by Jenny Hale
“I was just wondering if you grew up here,” she said honestly.
“I did.”
He didn’t say anything more, so she asked, “What took you to New York?”
“Business.” He stopped walking and swiveled toward her, his cane making a clack on the floor. “What else would you like to know?”
She ignored his brusque tone. “Were you sad to leave here? It’s so beautiful.”
“It is a very nice house. And yes, I was a little sad to leave.” He started walking again.
“So it feels good to be back?” she asked, stepping up beside him.
His response was a sort of grunt that she couldn’t define. Was he agreeing or disagreeing? Either way, she didn’t have a whole lot of answers, so she just stayed quiet and looked at the surroundings, reminding herself to stick to business.
The walls were empty, stark white, the elaborate woodwork giving them the only life they had, their surfaces starving for more. If William had lived here, why didn’t they have anything resembling personal memorabilia in this house? There was nothing anywhere to tell about the people in this family, apart from the enormous antique portrait paintings that hung from gold frames in the entryway. Sure, there were old books in the library, but what did William like to do with his time? What was the Harrington family legacy? Who had lived in this house before Alex, exactly—his whole family? His parents? His grandmother? She had so many questions, but she didn’t know how to ask them. She looked down at the hardwoods before she caught William’s body language assessing her.
“You’re quiet again,” he said.
“I just…” She didn’t know how to respond for fear that she might offend him. But the one thing she always prided herself on was her honesty. “I feel like these walls could be so beautiful if they were full of pictures. Maybe family photos or something,” she said with a cautious smile. “But I’m not a decorator.”
He seemed to be staring into the distance above her head thoughtfully and then, with a smile, he said, “They probably could do with a few pictures.” He tapped his cane on the floor as he pondered something. Then, he said, “Come with me. I’ll show you a great wall.”
After a short walk, they arrived at the most magnificent spot in the house. Noelle stood, unable to speak. It seemed as though they’d had a professional photographer to take photos of the family. One had a scene of all kinds of people around a large dining table, smiles on their faces; another recent one showed William leaning against a tree. There were so many! This was exactly what she’d wanted to see—candid, beautiful shots revealing the real people in this family.
“This is amazing,” she said.
“Alex put all of them up.”
She looked back at them in awe. One of the photos was a close-up black and white of an old woman with white hair in puffy curls, holding a coffee cup, laughing. Her spirit was captured perfectly, her happiness forever retained. “Who is that?” she asked, then wondered if he could see it. “The woman with the coffee cup.”
With a moment of introspection, William said, “My wife.” He said the words softly as if he were speaking to her, so much emotion behind them that Noelle turned around. “She loved coffee. I hated it. I’d find her sitting by the window, reading and drinking her coffee every morning. As soon as she saw me, she’d stand up and set her book down, greeting me. ‘Don’t get near me with that coffee,’ I’d tease her—I still remember the smell of her favorite kind on her breath: it had a smoky aroma to it; it was so dark it was jet black in her cup. She would ignore me, setting it down and wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me anyway.” William closed his eyes as happiness took over his features, the creases in his forehead and around his cheeks immediately softening, making him look younger. “While I hated the smell of that coffee, when it was mixed with her scent of citrus and flowers, it was uniquely her, and now I’d give anything to fill my lungs with it…”
Of course that picture was William’s wife, and probably the same grandmother that had caused the sadness she’d seen in Alex’s eyes. Noelle scolded herself for not being more careful in her questions. She got ready to apologize but he’d moved on, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“They’re good photos, aren’t they?” he said, looking back up at them. There seemed to always be something behind his expression—this time a judgment of sorts? She couldn’t place it. With a straightening of his shoulders the way someone does just before changing the subject to shake off their thoughts, he said, “Where’s that boy of yours? I was told there would be a youngster running around.”
“He’s at my mother’s. He’ll be with her while I’m at work.”
“But you aren’t working. We’ve established that I’m just fine.”
She smiled. “Yes, well, Alex might disagree.”
“Don’t worry about him. I’m still the head of this house.”
There was a harshness to his tone, but he was trying to lighten it, she could tell. She thought again about her conversation with Alex. It seemed that whenever the topic of Alex came up, William was abrupt and irritable.
“But he’ll be returning,” she said, hoping to get confirmation on that. “And after all, he’s paying me to be here, so I should at least look after you.”
William’s lips were pursed.
“So you aren’t married?” he asked, his question taking her off guard.
“You don’t like to beat around the bush, do you?” She laughed nervously.
“Not at my age. I don’t have time for that nonsense. I might die before I get an answer.”
After Gram’s death, she didn’t find that comment amusing.
“Anyway,” he said, unfazed by her lack of response, “you’re on your own?”
Noelle nodded, the words clouded by her thoughts. But then she remembered that he might not be able to see her so she said, “Yes.”
There was an understanding in the air between them, and she wasn’t sure how he could possibly relate to the woes of being a single mother, but she saw compassion on his face. “I know what being alone is like,” he said.
“I’m sorry you lost your wife,” she said.
