The House on Honeysuckle Lane (10 page)

C
HAPTER
16

I
t was almost ten o'clock and Andie, Daniel, and Anna Maria were in the kitchen at the house on Honeysuckle Lane. Emma was still out, probably, Andie guessed, paying a visit to one of the real estate agents on Daniel's short list as she had promised to do that morning after breakfast with Maureen.

Her brother and sister-in-law had come by unannounced not long before. After a glance at the contents of the fridge, Daniel had made a call on his iPhone and was still busy with the call several minutes later.

Anna Maria lifted the empty press pot from the table. “Do you want more coffee?” she asked Andie.

“You shouldn't be waiting on me,” Andie scolded. “And no, I've had enough coffee, thanks. And two of your croissants, which are even better than those they sell at Cookies 'n Crumpets. Where did you learn to make them so perfectly flaky?”

“Daniel taught me, of course.” Anna Maria lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Don't tell him I said this, but the student has surpassed the teacher.”

“Who's Danny on the phone with? One of your staff?” Though Andie wasn't consciously listening, she had caught a few words that made her assume the call was related to Savories and Seasonings.

Just then, Daniel ended his call and joined the women at the table. “Bob said he could do the party at the Branley Estate,” he told them.

“Bob's working for you?” Andie asked. “But he's on disability. It was that awful injury to his knee that forced him to sell the plumbing business. He shouldn't be carrying heavy trays of food and wine.”

Daniel shrugged. “He needs the money. He does what it takes.”

“Bob's careful, Andie,” Anna Maria assured her. “And he wears a brace on the bad knee.”

Andie knew all about the brace; she and Bob corresponded weekly. But she wondered if Daniel or Anna Maria knew that, or if they knew that she regularly sent money to Bob for Rumi's care and education. It wasn't information she would offer, but Bob might have mentioned it in passing to her brother.

“You know,” Daniel said, “you really treated Bob pretty badly all those years ago. And he was never anything but good to you.”

Andie felt as if she had been hit in the stomach. What was the term? Sucker punched. She saw Anna Maria gave her husband a look of warning. “Daniel . . .” her sister-in-law began.

“What?” he said. “It's true.”

“It was better for Bob, too,” Andie said quietly, “that our marriage end.”

Daniel laughed in undisguised disbelief. “How can you say that? How could you have known that for sure? He was a wreck when you walked out. He loved you.”

I shouldn't continue this conversation,
Andie thought.
This is wrong.
But she found herself replying. “I'm sorry for hurting him, really. But I—”

“Did you even love him when you married him?” Daniel demanded.

“This is ancient history,” Anna Maria said firmly. “Can't we talk about something more happy, something in the spirit of the holiday, like the kids' pageant?”

Daniel shook his head. “I want to hear what Andie has to say.”

“I did love him,” Andie said carefully. “You don't marry someone you don't love.”

“Well, all I know is that he didn't deserve to be dumped like that.”

Anna Maria turned to her, and Andie saw the unhappiness in her eyes. “Andie,” she said, “don't let your brother paint you a picture of Bob as someone who needs your pity. He's done just fine for himself. He's not unhappy.”

I know that better than anyone,
Andie thought. Still, she smiled gratefully at her sister-in-law.

Daniel frowned. “I have to go. There's a crate of vegetables that needs to be picked up from Kramer's Farm and then a case of wine from the liquor store.”

He didn't offer a farewell to either woman, and when he was gone they were silent for a long moment. Andie thought about what anyone
deserved
in this life, good or bad. And she wondered if anyone ever had a right to decide what another person did or did not deserve. Daniel was only a teen when her marriage with Bob ended; he had been and still was in no position to judge her.

Suddenly, Andie felt Anna Maria's hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes,” Anna Maria said quietly, “he gets overly protective of the people he loves. And I'm sorry about what he said to you at dinner last night, that nonsense about low self-esteem. I should have apologized to you before now.”

“What Danny says is not your responsibility,” Andie replied. “But I'm sorry it made you feel uncomfortable. Danny shouldn't sit in moral judgment on people. Especially when he doesn't know all the circumstances around the decisions they made. When he doesn‘t know what was in their heart.”

