The House on Honeysuckle Lane Read online

  “Maybe we should contribute some money to his holiday budget, especially if he continues to treat us like guests and not like plain ole family.”

  “Good idea,” Emma said. “But I wonder if he’ll take it.”

  Sophia and Marco came running into the kitchen through the back door just as their aunts came in through the door off the living room.

  “Wash your hands,” Anna Maria instructed. Obediently, Sophia and Marco made a beeline for the sink.

  Daniel was putting platters of food on the table. “I made chicken with caramelized onions and cardamom rice,” he announced. “It’s a Middle Eastern recipe. There’s also brussels sprouts with pancetta, and green beans made with chicken stock.”

  Andie smiled and glanced over to the counter on which the chopping board sat. “Anything vegetarian on the menu, Danny?”

  Daniel shrugged. “I brought in some tofu and there are some raw veggies. They’re in the fridge. And there’s always some jarred tomato sauce if you want some pasta.”

  Emma felt the blood rush to her cheeks. It was unlike Daniel to be so rude to his sister. She remembered his earlier totally unnecessary comment about the reindeer cookie and repressed a sharp retort after the fact; the children were in the room and they didn’t need to be dragged into a dispute. She tried to catch Anna Maria’s eye, but her sister-in-law looked as discomfited as she felt. As for Andie . . .

  “We vegetarians do eat dairy products, Danny,” Andie said lightly, seemingly unoffended. “Didn’t the CIA teach you that much?”

  “We concentrated on serious food,” he countered, “and that includes the flesh of fish, fowl, and creatures on the hoof.”

  “Since when did you get to be so narrow minded?” Emma asked her brother as she took a seat at the table.

  Anna Maria laughed, but to Emma it sounded forced. “He’s a grumpy old man before his time,” she said. “That’s all.”

  “Why are you a vegetarian, Aunt Andie?” Sophia asked.

  Andie smiled at her niece. “Let’s just say vegetarianism is one way for me to keep my vow of nurturing a wholesome attitude toward all living beings.” Sophia nodded and Andie went on, her tone still neutral. “I’ll make some pasta and salad,” she said. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll run out to the store after dinner.”

  Dinner was a fairly tense affair, Emma thought, her brother not saying much, her sister-in-law making small talk of the kind that could interest and offend no one, and Andie being determinedly pleasant over her dish of pasta and tomato sauce. Emma was glad when dinner was over. Andie went off to the grocery store, and the children retreated to the den with their handheld devices, leaving Emma with Daniel and Anna Maria in the living room. Daniel sat in what had been Cliff’s favorite chair. Anna Maria sat at one end of the couch. Emma sat at the other, leaving what had been Caro’s favorite chair unoccupied. From their exalted place above the fireplace, Cliff and Caro, forever captured in oil paint, kept watch. Emma, never a fan of the painting, made certain not to look in its direction.

  “Did you like the chicken?” Daniel asked.

  Emma refrained from rolling her eyes. “You asked me that at least twice already and the answer is still the same. Yes, it was delicious.”

  “He tried it out at a private dinner party about a month ago,” Anna Maria explained. “Everybody loved it, but he’s been perfecting the recipe ever since.”

  “Andie should have been here for Rumi’s birthday,” Daniel said suddenly.

  “What brought that up?” Emma asked.

  Daniel tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair, as if, Emma thought, he were full of nervous energy. “It’s been on my mind. Rumi’s had a tough time since Mom died. She was so close to her grandmother. She’s really suffering.”

  So that was what was behind Daniel’s rude treatment of his sister, Emma thought. He was sitting in self-appointed judgment. “Rumi’s not a child anymore, Danny,” she said. “She’ll have to learn how to recover from loss as we’ve all learned.”

  “But—” he began.

  Emma leaned forward. “Danny,” she said, “Andie would have been here for the party if she could have been. But that was six months ago, so let’s move on.”

  “Emma,” Anna Maria said brightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask you where you got that scarf. It’s so pretty.”

