Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane Read online

  Praise for the novels of Mary McDonough!

  THE HOUSE ON SUCKLE LANE

  “This holiday homecoming story will appeal to fans of Nancy Thayer.”

  —Library Journal

  ONE YEAR

  “Insightful, layered and compassionate, One Year is a story to remember. McDonough writes with warmth and wisdom about family, friendship, and what we hold dear in life.”

  —Jane Porter, author of It’s You

  “There’s a lot to like in this tale of three generations.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Beautifully written with captivating characters, One Year draws you into the complexities of small town life where the bonds of family are tested. . . . A heartwarming story of family reconciliation that is not to be missed.”

  —Michael Morris, author of Man in the Blue Moon

  “A warm, heartfelt novel about what it means to belong to a family. You won’t want to put it down.”

  —Mary Alice Monroe, New York Times bestselling author of A Lowcountry Wedding

  “A heartfelt, charming story.”

  —Library Journal

  Books by Mary McDonough

  LESSONS FROM THE MOUNTAIN: What I Learned from Erin Walton

  ONE YEAR

  CHRISTMAS ON HONEYSUCKLE LANE

  (previously published as THE HOUSE ON HONEYSUCKLE LANE)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane

  Mary McDonough

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise and Also by Mary McDonough

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  CHAPTER 76

  CHAPTER 77

  CHAPTER 78

  EPILOGUE

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 by Mary McDonough

  Previously published as The House on Honeysuckle Lane

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: October 2016

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2615-5

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-2615-4

  Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2614-8

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2614-6

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Edition: October 2018

  To all the “Orphans” out there.

  Introduction

  My mother used to say a person was an “orphan” when they lost the second of their two parents, no matter how old the person was. I have been an orphan for a while now. I lost my father when I was sixteen, my mother twenty-seven years later.

  Maybe because of this, I have “adopted” siblings and families over the years. I often say that family is really what you make it. Bloodlines may make us feel related, but it’s truly love, compassion and sometimes tears that bring us together. Tears of laughter, tears of joy.

  I have been lucky to have many “families.” My McDonough and Walton families molded me into who I am. My adopted families have made a huge difference in my life.

  Losing one’s parents is never easy. Going through their possessions can be daunting. What they leave behind isn’t just their things. I found the mementos of other deceased family members when I sorted through what my parents left behind. Each one’s life was reduced to a mere suitcase or trunk. How can a life fit in a suitcase? Sorting through the remnants of what my parents left behind was illuminating, frustrating, horribly sad, difficult and oddly uplifting. One can truly honor and contemplate someone’s life by examining what they leave behind. It forced me to ponder for my own life; what is important, what are my own attachments and the meaning of the items I’ll leave behind.

  So what does it all mean? How do we ever let go of our loved ones? I don’t know if we ever do. I know I haven’t. They are with me forever like scars on my heart. They remind me of who I am and encourage me to create my own legacy . . . one that isn’t summed up in a box of old check stubs, old glasses, a watch, cards, drawings, mildewed bibles, photos with no names, love letters and farm notes.

  The House on Honeysuckle Lane is for anyone who has had to go through a parent or loved one’s life. It’s about attachment. The “stuff,” traditions, people, beliefs, and the objects we get attached to. It’s about what we hold on to, and, what we let go of. It’s understanding the connection between material things and important memories. Family is made up as much of memories, love, compassion and choices as it is DNA. Sometimes, through loss, we find the greatest treasures inside our memories.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my parents. From beginning to end, all roads lead back to you. So much gratitude for my brothers; we have been in this together. My appreciation of you grew as we traveled through our own attachments. I am forever attached to you, from this life to the next.

  My related family who make my life complete: John, Michael, Sydnee, Aunt Ellen, Jackson and Christopher and all my cousins, Irish and American!

  More thanks than I can ever say to the insightful John Scognamiglio. You make it all possible. Thanks for listening and giving my stories a voice and life
. Your guidance, help, care and trust in me are appreciated more than I can say.

  To Kevin for your support and encouragement in everything! To Elise for always understanding me, family and the importance of sharing thoughts and words. You GET it! My Maria, my wordsmith queen, I adore you! To my personal Buddhas Jeanne Russell and Pete Lee, whose practices inspire me. Thanks for reminding me who I am. To my writing sisters, Jane Porter and Mary Alice Monroe, thanks for the inspiration and for taking me under your wing. To my girls, Kylie and Robyn, thanks for choosing me to be your family.