“You're right,” Anna Maria said. “He shouldn't, and it's not really like him to . . .” Anna Maria took her hand from Andie's shoulder. “Can I help you sort through this massive box of old school papers Daniel wants taken care of?” she asked.

What Daniel wants . . .
“That's all right, Anna Maria,” Andie said. “You have enough to do without having to waste your time looking at bad penmanship and old math lessons.”

Anna Maria smiled. “I do have to do some prep for a gig before the kids get home from school. Chickens don't debone themselves.”

Andie resisted the urge to wince and wished Anna Maria a good day. When her sister-in-law had gone Andie continued to sit at the kitchen table, box of childhood notebooks and spelling tests untouched.
This is not going to be an easy visit to get through,
she thought.
It will be a time to be endured and survived.
But she had been expecting nothing good nor bad, had made no assumptions about what she would find. She had thought she was ready to accept what
was
. But sometimes, Andie realized sadly, she thought wrong.

C
HAPTER
17

“W
hy did Mom keep this old schoolwork?” Emma said, laughing. “I suppose I could understand her wanting to keep the A papers and the ‘Great Work!' reports, but look.” She held up a yellowed piece of lined paper. “Here's one of my third-grade essays covered in red corrections.”

“Not an A effort?” Andie asked. It was later that afternoon and the two sisters were in the den, tending to the contents of the house as they had been instructed to do.

“More like a C.” Emma tore the paper in two and dropped it into the small metal trash can that sat by their father's old writing table.

Andie shook her head and peered again into the long white envelope she held.

“What's that?” Emma asked.

“Coupons. I found them in a kitchen drawer and they're all wildly out of date. What's Daniel been saving them for?”

“Maybe he just didn't notice them. Or maybe . . .” Emma shrugged.

“Whatever the reason,” Andie said, “they're going right into the recycling bin.”

“I don't think Mom recycled,” Emma pointed out. “At least, not that I know of.”

The doorbell rang then and Emma went to answer it. Rumi stood on the doorstep, dressed in jeans, a nubby blue sweater, and a lightweight puffy jacket. A backpack was slung over her right shoulder.

“Hi,” she said. “I just came by to pick up a scarf I left here the other night. At least, I think I might have left it here. I can't find it.”

It seemed a flimsy reason for stopping by, but all Emma said was, “Sure, come on in.”

Emma led the way to the den, where Rumi dropped her backpack onto the floor. “It's a mess in here,” she said. “There are like, papers everywhere.”

Andie smiled. “Grandma seems to have been a bit of a pack rat. What brings you by? Come to help us sort through table linens and old spelling tests?”

“No.” Rumi shrugged. “I just stopped by to see if I left a scarf here.”

“I haven't seen a stray scarf. What color is it?” Andie asked.

“Um, red?” Rumi said, a question in her tone. “But maybe I didn't leave it here after all.”

There is no scarf,
Emma thought.
Rumi just wanted to see her mother
.
And hopefully, not to antagonize her.
“Is that another of your necklaces?” Emma asked her niece.

“Yeah,” Rumi said, putting her hand to her chest. “I just finished it last night.”

“What's the stone?” Emma asked. “It's beautiful. It's almost psychedelic.”

“Labradorite,” Rumi told her. “I think it's my favorite stone. It helps you to connect to your subconscious and it also protects you from other people's negative energy. And some people say—”

“Some people say what?” Andie asked.

“Nothing.” Rumi turned to Emma. “Why isn't Ian here with you?” she asked. “He always comes with you for the holidays.”

“We broke up,” Emma told her. “Well, I ended things.”

“Oh. Sorry. I liked him. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Emma said. “Thanks. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Rumi shrugged. “No. There was a guy I sort of liked last summer, but nothing came of it. And right now I'm so busy with school and work I don't even have time to think about having a boyfriend.” Rumi looked to her mother. “No need to ask Mom if she's involved with someone.”

“I'm still happily and contentedly on my own,” Andie said.

Rumi picked up a shallow green marble bowl that Emma remembered had once been used for an ashtray, many, many years ago when people routinely smoked inside their homes or the homes of their hosts.

“I wish Dad would meet someone,” Rumi said, turning the bowl over to peer at the underside. “He says he's fine on his own, but I don't believe him. I don't think he's been on three dates since he and Rita got divorced, and that was years ago.”

