by Darien Gee
Livvy is grinning, enjoying this moment. “Edie, someone who stays home to be with their kids is a stay-at-home mom. Because you’re a mom, and you’re staying at home …”
“Yes, thank you, Livvy. I get it.” Edie sounds grumpy. “Where’s Richard? I think it’s a number two.” There’s a pause. “Yep, it is.”
“You could always change the diaper yourself,” Livvy suggests.
“I could, Livvy, but Richard said he wanted to do all this so I don’t want to deprive him of the experience.” There’s a wail and Livvy suspects that Miranda doesn’t care who changes her diaper so long as somebody changes it now. “I have to go. Kiss Aiden for me, okay?”
Livvy looks at Tom, who is humming to their new baby as he sleeps in Tom’s arms. “Don’t worry, I will.”
Leave it to Livvy to push her buttons even though she’s several towns over. And the woman just gave birth!
So maybe the technical term is stay-at-home mom, but it’s not like Edie is sitting around and watching back-to-back episodes of Barney or Sesame Street. During Miranda’s naps she jumps on the computer to catch up on emails or do a little research. Granted Miranda’s erratic sleep schedule and five-second catnaps mean that Edie can’t get much done, but she’s confident they’ll get there.
Eventually.
The sleep-deprived stupor will pass and at some point they’ll actually venture out of the house. Edie plans to try a few interviews with Miranda in the baby sling. It’s a kitenge, a generous swath of printed fabric used by women in Kenya. It took a few tries for Edie to get it right, but now she is an expert and can get Miranda tied snug on her back or curled up against her breast in less than twenty seconds, leaving her hands free to do whatever needs to be done around the house.
Right now she’s working on a story about higher incidents of leukemia and brain cancer for children living near electric power lines. She’s writing about it because she wants to, because she thinks citizens and lawmakers and power companies should see what’s happening to these children, these families. Maybe it’s motherhood or maybe it’s just a little more professional maturity on her part, but Edie is no longer interested in short, sensational stories that make it on the front page for only a day. Somehow she’d forgotten about something she realized when she was in the Peace Corps, about how the stories that made the most difference and had the greatest impact were the ones with the least amount of flash. There’s something appealing about a quiet story that has depth, that has the ability to reach out and connect people for a long time to come. It’s less about the story, Edie’s learned, and more about the people. But, more important, it has to come from the heart and not the mind. Edie is still working on that one.
Richard walks into the room and sniffs the air, then scoops up Miranda and gives Edie a quick kiss before heading to the diaper-changing station. God, she loves her husband. She would have married him sooner if she knew how wonderful it was going to be. It always seemed like a small detail, mere paperwork since they were already living together and deeply committed. But the simple band on her finger reminds her of everything she has, and, more important, that she has someone to share it all with.
They stood in front of a justice of the peace and tied the knot the week before Miranda was born. It was cutting it close, but Richard was adamant that they get married before Miranda was born. So they did.
Never in a million years would Edie have figured that someone like Livvy would be her maid of honor, but Livvy stood next to her, weeping as if she were Edie’s mother. Edie would have been more touched if she wasn’t already having early contractions that had gone on for two days and would continue for another seven.
Edie’s friendship with Livvy started in an unremarkable way, and then blossomed into something Edie has come to treasure. Edie knows Livvy should rest but she knows that Livvy is too geared up to relax, having just done one of the most incredible things in a woman’s life. It hasn’t even been five minutes before Edie picks up the phone and calls Livvy back. Livvy gives a whoop of delight and continues talking as if their conversation hasn’t been interrupted at all, launching into graphic detail about how the epidural didn’t work. Edie listens and smiles, knowing that the story might take as long as the actual event itself.
But Edie doesn’t mind.
Hannah opens up Joy of Cooking and looks up the recipe for a tomato meat sauce. In the past she would have browned some ground beef and dumped in a jar of Prego, but she wants to learn how to do the basics right. It’s what she tells her students, even the more experienced ones. If you don’t get the basics right, none of the rest matters.