  Emma turned to her sister-in-law, grateful for the change of subject. “Thanks,” she said. “It was on sale at Talbots.”

  “What was Andie going on about at dinner?” Daniel asked suddenly. “Something about a podcast?”

  “She wasn’t going on about it, Danny,” Emma said a bit sharply. “I told her I’d listened to her latest podcast and really enjoyed it.” She turned to Anna Maria. “She took as her theme the idea of being able to let go gracefully of things and people not meant for you.”

  “That sounds interesting. I’ll try to listen,” Anna Maria promised.

  Daniel laughed. “Well, I’ll give it a pass. I have other, more important things demanding my attention.”

  Emma refrained from a reply. Instead, she asked: “How’s Bob?” When Andie and Bob had married, Daniel was only a teen and Bob had quickly become a sort of big brother to him. Over the years, and in spite of the divorce, Daniel and Bob’s relationship had continued to grow. Bob, Emma thought, was a truly good man. He was someone no one would want to let go of, gracefully or not.

  “He’s fine,” Daniel said. “He’s been helping us out on a few catering gigs, circulating with trays, loading and unloading the car.”

  “But what about his bad knee?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Times are tough. He takes what work he can find. I pay him off the books, of course.”

  “That’s not a great idea, Danny. Speaking as a professional, I’m obliged to tell you that.”

  “Maybe not,” Daniel said. “But he’s my brother-in-law, and my friend. I do what I can for him. Unlike some people.”

  Emma suddenly felt exhausted by her brother’s strange mood. “I’m going to bed,” she announced. “You guys don’t have to leave now. . . .”

  Anna Maria got briskly to her feet. “No, we should be getting home. The kids have school tomorrow and we’ve got yet another holiday office party to plan for.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, as soon as I can get here,” Daniel told his sister, getting up from their father’s chair.

  Emma went to the door and watched as Daniel’s family climbed into his car and pulled away. When they were out of sight she closed the door and locked it. She stood for a moment looking around the living room, at all the familiar bits and pieces, the antiques her mother had inherited and treasured as well as the art and furniture she had purchased through the years. It was all so well remembered, so comforting in its way, certainly innocuous but...

  A wave of disorientation swept over Emma. For the life of her she couldn’t remember the last time she had been completely alone in this house. I’m a stranger here in some ways, she thought. And I’m not sure that I like that.

  Emma shook herself in an attempt to shift the sadness and, leaving a small light on for her sister, retreated to her bed.

  CHAPTER 6

  D aniel and his family were safely home in their house on Little Rock Lane. The children were in bed, though whether either was asleep was anyone’s guess. Sophia was a bookworm, not something either of her parents wanted to discourage; when she brought a flashlight with her to bed and snuck a book along with it, they turned a blind eye. And Marco had always been a “bad sleeper,” ever since infancy. The poor kid was always tired, but when it came to actually falling asleep and staying asleep, well, there he had trouble. That he managed not to nod off during school hours—not usually, anyway—was, Daniel thought, a bit of a miracle.

  Daniel was also in bed, pillows propped up against the headboard. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his sisters’ visit so far. He was glad they had come home and yet, since their arrival, he had felt increasingly . . . irritated.

>   Anna Maria came into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. “Marco’s actually asleep,” she said, climbing into bed next to Daniel. “Even after all the sugar he ate earlier.”

  “A Christmas miracle.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t talk about the estate with your sisters this evening,” Anna Maria said, tucking the covers around her. “You’ve been so eager to finalize things.”

  “Don’t worry. Estate business is on the agenda for first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Anna Maria shifted so that she was looking at Daniel. Her expression, he saw, was serious. “You know,” she said, “you shouldn’t have teased Andie about being a vegetarian. And what were you thinking, not making her a decent meal? Vegetarianism is important to your sister, and it’s not exactly weird or exotic.”

  Daniel had half expected his wife to scold him; he hoped he looked as sheepish as he felt. “Sorry,” he said. And he was. Still, he just didn’t understand why Andie had to set herself up to be so different. It was especially annoying now that Cliff and Caro were gone and all that remained of the family were his sisters and himself. The three of them should be united.