“ ‘Each drop of my blood cries out to the earth. We are partners, blended as one.' ”

Rumi looked quizzically at her mother. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean that maybe your father would rather wait until he recognizes his partner than waste time on dating women he knows not to be ‘the one.' ”

Rumi didn't reply; she returned the marble bowl to the end table and flipped open the cover of the art book sitting there.

“Relationships take work,” Emma added. “And they can be fragile. And sometimes, they just shouldn't be in the first place.”

Rumi abruptly turned around. “Like the relationship between Grandma and her first fiancé, the one she broke up with to be with Grandpa. Obviously that relationship wasn't meant to be, because she and Grandpa were so happy together. Besides, she told me she never had any regrets, not even for one minute.”

“What?” Emma turned to her sister. “Mom actually broke an engagement?”

Andie shrugged. “This is the first I'm hearing of it.”

“You mean you guys didn't know?” Rumi said, eyes wide. “Wow.”

“So, who was this man?” Emma asked. “I have to tell you I'm absolutely stunned.”

Rumi shrugged. “Grandma didn't tell me his name. What she said was that after college she was staying with an aunt and uncle in DC, and it was their job to introduce her to the right sort of man, someone from her social set, someone who would make a suitable husband. So they did, and the guy asked Grandma to marry him and she said yes. And then, she met Grandpa.”

“And we know about
that
,” Andie said.
“
Mom and Dad talked about it all the time—that fateful meeting, they called it, two strangers meeting on a city bus, of all places, and falling instantly in love. But they never once mentioned the fact that Mom was already engaged when it happened!”

“Why would she keep it a secret from her own children?” Emma asked. “When did you learn this, Rumi?”

Rumi shrugged again. “About a year before Grandma died, I guess. She told me she'd been dreaming about him—the guy she dumped. She told me that in the dreams she'd be apologizing to him for breaking things up and that he wouldn't look at her. When she tried to touch him he'd turn away. Stuff like that. I told her she shouldn't think about it, that it was all so long ago he'd probably forgotten about her.”

“Rumi!” Emma said.

“I didn't say it to be mean!” Rumi protested. “I just didn't like to see Grandma upset about something she couldn't change. For all she knew the guy might have been super happy without her. But as people get older they get haunted by the past, don't they? They can't let go of it. I remember in the last year of his life Grandpa was always talking about how good he was at baseball when he was a kid, but how his parents didn't have the money to pay for a uniform and stuff, so he couldn't play on the school's team. I must have heard that story thousands of times. Well, maybe hundreds.”

The past
, Emma thought.
How it does prey on us . . .

“I suppose Mom gave back the ring,” Andie said. “It wouldn't be like her not to.”

“She tried to give it back,” Rumi told them. “But the guy wouldn't take it. He said he still loved her and wanted her to have it.”

“Wow.” Emma shook her head. “Two men madly in love with Caroline Carlyle. Mom, the most respectable woman who ever lived, the third point of a love triangle.”

“Well, she
was
beautiful,” Rumi pointed out.

“Yes,” Emma agreed. “She was. I wonder what ever happened to the ring.”

“Oh, I know that, too. She knew it would be rude to Grandpa to keep another man's ring. So she asked her parents to auction it off for their favorite charity.” Rumi frowned. “It was something to do with horses, a sort of retirement or rescue home, somewhere outside Boston.”

“I'm still having a hard time processing the fact that my mother told you so much about her personal life, Rumi.” Emma smiled a bit. “I think I'm jealous.”

“Grandma and I told each other lots of stuff,” Rumi said. “We were close. More like . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Emma winced. It was obvious what Rumi had been about to say. “More like mother and daughter.” Andie
must
have heard the remark, but she gave no outward indication that she had. Instead, her sister asked brightly, “Do you ever think about pursuing your jewelry making, Rumi? I know the other night you said it's not important and you just make pieces for fun, but I think you might really make a mark with it. It's clear you have an artistic eye.”

Rumi laughed. “No thanks. It's just a silly hobby. I'm sticking to a career in dental hygiene. Grandpa always said it's smart to have a steady job. And the last thing I want is to have to depend on other people to take care of me.”

