Once Upon a Winter's Heart (3 page)

“Is…uh…is your mother there?”

“I don't think I'm supposed to answer that.”

“So she is there!”

“Don't say you heard it from me.”

“I tried her cell, but she's got it turned off.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“How long does she plan to stay?” he asked.

“Indefinitely…or so she claims.”

He chuckled.

“You think this is funny?” Emma demanded.

“No…not at all. But I know your mother. She won't last more than one night on those old twin beds. Trust me.”

“Yeah, I had the exact same thought. I wouldn't be surprised if she goes home in the middle of the night, Dad.”

“Don't tell her I know she's there, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Let's just say she's made her bed…let her lie in it.” He chuckled again.

“What about you?” Emma asked. “Don't you have to take responsibility for some of this too?”

He let out a long sigh. “I've been taking responsibility for
all
of it…for a long time now, Emma. Maybe your mother is right. Maybe we do need a break from each other.”

“Really?” Emma peered out the window to see her mom unloading bags from the trunk. From the size of the pile, it looked as if she was setting out for a two-week vacation or longer.

“Don't sound so sad, Emma.”

“But you have so much history…all those years…your family…your image in the community…doesn't it matter?”

“Sure, it matters. But I got to thinking, honey…after I heard the news about your grandpa…I got to thinking about my parents' marriage and how happy they were together. And the truth is I've always felt a little envious. More than a little envious.”

“Then why not follow their example?”

He let out another long sigh. “I wish it were that simple, honey.”

Emma heard the front door open. “I think Mom's coming in,” she whispered.

“Don't tell her,” he said quickly. “And I'll talk to you tomorrow…at Poppi's service.”

Emma hung up the phone and returned to the dishes. It used to bother her that Nona didn't have a dishwasher; now she thought it was kind of sweet and comforting. Taking time to hand wash the dishes slowed life down a bit…gave a person time to think and reflect. She carefully stacked the pretty Franciscan ware dishes in the glass-fronted cabinet. The pattern was called Desert Rose. As a girl Emma had always thought it sounded like such an exotic name—a desert rose seemed so far removed from their small town in the foothills of the Cascade mountain range.

Emma ran her finger over a raised pink flower on a teacup before she closed the door. Emma had always loved the cheerful dishes and Nona had promised to give them to her when she got married. Like that was ever going to happen. Emma closed the cabinet door and sighed. And, really, it wouldn't seem like Nona's house without these familiar plates gracing the old dining room table. Perhaps it was all for the best after all.

Once Emma got her car unpacked
,
stashing most of her things in what used to be Poppi's library but now looked more like a storage room, she tiptoed up the stairs to peek into the guest bedroom.

“Oh, there you are.” Saundra peered up over her reading glasses. With several pillows behind her and one of Nona's afghans on top of her bed, she looked fairly comfy and cozy and had a book in her lap. Emma considered pointing out that her mother was in what had always been considered Emma's bed, but knew that would be childish. Instead Emma set her overnight bag on what used to be Anne's bed and the only part of the room that wasn't already occupied with her mother's extensive collection of Louis Vuitton luggage.

“I was unpacking my car,” Emma told her mother as she unzipped her bag.

“Is that
all
you brought with you?” Saundra frowned at the small bag.

“No. I brought
everything
with me. Most of it's in Poppi's library.”

“Oh…” Her mom's attention returned to her romance novel.

Emma extracted her pajamas as well as her toiletries bag then started to leave the room.

“It's okay, you can change in here.” Without looking up, Saundra absently flipped a page. “I don't mind.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Maybe
I
mind.”

Saundra glanced up from her book with a furrowed brow. “Oh, yes, I completely forgot. You're the one who hates to dress and undress in front of anyone.” She chuckled. “My self-conscious child.”

Emma forced a stiff smile. “Excuse me for not being an exhibitionist like my mom and sister.” Emma tried not to feel irked as she went down the hall to the bathroom. But, really, she had not counted on being roommates with her mother tonight. She peeked curiously into Nona's sewing room, wondering if she could possibly set up camp in there since it used to have a hide-a-bed, but like Poppi's library, it seemed to have turned into a storage room as well. Perhaps Emma could convince Nona to have a garage sale this spring…clear some of these things out.

In the bathroom, which was just as cold as she remembered from childhood, Emma decided to get rid of the chill by enjoying a nice hot bath in the old claw-foot tub. And maybe by the time she finished her mother would have dozed off and she could go peacefully to sleep. As always there was a bottle of lavender-infused Epsom salts, which, after a good shaking, came tumbling out into the steaming water. This was going to feel good.

