Once Upon a Winter's Heart (10 page)

“No worries, Anne. I don't plan on giving up my day job anytime soon.” He turned to Emma. “Don't you need to get back to fix Nona her lunch?”

“Yes!” Emma nodded eagerly.

Anne followed them to the door. “Emma,” she said urgently, “before you go, I need to ask a favor. Can you watch Tristan for me on Thursday night? There's a Chamber meeting.” She pointed to Lane. “You're going too, aren't you?”

“It's on my calendar,” he told her.

“Anyway, if you could watch Tristan—”

“Sure.” Emma smiled at her. “I'd love to. Have him stop by the bookstore after school and I'll take him home with me.”

“And could you drop him at the condo…so he can go to bed?” Anne glanced at Lane. “You know how late those Chamber meetings can go sometimes.”

“No problem,” Emma said as she and Lane stepped out the door.

Anne was still walking with them, reminding Emma of a little terrier chasing after the mailman. “I am sorry, Lane,” she continued. “I hope you'll forgive me. You know how I sometimes speak without thinking.” She giggled. “I really need to work on that.”

“It's okay, Anne.” He opened the back of his SUV and put the paintings in. “I've never taken my art seriously.” He laughed as he closed it. “And now I see why.”

Of course, this made Emma feel bad, but she tried not to show it as she opened the passenger side.

“Wait, Emma,” Anne called out, hurrying over to her. “I've been thinking you and I have not really had a chance to catch up since you've been home. I thought maybe we could do lunch tomorrow. Are you free?”

“Sure.” Emma nodded.

“I'll fix us something special at my condo,” Anne warmly told her. “Is noon okay for you?”

Emma agreed as she and Lane got into the car then he drove away in silence. “Did that bother you?” she asked him. “I mean, what Anne said?”

He chuckled. “I'll admit it was a bit awkward and I was tempted to keep my mouth shut about the whole thing.” He glanced at her. “But that seemed unfair.”

“I stand by my opinion,” she stated. “I like the painting. And I'm not saying I know more about art than Anne, but I did take a little art in college and I enjoyed attending gallery exhibits in Seattle. I'm not exactly an ignoramus when it comes to art.”

He laughed. “No, I doubt you are.”

On Tuesday, Emma felt uneasy as she knocked on her sister's condo door. Besides the fact that Anne had never been a good cook and usually preferred to eat out, something about this lunch date felt suspicious.

“Welcome,” Anne said brightly as she opened the door. “I picked us up some salads at the deli.” She nodded to some cartons on the breakfast bar. “Hopefully you'll like the selection. I realized after I got there I should've given you a call.”

“No, that's okay.” Emma removed her jacket, laying it on a bench by the door. Anne chattered as they filled their plates then took them over to the dining table.

“Oh, these roses take up so much room.” Anne slid them to the other end of the table. “But they are beautiful.”

Emma nodded. She didn't really like roses that much, but they were very elegant-looking. “They look perfect in here,” she said. “Very sophisticated.”

“Do you know that Valentine's Day is just a week away?” Anne forked into a salad.

“Yes, Nona and I were just talking about that this morning.”

“How is Nona?”

“She's okay. I mean, she gets blue occasionally, and I've caught her crying a few times. But she's keeping busy. And today her widow ladies are coming over for lunch—Lucille and Esther. That'll be nice for her.”

“That's good. I keep meaning to stop by and visit…but it's been so busy.”

Now Emma told Anne about how their dad was taking secret cooking lessons from Nona. “Don't tell Mom. It's supposed to be a surprise.”

“That's precious. Nona teaching Dad to cook.” Anne laughed. “Too bad Mom doesn't want to learn too.”

They chatted amiably like that for a while and Emma decided that her earlier suspicions were completely unfounded. Anne had simply wanted a sisterly luncheon for them both to catch up. And it was kind of nice not being in a restaurant too. Anne went to get seconds on the turkey and apple salad, pausing by the roses to take a long sniff. “I know these aren't going to last much longer, but they're so pretty. I wonder if I should dry them, you know, for a
keepsake
. Do you think they'd dry nicely?”

“Maybe. You might try hanging them upside down, but don't let them get too wilted before you do.”

“Good idea.” Anne sat back down, looking directly at Emma. “Speaking of the lovely roses…I wanted to talk to you about Lane.”

“Lane…?” Emma poked her fork into her pasta salad.

“Yes. I'd like to have a little heart-to-heart talk.”

“Uh…okay…”

“I know that Lane's been quite friendly to you, Emma. And I think that's very sweet on his part. I just don't want you to get the wrong idea from him. You know what I mean?”

“Not exactly.” Emma took a bite and chewed slowly.

