A Christmas Dinner on Marshall Street (The Hills of Burlington Book 5)

by Jacie Middlemann

  “But it worked out?” Fran asked thinking about her own son.

  Mary brought her attention back to what had sent her thoughts drifting in the first place. “Yes, in the end it did. But it took some time and quite frankly, no little bit of angst on my part.” Mary knew where Fran’s thoughts were and would give anything to help ease the shadows in her eyes. But she also knew anything she said would do little to help.

  Mary looked down the length of the table to suddenly see Cade and a couple of his and Fran’s children looked downwards at the same time. Their expressions were wide ranging though she recognized the look of satisfaction in that of Fran’s oldest son. She knew that to be the most telling since she strongly believed he rarely let anything show under usual circumstances. As she let her gaze wander Mary realized she was the only one other than those involved in whatever was playing out to notice anything was amiss. Conversations around the large table continued as Cade nudged his wife and shifted his cell phone into a position that allowed her to read whatever he and the others had received…all apparently at the exact same time. At the quiet gasp of surprise Mary leaned over slightly.

  “Fran?” Despite what she’d seen to the contrary she began to worry. Then Fran tilted the phone just enough to allow her to read the few words on the small screen. Could one of you send Mom out to the porch? She knew the corners of her mouth were edging upwards in what could only be a smile. Saw the beginnings of the same on Fran’s face but she also saw the worry. She reached over and grasped Fran’s hand tightly in her own. “Fran, remember what we just talked about? Sometimes they need us to help them to see what it is they want for themselves. He’s already taken this step to show you he does…can you help him the rest of the way?” She gave her a quiet, knowing smile. “Isn’t it in some ways what we’ve spent their entire lives helping them with? Is there a rule book out there that says we’re not supposed to once they reach a certain age?”

  “No. No, there isn’t,” Fran said softly on a small sigh. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she stood. She gained strength from the slight squeeze of Cade’s hand on hers when she handed his phone back to him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Blair Wrightmire stood on the front porch…waiting. Even now that he was here, he couldn’t for the life of him explain what had propelled him to make the trip. But sometime last night when he’d looked up from his computer he knew he couldn’t not make the trip. So here he was.

  He let his gaze slide over once again to the door he was waiting to open. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she left him sitting out here to freeze his backside off. Hadn’t he in some ways done the exact same thing over the last year? After what Morgan had said, he found himself looking at what had happened from a perspective other than his own. It hadn’t taken him long to see she hadn’t deserved what he’d done. He on the other hand deserved whatever she dished his way.

  When the door opened he stood straighter. He watched quietly as his mother walked slowly through the door before closing it behind her. While he was trying to figure out what to do…what to say, his mother, thank God was having no such problems. She walked straight over and wrapped her arms around him as if there’d been no such question of what was to be done.

  Blair took in her embrace, let himself inhale the scent that he’d always associated with her. Flowers. He didn’t know what kind, wasn’t certain it mattered. But for as long as he could remember she’d always smelled of flowers.

  When she stepped back from him it was only then he realized how much he’d missed her over the last year. And the words came out without thought. The words he’d been searching for during the long drive and hadn’t found. “I’ve been really stupid. I’m sorry. Really sorry for everything. Hell, I’m sorry for all that I haven’t even done yet to have reason to apologize for.”

  “Oh, Blair. Maybe you have been but the good news is that it’s not an incurable disease. You can get over it. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve known in my life who’ve done stupid things and instead of getting over it have gone on to do more stupid things. I’m so proud you’ve decided to go in the other direction,” Fran said as she stepped forward and gave him another hug …more than the quick one she’d been unable to help herself from taking when she’d first walked out on the porch and seen him standing there and looking so…alone. Just as in some ways, exactly the same as she’d been feeling because of his absence.

  “Mom,” Blair took a breath before saying what he really needed to make certain she knew. “I really am sorry. I mouthed off online like I shouldn’t have a year ago and never seemed to be able to get past it.” He thought about what he’d done, how he had rationalized it out for himself in the months that followed. “It took me a while to figure things out,” he said slowly realizing the truth of it even as he said the words. Then said what he hated admitting…even to himself. “Then it took me even longer to know I had to do more than just figure it out.”

  Fran reached out to take the hands that fidgeted along the banister rail that ran along the front of the porch. She knew his habits…and his heart. “Blair, all that matters is that you did and you’re here.” She met his eyes with her own. “It’s Christmas Eve and you’re here. That’s all that matters to me in this moment.”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” he tried to shrug it off. “It’s not that much of a drive.”

  “That you made it is a very big deal to me, Blair.” And she knew in time he would understand. “Come on,” she said as she took his hand in hers and tugged him in the direction of the front door of the Marshall Street house.

  “I don’t know if…” he began but before he was able to say anything else he was quickly silenced by his mother.