Like Mom and Dad took care of Andie and Rumi after the divorce.
Emma wondered if this was yet another thinly veiled barb Rumi intended for her mother. But if it was, Andie again seemed unaffected by Rumi's words.

Andie turned back to her daughter. “Well, try not to give up on a creative activity that brings you pleasure. The making of art is so important for a balanced life.”

“Maybe,” Rumi said, pulling her cell phone from her pocket. “Yikes, I have to go. I'm doing the dinner shift at the Angry Squire and the wait staff gets a meal around four. My friend told me we're getting lamb chops tonight, and I'm totally psyched.”

“Enjoy it,” Emma said.

“I will. I totally love lamb.” And then she colored, ever so slightly. “Sorry, Mom,” she said. “I didn't mean . . .”

Andie laughed. “No worries. Be careful driving. And I'll keep an eye out for your scarf.”

“What? Oh,” Rumi said. “Right. My scarf. Thanks.”

Rumi said her farewell, leaving the Reynolds sisters alone again.

Emma sank into the big armchair her father had loved. “Mom was only in her midsixties when she died. These days that's ridiculously young. It makes you think. There's never any time to waste and yet all of us do it.”

“Mom seemed older than her years, didn't she?” Andie asked thoughtfully. “After Dad died she seemed to age overnight. She wasted away, lost the will to live.”

Emma nodded. “A prolonged death from a broken heart. I know that sounds dramatic, downright Victorian even, but now more than ever I think that's what really did Mom in. Andie? Do you think Danny knows about Mom's first engagement?”

“No idea. But I don't want to be the one to tell him.”

“Me, neither. I have a feeling it wouldn't sit well with him. I think Danny always saw Mom as some sort of perfect shining creature, someone a bit above the rest of us ordinary mortals. But maybe I'm wrong.”

“No. I suspect you're right about that.” Andie sighed. “It's odd. Mom assumed she had a right to know every little thing about me. About us all. And here she was, keeping this huge secret.”

Emma shrugged. “All mothers assume they have complete rights to their kids. Even when they know they don't, not really, they still can't help but presume. Perfectly normal, I'd say.”

“Maybe it's normal, but I don't like it. I've never felt I had the right to know every detail of Rumi's life. I truly value a person's ‘space,' to use a tired old expression. I know it can read at times as lack of concern, but it's not at all. It's respect.”

“I know,” Emma assured her sister. “I never thought you didn't care, Andie.”

“Thanks. You know, I guess it's not really a big surprise, Mom breaking off her first engagement to marry Dad. They were so obviously mad about each other. But why tell Rumi and not one of us?”

Emma thought about the question for a moment. “Because Rumi would have less emotional stake in the knowledge?” she suggested. “Mom guessed that Rumi wasn't going to react like we would have, demanding to know why she hadn't told us about it before.”

“Maybe.” Andie shook her head. “I wonder who he was. I wonder if he's still alive. Rumi didn't say if he was much older than Mom, but he might have been. I wonder if he's been carrying a torch for Caroline Carlyle all these years or if he's been happily married. Anyway, maybe Mom was ashamed of what she did and wanted to keep it all a secret. And then, when she knew the end was near and that it didn't matter anymore what she'd done forty years in the past, she decided she could safely tell someone and Rumi was an obvious choice. She was
there
.”

“I wonder what Mom's parents thought about her breaking her first engagement,” Emma said. “I can't believe they were happy about it, not the William and Martha Carlyle we knew, however slightly. And yet they treated Dad well enough. And I never heard Dad say anything against them, not that he would in our hearing.”

“I guess the Carlyle clan saw Dad's real worth,” Andie said, “just like Mom did. Dad was pretty hard to resist.”

“He was.” Emma sighed. “It must have taken Mom a lot of courage to defy her parents by choosing her own husband, and someone not at all from her social set.”

Andie laughed. “Here I was thinking my mother was a woman who excelled at the expected—which of course she did—when she was really so much more. She was a person who stood up for what she wanted.”

“And for what she believed in. Remember the time in high school when my English teacher told us to choose a novel to read over the Christmas vacation and I chose
A Clockwork Orange
? Ms. Tobin told me I had to choose another book because
A Clockwork Orange
was too mature for me.”