“I mean I understand how Lane is a very attractive bachelor in our small town, Emma. It's only natural that he's caught your eye.” She laughed. “He catches a lot of eyes. And he's such a friendly guy…to everyone…well, it's possible that you've misunderstood his intentions. You know?” Anne peered curiously at her.

“You mean because we did some marketing work together?” Emma said innocently. “Because, don't worry, that was purely business.”

“Yes…I get that.” Anne narrowed her eyes slightly. “I guess I should just get to the point, Emma. Lane has been an important part of my life for some time now. And for Tristan too. Tristan absolutely adores Lane.”

“I know. I saw them together on Saturday. It was obvious that they're close.”

“And so you see, there is something in the works here…something I'd like my sister to respect.” Anne pushed her plate away with a serious expression. “I didn't want to say anything, but Mom mentioned that she had to tell you this same thing, Emma. She was worried that you had misunderstood Lane's friendship with you. She said that she explained that he's on good terms with the
whole
family.” Anne sighed happily and gazed at the roses. “And we all think that's because he is hoping to be
part
of this family. With Valentine's Day just around the corner…well, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Lane decided to take our relationship to the next level, if you know what I mean.”

Emma's appetite vanished as she nodded. “Yes, I think I know exactly what you mean, Anne.”

“I didn't want to be quite this blunt with you,” Anne stood, picking up her plate and carrying it into the nearby kitchen. “But after talking to Mom, well, it just seemed the direct route was the best route. You know?”

Emma stood too, carrying her own plate to the sink. “Thank you for lunch, Anne. And thank you for being so honest with me.”

“So you will respect my boundaries?” Anne locked eyes with her. “And Tristan's?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

Anne smiled. “See, that's just what I told Mom. She was all worked up over nothing.”

Emma took in a deep breath. “I really should go, Anne. I promised to work at the bookstore. It's been busy there with Poppi gone.”

“Yes, yes. I need to get back to the gallery too.” Anne reached out for a hug. “Thanks for being so understanding, sis. I knew you would.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma couldn't think of an honest response that she was comfortable saying. “See ya 'round.”

“And don't forget Tristan on Thursday,” Anne called out as Emma pulled on her jacket. “Those Chamber meetings can run late…maybe even eleven. Is that okay?”

“It's fine.” Emma reached for the door. “See ya.” As Emma left, she felt a plethora of emotions—everything from outrage to betrayal…but mostly she felt hurt. As if her mom and sister had ganged up against her, and it cut to the core.

For the next day and a half,
Emma tucked the conversation with her sister into the recesses of her mind. With so much else going on, it wasn't difficult to be distracted. Between helping Nona and working at the bookstore, her days were fairly full.

“Emma,” Virginia said urgently on Wednesday afternoon. “Can you cover for me tonight? Tom's mother just went into the hospital with a heart attack, I'd really like to go see her, but I'm scheduled here until eight.”

“Why is the store open tonight?” Emma asked.

“It's a book club night,” Virginia explained. “Tonight is men's night.”

“A men's book club?” Emma was surprised.

“Poppi got it going a few years ago.” Virginia was checking her iPhone. “It was slow starting, but it's caught on. About a dozen men are involved.”

“That's wonderful, Virginia. And I'm happy to stick around. Anything I need to know?”

“Not really. The men handle the book club themselves. But with the store lights on, sometimes customers will pop in. And someone might want coffee. But you know how to work the machines now. And if you wouldn't mind cleaning them out before you go home. That's about it.”

Emma assured Virginia she could handle it, then called her mom to be sure that she'd be home with Nona. “Do I need to go home early?” Saundra asked. “Because I'm with a client right now and it could go until sevenish.”

“That's fine,” Emma told her. “Nona already has something for dinner.” She restrained herself from saying that was perfect since her dad was having a cooking lesson tonight. So now she called her dad's cell phone and told him that he could linger longer than usual if he wanted tonight. “Mom won't be there until around seven.”

“Great. Then Nona and I can actually eat my cooking lesson…well, if it's edible.” He sniffed loudly. “It's smelling pretty good though.”

“You're making me hungry,” she told him.

“I'll leave you some leftovers,” he promised.

“Why aren't you part of the men's book club?” she asked.

“You know…I kept thinking I'd get around to it. I promised Poppi I would. I guess I should look into it.”

“Yes,” she urged him. “You should.” Then she thanked him for saving some leftovers and hung up. The bookstore got quiet after Cindy and Virginia were gone. Emma figured everyone was probably home fixing dinner. But the lull in business gave her a chance to tidy things up, and she even put on the Dean Martin CD, humming along as she spruced up the lounge area, where the book club was supposed to be held. A couple of lone men were wandering the store, and she suspected they were part of the group. Possibly they were concerned that Poppi would be missing tonight. Hopefully they wouldn't get discouraged and go home.

