Emma felt a huge sense of freedom with having made the decision. At moments since getting out of bed she had felt almost giddy with excitement. She looked over to her mother’s vanity table, on which sat the lovely wooden box Daniel had given her for Christmas. She would keep the key to her new home in that box, she thought, along with other small treasures, those she already possessed and those that might be to come.
Finally dressed for the day in a pair of gray slacks and a pale blue sweater, Emma headed downstairs to join her family. She found Andie, Daniel, and Anna Maria at the kitchen table. Bob and Rumi, she knew, had taken Sophia and Marco to an indoor ice-skating rink in Smithstown.
“Coffee?” Anna Maria gestured at the full press pot. “It’s our second round.”
Emma gratefully poured herself a cup and sat. Even after what had seemed like an endless meal the night before, she felt her stomach growl with hunger. But before she indulged in breakfast, there was something she needed to share with her family.
“Everyone?” she began, looking from Daniel to Andie and then to Anna Maria. “I’ve come to a big decision. I’d like to buy Danny and Andie out of their shares of this house. I’ve decided to move back to Oliver’s Well.”
Andie only smiled; Emma suspected her sister had already intuited her intentions. Daniel looked from his wife to his two sisters in turn. “I’m stunned,” he said. “Absolutely floored.”
“I think it sounds wonderful,” Anna Maria said. “But . . . are you sure this is what you want?”
Emma nodded. “I’m sure. This decision hasn’t come out of the blue, though I know it must look that way.”
“Wait a minute. Is that why you were dragging your feet about choosing a real estate agent and getting the house on the market?” Daniel asked, a smile dawning on his face.
“Yeah,” Emma admitted. “Sorry. I just wasn’t ready to say anything. I’ll have an official offer to you and Andie this week and get started on lining up the financing. Assuming neither of you has any objections to my buying the place.”
“Of course not!” Daniel said, smiling broadly. “I think it’s fantastic.”
“Me, too,” Andie said. “Really, Emma.”
“I still think we should go ahead with the general auction of the contents of the house,” Emma said. “That is, after we each choose a few things we want for our own, which I think we all pretty much agreed to do. And I want to bring in my own furnishings, maybe do a few renovations. I want to make the house my own, not keep it as a shrine to Mom and Dad.”
Anna Maria nodded. “That sounds very smart.”
“It’s a big house for one person,” Andie pointed out, eyes all innocent.
Emma shrugged. “Who says I’ll always be living here alone?” To which her sister only smiled again.
“So, what are you going to do back here in Oliver’s Well?” Daniel asked.
“The same as I do in Annapolis,” Emma told him, “but on a smaller and more personal scale. Actually, I plan to ask Joe Herbert if he’s interested in a partner. If he’s not, well, I’ll think on my feet.”
“If you want to build a career in a small town like Oliver’s Well,” Daniel said, “especially for someone whose family is relatively well known, like we are, you’ll need to get involved in the community. You can’t just go to the office, see clients, and go home. If you do, you won’t have many clients at all after a time. You’ll have to get yourself on a committee or join the Chamber of Commerce or even the OWHA.”
“I’ve thought about all that, Danny,” Emma told her brother, “and I’ll admit I’m a bit cowed by the challenges I’m facing. But I’ve never been the sort to back away from a challenge. Almost everything about my life will change. But it’s what I want. A new direction.”
“You know you won’t make the sort of money in Oliver’s Well you’re making in Annapolis.”
Emma laughed. “Are you trying to get me to change my mind, Danny?”
“No,” he said hastily. “Honestly, I’m really glad you’ll be around. I’ve missed you. I know the kids will be thrilled to have you here. We all will.”
“And just think, I’ll be here to watch the new baby for you when you need a night out.”
“A night out?” Anna Maria laughed. “What’s that?”