She reads the recipe and is delighted to see that it’s not as easy nor as hard as she thought. There are enough steps so she knows she can expect a sauce that’s complex and flavorful, but otherwise it’s straightforward enough so that Hannah’s not worried. She learns that the faster the sauce is cooked, the fresher and brighter the flavor, so Hannah chooses a wide skillet that will let the extra liquid evaporate quickly.
She takes her time dicing the pancetta, chopping an onion, and mincing garlic cloves. It’s not exactly a traditional Christmas Eve dinner, but everyone is spending it with family and she’s opted to go it alone. She had a few invitations, including one from Jamie and his family, but she feels it’s important that she have this holiday on her own, her choice this time, not anyone else’s. She’ll see him after and they’ll share a decadent trifle she’s made with raspberries, white chocolate, and almonds. Then they’ll drive around Avalon, looking at the lights and maybe joining in with the caroling. She wants to stop in and see Henry Tinklenberg and Joseph Sokolowski, her neighbors, and give them one of the holiday baskets she’s made. She has one for the Krum family, too—a bottle of wine for Marion and her husband, some cookies and holiday poppers for their wild but hilarious twin boys whom Hannah sometimes babysits.
She heats the olive oil and cooks the pancetta until the fat turns to liquid and separates from the meat. Saint-Saëns is playing on the stereo, Concerto for Cello and Orchestra, No. 1 in A minor, Opus 33. It reminds her of the time she toured with the Philharmonic in Europe. In Amsterdam, the hotel they were staying in had a lovely reception waiting when they arrived. It had been a long flight and the musicians were starving. They descended on the banquet like locusts, even eating the display fruit and stuffing it into their pockets to save for a midnight snack. The waiters yelled at them in Dutch, and it wasn’t until they had been sent to their rooms that they learned the reception was for a wedding party that was arriving right after them.
Hannah gently crumbles the meat of some sweet Italian sausages into the skillet. She’s grateful to have plenty of good memories of her own, ones that don’t include Philippe. Of course, there are some good memories there, too. Mostly of the early days, when they first met, the whirlwind daze that comes with first kisses and falling in love.
Her favorite memory is the time they were at the Hell’s Kitchen flea market. It was a Sunday morning in July, and the heat was sweltering. By now she knew Philippe as the precise man he was, with his obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and it had crossed her mind more than once that he would either freak out amid all the sweaty bodies or demand that they leave. He did neither.
Instead, he found a table filled with children’s alphabet blocks. As Hannah fanned herself, he spelled out JE T AIME, and then tipped her back and planted a long kiss on her lips, earning a cheer from the crowd. It was one of the most spontaneous, unexpected things he had ever done. It was moments like that when Hannah felt she could be with him forever.
She adds two cans of whole tomatoes, crushing the tomatoes with the side of her spatula. A little oregano, salt and pepper, a dash of sugar. A tablespoon of tomato paste. She lets it cook down, her kitchen filling with a sweet, fragrant smell. She’ll add the slivered basil last, once the sauce is thickened and she’s turned off the heat.
Joy of Cooking has become her bible, her guide to living. It’s all the more precious because Madeline gave it t
o her, but also because she started reading—and cooking—in Avalon. Avalon is where Hannah finally came to understand who she really is, and what she really wants. What she is capable of doing.
She’s a woman capable of being on her own, a woman capable of surviving a divorce. She’s a woman who can pull together a goat-cheese-and-walnut soufflé, who can put the bow into the hand of someone who has never played the cello and help them make the most beautiful music. She’s a woman who, at twenty-eight, has already accomplished more than most people will in a lifetime. But, most important, she’s a woman who’s learned not to take any of it for granted. And for that, Hannah is thankful.
“Gracie, we’re going to be late!” Julia calls to her daughter.
Gracie appears in the foyer of Madeline’s, lugging her small cello case. “The ladies wanted to hear me play ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ one more time,” she pants.
