A Wish for Christmas (19 page)

Lillian shook her head stubbornly. “It proves nothing except that I much prefer Bizet to cooking. Always have and always will.”

“Bizet? What does he have to do with it?” Emily and Jessica exchanged puzzled stares.

“Oh, you two prosaic souls would not understand, not in a million years. The cheese wouldn’t melt, and I came in to hear some music. On the radio. Selections from
Carmen
. I must have dozed off for a few minutes. . . . It could have happened to anyone.”

Emily walked over to an armchair and sat down. Lillian watched her cross her long legs.
One of her better physical attributes,
Lillian noted,
for which she has only her mother to thank. But has she ever thanked me? Of course not
.

“Yes, Mother, it could have happened to anyone.” Emily’s mild agreement took Lillian off guard. “But since you were alone here, with no one else to smell the smoke, a minor situation nearly turned into a full-blown disaster. Therefore, we must make a change immediately. No more debates. No more delays.”

“My, my. That directive has the ring of a political slogan if ever I heard one.
No more debates. No more delays
. That’s a phrase you could run on, my dear. Though you won’t get my vote.”

“Mother, it could have been a real catastrophe here today,” Jessica implored her. “Emily’s right, we can’t sit by and wait any longer to . . . to help you.”

“To force me into some arrangement I’d detest, you mean?”

“Why don’t you come live with one of us?” Emily suggested. “My house is small, but Dan and I have been talking about moving for a while. We would buy something larger, with a comfortable space for you.”

“Comfortable space?” Lillian snapped. “Do you honestly think I want to spend the rest of my life in some ‘mother-in-law’ quarters, built over a garage? Really, Emily. Don’t make me laugh.”

Or cry, which is exactly what Lillian felt like doing. Oh, she could just picture it. Some cramped, patched-together space in a makeshift extension. She would be permitted to take her bed, of course, and maybe an armchair and a single rug. They would allow her a painting or two and a little cabinet for a few collectibles. The rest would be taken away, scattered to the four winds. They might as well put her in a jail cell—or put a pillow over her face and be done with it.

“You can come live with us, Mother,” Jessica said quickly. “You practically paid for building the new house. It’s only fair. And there’s plenty of room.”

“Once that baby comes, it won’t feel that roomy to me,” Lillian said. “What about your husband? I’m sure he isn’t all that eager to take me in.”

Lillian knew that Sam tried hard for Jessica’s sake, but she and her son-in-law did not get along well. The man had no polish, no conversation skills, Lillian felt, at least not the kind she valued. Lillian had opposed Jessica’s marriage to him, and the bitter words and arguments had never been entirely forgotten, she was sure.

Jessica shook her head, her long curly hair bouncing on either side of her face. “Sam’s already told me he would love to have you come live with us.”

“Ha! I doubt that’s a direct quote, dear. But I can’t fault you for trying.”

“Honestly, Mother. He said if you don’t want to live in the house, he would build you a cottage on the property, so you can have your own space.”

“And he can have his,” Lillian said. “A little cottage, how sweet. I’ll be just like a witch in a fairy tale, pulling children into my lair to fatten them up—”

“Mother, be serious, will you? If you won’t come live with one of us, we’ll try the home companion route. Again,” Emily said grimly.

Lillian met her gaze a moment and quickly looked away. She’d had her share of home companions over the years and had yet to find one that could last a week. Her record was eight minutes flat. It appeared she would soon have an opportunity to break it.

But before she could formulate a proper salvo, Ezra walked in. He fanned the air, doubtless reacting to the smoky smell.

“Good grief, what’s been going on here?”

“Ezra, I realize our relationship stretches back decades, but don’t you think a proper knock on the door is still appropriate?”

“The door was wide open, Lily, so I dispensed with the formalities. This is, after all, an emergency. Fire engines flying down Main Street, headed for your house. And I still smell smoke in the air. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Lillian said dismissively. “It’s been a big misunderstanding. High drama over a mere grilled cheese sandwich, for heaven’s sake. Both of my daughters could have had brilliant careers in the theater.”