He blinked a little too rapidly, the subject obviously difficult. “I haven’t lost her entirely. There’s just enough of her left to haunt me.”
Noelle waited for an explanation, and William led her into his suite, where, as in hers, there was a small sitting area by a fireplace. He carefully lowered himself down, clearly working hard to keep his emotions hidden. “She has Alzheimer’s,” he said evenly. “She’s in a home where she can be taken care of.”
Noelle noticed the rise and fall of his chest, and how his hand had started shaking again like when she’d first met him, as he rested it on the arm of the sofa.
“Is she close by? Do you get to visit her?”
“Yes, she’s less than an hour away. But no, I don’t visit her.”
“Why not?” she asked.
He licked his lips, buying time while he worked for an answer. Noelle couldn’t imagine not visiting a loved one, no matter what state they were in. If Pop-pop were in a hospital, she’d go every day to see him. Didn’t he realize how lucky he was to still have his wife there with him? Why in the world wouldn’t he see her?
William’s hand was visibly trembling now, unable to stop, as if the emotion he’d pushed down was working its way through his body and building up in his fingertips. “She doesn’t know who I am, so there’s no point.”
Noelle saw the pain on his face. He didn’t try to hide it this time. She hadn’t considered the agony he must feel to have his wife—the woman he loved—not recognize him. How awful. The gray cloud cover outside was giving the room a silvery hue, despite the large windows, so the air in there felt sad just like him. But, while she understood the emotions he was feeling, there was something she worried he hadn’t considered in this: what his wife might want. What if she became lucid at times and she was scared? What if she felt abandoned?
“If it were me, I’d want my husband to visit, even if I didn’t remember him,” she said, her honesty coming out before she could pull it back in.
William didn’t seem offended at all. But his eyes became glassy, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t change anything. It just hurts me, rips out my heart.” His voice cracked and he coughed to cover it up. “It’s difficult to face all alone.”
“But Alex is here. Can’t you two go together?”
His hand balled into a fist and he stretched out his fingers as if his joints were giving him trouble. “Alex doesn’t speak to me,” he said, in a way that made her feel like he cared more than he was letting on. “He’s never gone with me to see Elizabeth—not once. He always goes by himself. And he’s planning to move to New York anyway, so there’s no need to start now.”
“He is?” she asked, shock pelting her.
“He’s so much like I was at that age: just dying to be in the center of all that madness—always chasing something bigger. He won’t listen when I tell him that I was there and it isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. But I think he’s running. From his family, from this house…”
She considered this. The person she’d met last night, who’d shown Lucas his books and teased her about Phoebe, didn’t seem like someone who was running from family only to be in the hub of big business, but the person her father had described sure did. The more she had a chance to process it all, the more she realized that she didn’t know him at all, and she’d been caught up in the excitement of this big house and how attractive he was. Instead, what she needed to do was to tell herself that Alex Harrington was not Prince Charming and this was no fairy tale. It was real life, where things were complicated and difficult.
They’d both fallen silent until she noticed something. “You don’t have a Christmas tree,” she said, comparing her own suite and all its glittering decorations to his.
“I told the staff not to bother,” he said.
“Why?”
“It’s all just for appearances, isn’t it? I’ve been ripped from my apartment in New York, made to come to a house full of memories of my wife who has become a stranger, and I have to live with my grandson who hates me. Not very Christmassy.”
“How long did you and your wife live here?”
“We didn’t. I left for New York as soon as we married, and we spent our whole marriage there. Well, until the Alzheimer’s set in so badly that we worried Elizabeth would hurt herself. That was around six months ago.” He pulled the sofa’s throw pillow from behind him, fluffed it, and then used it for support again. Even still, he looked uncomfortable.
“It seems a shame that she didn’t get to live in this amazing home.”
“She spent some time here. She adored this house, but our lives were in New York, so this was her summer home, although she’d come to visit during the winters as well. She was always coming in to see Alex.”
“You say ‘she’ came. You didn’t come?”
“No.” He twisted uneasily on the sofa.
“Why?”
“I was busy.” He nearly spat the words, as if the busyness he’d spoken of had been at fault. “When her memory started failing, she wanted to come back here, hoping the gardens and sunshine would somehow mend her broken brain. We just didn’t want to put that burden on the staff and Alex, so I found her a nursing home close by. I was hoping that she could visit here sometimes but I’m too afraid to find out about her prognosis. I suppose I secretly don’t want to know if she’s gotten worse.”
“You have to see her,” Noelle said. She felt terrible for Elizabeth, that she hadn’t had a chance to return to the home she’d wanted to live in. It must be so difficult to see a loved one in that state, but she just couldn’t get over the fact that Elizabeth was alone as well. “Don’t you think she’ll want to see you again?”
