The House on Honeysuckle Lane (8 page)

C
HAPTER
12

“R
umi.” Andie smiled and enfolded her daughter in a hug.

“It's so good to see you.”

Rumi put her arms around her mother for about a second before she pulled away. “It's been a while,” she said, not quite meeting her mother's eye.

“Yes,” Andie said, closing the front door. “It has. You look well.”

Rumi shrugged. “I'm okay.” She turned then to greet Emma, with, Andie saw, a lot more enthusiasm than she had shown her mother. Sophia and Marco then gathered around their cousin, each vying for her attention, Sophia with a braided bracelet to present to her, Marco holding up his finger to show Rumi a new blister. Rumi told Sophia the bracelet was awesome and squealed in mock horror over Marco's blister, which was exactly the response he seemed to have wanted. It was good to see her daughter so loved and appreciated by her family. Andie remembered what Daniel had told her about Rumi's determination to keep Caro's George Bullock Regency desk in the family. The Family. It mattered differently to mother and daughter, Andie mused. But that was all right. Rumi was her own person, not meant to be a clone of either parent.

“I'm starved, Uncle Daniel,” Rumi said, linking her arm in his. “What's for dinner?”

“Come help me put it out,” he said, “and you'll see.” Together they headed toward the kitchen.

Emma had set the large dining room table with their mother's everyday dishes, still finer than Andie's own serviceable crockery, and now they took their seats, Daniel at one end, where his father had sat, Anna Maria on his right, Rumi on his left. No one, Andie noted, sat in what had been Caro's place, opposite Daniel.

Daniel had prepared a pork roast with apples and onions, roasted potatoes, and a salad of winter vegetables. Andie brought her own meal to the table, a hearty homemade ratatouille over brown rice.

“My mother always has to be different,” Rumi announced. “If suddenly we all went vegetarian she'd be chowing down on a turkey leg before you could say ‘pass the gravy.' ”

Daniel laughed, but he was the only one. Andie pretended not to have heard her daughter's remark. “That's a beautiful necklace you're wearing,” she said to Rumi. “Is the center stone an amazonite?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Did you get the necklace in town?” Andie asked.

“Actually,” Rumi said, fingering the stone, “I made it.”

“Really?” Emma said. “I didn't know you were interested in crafts and design.”

Rumi shrugged. “I'm not. I just like jewelry.”

“So do I!” Sophia piped. “Someday I'm gonna have lots.”

“I do some beadwork,” Andie said, smiling at her niece. “And sometimes I embroider, nothing fancy, things my friends and I use in our daily lives. I find that making something by hand is a good way to open my mind to a larger creative energy. As my favorite poet and prophet says, music, poetry, and dance—all of the arts, really—are a path for reaching God.”

“It's not like that for me,” Rumi said quickly. “I just do it for fun. It's not like it's important, not like studying to be a dental hygienist.” Then she laughed and looked around the table. “I'm not like Mom, always needing to be in the spotlight. I just want to do my job, get paid for it, and come home at the end of the day.”

Andie, aware that she had been insulted, but unwilling to argue her daughter's completely untrue remark, simply smiled.

Daniel took a sip of wine and then carefully sat his glass at the top of his plate. Looking at no one in particular, he said, “They say that people who are insecure need a lot of attention from others.”

Andie's hand tightened on her fork. But before she could respond to her brother's pointed remark, her sister spoke up.

“They say that, do they?” Emma said, arching her brows. “Well, maybe
they
are right after all. I seem to remember more than one occasion where you, Danny, threw a bit of a tantrum when you thought Mom or Dad or even Andie and I weren't paying enough attention to you.” Emma turned to her sister and smiled. “Do you remember the time he dropped to the floor and began kicking his feet because Dad didn't look up from the newspaper fast enough when Danny wanted to show him a drawing he'd made? And the time he threatened to hold his breath ‘forever' because Mom didn't notice he'd put his own cereal bowl in the dishwasher?”

Andie, not one to enjoy laughter at the expense of another person, was nevertheless grateful for Emma's deft intervention. She smiled as Sophia and Marco hooted with laughter, oblivious to their father's frown.

“Oh, Danny,” Emma said, “don't take yourself so seriously.”

Anna Maria, Andie saw, seemed too busy with her meal to get involved with a sibling tussle. Either that or she was simply being smart. Rumi's expression was hard to read; Andie realized she wouldn't be surprised if Rumi suddenly flew to her uncle's defense. To forestall further unpleasantness, Andie cleared her throat and raised her glass. “I'd like to offer a toast,” she said.