“There was a kitchen fire, Ezra,” Jessica explained. “Mother was cooking and left the room for a while—”

“And fell asleep out here,” Emily clarified. “Listening to Bizet, selections from
Carmen
. Luckily, the smoke alarm sounded and she got outside safely.”

Ezra turned to Lillian, looking shocked. “You fell asleep listening to
Carmen
? Who was the soprano?”

“Callas,” she answered guiltily.

“Why, Lily . . . Maria Callas singing
Carmen
? That’s one of your favorites.”

Lillian shrugged. “I can’t understand it myself. Perhaps I need my medication adjusted. No harm done, I suppose, though my daughters would have been delighted to see this place burn to the ground. Then I’d really have to live with one of them—or end up in some drafty old-age home.”

“No one in this room ever said the words
old-age home
,” Emily insisted. “Who even uses that term anymore?”

“It’s called assisted living now, Mother,” Jessica said.

“Pish-posh.” Lillian waved her hand. “The euphemisms improve, the reality remains the same. How’s that for a slogan, Emily?”

“Old-age home? Assisted living? What is going on here?” Ezra wanted to know. “Have you finally agreed to sell this place?”

“Ask them.” Lillian pointed at her daughters. “They seem to think they’re calling the shots now.”

“We are not calling the shots, Mother,” Emily argued. “But after this latest near miss, we think the situation here must change. The choices are very clear. You can either live with one of us or have some help in here. This kitchen fire could have been a serious matter.”

“Your daughter is right,” Ezra said. “This was a very close call. Stop being so stubborn and let someone in here to help you. It’s not the end of the world. Your position in this matter is positively irrational.”

“Traitor! Why, I ought to call you Benedict Arnold from now on. Are you ganging up on me, too?” Lillian demanded. “Of all things, Ezra. I expected
you
to be an ally, not help them herd me through the fence to be sent out to pasture.”

Ezra sighed. “If your daughters are dramatic, I can see where they get it from, Lily. But if we can all put the theatrics aside for a moment, you’ll see that they have a good point and only the best intentions for your welfare.”

“So
you
say. I hardly see it that way at all . . . Benny.”

“What are your alternatives?” Ezra asked. “You will either risk losing your house and the autonomy you have now. Or, the next time you fall asleep with something on the stove, you’ll harm yourself for sure. Take your pick, Lillian, though neither choice seems worth maintaining this pose of utter obstinacy.”

Lillian huddled in her afghan. She felt cornered, like a wild animal caught in a trap. Emily and Jessica were easy to spar with, to keep off balance. She knew how to elude their grasp.

But three to one? That match was weighted too unevenly, even for her.

“I choose . . . door number three. If I must choose something.”

Emily leaned forward. “Meaning exactly what, Mother?”

“Home companion. The mysterious ‘somebodies’ from the very reputable agency you were rhapsodizing about just yesterday. Bring it on,” she added, “as they say on TV.”

“Well, that wasn’t too tough.” Jessica’s tone was uncharacteristically sardonic.

“I suppose you have this helper all lined up, ready to roll out like a bowling ball?” Lillian inquired.

“Since you asked, I do, Mother. I can have her here tomorrow at nine thirty. I’ll come over to meet her with you and get you settled. How does that sound?”

“Simply dreadful,” Lillian said, her face taut with a false smile. “But what choice do I have? My fate is sealed.”

“Exactly,” Emily agreed. She glanced at her watch. “Sorry but I have to run. I have to pick up Janie at preschool today.”

“I can stay, Mother,” Jessica said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and leave you some dinner. The microwave should be working.”

“No, no . . . leave that work for the home helper. What else will she have to do? I might as well get my money’s worth,” Lillian noted. “I’ll just have a cold supper, some cereal or something. You run along now. I’d like to enjoy my last few hours of freedom.”

“Yes, enjoy, Mother. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” Emily leaned over and kissed her mother good-bye. Jessica did the same.

Once her daughters were gone, Lillian turned to Ezra.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Ezra Elliot? I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you for turning against me like that. I’m surprised I’m even speaking to you.”