  “And if you’re going to be as harsh with Andie for the rest of the visit as you were today,” Anna Maria went on, “the holiday season is going to be miserable.”

  “Sorry,” Daniel said again. “Really.”

  “Keep in mind the children. If not for anyone else’s sake, try to keep a civil tongue.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good.” Anna Maria finally smiled. “I’m holding you to that promise.”

  Daniel knew that she would. “Anna Maria,” he said, “you did more for my mother during the last years of her life than either of my sisters. Didn’t you ever feel taken advantage of?”

  “There were a few times in Caro’s final months when I could have used another pair of hands. But in the end it was no big deal. And now,” Anna Maria said, putting her hand on her husband’s, “now it’s over and we have the satisfaction of knowing that we helped make your mother’s last years as good as they could be. She didn’t suffer neglect or abuse. She was rarely alone in the last months of her life, what with Rumi helping out as well as the visiting nurse. What does it matter who did the caretaking? As long as it was done, and done well.”

  “Still—”

  “Let it go, Daniel,” Anna Maria said, her voice low but urgent.

  Daniel laughed, though there was nothing funny about what he had been feeling these past months. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I do know that my sisters could have offered to help when Mom suffered those bouts of depression, like at the first anniversary of Dad’s death. And there was the time when Mom had the flu and you spent almost two weeks living with her when the kids and I needed you at home—and on the job.”

  Anna Maria sighed. “Daniel, how often did you ask your sisters for their help? People aren’t mind readers. They can’t know what you need unless you tell them.”

  “In this case, ‘people’ are Caro’s daughters,” Daniel argued. “They should have known their presence would have been welcome.”

  “Would it have been?” Anna Maria wondered. “I’m not so sure about that. Your mother was never as comfortable with her daughters as she was with you, Daniel. At least, that’s the way I saw it. I think she might have felt, I don’t know, a certain loss of dignity if Andie and Emma—especially Emma, I think—were around to see her at the last. Weak. Unnerved.”

  “She didn’t mind Rumi and Sophia being around,” Daniel said. “Or you.”

  “Yes, but we weren’t her children,” Anna Maria pointed out. “You know how Caro was so keen on keeping up appearances with her daughters. Just the way she was raised, I suppose. Not to show weakness. Not to admit defeat. Remember how she insisted on using that face powder she was fond of no matter how awful she felt, no matter that she wasn’t going to see anyone that day but us! And lipstick. Do you know I once found Sophia putting Caro’s lipstick on for her?” Anna Maria laughed. “Caro was directing the entire thing, of course, which made it that much more difficult for the poor girl to get the lipstick on Caro’s lips and not across her cheeks. But it was clear they were having a good time.”

  Daniel smiled. “Mom was always particular about her appearance.”

  “And now she’s gone, and I don’t think she’d welcome the idea of your clinging to old grievances. Caro always had your happiness uppermost in her mind, especially after she lost Cliff. Frankly, you were such the apple of her eye I don’t know how you didn’t turn out to be insufferable.”

  “My sisters might very well call me insufferable.”

  “Maybe,” his wife agreed, “but they’re not the ones who count. I am. You are. Sophia and Marco. Our family counts. The present counts, and the future.”

  Daniel squeezed his wife’s hand. “Were you always so smart?” he asked.

  Anna Maria yawned. “Yes. And now I’m also tired, so let’s go to sleep.”

  This Christmas counts, Daniel thought, kissing his wife’s cheek and turning out the light. What happens this Christmas matters for all of us. It matters for the future of the Reynolds family. It matters for me.

  CHAPTER 7

  It was well after midnight and still Emma couldn’t fall asleep. She wondered how her sister was faring in the den, enjoying a deep and restful sleep or staring at the darkened ceiling like she was, her mind active and alert.