Daniel was the next to raise his glass. “All right,” he said. “To what?”

“To us. To the family. To being here together for Christmas.”

The others echoed, Rumi and Daniel loudest in their cries of “Hear, hear!”

To herself, Andie repeated this very important bit of wisdom: “Resolutely train yourself to attain peace.”

C
HAPTER
13

A
fter dinner had been eaten, the dishes put into the dishwasher, the knives (Daniel's personal set) washed and carefully stowed in their traveling case, and the pots washed, Emma retreated to her parents' bedroom where she now sat propped up in their king-sized bed. The carved frame was made of walnut and must have cost a small fortune, especially for a newly wed couple. Then again, maybe Caro's family had helped with the purchase.

Emma was trying to concentrate on one of the books she had loaded into her Kindle, a biography of the fascinating Frida Kahlo, but her mind wouldn't behave. It kept wandering back to dinner, hearing Rumi's insulting remarks about her mother, watching in retrospect Daniel's whispered asides to his niece. Really, she thought, Daniel was too much of a conspirator with Rumi, encouraging her borderline disrespectful attitude. It annoyed her, but she felt she had no right to intervene—well, except in the rather childish way she had at dinner. Still, she wished
someone
would step in to help mother and daughter get past this difficulty that seemed to have suddenly sprung up. As far as she knew there had never been trouble between them in the past.

Emma wondered what Anna Maria felt about the situation. She was an emotionally astute woman; at the same time, one who refrained from interfering where her help might not be welcome. Maybe now was a time that Anna Maria
should
interfere, Emma thought. If Daniel would listen to anyone it would be his wife.

“Knock knock.”

Andie was standing in the open doorway wearing a voluminous caftan-style garment in a swirling blue and green pattern. “Come in,” Emma said, patting the mattress. “Join me.”

Andie got into the bed and settled next to her sister. “I could never stay in here,” she said, glancing around the room. “Too many memories, like how I would climb up and wiggle down between Mom and Dad when I had a nightmare.” Andie laughed. “Mom always told me I was being silly and took me right back to my own bed.”

“I don't feel that way,” Emma told her. “About the memories. Now that Mom and Dad are gone . . . Well, to me the room feels almost neutral. Free of memories, if that makes sense.”

Andie nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It makes sense. Just not for me.”

“Besides,” Emma went on, “I couldn't bear to stay in my old room, not after all the times Ian shared it with me over the years. Don't get me wrong; I'm not at all sorry I broke up with him. It's just that I don't need any reminders of Ian Hayes under the family roof. That part of my life is over. He's been texting and calling me nonstop, by the way.”

“What does he have to say?” Andie asked.

“Things like, ‘Hope you're having a good time with the family, ' and ‘How's Danny's business?' and ‘Did Andie get there safely?' Nothing weird but . . .”

“Hmm. You told me once he has no family of his own, right?”

“Right.”

“Well,” Andie said, “
we've
become his family over time. It's normal he'd be reluctant to cut all ties so cleanly. He's in denial. Be patient with him, Emma.”

“I'm trying to be,” Emma told her sister. “But I don't want to give him false hope by being too friendly.”

“I'm sorry to say that's not something you can entirely control. Right now he'll interpret whatever you say or don't say to mean what he needs it to mean.”

Emma sighed. “You're right. Well, I guess I'll just take it day by day. Maybe Ian will meet someone at a holiday party and fall madly in love and forget I ever existed.”

Andie laughed. “Dream on.”

The sisters were quiet for a time, side by side, peaceful in each other's company, each alone with her thoughts. Emma's mind again wandered back to her brother and his strange behavior toward Andie. She was sure their mother would not have approved, although, Emma thought, Caro probably would have guessed at and understood her son's underlying motives, as odd as they might be. Caro Reynolds had always had a strong connection with her youngest child.

In fact, that was probably the reason Caro had chosen Daniel to take over from her as trustee of the estate about a year before she passed, when she no longer felt capable of handling it properly. As trustee, Daniel, with the counsel of the family's lawyer, Deb Buchanan, and with the advice of the family's accountant, Joe Herbert, had taken on a great deal of responsibility. It had been his job to ensure that there would be enough money for Caro Reynolds to live comfortably for as long as she was going to live. It was also Daniel's responsibility to manage any residual income from Cliff's accounting firm and from retirement accounts; if there had been any debts, it would have been Daniel's job to handle those as well. In short, Emma thought, as trustee, Daniel had been quite literally the Protector of the Family.