“Well, I’m sure Aunt Livvy will want to hear it, too,” Julia says, taking the case from Gracie. It turned out that Julia didn’t have much of a penchant for music after all, or for the cello at least, but Gracie has taken to it brilliantly. “But if we don’t get on the road soon, you won’t be able to play for her until tomorrow morning.” She helps Gracie into her puffy coat, then slips on mittens, a scarf, and a woolen hat. The temperature just dropped another ten degrees and they’re expecting more snow later tonight.
“That’s okay. My fingers hurt anyway.” Gracie flaps her hands.
Julia buttons up her own coat then pokes her head into the tea room. “Connie, we’re heading out. Is everything okay here?”
“Everything’s great.” Connie waves. “See you in a couple of days.”
“Did you tell Hannah we’re going to miss our lesson tomorrow?” Gracie asks as they walk down the path to the car where Mark is waiting.
“Yes, and she says we can make it up next week, no worries.” Julia opens up the door to the backseat and Gracie scrambles in. She pats the space next to her for Julia to place her cello case.
Mark is on the phone, his voice calm but an excited look on his face. “Sure, Ted. That sounds great. No, we are, too. Right. You, too. Bye.” He hangs up, slipping his cell phone into the pouch on his belt. “That was Ted Morrow of Bluestem Estates. All the plans for the model homes were approved, and they’re breaking ground next week.”
The seat belt on Gracie’s car seat is twisted but Julia stops wrestling with it to give her husband a smile. “Mark, that’s wonderful! Congratulations.” She knows how much this project means to him, and she’s enjoyed hearing about its progress.
“Thanks.” He drums the steering wheel happily.
Julia finally manages to get Gracie buckled in, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before closing the door. Livvy went into labor early—two weeks early, just like Julia did with Josh—and gave birth a few hours ago to a baby boy.
Tom sent over one picture taken with his cell phone, and both Mark and Julia are blown away by how much Aiden looks like Josh. He has a tuft of strawberry-blond hair, the same nose, the same cheekbones. But Aiden also has Tom’s unfortunate forehead, which Mark noticed with a laugh.
“What, do you not remember how people used to tease Josh because he had your big ears?” Julia reminds him, tugging on one of Mark’s ears.
Mark immediately scowls, cupping his ears defensively. “They’re not big,” he says. “They just have personality.”
“A lot of personality,” Julia adds, and yelps when Mark reaches over to tickle her.
Julia is about to slide into the passenger seat when she notices a couple—a small family, actually, since the wife is holding a baby in her arms—standing on the sidewalk outside of Madeline’s, uncertainty etched on their faces.
“They look lost,” Julia murmurs, watching them check a piece of paper before looking up at Madeline’s again.
Mark checks his watch. “Julia, honey, let’s go. I don’t want to hit traffic.”
“I know. Just a minute, Mark.” Julia crosses the lawn, her boots crunching in the icy grass. “Can I help you?”
The man has a tumble of dark hair and a brooding look Julia recognizes from pictures. He’s older, of course, but it’s him. In his hand is a fat envelope that Julia remembers from that day in the tea salon. “I’m looking for Madeline Dunn,” he says.
Julia swallows, her heart beating fast. “This is the place. I’m her friend, Julia Evarts.”
The man nods as if he knows who she is but Julia can tell he’s distracted. His baby girl looks tired and starts to wail, fussing in her mother’s arms.
“It’s been a long trip,” he says, reaching for his daughter. “We’ve been driving all day. I live in Cleveland now, but the letter was sent to one of my old addresses in Pennsylvania. I’m her stepson, Benjamin Dunn.” He glances uncertainly at Madeline’s, clears his throat. He can see the throng of women through the windows and Julia can understand how it might be a bit intimidating.
The tea salon is officially closed for a special holiday gathering for the Amish Friendship Bread Club. Julia knows that Connie is the one who came up with the idea of an ornament exchange and potluck, giving Madeline and Hannah the night off. Hannah opted to stay home and Madeline declined to join the festivities. When Julia left her, she was sitting in the still quiet of her back sitting room, an afghan draped over her legs, a mug of hot tea in her hands. She was gazing at the snow-covered yard, at a small tree sparrow as it danced from one barren branch to another.