Andie cleared her throat. “Could we get back to the contents of the house for a moment? If it’s okay with everyone I’d like to pass to Rumi my privilege of choosing a few items from the estate before it goes to auction. She’ll be setting up on her own before long, and it costs money to furnish a home, even with just the basics. Besides, I really don’t need anything. Well, other than my family. Well, okay, one more thing. I really would like to have Mom’s Lenox tea set, the Buchanan. It brings back such good memories of when I was little, when life was so simple and happy.”
“Of course, Andie,” Daniel said, looking to Emma for affirmation. “I’m so happy you feel a strong attachment to something of Mom’s.”
“I know you’ll give it a good home,” Emma said. Then she turned to her brother. “And now for a really important topic. Are there going to be roasted chestnuts, Danny?”
“And Caro’s famous Boxing Day cake?” Andie added.
“Would I ever let my family down?” Daniel asked, eyes wide.
“No,” Emma said roundly. “You wouldn’t.”
* * *
That afternoon Morgan sent Emma a text letting her know that he was back in town. They arranged to meet at the Angry Squire for a late lunch.
Emma arrived before Morgan and was able to procure “their” table in the bar. And while she couldn’t wait to tell him the news about her moving back to Oliver’s Well, she also felt some trepidation. What if he greeted her news with a distinct lack of enthusiasm? What if he thought that she was coming home for him, that she was rushing their relationship to a place he might not want it to go? That would be a disaster. Morgan Shelby might be a serious attraction to life in Oliver’s Well, but she wanted him to know that she had made the decision for herself and by herself. That was essential.
But the moment Emma saw him walk into the room her worries evaporated. Whatever his reaction to her news would be, there was one thing she was sure it wouldn’t be—and that was negative.
“So, how was Aunt Agatha?” she asked with a smile as Morgan slipped into his seat.
“Aunt Agatha-like. Stern. Foreboding. And the cat was worse.”
“And your parents?”
“Good, thank you. They’re very pleasant people, my parents. And my grandmother was only mildly curmudgeonly. How was your Christmas?”
Emma considered for a moment. “Eventful,” she said, “but in the end quite nice. My brother and his wife announced they’re having another baby. And I’ve probably gained about six pounds, but it was worth it. Daniel’s food is amazing.”
Morgan laughed. “First, congratulations on the new member of the family. And I wish I could say the same about the food back home. No one in my family has ever been known as a good cook. In fact, I’m not sure anyone in the Shelby family has ever been introduced to salt. Except for me, but then again, I’m the family oddball. I’m the only one who’s ever left the state of Maryland to make a life elsewhere.”
Before Emma could reflect on that bit of information, their waiter came to the table. Morgan ordered a bowl of the Angry Squire’s famous chicken soup and Emma ordered a salad. Once the waiter had gone off, Emma realized that she couldn’t wait another moment to speak. “I have some big news to share,” she said.
Morgan folded his hands on the table. “I’m all ears.”
“I’ve decided to move back to Oliver’s Well. I’m buying my brother and sister out of our parents’ house. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. . . .”
Morgan’s instant smile, the way his eyes lit up, made Emma feel weak at the knees, and very, very happy. “That’s fantastic news!” he said, reaching for her hand. “Wow.” With his free hand Morgan raised his glass. “The new yea
r is looking brighter already.”
Emma touched her glass to his. Morgan still held her hand, and she felt so happy right then she was afraid she would begin to cry.
“You said you’ve been thinking about this move for some time,” Morgan went on. “Tell me.”
Their waiter returned with their meals, and though Morgan was forced to let go of her hand, Emma still felt the warmth of his touch.
Her lunch ignored, Emma told him about her father’s long ago offer of a partnership, of her rejection of his offer, and of her mother’s anger. “She thought,” she said, “that I was being ungrateful.” She told him about her early determination to build a life of her own on her own, away from her home—“like you did,” she added. “I don’t regret leaving Oliver’s Well all those years ago,” she said finally. “I know I disappointed my parents and I’m sorry for that. But now . . . it’s time to come home.”
“Why now?” Morgan asked. “Is it just a gut feeling that’s telling you the time is right?”
