Oliver’s Well, they were very kindly holding the traditional Italian Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes at the Reynolds house. There would be plenty of time, Anna Maria had told Emma, for celebration with the Spinellis in the days to come.

  At six-thirty, the family—with the addition of Ian, who took a seat next to Emma—gathered around the table. Emma and Andie had set it with Caro’s best linens and china and crystal stemware. In the center a beautiful floral arrangement held pride of place. It was a gift to Daniel and Anna Maria from a grateful client. “Red roses like velvet,” Emma commented. “This must have cost your client quite a bit of money.”

  Daniel grinned. “She has quite a bit of money.”

  Daniel identified each dish he had laid out on warming trays atop the sideboard. “First,” he said, “we’re having the traditional baccalà, salted codfish in tomato sauce.”

  “It’s like soup,” Marco added helpfully, “with chunks of fish in it.”

  “And these are fried smelts, for those of us who need something fried whenever possible.” Daniel winked at Emma when he said that, and she winked back, remembering, of course, the wonderfully greasy onion rings they had shared.

  “What was that about?” Ian whispered, leaning into Emma’s shoulder.

  Emma pulled away. “Something between Danny and me,” she replied tersely.

  “Next, for the carb lovers we have linguine with a creamy crab sauce.”

  Anna Maria laughed. “That’s my addiction!”

  “Then,” Daniel went on, “there’s stuffed calamari, and clams casino—Mom’s favorite. And Dad’s favorite, shrimp cocktail. And finally, insalata di mare, cold seafood salad.” Daniel pointed to the table. “And, of course, lots of bread to mop up all the good stuff.”

  “Thank you, Danny and Anna Maria,” Emma said, “for your generosity.”

  Ian lifted his glass. “Yes,” he said, “thank you. And I’d like to make a toast.”

  Emma could barely refrain from a grimace as everyone dutifully raised his or her glass.

  “To dear friends and family,” Ian said. “May we always share the important moments together.”

  There were murmurs of agreement. He’s delusional, Emma thought, wondering if she could already have another glass of wine. This meal was going to be a trial and she needed some fortification, but the last thing she wanted was to get tipsy, not when there was a confrontation looming.

  Andie had made herself a delicious-smelling casserole with peppers, onions, and eggplant, and Daniel had also prepared a bowl of linguine with a sauce minus the crab, as well as a warm salad of winter vegetables.

  “Don’t you ever crave a hamburger?” Rumi asked, snagging a chunk of parsnip from her mother’s plate.

  “Bacon.” Andie sighed. “I crave bacon.”

  “Did you ever make a mistake and eat something you shouldn’t have?” Marco asked.

  Bob laughed. “It doesn’t really work that way,” he said. “Vegetarianism is a firmly held belief that outweighs mere physical craving and temptation.”

  “Except,” Andie said, “when it comes to bacon.”

  “Maybe I’ll become a vegetarian,” Sophia announced.

  “No,” Anna Maria said firmly.

  “What your mother said,” Daniel said, equally as firmly.

  Sophia looked genuinely puzzled. “But why not? If Aunt Andie can be one, why can’t I?”

  Andie smiled. “I think what your parents mean, Sophia, is that it’s a decision a person should make when she’s older than you are. And I agree.”

  Daniel grinned. “Besides, are you really ready to give up my famous pigs-in-a-blanket?”

  “No!” Sophia cried.

  “I tried to be a vegetarian once,” Ian said. “It didn’t work out so well, I’m afraid. I literally dreamt of the foods I wasn’t supposed to be eating. I was haunted by visions of beef Wellington and lobster thermidor.”

  No one laughed. Emma supposed that Ian had been hoping for a jolly reaction, and for a moment she dared to hope that he had finally become aware of the discomfort his presence was causing. She glanced at his face and there still sat the same bland smile. No such luck, she thought.

  When the silence started to become too loud, Andie piped up. “Vegetarianism is not for everyone,” she said. Her tone was kind.

  “I certainly couldn’t handle it,” Bob said, spearing a piece of calamari. “You’re in good company, Ian.”

  Emma was grateful for her sister’s graciousness and for Bob’s bonhomie, because as the meal wore on, increasingly she felt as if she were trapped in some bizarre comedy; she just hoped she wouldn’t suddenly laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all.

  “I thought we might use Caro’s Wedgwood vase this holiday season,” Anna Maria was saying. “But when I took it out the other day I noticed a hairline crack along one side. I’m not sure it would be watertight. I wonder if it can be mended.”

  “I could take a look at it if you like,” Ian offered.

