Authors: Eileen Goudge
Gerry whistled in admiration. “You should charge admission.”
“Not a bad idea. We could use the money.” Sam didn’t sound worried. With the rent from Isla Verde and the commissions Ian earned, they did all right. “On the other hand, money isn’t everything.”
Gerry felt a pang of envy. She had no wish for a late-in-life child, nor did she have any desire to settle down—one marriage had been more than enough—but the look on Sam’s face as she gazed at Ian’s labor of love made her think how nice it would be to feel that way about someone in her own life. The thought of Aubrey once again flashed across her mind, but they were friends—okay,
intimate
friends—and nothing more was ever going to come of it.
“Damn straight. Two weddings and a baby. Some would say your cup runneth over.” Sam’s youngest, Alice, had gotten married last summer—to Ian’s father. And Laura’s wedding was little more than a month away.
“Either that, or there’s something in the water.” Sam gave a little laugh as she adjusted a lampshade tilted askew. “Which reminds me, Laura wants to know if you’re bringing Aubrey.”
Gerry felt herself flush. “And here I thought we were being so discreet.”
Sam arched an eyebrow, her green eyes dancing. “Are you kidding? The most famous conductor in the world moves into our little neck of the woods—into
my
house, for heaven’s sake—and you think half the town isn’t going to know you’re sleeping with him?”
“I guess they’re tired of gossiping about you and Ian.”
They shared a laugh reminiscent of when they’d been girls together, primping for dates—Sam, with her straight chestnut hair in curlers and Gerry attempting to iron her unruly black mane flat, the two as different as night and day but somehow more closely attuned than most sisters. Lately, Gerry had been thinking a lot about those days.
She was silent, gazing at the mural. After a moment Sam placed a hand on her arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I heard back from Web Horner the other day,” Gerry said.
“The private investigator?”
“As if there could be more than one guy with that name.”
“What did he say?”
“He found her.” Even saying it aloud, it didn’t seem real. “Her name is Claire Brewster. She lives up the coast, in Miramonte.” That doppelgänger feeling was back: a whole other life that might have been hers being lived out on parallel tracks.
“Oh, Gerry.” Sam’s face glowed. “That’s wonderful.”
“Is it?”
Sam said firmly,
“Yes.
It is.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m about to make the second biggest mistake of my life?”
“I gather you still haven’t told the kids.”
“I haven’t even talked to Claire.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
“I’ve waited this long. What’s a few more days?”
Or weeks.
Sam’s expression grew steely. “Is this the same woman who forced Father Kinney into rehab when everyone else was turning a blind eye?”
“It’s easier when you know you’re in the right.”
Gerry looked around her, at the padded oak rocker over which a delicate crocheted blanket was draped, its squares of blue and pink and white as pale as a misty dawn, and at the lamp on the table by the crib with its little train that chugged around the base when switched on.
“It’s funny how things hardly ever turn out the way you expect. Six months ago I couldn’t have imagined having a baby …” Sam’s voice was soft. “But now I can’t imagine
not
having it.” She squeezed Gerry’s arm. “Promise you’ll call her.”
“I promise I’ll think about it.”
Gerry glanced at her watch as they were heading back down the hall. “We can’t stay. My mom’s waiting for me to pick her up.”
“You just got here! Besides, you’re not leaving me with all this food.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d baked enough to feed the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” Gerry sank onto the sofa in front of the fire. She was halfway through her second cup of cocoa when she remembered to glance once more at her watch. It was half past nine. How had it gotten to be so late? Reluctantly, she hauled herself to her feet. “Come on, guys,” she called to Andie and Justin. “We’d better get a move on. Grandma’s going to wonder what’s keeping us.”
Sam retrieved their coats from the closet, throwing a jacket over her own shoulders and slipping on a pair of shoes. She walked with them outside, murmuring to Gerry as she was kissing her good-bye, “Don’t wait too long. Only fools and kings have that luxury.”
“Oh, how lovely!” Mavis held up the scarf she’d unwrapped. “It’ll go perfectly with my navy suit.” She leaned down to hug Andie, cross-legged on the floor by the sofa. “Thank you, darling girl. You couldn’t have picked a more perfect gift.”
Some things never change, Gerry thought. Mavis had murmured the proper appreciation for
her
gift, a pink cashmere sweater from Nordstrom’s that had cost far more than Gerry could afford, but hadn’t lit up like she was now. It wasn’t that her mother didn’t love or appreciate her, she knew, just that they always seemed to miss the mark somehow. Like the glossy cookbook Mavis had given her this year. Gerry had no doubt she’d meant well, but it only served to remind her of what a lousy cook she was.
She sipped her coffee, one of the few things she could do well. The sense of possibility to which she’d awakened only hours ago seemed to have dwindled along with the pile of presents under the tree.
“It’s a hundred percent silk. Look, it says so on the label,” Andie pointed out.