“More than that,” Emma said, finally picking at her salad. “I don’t know if I can explain it aloud so that it makes sense but . . . But it’s as if now that my parents are gone, Oliver’s Well is available to me again. The question is, why was it necessary for me to wait until they were gone before I could come home? Why was it that a healthy detachment from my parents’ expectations could only come about after their deaths? Does that make me a monster? Was I in some way waiting for them to die?” Emma shook her head. “What an awful thought.”
“I’m sure you weren’t waiting for them to die, Emma,” Morgan said, his voice low but strong.
Emma sighed. “No, of course I wasn’t. Still, it’s only since my mother passed last year that I started to realize there was something lacking in my life, something not right. You know, Andie’s always quoting the poet Rumi, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t, too. ‘There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled. You feel it, don’t you?’ I guess I began to feel the void.” Silently, Emma added, “And there is a candle in my heart, ready to be kindled.”
“Thank you for telling me all this, Emma,” Morgan said solemnly. “I’m honored by your trust.”
Emma smiled. She felt relieved, as if she had finally been able to put down a heavy burden she had been carrying for a very long time. There was just one more bit of her story to be told. “Before you hear it on the grapevine,” she said, “my ex showed up at the house on Christmas Eve. It seems he didn’t quite believe me when I ended our relationship.”
Morgan frowned. “That must have been—unpleasant.”
“It was seriously unpleasant,” Emma admitted. “That’s why I said that Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane was eventful. But he finally got the message. I don’t think he’ll be a bother anymore. Especially not once I’ve moved back to Oliver’s Well.”
Emma paid their check this time and together they left the restaurant. The moment they reached the sidewalk, Morgan put his hands on her shoulders and drew her toward him for a kiss. This time, he kissed her with more intensity, an intensity that Emma returned. It was a bold move, a sign of affection offered in full view of anyone who might be passing.
“I hope that was all right to do,” Morgan said when he had pulled away, but only after delicately tracing the line of her cheek with his finger. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Nor could I,” Emma told him truthfully.
Morgan smiled. “I’ve got to get back to the gallery. There’s an online auction in about a half hour—yes, even on the day after Christmas we antique types are hunting for treasures—and I want to bid on a pair of late eighteenth-century candlesticks.”
“To sell at the gallery?” Emma asked.
“Nope. Just for me!”
“Good luck,” Emma told him.
“Emma,” Morgan said, his tone quite serious. “When will I see you again?”
“Soon,” she said. “Very soon. That’s a promise.”
She watched him go—at one point he turned and waved—and then, when Morgan had gone into the gallery, she sent a text to Maureen. Say hi to your new neighbor. Me.
Her phone rang a moment later. It was Maureen. “Oh, my God,” she cried. “I can’t believe it. I’m so happy! But what if you come back to Oliver’s Well and realize it’s not what you want after all? Sorry. You know me, Ms. Practical.”
“Then I figure out where it is I should be,” Emma told her, “and move on. But I don’t think that will happen. I really don’t. I believe that coming home at this point in my life is what I’m meant to do. I feel as if . . .” Emma thought of Morgan. “I feel,” she said, “as if I’m welcomed here. As if I’ve been expected.”
“Good. Want to meet for a celebratory drink?”
“Yes,” Emma said, “but after I see Joe Herbert. I’ll meet you at the Angry Squire in about half an hour.” At this rate, Emma thought, I really will be getting a nameplate on a chair!
Emma walked the few blocks to Joe Herbert’s office. She assumed he would be at his desk, if he really was as busy as he’d told her he was. And he was there, red bow tie printed with sprigs of holly firmly in place.
“Emma,” he said, rising from his chair to shake her hand. “What brings you in today?”
So she told him that she was relocating permanently to Oliver’s Well and she wondered—“no pressure,” she assured him—if he might be interested in taking on a partner. Joe’s grin was answer enough, but she was glad when he said, “You’ve been reading my mind, Emma Reynolds. I’ve been considering the idea quite seriously.”
“I’d love to explore the possibility then, Joe,” Emma told him. Then she smiled. “I wonder what Dad would think if he knew I was coming back. That you and I might be working together.”
