A Christmas to Remember (15 page)

“Your mother seems like a lovely woman. But whether she likes me or not is fairly…irrelevant.” Lillian turned to face him. “We’ve been having a nice time the last few days, but that’s all there is, Oliver. I’m sorry. It’s just…just a little affair. Can you think of it that way?”

Oliver laughed. “I would be happy to show you what a little affair is, Lillian, but you’re not that type of girl. You’re the kind a man marries. If he’s lucky. I would marry you in an instant. I would marry you tomorrow,” he insisted.

“You know that’s not true,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest and gazing out at the rolling meadow and blue sea and sky above it. “Why even say it? Are you trying to shock me?”

“It is true. Maybe if I say it enough, you won’t be shocked anymore.”

Lillian didn’t answer. It was hard to keep his words from affecting her. He sounded so sure, so confident, so sincere. She knew it was all an act to win her over. Still, it confused her. She had feelings for him, strong feelings, but so far, she had been able to keep them under control.

Oliver put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “I love you, Lily. I know it seems fast, but that’s the way it is sometimes. I knew it from the first time I saw you, the first time I heard your voice. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for one minute.”

Lillian tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.

“Please, Oliver. Please stop saying these things to me.”

“I won’t stop, not until I tell you everything. I’m sure of what I feel for you. It’s not a whim. I know you don’t feel the same right now. But I think someday you will. I’ll do everything in my power to make you fall in love with me. I’ll wait as long as I have to.” He stared down at her. “What do you think? Is there a chance for us?”

Lillian was overwhelmed. She didn’t know what to say and even if an answer had come to mind, she didn’t feel capable of uttering a coherent sentence.

One or twice, men had professed feelings for her. But nothing this sudden or passionate. She searched Oliver’s dark eyes for the slightest trace of insincerity and couldn’t find any. And that’s what scared her the most.

Oliver didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled her closer and kissed her deeply. Her arms twined around his neck and she kissed him back. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, kissing and holding each other. Then Oliver led her off the path to a shady spot under a tree. They lay down on the soft grass together, and Oliver pulled her close again. Lillian closed her eyes and felt suddenly and totally lost. She knew she should tell him to stop—or just push him away and go. But she couldn’t will herself to do it. She felt as if everything were happening to her in a dream, a beautiful dream that she didn’t want to end.

A strange and unprecedented thought came to her. What if, just this once, she told him what was in her heart? Without worrying about consequences, or the future, or what anybody would think.
This will be my fling, like Charlotte said,
Lillian decided.
Every woman who’s been jilted by a fiancé is entitled to at least one.

Oliver lifted his head. He kissed her softly on the lips again, then the nose and then each of her closed eyelids. He stroked her hair with his fingers. It had come totally undone. Lillian had no idea where all her hairpins had gone and, for once, didn’t care. She
opened her eyes as he kissed her again, wanting to see every detail and memorize it for the rest of her life.

Oliver stared into her eyes a moment, his face very close. Then he sighed and sat up. He pulled out his silver case and lit a cigarette. “I had better take you back to Newburyport. It’s getting late. I don’t want your aunt and uncle to be worried about you.”

“I’m sure Charlotte’s made up some story,” Lillian said. “But you’re right. I should go.”

She sat up slowly and pushed her hair to one side with her hand. She felt…different. She wasn’t sure why. She never felt this way after George had kissed her, no matter how long and athletic their tussles.

Oliver had been a perfect gentleman. Well, not too perfect. But he had been very respectful. He had said she was the kind of girl a man marries, and that’s how he had treated her.

Still, she felt different. More knowing somehow.

She glanced at Oliver. He really was so handsome. It took her breath away. She reached over and touched his shoulder, almost to make sure she wasn’t just imagining all this.

He turned his head and smiled at her, then kissed her fingertips.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the grass, jumped up and tugged her hand. They followed the path to the front of the house. A shiny black sedan and a white convertible were parked in the circular drive. Oliver chose the black sedan. He opened the door for Lillian and helped her into the passenger side then got behind the wheel.

“I never got to say good-bye to your parents and thank them for lunch,” Lillian said as they pulled away from the house.