Although that seemed unlikely. Especially since the bookstore was so cozy and homey at night. What a lovely way to spend an evening. Perhaps she'd join a book club herself. Remembering that Valentine's Day was around the corner, she decided to treat the men readers to a nice box of chocolates from her Valentine's display. Opening the box, she even put some lace paper doilies beneath it and set it in the center of the coffee table. Perfect.

She was just dropping the plastic wrapper into the trash can when she heard the bell on the front door tinkling. Looking up, she was surprised to see Lane coming in with a bag in his hand. “Emma!” he exclaimed happily. “I didn't expect to see you here tonight.” He came over and set the bag down. “You joining the men's book club?”

She laughed. “No. But I was thinking I might join the women's club. Or perhaps even start up a mixed group club, if no one's done that yet.”

He grinned as he unzipped his parka. “That sounds like fun. I know I'd come.”

“So are you part of the men's book club?”

He nodded. “Yep. And with Poppi gone, I thought I'd even offer to lead it tonight. Unless someone else steps up.”

“So Poppi led it?” she asked sadly.

He hung his coat over the back of a chair. “Yeah…and he's pretty much irreplaceable. But hopefully we can slog through without him.” He pointed to the chocolates. “You do that?”

“Yeah. You know, since it's almost Valentine's Day. Seemed kind of appropriate.”

He set a book on the table and she peered down to see. “
Phantom of the Opera
?” she asked in surprise. “Really? Is that your book tonight?”

“Poppi insisted on a romance book for Valentine's Day,” Lane said.

“Kind of a strange romance, don't you think?”

“I wasn't too sure about it at first. And the guys did some whining and complaining last month, but Poppi promised that there would be some action and intrigue. And he was right. It was a good book. I enjoyed it.” Lane was unloading some things from his grocery bag: a prepared cheese plate and box of crackers, as well as a veggie plate and a plate of heart-shaped cookies with red and pink sprinkles.

“Very festive,” she told him. “Does the men's group always get such fine treatment, or is this just for Valentine's Day?”

“The guys come here expecting some goodies. Poppi had them trained.” He folded the grocery bag, tucking it under his arm as she removed lids and things from the food. “But Poppi usually provided it, and it was always much better than this since he and Nona did the cooking.” Lane looked uncertain. “You think this will be okay?”

“I think it's perfect.”

“Well, not quite perfect. We still need to open a bottle of red wine and get the glasses, napkins, and plates.”

“Can I help?”

He gave her a grateful smile. “I was hoping you would.”

As they walked to the back room together, she felt her heart doing its little flip-flop routine again. Why did he do that to her? Now she was assaulted by a rush of guilt as she remembered Anne's heart-to-heart talk the other day. But it's not like Emma was initiating anything. Was she? Still, just recalling her sister's words was painful. And confusing.

“I can't believe I'm feeling nervous about tonight,” Lane said as they carried the things back to the lounge area.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll do fine.”

“I don't know about that.” He set a couple of opened bottles on the table. “Your grandfather is a hard act to follow.”

“He did love his books,” Emma admitted as she set the plastic cups on the table. “It was how he perfected his English.”

“I know. He was extremely well read, and his vocabulary was impressive.”

“Nona always felt like Poppi had the advantage over her.” Emma laid the napkins out in a little fan design. “Because Poppi's father was a Lutheran pastor.”

“I know,” he said again. “I was a bit surprised to hear that. You usually assume all Italians are Catholic.” He stepped back to view the table, nodding with satisfaction.

“Yeah, just having the name Burcelli, I've explained quite a few times why I'm not Catholic.”

“Poppi told me about the persecution his family suffered during World War II because of their religious beliefs. I never realized that was going on.”

“What's that?” Emma was surprised.

“Didn't he tell you?”

“About being persecuted?” She shook her head. “No. I realize many of his relatives, including his father, died in the war. But he never spoke of it much.”

“They were hard stories to speak of…but Protestants in Italy were not very popular. And Lutherans in his town, after the war, were associated with Nazis.”

“Really? He told you that?”

“I think he needed to talk.”

She was trying to absorb this—her grandfather's family had been persecuted for their religion. It just seemed so strange…and strange that she'd never heard about it. “But I remember hearing stories about how Poppi's parents tried to help and protect Jewish friends. They got a number of Jewish families safely over here.”

“Yes…but apparently the Burcellis had enemies just the same. Some people choose to hate simply because of differences.”

“That's so sad.”