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Blair. This is your family,” she said quietly even as she brought him with her through the door. She recognized the look in his eyes and understood it. She’d been there before and knew embarrassment for what it was. She also knew the quickest way to defeat it was to get past it. “If you think your brothers and sisters haven’t ever been in your position before, think again.”

  “Morgan…”

  “Your brother loves you, Blair. That’s all that matters.” With a final tug she pulled her youngest son into the dining room with its long table that her family was gathered around. It would be a tight fit but she knew one more could always be squeezed in.

  It had been the same during her childhood visits to Burlington. Maybe another house, another table, but room had always been made for more around that table as well. Even as they walked further into the room, as she began making introductions to those who’d never met her youngest child, she could see both Morgan and Leila shifting their chairs to make room for one more. And she heard the quiet sigh of relief from the young man standing beside her as he saw the same.

  When she sat back down next to Cade, he reached over and gripped her hand. As she watched Blair squeeze into the place between his older brother and sister, her husband leaned over, his words were brief and soft, knowing. The gift she wanted most this Christmas was hers. “Merry Christmas, Frannie.”

  See below for excerpts from Return to Cedar Hill, the first in the Hills of Burlington series.

  Excerpts from Return to Cedar Hill.

  Mary felt on the verge of banging her head against the car's headrest. The man sitting next to her was determined to help her but completely oblivious to her mounting frustration. Yet a life time of manners hammered in and stomped down, effectively and automatically kicked in strengthening her efforts to maintain a calm silence. She managed a quiet sigh and as she had for much of the day stared out the window. It was more of a fluke than anything else that she happened to glance at the street sign as the car drove by. Even as the vehicle slowed for the oncoming intersection she struggled to place their location and at the same time pay attention to what the man sitting beside her was saying. Her disappointment at being unable to subtly and politely shift him to where she'd wanted to go, the house she most defin
itely wanted to look at, had kept her quietly brewing for much of the day. Mary wasn't comfortable with being evasive but for the time being she wanted to keep her personal objectives and the reasons behind them private. She knew his intentions were good but his perception of what she wanted and needed was in large part based on her professional and financial status. Unfortunately there was a huge gulf between that and her very personal goals. She was just about to bust his bubble when it turned out he'd taken away the need to do so without having any idea of having done just that.

  Looking at the house they had just pulled up and stopped in front of, she wondered how in the world she'd missed this. It certainly gave her a way to where she wanted to go. But what about this she thought to herself. She'd spent enough time searching through the area's available real estate to know what was and wasn't on the market. Had she been so focused on the one that she had been blind to the other?

  "....listed yesterday, just confirmed our visit this morning."

  "I'm sorry..." Mary forced herself to look away from the house that was as close to an ancestral home that her family could claim and with enormous effort tuned in to the man who had up to now showed her seemingly every house in the city except the one she wanted to walk through. Yet he had now brought her to this, she thought, shifting her gaze back to the three story Victorian structure before her. It wasn't the house she'd come to make her own, but neither was it one she could simply or easily walk away from.

  Pete Modig wasn't a man who took a lot too personally. Selling real estate could at the best of times be a hit-and-miss proposition. He didn't spend too much time thinking about the worst of times. He'd been there and knew he didn't want to go back. In his mind folks could be picky and choosy, rude and obnoxious, or simply ignore him politely or otherwise. They could be any or all of those things as far as he was concerned, being that they were considering spending a whole lot of money of which he would get a friendly commission out of. It was also his way of thinking that dealing with their moods was part of his job and a fair tradeoff in the end. In this case the woman he was spending the day with wanted to spend far less than he'd like to see. She might end up doing just as she pleased but he was determined to show her as many options as possible. There was a definite sale here so the time spent wouldn't be wasted and while quiet, she'd been good company. Nor would it hurt him in the least to be able to say he'd spent these couple of days with Mary Lane, who was well known but little was known about. It never ceased to amaze him how people chose their realtor. He had no doubt that given time there would be more than one potential client that would come in his direction just to hear whatever he could dish up about the famously reclusive author based on the time however short he'd spent with her. For the moment though he wanted to make a sale and this house was a real treasure.

  "As I was saying, this is a great gem and it just came on the market yesterday. I was on the phone making sure I could get us in here before the ink was dry on the listing contract." He saw the interest and something else in the way she looked at the house that was a far cry from the polite disinterest of every other property he'd shown her so far. "The family has been here for just over fifty years, before that it was in the hands of another local family from the time it was built, so it has been very well cared for. Not something you see in a lot of these historic homes." Pete wished he could put his finger on what it was he saw again when she glanced his way as he spoke. He could usually figure out what most were looking for in their search for the perfect house, but in this case he wasn't certain at all.