  Hugs of thanks to all my chosen “family”: Kate, Caren, June, Kari, Mary G, Mo, Ann, Tom, Mellie, Sylvane, Dave, Karen, Pam, Earl, Jane, Claire, Rod, Will, Ellen, Leslie, Eric, Cindy, Jon, Marion, Judy, Bob, Kami, Kim, David, Richard, Georgie, Ralph, Michael, John, Mama Marlene, Papa Kruger, Sister Shatto, Jake, Ray, Tim, Carol, Don, Bethie and Nancy.

  To my Reynolds family, my childhood siblings, parents and grandparents. To Granny and Gramps and Mary Beth, you taught me what a big, sharing family is. To all the Walton fans and my online Facebook family, your support is so appreciated!

  To my Don, without you, there is no sunrise. I am forever grateful for your encouragement and loving me through each step I take. My books would not be possible without you. You amaze me daily with your care and love of me and our family. You are my hero.

  A family is a place where minds come in contact with one another. If these minds love one another the home will be as beautiful as a flower garden.

  The Buddha

  PROLOGUE

  It was a beautiful day in late October; the sky was a brilliant blue and there was a slightly spicy smell of wood smoke in the clear, cool air. It was the perfect day for a funeral—if there ever was such a thing—and Daniel Reynolds was weary after the emotional service to say farewell to his mother.

  The turnout at the Unitarian Universalist Church had been large, so large that at least ten or fifteen people had been forced to stand for the duration of the service. Caroline Reynolds had been a popular resident of Oliver’s Well, Virginia, since she had moved to the little town over forty years ago with her new husband, Clifford. His funeral, only a few years earlier, had also been well attended. Cliff had grown up in Oliver’s Well and had returned after college to build a successful accounting and tax preparation practice. He had been highly regarded as an utterly trustworthy man, discrete, dedicated, and loyal to his clients. That both of the senior members of the Reynolds family had passed at such a young age—each still in their sixties—was seen as a tragedy in the town’s close-knit community.

  In spite of the healthy turnout at Caro’s funeral, the Reynolds siblings had invited only a few close friends to the luncheon afterward at the Angry Squire, Oliver’s Well’s most popular restaurant. Daniel, the youngest child and the only son, as well as the only one of the Reynolds siblings to have made a life in Oliver’s Well after completing his education, had compiled the guest list. In fact, he had organized the funeral as well, working with Reverend Fox to create a personalized service for each of his parents. This dedication was nothing unusual; ever since Cliff Reynolds’s passing, Daniel had acted as his mother’s caretaker and as the official trustee of his parents’ estate.

  Daniel, too, felt that his parents’ deaths warranted the description of tragedy. When he had chosen the menu for the luncheon, he had taken care to select what had been his father’s favorite entrée and his mother’s favorite wine as a small tribute to them. He had wondered if either of his sisters, Andie or Emma, would recognize the significance of the London broil and the French Chablis; neither had commented, so Daniel had sadly concluded that the significance of his selections were lost on all but himself.

  Joe Herbert, once Cliff’s protégé and then his successor in the firm of Reynolds and Herbert, and his wife, Jenna, a doctor with a thriving practice in family medicine, were two of the last to leave the restaurant. Joe shook Daniel’s hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, “to discuss those questions you had about the estate.” Jenna kissed Daniel on the cheek and wished him well. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she offered. “If you and Anna Maria need a night out on your own I can bring your kids to my house for a few hours. My kids would love it.” Daniel thanked her and, not for the first time, felt grateful for the Herberts’ friendship.

  The very last to leave the Angry Squire was Maureen Kline, Emma’s friend from childhood. Maureen, too, offered a final word of condolence to Daniel, then shook his hand and went on her way.

  When Maureen was gone and only the family remained, Daniel realized that he felt a profound sense of let down. It was over, his mother’s life, and with it, an entire chapter of the Reynolds family’s history; with both parents gone, Cliff and now Caro, it was time for what remained of the family to move on with the rest of their lives. Watching his sisters talking quietly with his wife and their two children, seeing Bob Dolman, Andie’s ex-husband, with his arm around their daughter, Rumi, Daniel felt the poignancy of the moment. The surviving family was poised on the brink between the past and the future. It was said by men far wiser than Daniel that the threshold was the place where one should pause. And then, the wise men said, one should continue on.