“Don’t worry. They’re not stuck on formality. I’ll thank them for you.”

They didn’t talk much on the drive back. Oliver put his arm around her shoulder and Lillian sat close to him. When they pulled
up in front of Charlotte’s house, Lillian felt nervous. It was nearly seven. The sun was starting to set. She had been gone all day. She couldn’t imagine what Charlotte had told her parents and was afraid they were going to be angry with her, maybe even call her parents.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Oliver said.

“No, don’t.” Lillian shook her head. “It’s better if you just go.”

Before he could argue, she leaned over and quickly kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Oliver.”

Without looking back at him, she ran up to the front door of Charlotte’s house. The door was open and she let herself in. She looked back at the street through the screen door. Oliver lifted his hand and drove away.

Lillian pressed her head against the screen for a moment. Then she turned and listened. The house seemed empty. She hadn’t noticed a car in the driveway, but someone must be home if they left the door open.

Charlotte appeared at the top of the stairs. “Lily, you’re back. Thank goodness you beat my parents home.”

Lillian started to climb the stairs. “Where are they?”

“They went to a barbeque and were playing bridge after. I told my mother that we ran into Penny outside of church and she took you to Rockport, to look in the galleries.”

“That was a good excuse.”

“I thought so,” Charlotte said proudly. “I had a dreadfully boring day. Lunch with Muriel Granger’s dull-but-successful son. I bet you had an interesting day, though.” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “So? Tell all.”

Lillian glanced at her cousin then passed her at the top of the stairway and walked into the bedroom. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell all. Not even to Charlotte.

Cape Light, Early December, Present-day

“O
F COURSE
,
YOU
THINK
YOU LOVE HIM
. Y
OU
’
RE BARELY
twenty-five years old. You’re liable to think a lot of things.” Lillian sat stiffly in her wheelchair, her gaze fixed on her granddaughter. “I thought you had some sense in that pretty head. Or you would at least, at some point, wake up and smell the coffee.”

Sara crossed her arms over her chest. “I did wake up and smell the coffee. Just this morning. Luke makes wonderful coffee. He uses fresh beans.”

Lillian made a sour face. “Please! Spare me the details of your honeymoon. Too much information, as the teenagers say.”

Lillian appeared to have recovered her energy for arguing, despite her casts and the bruise around her eye that had turned an amazing shade of bluish purple.

Sara forced herself to look at the bruise, reminding herself that her grandmother was still a frail, injured old woman whom she shouldn’t be upsetting. “Are you finished yet?” she asked quietly.

“Finished? I’ve barely begun. He pressured you into this, didn’t he? Tell the truth. He used to be a policeman. And given the age difference between the two of you, I’ll bet he used all kinds of psychological manipulation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean. Or are you so brainwashed by this…this Svengali that you aren’t even aware of what’s happened to you?”

“Who in the world is Svengali?”

Lillian peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Why don’t you goo-goo it later and find out for yourself?”

“You mean
google
it?” Sara fought hard not to laugh.

“You have grounds for an annulment. I should have told your mother. She could have started working on it. She knows people. She could pull some strings.”

“Emily has no objections to our marriage. She likes Luke. She’s always liked him.”

“Of course she would say that. She’s so naive about people. I blame her for this entirely. She should have broken up that relationship long ago.”

“Emily would have never done anything like that.”
That’s more Lillian’s style
, Sara thought. Even if Emily had doubts about Luke, she would have found some reasonable way to express them; she never would have confronted Sara with ultimatums.

“She doesn’t realize how he’s pressured and intimidated you. Go on, you can tell me. I’ve seen it on TV. It happens all the time.”

Sara could have screamed with frustration. Her grandmother
watched too many daytime talk shows; they put all kinds of crazy ideas in her head. Of course, Lillian would never admit to watching daytime TV; she claimed all she ever watched was the evening news and the History Channel.

“No one has been intimidated, Lillian. No one has been pressured. We’ve been engaged for nearly a year. That’s not exactly the case of a kidnapped bride.”