  This is insane, Emma thought, gripping her fork. Ian can’t even straighten a crooked picture on the wall, let alone
mend a cracked vase. “You don’t want to be bothered about an old bit of crockery, Ian,” she said tersely.

  Ian shrugged. “Sure I do. If it’s important to your family, then it’s important to me.”

  “Oh, it’s really not a big crack,” Anna Maria said hurriedly. “I shouldn’t even have bothered to mention it. Would someone please pass the salt? Daniel, these fried smelts are really wonderful.”

  Finally, after what seemed an age, the meal was over. “I’ll help you clean up, Danny,” Emma said. “Ian, why don’t you go into the den with the others and help the kids set up the Monopoly board.”

  “Sure,” he said enthusiastically. “Come on, kids.”

  Anna Maria, Andie, Bob, and Rumi each shot Emma a glance of concern and sympathy before following Ian, Sophia, and Marco into the den. Emma joined her brother in the kitchen where they set about putting away what few leftovers there were and loading the dishwasher.

  “That was one of strangest things I’ve ever experienced,” Daniel said to Emma, his voice low. “The man is oblivious! I’ve never seen him act so . . . so oblivious!”

  Emma sighed as she ran hot water into a pot to soak. “I’ve got to talk to him again tonight. I should have stood my ground this afternoon. Damn. I don’t know what I’ve got myself into. And I hope I didn’t ruin dinner for everyone.”

  “I don’t mean to brag,” Daniel said, “but I think the food took at least some of the attention away from Ian Hayes.”

  Emma smiled weakly. “Good.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need help dealing with Ian?” Daniel asked, his tone genuinely worried. “I could be with you when you confront him, if you like. I could even show him the door, forcibly if I need to.”

  “Stop being so protective,” Emma told him. “I’ll be fine. But you can wish me luck. I’m afraid I’m going to have to force Ian out of denial, and I don’t think it’s going to be pretty. For either of us.”

  “Well, you know where you can find me. Right here. Anna Maria and I aren’t leaving this house until we know you’re okay.”

  “Thanks, Danny.” Emma gave her brother a kiss on the cheek. “I mean it.”

  * * *

  “Where’s your stuff?” Ian asked, glancing around the room in which Emma had slept for the first seventeen years of her life. “The room looks unoccupied.”

  It was a little before nine o’clock in the evening. After helping Daniel in the kitchen Emma had briefly looked in on the others in the den and then gone quietly upstairs, assuming that Ian would soon follow. He had.

  “I’ve been staying in my parents’ room,” she told him. And before Ian could start another ridiculously banal conversation as if nothing momentous had happened between them only a few weeks earlier, Emma said, “Why did you come here, Ian? And don’t start again about how we have to be friends. We don’t have to be friends.”

  To Emma’s surprise, Ian, no longer acting the obtuse, rejected lover, took two strides toward her and gripped her by the arms. His tone when he spoke was intense; his eyes were intent upon her face. “I came here,” he said, “because there’s something I need to know, once and for all. Emma, I don’t believe that you want things between us to be over.”

  Before Emma could react in any way at all, Ian let go of her and reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket. There was no need for him to open the black velvet box he extracted for Emma to know what was inside. But he did open it and held it out to her. A substantial cushion-cut diamond winked at Emma from a rich and mellow yellow gold setting.

  “Emma,” Ian went on, “for the sake of all we’ve built in the past ten years, for the sake of all that we’ve shared, will you marry me?”

  This can’t be happening, Emma thought. It just can’t be. She suddenly recalled Maureen’s words at the Angry Squire the night before—“As long as it’s not an engagement ring!”—and she wondered if Ian was playing a practical joke on her. But Ian had never been the sort for jokes of any kind.

  She felt anger surge through her, and with some difficulty she managed to keep her voice low. It wouldn’t do to have her brother come barging into the room, harsh words at the ready. “Ian,” she said, “what don’t you understand? Our relationship is over. Your proposing to me now is an insult. It’s a complete refusal to believe that I meant what I said when we last saw each other. It’s a refusal to take me seriously. It’s totally disrespectful. The relationship is over.”

  Ian’s face tensed. “Is there another man?” he asked. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “You asked me that back in Annapolis,” Emma whispered fiercely, “and I told you no! There’s no other man! There’s no one. I made this decision on my own, for my own sake. For my own happiness.”

  Emma watched as Ian tried to process this last bit of information. Assuming, of course, he had even heard it. “Are you telling me that our relationship meant nothing to you?” he said finally.