  Mary followed him in through the heavy front door, waiting for any sense of familiarity to hit her. When none did she wasn't surprised or disappointed. She'd had no real connection here other than through her mother. While the house held no personal memories for her it was overflowing with those that had been shared with her from a very young age. And it was those shared memories that filled her thoughts as she walked through the stately rooms. She only half listened to the man beside her and while she looked politely at all he directed her to, took note of the details he was intent on pointing out, she knew that later on she would remember little. She battled with a feeling of shock at simply being in the house that had been the foundation of her mother's childhood. She'd purposely avoided this house in all her other visits to Burlington over the years. It had never been hers and the generations of memories that came with it had never called to her as the other seemed to. But they'd been everything to her mother. She'd grown up hearing about this place, the joy of a childhood spent here. And she'd felt the intense grief that had stayed with her mother long after she'd had to leave their home. This house. Mary looked around the huge front room, knew without doubt the exact place where the Christmas tree had been set up every Christmas Eve by her grandparents for the daughters they had so completely cherished. She sighed, knowing deep within her that choices weren't always easy but sometimes they were inevitable. It was actually pretty easy. Easier than some. How could she have one and not the other?

  "The decor isn't the best selling point," Pete offered into the silence, though he personally thought his oldest daughter would love the bright raspberry walls with blue trim for her own room.

  "I imagine they've loved living here considering all the work that's been put into it. I wouldn't expect them to change it. It's their home to live in and enjoy living in until it sells."

  Pete agreed with her one hundred percent. He could count on more than his own two hands the number of people who had redone, redecorated, and who knows what else to their home in an effort to sell it only to later change their minds about selling either because the right offer never came in or they arrived at the conclusion they simply didn't want to leave their home. In those cases it wasn't unusual that most turned around and redecorated the house back to their liking again. "You have to love where you live," he agreed simply then followed her out the front door closing and locking it behind them.

  "Exactly," Mary walked down the short sidewalk towards the car. "I'm going to walk down the street a bit, get a sense of the area."

  "I'm right with you." He fell in beside her. "It's a wonderful neighborhood," he felt compelled to add as he followed along keeping up with her when she turned the corner and slowed to eventually come to a stop in front of another house. The 'For Sale' sign stood almost three feet high, no doubt an effort by one of his competitors in the hope it would be more noticeable. In his mind it was simply tacky. Nothing was going to help move this house.

  "I'd like to see this house," Mary said softly. Unlike minutes before, this made her heart race for a different and much more personal reason.

  Pete almost had to ask her to repeat herself, not because he couldn't hear but from the shock of her request. It was a small place, run down was just barely a kind description of its state and even if you could get past that it was about as ugly as the house they'd just walked away from was elegant. But the look on her face kept him from saying anything. He pulled out his phone and within minutes had the okay to show her the place which had been empty for months. The place he would have sworn moments ago would never sell.

  "I haven't been in here for some time," and Lord only knows how much worse it looks now, he thought to himself. "This property has been a rental off and on for years, decades probably, so it's not in the best condition." And that was putting it kindly, he thought not for the first time but kept it to himself.

  "I understand," Mary responded quietly. She also understood his apprehension. This was not the commission he hoped for.

  She walked through the house silently. Made no comments on the mess that had been left in the house which no one had bothered to clean up anywhere along the way. It explained why few bothered showing the house and fewer considered buying it. While she couldn't begin to understand such negligence and inconsideration she was grateful for it. The house was still on the market. That was all that mattered.

  This was the place that held her memories. Each and every room echoed
with them until it was almost painful. She stood in the kitchen remembering how it had been. And would be again she promised herself. Promised all those who for a moment in time, in the midst of the silence she could almost hear. All their cherished voices tumbling over each other as they so often did in their efforts to be heard. There had been so much love here.

  On a quiet sigh she turned and opened the door that she knew led to both the basement and the back door. Uncertain she could deal with the basement and all that might not be there, she walked out the door that led to the alley that ran behind the house before curving around and running up to the next street. Standing on the back stoop she looked down to where she could just see the back of the house they had just left. How often had she seen her mother and grandmother do just the same, sometimes together, but so often one or the other of them would stand here alone, standing and looking to where they had come from and could...would never return.

  She sensed more than heard Pete approach from the direction of the kitchen. Turning she saw the carefully guarded expression of a man knowing he had few options to call on to change the course of what was to come.

  "It's not hard to see you're taken with this place." Though for the life of him he couldn't understand why, in his mind it was one short step up from a dump.

  "Yes," she answered simply as she walked through the rest of the small house. The distance from the kitchen door where she had stood looking out at the memories and dreams of those who had come before her to the front door of this home that held her own memories couldn't have measured more than twenty feet. It wasn't large by anyone's standard but held a wealth that couldn't be measured. "I'd like to know what they're asking for this." She knew without asking, knew she'd pay it and more. And knew that sometimes you were handed a gift and only the foolish walked away from that. Mary turned back to Pete, knew she was about to give him one as well. "Come sit out on the front porch steps with me." Now that she was where she wanted to be she felt friendlier towards the man.