Julia leads Ben and his wife up the walkway. There’s a beautiful, lush wreath on the door, and Julia turns the doorknob, wishing in some way that she could stay and see this moment unfold.
But this isn’t her place, her long-awaited moment. It’s Madeline’s. Julia’s place is with her family, with Livvy who is in Faberville with her husband and new son. Julia is anxious to get there, to gather her sister in her arms and gaze at this new soul who has found his way into all of their lives. They’ll be there together: her, Mark, Gracie, Tom, Livvy, Aiden, and Josh. He’ll be there because he is always with Julia, tucked inside her heart.
And so Julia opens the door and invites Ben and his family in, asking them to please wait while she makes her way back to Madeline’s private quarters. Madeline is sitting there just as she left her. She turns to smile when she sees Julia. Julia touches her friend gently on the shoulder, her heart full of love, then bends down to whisper in Madeline’s ear that someone special is waiting for her.
EPILOGUE
Rosa Ydara-Belair tucks a strand of curly dark hair behind her ear as she continues to shuffle through her father’s things, sorting them into three piles: keep, give away, throw away.
Family photo albums and pictures: keep.
Her mother’s jewelry and her father’s watch: keep.
Clothes and shoes: give away.
Books and magazines: give away.
The jumble of random electrical equipment and scrap metal: throw away.
The thread-bare throw rugs and forty-year-old curtains: throw away.
Two telescopes, one set of binoculars, three cameras: give away.
Furniture, towels, and bedding: give away.
Television, stereo, video players: keep.
Her parents’ wedding china: keep. Give away. No, keep.
Rosa holds up one plate with a sigh. It’s a nice floral pattern and the dessert plates have a smooth scalloped edge. Her own china is a Lenox pattern with a simple blue and silver trim, more modern and a bit trendy, but she likes this nonetheless. Rosa stares regretfully at the collection of china, wishing she could take it but at the same time having no idea what she’d do with it. She debates saving it, but they already have so many of her parents’ things to take back to Michigan.
Give away.
Rosa places each dish carefully between layers of bubble wrap. When she’s finished, she frowns. Her husband knocks on the door frame of the living room, a large box in hand.
“We’re almost out of boxes. I’m going to run to
the store after I put this in the trailer. Do you want to come with?”
Rosa holds up a hand, her lips moving as she recounts the china. “They’re missing a dessert plate. There’s only seven, when there should be eight.”
Jack shrugs. “So they broke one. Look at our china set.”
That’s true. Their service for twelve is more like a service for nine and a half.
“The real estate agent will be here this afternoon to complete the listing,” Jack continues. “We should probably get something to eat first. I’m famished.”
Rosa nods, stretching to relieve her sore back. Food sounds good right now. “In a minute. I’ll meet you outside.”
She runs the packing tape down the seam of the box and seals it, marking it with a pen for the Salvation Army. Then she picks up her father’s will and reads it again, making sure she follows the short list of instructions he’s left behind. His arthritis had gotten worse over the years, and she can barely make out his shaky handwriting. His savings are substantial, and he’s been generous with her and the local astronomy club.
Outside, her husband is waiting in the truck. She climbs inside and he gives her hand a squeeze, knowing how hard this is on her.
“Excuse me!”
Both Jack and Rosa turn in the direction of the voice and see a woman with curly strawberry-blond hair hurrying toward them, a young girl running alongside her, holding a plate. Rosa recognizes them vaguely, having met them briefly before, but she can’t remember their names.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. I just didn’t want to miss you before you left.” The woman is slightly out of breath. “I’m Julia Evarts and this is my daughter, Gracie. We’re neighbors of your parents. We were so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a kind man.”
“Thank you.” Rosa feels like crying again. “Thank you,” she says again, not sure what else to say. What else is there to say?
“If you need any help with anything, please let me know. Anything.” Julia reaches through the open window to gently touch Rosa’s arm. “I wrote down my name and contact information, as well as the names and numbers for all the immediate neighbors. You probably already know this but I thought it might help to have it all in one place.”