Lillian pursed her lips and adjusted the afghan that lay across her legs. “I refuse to accept or recognize this hasty, ill-advised union.” When Sara didn’t respond, she added, “Can’t you see what you’ve gotten yourself into? The man is a professed failure, a dishonored law officer whose greatest accomplishment is kicking a drug and alcohol habit. Of course, no one ever really gets free of that sort of thing. That’s why they always say
recovery
and not
recovered
.”

Sara felt the blood rush to her head. “That’s it. You’ve gone too far!”

Lillian gave her an innocent stare. “Isn’t it true?”

Sara was so angry she could barely speak. It was true in part, but not the way Lillian painted it.

Luke had hit a low point in his life after the shoot-out that damaged his leg and killed his partner. His fiancée had deserted him, and his family had lost their patience. He had been in deep pain, physically and emotionally, medicating himself with drugs and alcohol. But that had been only a phase.

By the time Luke came to Cape Light, he had cleaned up his act. He had realized he wanted to live, not kill himself in small doses. He told Sara everything about his past soon after they met. They had been together now for several years, and she had no reason to worry that such a thing would ever be a problem.

“Yes, Luke was a failure,” she admitted to her grandmother. “He failed miserably at being a cop because he never really wanted to be one. That was his father’s dream. But he had the courage to face it, to get up and try again, to find a purpose in life that is truly meaningful for him. If you ask me, Luke’s greatest accomplishment has been building the New Horizons center, especially considering that he had to fight a lot of opposition to bring it here. You’re totally wrong. Luke is anything but a failure.”

“Oh, yes, a great success story. He renovated a bunch of broken-down cottages and made a school for delinquents out of it. Just what we all needed around here. How did we ever live without that place? I’ll never know.”

Sara started to reply then stopped herself. There would be no winning this argument. Why had she ever thought she could?

She poured herself a cup of tea from the silver service Lillian liked to use daily. Her hand shook slightly as she stirred in a spoonful of sugar. She noticed the gold band on her finger and drew strength and courage from the sight of it.

She was married now. The time for debate was over. She didn’t have to sit and listen to another word.

“If you want me to stay the night, I will. If not, I’ll call Emily or Jessica. Maybe one of them can come and stay with you.”

Lillian shifted in her chair. “What about him? Where will he be?”

“Does
he
have a name?” Sara asked mildly. “Or shall we call him…Nemo?”

She set the cup down on the table and picked up a cookie. Her grandmother was one of the few people Sara knew literate enough to understand that quip, knowing that Nemo meant
no one
in Latin.

Lillian’s eyes narrowed. “You know very well who I’m talking
about. Your…husband.” She said the word so softly, Sara could hardly hear it.

“My husband, Luke, is home. I thought you and I should have this conversation alone. I didn’t think you were ready to see him.”

“You were wise not to bring him. I would have told him to leave.”

That was not the answer Sara had hoped for. She had hoped to smooth things over with Lillian then call Luke and have him meet her here. Luke had been less optimistic. He wouldn’t be at all surprised when she told him the coast wasn’t clear.

“All right. I’ll stay over with you tonight. But Emily will have to call around tomorrow and arrange for a nighttime attendant.”

“As you wish.”

“No, Lillian, as
you
wish,” Sara corrected her.

Lillian gripped the armrests of the wheelchair. “I would like to go back to my room and get in bed. This fruitless argument has exhausted me.”

“All right. I’ll take you into the bedroom if you like.”

As Sara rolled Lillian’s chair toward the bedroom, she felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she shouldn’t have argued so strenuously. She didn’t want to cause a high blood pressure episode. But Lillian was so stubborn and insistent. She made the most outrageous comments. It was hard for anyone to hold their temper with her.

In the bedroom Sara helped Lillian change into her nightgown and then helped her into bed. Her grandmother opened a book and dismissed Sara with a curt nod.

“If you need anything, I’m right outside,” Sara reminded her.

“I’ll be fine. Good night.” Lillian spoke without looking up from her book.

Sara turned and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

She was sorry that her grandmother had such a block against
Luke. Her marriage was causing a huge rift between herself and Lillian, and that thought made her sad.