  With a sigh of frustration Emma reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. She had chosen to say in her parents’ room and not her childhood bedroom where she and Ian had regularly bunked down when they visited the senior Reynoldses. It was the first time she had ever slept—or tried to—in her parents’ bed, and it had seemed an important thing for her to do, though she couldn’t quite say why. On a different note entirely, she did know that she hadn’t wanted to be forcibly reminded of Ian by the presence of his slippers by her old bed, and the extra razor he kept in the top drawer of her old dresser.

  Now, with the light casting a soft glow across the room, Emma could see her parents’ wedding portrait standing on her mother’s long, low dresser. Her father, proud in a classic black tuxedo, a white rose in his lapel. Her mother, taller than her husband, looking elegant in a candlelight ivory peau de soie gown that had been handmade by a seamstress in Boston, the same woman who had made Martha Carlyle’s dress forty years before. Caro’s bouquet was a cascade of white lilies and white roses. On her head was delicately perched a small pearl crown, from which a veil of tulle netting sprung.

  It truly had been love at first sight for her parents, Emma reflected. Caroline Carlyle, recently graduated from a women’s academy on the outskirts of Boston and spending a few months with her aunt and uncle in an old-money area of DC, had been on her way to hear a talk on the Impressionists at the National Gallery. It was spring and she was wearing her favorite lightweight coat in rose pink; she wore pinned to her right lapel a small pearl brooch that had belonged to her maternal grandmother.

  Two stops before her destination a young man got on the bus, dressed neatly but in a navy suit that had seen a lot of wear. He took the only vacant seat, diagonally across from Caroline. Caro noticed him. He noticed her. She smiled at him. “I simply couldn‘t help myself,” she would later tell her children. “And he smiled back.”

  When the bus arrived at her stop, Caroline once again met the man’s eyes, stood, and got off. The doors of the bus had barely closed behind her when a voice said, “My name is Clifford Reynolds.” Caro had turned around to find the man in the navy suit. He was a few inches shorter than her in her low-heeled pumps, but his affect was that of a much larger man, and his smile was the most perfect smile she had ever seen.

  “This isn’t your stop,” she said. “Is it?”

  “No,” the man replied. “Well, it wasn’t. But I think it is now.”

  “I never dreamed he would follow me off the bus,�
�� Caro would later say, with the sort of expression that belied her words.

  Cliff had accompanied Caroline to the museum, where they had coffee in the café instead of attending the lecture. After they had spent an hour talking nonstop about everything and nothing, Cliff had risen reluctantly. “I’ve got a meeting with a new client,“ he told Caro. “Well, to be honest, he’s my only client so far. But look, can I take you to dinner sometime? Tomorrow night perhaps? I’m afraid it won’t be anything five star.”

  To which Caroline had replied, “It will be perfect.”

  Both of Emma’s parents had loved to tell the story of their fateful meeting, and for a long time Emma had loved to hear it—until at some point in her early thirties, having failed to find the sort of love her parents had enjoyed, she began to feel a tiny bit resentful of their romantic happiness. She would never admit aloud that she felt jealous of her parents’ marital bliss. But she did, especially now, alone, at the age of forty-two.

  Emma sat up in the bed and plumped the pillows to better support her back. She had very much wanted to come home for Christmas, partly to be with her family, partly to get away from Ian’s near proximity, partly to explore her growing feelings of dissatisfaction with her life in Annapolis, but . . . But she was afraid. She was aware that something was about to change. She was aware that she couldn’t continue to live her life in the way that she had been living it, not if she was ever to be truly happy. But the idea of change scared Emma. For so long her life had been ordered and unexciting. Predictable. Safe. She had liked it that way. Maybe, she thought, that was why it had taken her so long to leave Ian for good.

  Emma thought again about what Andie had said to her earlier, that her task now was to seek, find, and tear down the barriers she had erected against true love. Far easier said than done, and Andie, of course, knew that. Andie’s natural empathy was one of the things that made her such a successful healer of troubled souls. You could fake a lot of emotions, Emma thought, but not empathy.