  “Of course the relationship meant something to me,” she replied. “Just . . . just not the right sort of something.” Emma sighed and put a hand to her suddenly aching head. “Look, Ian, why are you refusing to hear me? How can I be any more clear?”

  At this Ian seemed to gather himself, to grow in stature. For a moment Emma thought he was going to take hold of her again and she took a step back. She realized that she was beginning to feel afraid. How long would it take her brother to get upstairs? she thought. If she screamed very loudly or risked a dash to the door . . .

  When Ian spoke his voice held a note of mockery she had never heard in it before, not once in all the years they had known each other.

  “Is this going to be a repeat of the time you decided you were done with me only to call me less than two weeks later and beg me to take you back?” he asked.

  Emma cringed. She had not begged, of that she was sure, but maybe Ian needed to see it that way now. “Things were different then, Ian,” she said. “I wasn’t ready to end our relationship and I’m sorry for acting without proper thought. But now, I’m sure I’ve done the right thing. Absolutely sure.” And as she said those last words, she felt her courage return. There was nothing to fear, she realized. Nothing. “I don’t love you, Ian,” she told him. “I just don’t.”

  Ian grew so still it was almost as if he wasn’t there; it was almost as if he had gone away someplace safe and dark. His eyes seemed to be seeing nothing; his lips were held tightly together. When he didn’t respond after yet another moment, Emma went on. “Ian,” she said, “you can stay here tonight—I doubt you’d get a hotel room anywhere with its being Christmas Eve—but you’ll have to leave first thing in the morning. I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly, Ian came back to life. He shut the black velvet box with a loud snap and shoved it back into his pocket. “I’m leaving now,” he said. “I’m driving back to Annapolis. Oh, and here.” He reached into his travel bag and took out two small packages wrapped in bright red and green paper. “I brought these for Sophia and Marco. They might as well have them.”

  Emma took the packages without meeting his eye. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You won’t be bothered by me again. Good night, Emma.”

  Emma stood very still as Ian picked up his bag and without another word opened the door and left the room. She heard his feet thundering down the stairs and then the front door slam.

  Only then did she leave her old room, holding the two brightly wrapped packages against her chest, and join her family, all of whom but for Sophia and Marco were gathered in the living room, expressions full of expectation and concern.

  “Are you all right?” Andie asked, putting a hand gently on her shoulder.

  Emma laughed a bit wildly. “I will be. He proposed. I told him again that I wanted nothing to do with him and he proposed.”

  “He actually asked you to marry him?” Rumi asked, eyes wide.

  “With a ring, and a pretty nice one at that.”

  “Poor man,” Andie murmured. “Poor deluded man.”

&nbs
p; “I’m finished feeling sorry for him, Andie,” Emma said firmly. “It was a scene I could have done without. I just hope he gets some help in moving on.”

  “I should have thrown him out when he first showed up!” Daniel said.

  “He looked so angry when he left,” Rumi said, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m glad he’s gone. There would be too much negative energy if he spent even one more minute in this house.”

  “What are those?” Anna Maria asked, pointing to the packages Emma still held.

  “Oh.” Emma had almost forgotten that she was holding them. “Presents from Ian for the kids. I guess I should put them under the tree.”

  Andie took the packages from her sister. “I’ll do it,” she said.

  “Thanks, Andie,” Emma said as she gladly relinquished the presents.

  “I hope he’s going right back to Annapolis,” Daniel said, still frowning with concern. “I don’t like the idea of him hanging around Oliver’s Well.”

  “He said he’s driving back tonight,” Emma told him. “I’m sure we won’t be troubled by him again.” And then she stifled a yawn. “Gosh, suddenly I feel utterly exhausted. That scene upstairs—this whole day!—really took it out of me.” The fear, Emma thought. The fear and the frustration are what exhausted me.

  “Don’t forget a seven-course meal!” Anna Maria added. “That could make anyone tired.”

  “Eight courses,” Emma corrected, putting a hand to her stomach. “You forgot about dessert. I had two servings of the gingerbread with Danny’s whipped cream and a few of Andie’s pfeffernüsse. Well, good night, everyone. I’m toddling off to bed. And thanks for being here as my support team.”

  “It’s what family is about,” Daniel said, “being there to support each other.”

  Emma knew just how much her brother meant those words. To a chorus of “good night,” Emma went upstairs to her parents’ bedroom and stripped off the clothes she had been wearing since morning. All she wanted was to climb into her flannel nightgown, slip under the covers, and wipe from her mind the bizarre encounter with Ian Hayes. Just as she was plugging her phone into its charger for the night, there came a text from Morgan Shelby.