Boston, September 1955

T
HE INTERCOM BUZZED
. L
ILLIAN GLANCED AT THE FLASHING LIGHT
,
but didn’t stop typing to answer it. Her desk was covered with slides and notepads and stacks of art books flung open to color plates.

Her Underwood typewriter sat on a compact metal typing table just to one side of the desk. Lillian had to concentrate to strike the right keys. She was not a good typist. Unlike most of the young women she knew, she had never taken a typing course. She felt it was below her. She was determined to reach a position where someone else would be doing the typing for her, though she hadn’t quite reached that point yet.

She was composing a lecture on early Egyptian ceramics that she would deliver next week at a special museum luncheon. The senior curator in her department needed to review it on Monday, and Lillian was only halfway through the first draft.

She could tell from the intercom’s flashing light that it was the receptionist calling. She hoped it wasn’t more flowers. Oliver had been sending them daily to her home and to the office, for the past two weeks, ever since she had left Cape Light.

He had been calling, too. But she hadn’t spoken to him since the night he’d dropped her off at Charlotte’s house. The next morning, she had packed up and taken an early train back to Boston. Her aunt and uncle were surprised that she cut her vacation short, but she explained she was needed back at work.

On the train ride home, she had written Oliver a letter. Actu
ally she had written him several letters but kept tearing them up and writing them over again, unable to get the message right. In the end, she had never mailed any or sent him any explanation.

She felt guilty for treating him coldly but thought that in the long run, it was for the best. He would be hurt but also angry and would get over her sooner that way.

She was sure his attraction was a whim; he was bound to lose interest if she ignored him.

After a brief pause, the intercom buzzed again. Lillian couldn’t avoid it.

Lillian pressed the button to be heard. “Yes, what is it?”

“There’s someone to see you, Miss Merchant. He doesn’t have an appointment…”

Lillian thought it was going to be more flowers. Now she wondered if it was Oliver himself. He had told her his family had an apartment in Boston and he came into the city frequently. She wouldn’t put it past him. She pressed the button again, her heartbeat racing.

“Did he give you his name?”

“Dr. Elliot.”

Lillian sat back. Not Oliver after all. That was what she wanted…right?

But Ezra Elliot? What was he doing here?

“Miss Merchant? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard. I’ll be out in a minute. Please ask Dr. Elliot to wait.”

Lillian smoothed down her skirt and put on her suit jacket. She wasn’t sure why Ezra Elliot was here to see her but hoped he hadn’t come as Oliver’s emissary.

She stepped out to the reception area where Ezra stood, hat in hand. He was shorter than she remembered but gave off an air of
vitality and warmth as he smiled and stepped forward to greet her. She knew that he lived and worked in the city, but there was still something vaguely country about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

He wore a charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, and a burgundy bow tie with white polka dots, which was not at all in fashion. Somehow the style suited him, Lillian thought.

“Lillian, good to see you again. I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”

“Of course I do, Ezra.”

She had nearly forgotten what he looked like. Or maybe she hadn’t been paying much attention when they met. His straight brown hair was parted high on one side and combed back flat with hair tonic. His small blue eyes peered out from behind gold-rimmed glasses above a long, straight nose and a sharp chin. She did remember his look of keen intelligence and his quick wit.

“I was in the neighborhood and remembered that you worked here. I thought I would drop by and say hello.”

“Oh…I see. Hello.” Lillian smiled at him.

She could tell he wasn’t a smooth talker like Oliver. But that was probably a good sign.

There was an awkward silence. Ezra took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. He had very nice blue eyes, she thought, lively and kind.

“It’s a beautiful museum. I don’t get here often enough.”

“We have an interesting exhibit right now of seventeenth-century Dutch painters.”

“Is that so? I’ll have to take a look one day when I have more time. I’m due back at the hospital soon.” He glanced at his watch. “I only wanted to say hello,” he repeated.

He smoothed the brim of his hat between his fingers, looking
as if he were about to leave. “Say, Lillian, I was wondering, do you like the opera?”

His question took her by surprise. “Yes…I do.”

“I thought you might. A friend gave me two tickets this morning for
Turandot,
orchestra seats.” He cleared his throat. “Would you be interested in joining me?”