As the bathtub slowly filled, Emma brushed her teeth and put her long curly dark brown hair into a messy bun. She paused to examine her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. In some ways it didn't seem all that different from the girl who used to peer into the same mirror as a child. Same wild hair and dark brown eyes, same pointy nose and slightly pouty lips. Thanks to the foggy mirror, the crow's feet she'd recently noticed were not visible. Thirty-two seemed a bit young for wrinkles, and although some of her friends were already doing Botox, Emma was convinced that an “untouched” face had more character. She'd see how she felt about this ten years from now.

Sliding down into the steaming water, she took in a slow deep breath. Yes, she sighed happily as she sunk lower into the fragrant water, this was just what the doctor ordered. She had just leaned back and closed her eyes when she heard the door opening. Grabbing the washcloth to hold over her front, she glared up to see Saundra coming in.

“Sorry to interrupt your bath,” she said quickly. “But I forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Mom.”
Emma's voice was laced with irritation and sounded as if she was fourteen again. In fact, that was how she felt.

“It'll only take me a minute. And for all I know you could be in here for hours.” Saundra turned on the tap at the sink. “Good grief, it's damp in here. Why doesn't your grandmother get a fan for this room? And a heater wouldn't hurt either. Why doesn't she do some modernizations?”

“Because she's old-fashioned,” Emma growled. “And this is an old-fashioned house.”

“You don't have to get mad.”

“Sorry.” Emma took in a deep breath. “It's just that I appreciate a little privacy, you know?”

“Yes, yes. And don't worry, I'm not looking.” Saundra giggled as she finished brushing her teeth, acting like this was all just a fun adventure. Finally, after she left, Emma knew the bath had been ruined, but out of pure stubbornness she forced herself to linger. Hopefully her mother would be asleep by the time she finished. But before long the water cooled off and she knew it was time to get out.

As she dried and pulled on her pajamas she thought about how much her mother and sister were alike. Neither of them seemed to have a self-conscious or insecure bone in their bodies. And why should they? Both were gorgeous petite blue-eyed blondes, the kind of women that most men paused to admire, and the kind that some women felt threatened by. Not that Anne or Saundra had ever used their looks to lure men from their wives, but if they wanted to, it probably wouldn't be difficult.

However it wasn't just their appearances that were alike. The way they thought and acted was very similar too. As a teenager Emma had secretly labeled what her mom and sister had as PS—princess syndrome. As an adult she suspected she hadn't been too far off. Oh, it wasn't that she didn't love them both—she absolutely did. She just didn't really understand them. She could always relate better to Nona and her old-fashioned Italian ways.

Emma tiptoed back into the bedroom again. This time she was relieved to see that it was dark in there, and, not wanting to disturb her mother, she was not about to turn on a light. However, remembering how the girls always did a spider check before bedtime—the old house was somewhat inclined to arachnids, especially in the autumn—she was tempted to momentarily flick the switch and search the bed. Instead, she threw back the covers and swept her hand back and forth a few times. Hopefully that would scare anything away.

“What are you doing over there?” Saundra asked in the darkness.

“Sorry.” Emma slid into the chilly sheets. “Didn't mean to disturb you.”

“It's okay. I can't sleep anyway.”

“Missing your Sleep Number bed?”

“Hmmm…”

“It's not too late to change your mind, Mom. You could still go home and sleep in comfort and—”

“I am
not
going home.”

“Fine…whatever.” Emma pulled the covers up to her chin.

“You don't know what it's like being stuck in a bad marriage, Emma.”

“No…I don't.” Emma sighed. “Did you guys ever consider marriage counseling?”

Saundra made a sarcastic laugh. “Can you imagine your father listening to a marriage counselor?”

Emma considered this. “Maybe.”

“Well, I can't.”

There was a long silence and Emma was hoping that her mother was falling asleep, but then she spoke up again.

“When I think about being alone in my old age…” Saundra said quietly. “Well, the truth is, it really frightens me. I don't want to be old and alone, Emma.”

“Then why don't you work on improving your marriage?” Emma suggested.

Saundra exhaled loudly.

“I'm serious, Mom. You and Dad have been together all these years and, yeah, I know you've had your battles, but it seems like you've got a relationship that's worth investing some energy into. With some work…I can imagine you both growing old together…happily.”

“Oh, Emma, I've tried and tried. But most of the time it feels like I'm the only one putting any effort into it. Your father is so old-fashioned when it comes to marriage. He thinks everyone should be like Nona and Poppi were. The little woman cooks and cleans and sews and gardens…and the man does as he likes.”

“That's not true,” Emma argued. “Poppi always helped Nona with everything. He liked cooking and didn't even mind cleaning. They worked together in the bookstore and they worked together at home.”

“That's not how your father tells it. According to him, Nona worked like a slave and Poppi just did as he pleased.”