  Problem was, Daniel wasn’t quite sure how continuing on was going to play out. He wanted the family to thrive as a strong unit. And he believed that he was the one to make a future happen for the Reynoldses. But as for a plan . . .

  Ian Hayes, Emma’s long-time boyfriend, came back into the dining room; he had gone to bring his car around from the municipal lot. Now, Emma, Ian, and Andie came over to where Daniel stood on his own, hands in the pockets of his suit pants.

  “Ian and I are heading back to Annapolis now, Danny,” Emma said, her eyes still a little red from crying.

  “And I’m off to the airport,” Andie told him in her famously melodious voice.

  Daniel nodded. “All right,” he said. “But don’t forget, there’s the contents of the house to go through and a decision about what if anything to sell outright or put up for auction. And we’ll need to sell the house itself before long. It shouldn’t be left standing empty. And Mom wanted us all here together to make those decisions.”

  “I’ve got commitments through July,” Andie said. “My publisher has arranged a series of readings from New York to California. I should be free to make a plan when the book tour is done.” She reached for and hugged her brother; he took his hands from his pockets and briefly patted her back.

  “Six months is too—” he began, but his sister cut him off.

  “Don’t worry, Danny,” Andie said quietly but firmly. “There’s no real rush, is there? And thanks for handling everything so beautifully.”

  “Thank you, Danny,” Emma said, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “You did a great job with everything. Mom would have been proud. So would Dad.”

  Ian put out his hand for Daniel to shake. “Keep in touch, Danny,” he said. And then, taking Emma’s hand, they left for their life back in Annapolis, Andie following a few steps behind on the first leg of her journey back to her home in upstate New York.

  Daniel watched his sisters leave the Angry Squire, once the scene of so many pleasant evenings with their parents, the whole family gathered together to share a meal and conversation and laughter. Suddenly, Daniel felt a surge of frustration rise up in him. Getting Andie and Emma back to Oliver’s Well any time soon to sort through the house and make the important decisions together as a family, as their mother had wanted, would not be easy. And of course, it would be up to him to orchestrate the visit, not only because he was the trustee of their mother’s estate but also because over the years he had become—for better or worse he sometimes didn’t know—the acknowledged head of the family.

  Daniel’s wife, Anna Maria, joined him and slipped her arm through his. He noted the simple gold wedding band on her slim finger and felt enormously thankful she had agreed to marry him thirteen years earlier.

 
; “You okay?” she asked.

  Daniel put his hand over hers. “I’m fine. I was just wondering when we’ll see my sisters again.”

  Anna Maria smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about that now. It’s been a long day for everyone, especially the kids. Sophia is a little bit weepy again, and Marco is falling asleep on his feet. Let’s go home.”

  “Yes,” Daniel said, suddenly feeling as exhausted as his son. “Home.”

  CHAPTER 1

  It was an easy drive from Emma’s home in Annapolis to Oliver’s Well. Emma enjoyed driving and took meticulous care of her car, a 2015 Lexus RX 350 in deep sea mica with a light gray interior. It had only recently been to the mechanic for a checkup; Ollie had been servicing Emma’s cars for close to eight years and swore that not one of his clients had ever taken better care of her vehicle.

  Emma Reynolds had turned forty-two in April. Her once bright blond hair had darkened in the past few years, and now there were natural streaks of white and silver threaded throughout. She glanced in the mirror over the dashboard and smiled. Her hair stylist had told her that plenty of women paid for the effect that in Emma’s case had taken place all on its own.

  Emma suppressed a yawn and sat up straighter. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep behind the wheel. Still, she thought, opening her window and the moon roof to let the fresh late December air flow through the car, a nap once she arrived at number 32 Honeysuckle Lane would probably be a good idea. She had been at the office until ten the night before, and two nights before that she had been at her desk until almost midnight. Emma was proud of her career as a personal financial advisor and money manager, but time had stripped the bloom off the rose and there were days when she found it a serious chore to get out of bed, shower and dress, and leave her condo on Franklin Street, knowing what was in store for her once she got to her office near the corner of West Street and Church Circle.