“The Elizabeth I know is no longer there.” He tipped his head back. “You know,” he said with a deep breath, “she used to write the most beautiful letters.” He smiled, shaking his head, his thick eyebrows knitting together in grief. “When I was working late, she left them on my pillow and I’d find them when I got home. Her handwriting rivaled calligraphy and the words she wrote were like an unsung melody in my head as I read them. They weren’t long, but sweet and perfect, and they made my night. I’d look over at her sleeping and sometimes I’d get such a thrill from them that I’d jump in the bed and kiss her, waking her up. She never got upset. She just batted me away, half asleep. But I always caught her smile.”
“What a wonderful relationship you two seemed to have.” She liked it when William opened up about his wife. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
Noelle wasn’t sure how, but with a story like that, she was going to get William to go see Elizabeth for Christmas. She had to.
Chapter Nine
By the end of the day, Noelle had managed to get William to take his heart medicine and she’d gotten him comfortable and offered her phone number in case he needed her while she went to pick up Lucas from the bakery. Her mother had texted that she was taking him there to help her father and Pop-pop organize a list of some of the things he was planning to save once the bakery closed.
The air was icy cold as she walked the familiar cobblestone street, thinking of how she wouldn’t have much longer to do that. Noelle had always parked at the end of the road, on the corner, just so she could walk the beautiful cobbles with the little stone bakery in the distance ahead, and admire the quaint shops all around it. As her boots wobbled on the stones under her feet, she looked up at the holiday banners the city had hung from every wrought-iron streetlight. The store windows were glowing with Christmas lights and festive trees inside.
The wooden Hope and Sugar Bakery sign swung from two hinges on a rod just to the side of the door. The sign had been hand painted by a local artist years ago and looked like it could use a touching up, the words having weathered over time. She stepped past the patch of grass that would be peppered with buttercups in the spring, knowing she wouldn’t get to see them next year, once the bakery had closed.
As she walked, her thoughts again returned to the wonderful evening she had shared with Alex. He was charming, but nothing more. There were too many other things telling her he was different from the man he’d shown her. So why did the mere thought of him make her pulse run rampant?
With her head starting to throb, she pulled open the door and headed inside.
“There she is!” Pop-pop said with a grin.
His cheeks were rosy and his white hair was combed to the side. He and Lucas were behind the counter, the glass case full of gorgeous Christmas cookies—bells, trees, and little red stockings with white piping. The lights around the display window were on and the Christmas tree was decorated. There was a small fire going on the grate beneath the stockings, which had been hung in just the way Gram had always arranged them. The buttery scent of scones and pastries filled her lungs, making her smile.
“Get your apron on, wash your hands,” he said, hopping off his stool. “Lucas and I were going to attempt to make the peppermint cake with Heidi for the window, but now that you’re here, we’ll leave it to the experts.”
Every year, Gram made the most gorgeous cake to display in the window at Christmas time. It was an enormous cube of vanilla sponge with white frosting, homemade peppermint sprinkles, and a red-and-white fondant ribbon tied into a bow to make it look like a present. They displayed it on a bright snowy satin with their signature peppermint candies scattered around. After Gram passed, Noelle and Heidi were the only ones who knew the recipe, so they’d planned to take turns each year making it. This year they’d decided it was Noelle’s turn.
Noelle grabbed a cookie for herself and one for Lucas, giving him a kiss, and then went to wash her hands, already feeling the loss of the bakery.
Heidi was in the kitchen stirring a saucepan with a wooden spoon to make the peppermint. “Glad you’
re here. I’ll help you. We can do it together this year,” Heidi said with a sad smile.
“Let’s make it the very best one we’ve ever done,” Noelle said, producing a smile for Heidi’s benefit. She leaned through the open door and gave Lucas a wink. He and Pop-pop were doing a crossword puzzle together. Growing up, she’d always imagined having a bunch of kids. She’d teach them all the family recipes and they’d run around the bakery after school, playing and giggling. She’d even considered having a new corner of the small shop filled with toys so the parents could come and relax with a cup of coffee while their kids played together. But none of that would happen now.
After her hands were clean, and her cookie eaten, Noelle grabbed a few lemons—Gram’s secret ingredient—ran them under the tap, and then began squeezing them over Gram’s juicer. As she pressed down on the rind, the juice dribbling down into the saucer, she looked at her hand, remembering Gram’s weathered fingers in the same position when she’d done it, chattering away about this and that. Right then, it felt like Gram was with her, as though she had some purpose for her in all this mess. She was glad for the feeling because she didn’t know how to be hopeful in a situation like this.
Heidi checked the candy thermometer and grabbed the peppermint extract just as Noelle slid the bowl of lemon juice toward her.
“It’s like clockwork, isn’t it?” Noelle noted. “We don’t even have to think about this recipe. We just do it.”
“Yeah,” Heidi said, pouring in the lemon juice and stirring as the concoction bubbled slightly. “I feel close to Gram here,” she admitted, looking at Noelle with glistening eyes, her bottom lip wobbling.
Noelle felt it too. “Please don’t get sad—I can’t…” she said, knowing that if her sister started to cry, she would too. This was Gram’s special place, the place where they’d always been together, where they’d had the best times of their lives, and where they could come and forget their troubles when things were hard.