“I spent a lot of time here, Mom. As kids, Anne and I were over here a lot. We both saw Nona and Poppi working together. Poppi never treated Nona like she was his slave.
Never.
”

“Yes. Well, I have to agree. I never saw Poppi treating Nona poorly either.” She sighed. “In fact, I often envied their relationship. I never understood why your father and I couldn't have that.”

Once again, Emma wanted to remind her mother that there were two sides to this coin, but she knew that would only invite an argument. And the truth was she was just too tired to fight. “I guess it's like I told Lucy today. True love and romance is officially dead now. It will be buried tomorrow.”

“Oh, Emma, that is so dismal.”

“Dismal maybe…but I'm afraid it's true. Poppi was the last of his kind.”

Emma felt like she was having déjà vu as she climbed into the backseat of her mother's spotlessly clean Cadillac the next morning. With Nona in front and Saundra behind the wheel, and the three of them dressed for the funeral, including hats and gloves to honor Poppi's memory, Emma flashed back to when she was six and allowed to go with her mother and grandmother to Great Aunt Maria's funeral in Seattle. Anne had been too young to make the trip and Emma had felt very grown-up to be included that day. Ironically, she felt very much like her immature six-year-old self again…yet at the same time she felt old…and matronly.

The church was packed with well-wishers, and beautiful flower arrangements lined the altar. Everything about Poppi's memorial service, from the music to the photographs that someone had enlarged and placed near the casket, seemed fitting. And it was touching to listen to the numerous people who shared their happy memories about how Roberto Burcelli—the man the whole town knew as Poppi—had influenced their lives. But the speech that most captured Emma's attention came near the end of the service. She'd never seen this tall, handsome, dark-haired man before. He had on a well-tailored charcoal gray suit that Poppi would've approved of, but he looked slightly uneasy as he stepped up to the mic.

“I realize that my history with Poppi isn't as extensive as everyone else. I was only privileged to know him during the last three years,” he began. “But I will always think of him as a true mentor. The first day I met Poppi, he challenged me to read what he called ‘real literature.' At first I suspected it was a ploy to keep his bookstore afloat.” He chuckled. “But as I got to know him better, I realized it was simply because he respected a good book as well as a good mind. Poppi taught me to appreciate both Hemingway and Dean Martin.” Everyone laughed at this because it was well known that Poppi loved Hemingway and believed Dean Martin was the best singer in the universe. “I will miss Poppi more than words can say, but I'm very thankful to have known him these last few years. He was a good man and we were blessed to have him.”

Reverend Thomas wrapped the service up with Poppi's favorite scripture, Psalm 23, and Belinda Myers sang “Ave Maria.” Then the reverend announced that only close friends and family would be attending the burial service. And just like Nona wanted, the immediate family rode in the limousine that followed the hearse to the cemetery. Nona and Rob and Tristan sat on one seat and Emma and Saundra and Anne sat on the other. No one spoke…but as Nona quietly cried, the tears flowed freely for the rest of them too.

The burial service was formal and old-fashioned—just the way Nona had planned it. And after the final words were spoken, Emma's father stepped forward. “Thank you all for coming,” he told their family and friends. “We would be honored if you would join us in my home for a buffet dinner.” As Rob gave them directions, Emma and Saundra slipped away, catching a ride back to the church with Saundra's assistant, Meredith.

“We need to make sure that the catering crew has everything under control,” Saundra explained as Meredith dropped them off. “And you'll pick up the cake at the bakery, right?”

“I'm on it,” Meredith promised.

“That was a nice service,” Emma said as she and her mom got back into the Cadillac. “I think Poppi would've liked it.”

Saundra just nodded.

“I liked what that man said,” Emma began carefully, “at the end of the service.”

“What man?” Saundra glanced at Emma as she stopped for the intersection.

“I don't know his name. But he was the one who mentioned Hemingway and Dean Martin.”

“Oh, that's Lane Forester.”

“It sounds like he was good friends with Poppi.”

“Yes. They were very close. I'm sure that Poppi was hoping they were going to become family.”

“Family?”

“
Anne
,” Saundra declared as if this were obvious.

“Anne?” Emma was lost.

“Anne and Lane,” she said with exasperation. “Everyone thinks they make a lovely couple. Don't you think so too?”

“Oh…I didn't know…I mean that Anne was involved with anyone.”

“Well, she's not actually
involved
. The divorce only became final last summer. I told her it wasn't very dignified to jump into anything too quickly. Not with a young son.”

“No…probably not.” For no rational reason Emma felt very dismayed and depressed to hear this news about her sister and this man. Or perhaps, she told herself, she was still grieving Poppi and her emotions were not to be trusted. Of course, that had to be it.

As Saundra drove up the hill to her house, she seemed to have a death grip on the steering wheel and, as she turned into the long driveway, her expression looked extremely agitated.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked as Saundra pulled the car into one end of the three-car garage.