At first Emma had been a little hurt by her mother's choosing Daniel over her, a financial professional. Maybe, she had thought, Caro was still holding a grudge against her for not having accepted her father's offer of sharing the business. But Emma had soon let go of the hurt; she was busy enough with her own life, and as long as her brother did a good job caring for the trust, she was content.

“What have you been thinking about?” Andie asked, breaking the long silence. “You've been frowning.”

“I have? I was just thinking about Mom having chosen Daniel as trustee of the estate after Dad died,” she said. “It seemed an odd choice at first but . . .” She shrugged.

Andie turned to her sister. “Daniel is trustee? Why didn't anyone tell me?” she asked.

“You should have gotten a notice from Deb Buchanan. I did. Mom didn't feel she could handle the finances on her own anymore.”

“Well, I do tend to just file papers regarding the estate. And by file I mean stuff them into a drawer unread.” Andie paused. “You know, I wonder if Danny's being appointed trustee plays a part in his assumption of the role of patriarch. The lists, the inventories.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Emma said with a laugh. “You wouldn't have wanted that role, would you? Matriarch?”

“No, not at all,” Andie said firmly. “I just never thought about Mom's feeling unable to handle her affairs. She always seemed to me to be absurdly competent. Of course, when she died I hadn't seen her for almost a year. I had no idea how quickly she was failing.”

“Didn't Danny keep you updated?” Emma asked. “He sent me daily dispatches about Mom's condition, even when there wasn't anything new to tell.”

Andie smiled ruefully. “Obviously not as often or as accurately as he did you.”

“Well, I have to say that Danny did an excellent job of protecting Mom's assets. She was never in need, and now there's money for those of us still here.”

“Whether we want it or not.”

Emma smiled. “Be that as it may, Dad would have been proud of his son. Andie? Did you find it odd that Joe Herbert delivered Dad's eulogy?”

“I guess a little,” Andie admitted. “I assumed Mom would ask one of us.”

“She told me that Dad had requested Joe. Honestly, I would have liked to be the one to speak in Dad's memory. I couldn't help but wonder if he ever forgave me for choosing to move away and start my own business.”

Andie put her arm around her sister. “Poor Emma. I know that Dad forgave you, as if there was anything to forgive. I'm sure he was disappointed, but that's all.”

“I suppose you're right. But it hurt a bit that it was Joe standing there and not me, or even you or Danny.”

“Still,” Andie pointed out, “Dad got the tribute he deserved, and that's what really matters.”

“You're right about that, too. Joe did a great job, probably better than I could have done. In the last ten or fifteen years of Dad's life it was Joe, not me, who knew him best. Next to Mom, of course.”

“You had a life to lead, Emma. Don't waste time on regrets.” Andie took her arm from around her sister's shoulders and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Well, I need to get some sleep,” she said.

“How's the couch working out for you?” Emma asked.

Andie smiled. “I've slept on worse.”

Emma listened to her sister's footsteps descending the stairs until she heard the sound of the door to the den gently closing. She turned off the bedside lamp, slid down under the covers, and stared into the darkened room. And she thought back to that moment in the den when the idea of buying her parents' house had first occurred to her.

She wasn't a stupid or a reckless woman. She believed that the time for a big change was now, before she started to feel that she was simply too tired to stage a revolution in her life. She had shed Ian and that was a good thing, a step forward into her future. But what exactly came next? The old blueprint she had created for her life needed to be replaced by one to better fit her needs going forward—whatever they might be exactly.

To detach from old habits that had led her to this point in her life, without love. Could that be it; could that be her goal? Except for a few sociable colleagues, her circle of friends in Annapolis was primarily made up of people she had met through Ian. While they were nice, intelligent, and successful, she had come to realize that she wouldn't miss spending time with any of them, whether she stayed in Annapolis or not. The truth was she had always been a fairly private person, not big on making friends. Except, that is, for Maureen Kline, her old school friend. In fact, they had made plans to meet the next morning.

Emma hadn't seen Maureen since Rumi's party, but they weren't the kind of friends who needed regular face time to feel bonded. Whenever she did see Maureen, even if it was after a full year apart, she felt as if they had been together but a moment before. Still, it would be nice to spend more time with her, sharing one of the massive cinnamon buns at Cookies 'n Crumpets, window shopping at the absurdly high end jewelry store in Lawrenceville, or indulging in a martini at the Angry Squire. Maureen's friendship certainly added a strong attraction to the idea of coming home to Oliver's Well.

But it was just an idea, and often ideas never came to fruition. Emma turned on her side and settled into the ever-comforting fetal position. Before long, she was sound asleep.