The bell on the door tinkled now. “Ahhh.” Lane waved to the two men coming into the store. “The fun is about to begin.”

“I'll get out of here,” she said. “I'm sure they don't want to see a woman around.”

“Don't worry.” He winked. “Once the men get to talking, they're pretty oblivious as to who is listening.”

Just the same, Emma busied herself behind the coffee counter. She had noticed that the entire area looked due for a good scrub-down, and since there didn't seem to be any other customers in the store, she decided to attack it. However, since the lounge was nearby, it wasn't difficult to overhear parts of the conversation. To her amusement, there were mixed feelings about the book and some of its characters. About midway through the discussion, and after the coffee machines and counters were clean, she sat down on the stool and, pretending to be reading on her iPad, she listened.

“Erik was a disingenuous bully,” a man declared. “Someone should have killed him the first time he kidnapped Christine.”

“And then there'd be no story,” Lane pointed out.

“Erik wasn't disingenuous,” an older man argued. “He made it perfectly clear that he loved Christine and would do anything to win her.”

“Including holding her against her will, even though he knew she loved Raoul?”

“But Raoul was a wimp,” a young man said.

“Was he weak or was he just trying to be understanding?” Lane asked.

“That's right. Raoul knew that Christine cared for Erik.”

“And don't forget Erik helped her with her career.”

“But that doesn't make him a hero,” the young man said.

“And forcing her to marry him—that was all wrong.”

“He didn't force her,” Lane said.

“Well, he coerced her. And she was willing to marry him, out of pity.”

“Poppi thought this was a love story,” Lane said evenly. “What do you guys think—is it about love?”

“It's a story about unrequited love,” an older man said. “But not true love.”

“But Erik truly loved Christine,” someone said.

“Did he love her? Or did he just want to own her?” Lane asked.

“And what about Raoul? He loved her too. In the end, it's Raoul who gets her. Is that the love story?”

They kicked this around for a while, and it was amusing hearing men talking about love and romance. In some ways they seemed even more candid than women might be. Or perhaps it was the wine talking. Several bottles were opened now.

“You know what I think,” Lane said with finality, and Emma's ears perked up to listen. “I think that every woman has a phantom in her closet.”

The men laughed and made a few jokes.

“What do you mean?” the young man asked.

“Well, maybe not
every
woman,” Lane clarified. “And to be fair, let's not limit my statement to women. I think most people have a phantom in their closet.”

“Can you please explain that,” the older man said.

“Think about it…have any of you had someone who has loved or admired or even been obsessed over you? At any time in your life?”

It was quiet for a bit, but then most of them chimed in, admitting that was true. “And it feels rather flattering to be the object of someone's affection, doesn't it?”

Again they agreed.

“And don't you think most people dream of loving and being loved like that?”

Again they agreed.

“But what if the illusion of the phantom kept people from risking themselves because they were afraid they wouldn't experience the measure of love and romance that they so desperately longed for? What if they closed the door to love?”

“Is that what the story was about?” someone asked.

“I don't know for sure,” Lane admitted. Now he laughed. “I guess I was just hoping to come up with a great line…the way that Poppi used to do.”

“Well, that was pretty good,” someone said.

“And I know people like that,” the young man added. “I won't name names, but I have a female friend with a phantom in her closet.”

They laughed and made light of this. But as Emma considered Lane's words, she couldn't help but wonder if they were aimed at her. Although it was ridiculous, not to mention narcissistic, since he couldn't even see her where she was sitting tucked away behind the cappuccino machine.

Eventually the meeting broke up, and after the last of them left, she went out to help Lane clean up. “Sounds like you guys had a fun evening,” she said as she gathered up paper plates and napkins, dropping them into the plastic trash bag she'd brought out.

“Were you listening?”

“Some of the time. But I didn't hear everything.”

Lane held up a bottle of wine. “There's a couple glasses left in here. Want to finish it off?”

“Unless you've already had too many.” She peered curiously at him. “You have to drive, you know.”

He laughed as he filled a plastic cup. “Don't worry. I limited myself to one. I wanted to stay on top of things as the leader tonight.” He handed it to her.

“Did they like having you as leader?”

“They seemed to…although I couldn't begin to replace Poppi.” He filled his own glass then held it up to her. “To Poppi?”

She nodded, touching the plastic cup to his. “To Poppi. I think he would be proud at the way you handled the book group tonight.”

They sat down and she asked him some more questions about the Burcelli family history in Italy, listening and sipping her wine as he told her some of the stories Poppi had told him. “As sad as those things were,” he finally said, “it's a wonder that Poppi was such an eternal optimist.”

“But he was, wasn't he?” She smiled to remember her grandfather.