“I think,” Joe said, “that he’d be thrilled.”
Emma got up from the guest chair and put out her hand. Joe shook it warmly. When she left his office—with the promise of a more formal meeting in a few days’ time—she turned back toward the Angry Squire. The restaurant was busier now than it had been when she’d had lunch with Morgan, and as she passed into the bar she heard a pleasant voice call out to her, “Hi, neighbor.” Word certainly traveled fast in Oliver’s Well, Emma thought as she smiled and waved to the woman she recognized from the Christmas concert a few days earlier and, she realized, also from behind the counter at the Pink Rose Café.
Maureen was waiting at her favorite table, a bottle of champagne in an iced bucket. “To coming home,” Maureen said as Emma joined her. She handed Emma a glass of the bubbly.
Emma clinked her glass against Maureen’s. “To coming home,” she said. “At long last.”
EPILOGUE
It was the middle of October, just about two years since Caro Reynolds had passed, less than a year since her daughter Emma had bought the house at number 32 Honeysuckle Lane. So, so much had happened to Emma and her family in the past months, and in Emma’s opinion, it was all for the best.
For one, her sister-in-law Anna Maria’s third child, another healthy boy, had been born at six o’clock in the morning on August the twenty-fifth. Emma had given the baby an antique silver rattle she’d had engraved with the initials ACR—Andrew Clifford Reynolds. The baby would be called Andy for short, which, Emma thought, would probably cause confusion in later years whenever he and his aunt Andie were in the same room. But that mattered little.
Along with Emma’s new nephew and new home, she could add her new job as a partner at Reynolds Herbert Accountants. Emma and Joe made a good team, as Emma had suspected they would, each contributing their own strengths to a firm that had won a sure place in Oliver’s Well so many years earlier. And now, with a partner to carry half of the workload, Joe was able to be home by six o’clock each evening, something that made him very happy.
Another wonderful thing that had happened for Emma—the best, actually—was that she and Morgan Shelby had gotten engaged in the spring. Morgan had given Emma a Georgian era rose-cut diamond ring, so perfectl
y suited for her she had cried buckets when he presented it to her. Emma had found that she liked to receive gifts from Morgan. It was a totally new experience for her, enjoying the enjoyment it gave a loved one to spoil her. Especially, she thought, when everything the loved one gave her was so . . . perfect. So . . . Emma, like the complete DVD set of one of her all time favorite TV shows, The Avengers, and the pasta maker she had been secretly eyeing online. Andie was right about the danger of possessions owning the owner, but Emma didn’t feel any particular worry about her own newfound delight in both giving and receiving.
“You look wonderful.”
Emma turned to see Morgan in the doorway of what had once been her parents’ bedroom, a room that was now theirs. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, admiring his well-cut suit and his crisp white shirt. “I don’t think we’ll disgrace anyone at the dedication ceremony.”
“I certainly hope not!” Morgan came into the bedroom and with a glance at the mirror, straightened his already perfectly straight tie.
At the start of the summer, Morgan had rented his apartment above the gallery to a young couple recently returned to Oliver’s Well after four years at college and had moved in with Emma at 32 Honeysuckle Lane. When Morgan and Emma were married the following January, his name would go on the mortgage. Together they had stripped off old wallpaper and redecorated with their own belongings once the auction of the house’s contents had gone through. They had changed the paint colors in every room but for Emma’s childhood bedroom (she was sentimental about the sunny yellow walls), and with the help of a contractor they had extended the kitchen further into the backyard, still leaving plenty of lawn and flower beds. In only a few months time the house had come to feel truly theirs, and not, as Emma had sworn it would not be, a shrine to Cliff and Caro Reynolds.
“How are you enjoying the books Andie recommended?” Morgan asked, picking up a paperback from her bedside table and flipping through it slowly.
“I’m enjoying them very much,” Emma said, putting an earring in place and looking at Morgan through the mirror. “Hafiz’s writing is really beautiful.”
Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane Page 36