“If that’s the price I have to pay, so be it. I did it for your own good,” Ezra told her plainly. “I saw those trucks flying down Main Street, and Tucker Tulley told me they were headed for your house. Everyone in town was convinced that this place had burned to the ground and you in it.”

“Officer Tulley.” Lillian scoffed at the name of the town’s most popular policeman. “You were sitting at the lunch counter in the Clam Box, I assume. That stretch of Formica is his beat.”

“Yes, I was, as a matter of fact,” Ezra replied with a laugh. “Tucker was sitting right next to me.”

“Well, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Lillian said crisply. “But I’ll bet the news brought Charlie Bates a smile,” she added, naming the owner of the diner and a lifelong foe. “Along with a few others. I’m surprised they didn’t come running down here with a bag of marshmallows.”

“Lillian, be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious. I’ve never won any popularity contests in this town, Ezra, and I never will. You should know that by now.”

“I know all about you. I’ve been studying you now for years.” Ezra reached down and took her hand.

“Maybe, but you
hardly
know everything,” she continued arguing, though she didn’t take her hand away.

“That’s what keeps it interesting.” He sighed. “Let’s not be at odds, Lily. I’m glad you agreed to have someone in here. I worry about you now that Sara and Luke are gone. Anything can happen at our age.”

“Oh, go on. You just like haggling with me. It helps your low blood pressure.”

“That it does,” he admitted with a grin. “If anything happened to you, I’d miss having someone to argue with. We go back a long way, my dear.”

Lillian didn’t know what to say. She looked into his faded blue eyes, twinkling at her from behind his spectacles, then quickly looked away.

They did go back a long way, no debating that. She was still annoyed that he had sided against her, but he was her closest friend. Her only friend, when you came right down to it. She couldn’t stay angry with him for long.

Ezra sat down next to her on the couch. “Do you remember when I took you to the opera on our first date?”

“Our first and last,” she reminded him. “It was
Turandot
. Not a very distinguished production but the tenor was first rate.”

“Yes, he was,” Ezra agreed. “You were first rate, too. Very fine indeed. I recall you had on a black dress and pearl earrings. I still remember the way you looked, walking down the stairs in your father’s house to greet me. So elegant. Like a queen.”

She glanced at him, surprised and touched that he could recall the moment so clearly, after all this time.

“You looked very handsome, too,” she replied graciously. “You brought me a wrist corsage, I think.”

“A gardenia. I wanted to choose something unusual. Something that would make an impression on you.”

“You’ve always made an impression on me, Ezra. That goes without saying.”

It was true, too, though not the impression Ezra had once hoped to make.

When Lillian was in her early twenties, she had come to stay with her cousin who lived in nearby Newburyport for a short vacation toward the end of the summer. She had met Ezra Elliot at the recently opened Clam Box diner, the Grand Opening sign still hung across the doorway. They were introduced by her future husband, Oliver Warwick, who had taken her out to lunch that day.

Lillian had met Oliver at a country club dance the night before. She didn’t want to go out with him, but he had tracked her down at the beach and then insinuated himself into her party, a group of young women who fairly swooned over him.

Oliver was the most sought after, and notorious, bachelor in town. Handsome, charming, smooth talking—the son of the richest man for miles around and sole heir to the family fortune. He had some scandals in his past, a divorce and some gossip about a young woman who had to leave town under mysterious circumstances. Which made him all the more interesting to some girls.

At first, Lillian found him intolerable and didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe that’s why he found her so intriguing and challenging.

Ezra was one of Oliver’s large circle of friends. They grew up together. Both served in the military during World War II, and upon his return, Ezra finished medical school. When he met Lillian, he was working at Children’s Hospital in Boston. He had some advantage in the race to court her, as they both lived and worked in the city. She was an assistant curator at the Boston Museum at the time.

But, despite the many interests she and Ezra shared—art, opera, literature—and despite the fact that Ezra was an acceptable choice to her family while Oliver was not, poor Ezra never had a chance. Oliver already owned her heart.