Mavis fished a pair of reading glasses from her baggy green cardigan and bent to peer at it, her once-red hair, now the color of old pennies, nestled against Andie’s glossy dark curls. “So it does.” She smiled and straightened. “I have something for you, too.” She handed Andie a small box so clumsily wrapped it pained Gerry to look at it. Her mother’s hands, bunched with arthritis, made even the simplest tasks a Herculean effort.
Andie opened it, and gave a gasp of delight. Nestled inside was an antique amethyst brooch set in a filigree of yellow gold—one that Gerry recalled her mother wearing on special occasions. “Oh, Grandma. It’s beautiful.” She glanced up with a look of uncertainty. “Are you sure?”
“Sure as I am that it’ll show off your pretty young neck better than this old wrinkled one of mine.” Mavis’s eyes, blue as the Bay of Kenmare, where she’d been born, shone with love. “It was my mother’s. She was a great beauty in her day. You’re the living image of her, you know.”
Gerry had always been told that Andie looked just like
her.
When had she become the likeness of her great-grandmother? She watched Andie fasten the brooch to the front of her sweatshirt, thinking how pretty it would look with the silk blouse from Mike and Cindy, though she couldn’t help wishing her mother’s gift hadn’t shown up her own more prosaic gifts to Andie: an outfit from The Gap and a gift certificate for Zack’s Stacks.
“I love it.” Andie threw her arms around her grandmother’s neck and kissed her loudly on the cheek.
When the last present had been unwrapped, Gerry rose from the couch, rubbing the stiffness from her limbs. So far, so good. Their second Christmas without Mike, and the first that his absence hadn’t been felt like a pulled tooth. Now the only thing left before the turkey went into the oven was to call her brother.
Kevin picked up on the second ring. “We were just on our way out the door,” he told her. “Art and Thomas’s annual Christmas brunch.”
“Should I call back?”
“Hell, no. You think I’d rather be nibbling on brioche and discussing the latest in window treatments when I could be schmoozing with my favorite sister?” He laughed, and she pictured him in his Noe Valley loft that’d been featured in the July issue of
Architectural Digest.
On his way to becoming famous in the food world, he was still her freckle-faced kid brother with jug ears and carrot hair that refused to lie flat. “What’s up? Mom driving you crazy yet?”
Gerry covered the mouthpiece so Mavis wouldn’t hear her say, “She’s on her best behavior.”
“The day is young.”
“She misses you. We all do.”
“Hey, I invited her to spend Christmas with us. I even offered to pay the fare.” Kevin asked their mother every year, which always managed to prompt a flare-up of her arthritis. “I’m beginning to think she has a wee bit of a problem with the fact that her darlin’ boy’s a queer,” he added in a mock brogue. The laughter in his voice didn’t quite cover its bitter edge.
“Go easy on her, Kev. She’s doing her best.” Why did she always feel she had to defend their mother to Kevin when he was so clearly in the right? “Speaking of your significant other, how’s Darryl?”
“Fine and dandy. Just closed on another big deal.” Kevin’s lover was in commercial real estate.
She wondered if he minded not having kids. He’d always been so great with hers, and Andie and Justin adored him. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he sent lavish presents on their birthdays and on Christmas, like the razor bike Justin was at this very moment trying out in the driveway.
“Wish him a merry Christmas from me.” Kevin and Darryl were happier than most heterosexual couples she knew. “And, hey, thanks for the gift certificate. I’ve already seen about eight hundred things I want to buy with it.” The certificate was from Gump’s, a pricey store in San Francisco. Kevin had been thoughtful enough to include a catalog as well.
“As for
your
gift, you sure know how to make a gay man’s heart beat faster.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Gerry had found the thirties martini set nestled in satin inside a frayed leather case at Avery Lewellyn’s antique barn. It’d had her brother’s name written all over it. “Listen, I better go,” she said. “I should put the turkey in the oven.”
“Don’t forget to cover the breast with foil.”
“What? And risk ruining my reputation as the world’s worst cook?”
Kevin laughed long and heartily.
As she hung up, Gerry’s thoughts strayed to Claire.
Is she with her family?
Gerry knew nothing about the couple who’d adopted her other than that they were Catholic, in keeping with the rules of the agency. Was it fair to intrude? A call from her had to be the last thing any of them were expecting.
When the turkey was in the oven, she returned to tackle the living room, where wrapping paper was strewn over the carpet like tumbleweeds. The logs in the fireplace had burned down, their embers throwing off a drowsy heat. The tree, divested of its presents, looked oddly forlorn. She glanced about at the walls painted a Shaker blue, the country pine tables and chairs. A Nantucket lighthouse basket sat on the mantel, a long-ago gift from Sam, and in the corner by the rocker a fishing pole was propped—a symbol of Mike’s relationship with his son. He’d given it to Justin last summer, promising to take him fishing at the lake, but nothing had come of it. She glanced out the window at her son zigzagging down the driveway on his new bike, Buster tagging after him, barking wildly. How could you not love such a kid?
“I’ll help.” Mavis pushed herself up off the couch with what seemed an effort. They’d filled one trash bag and were starting on another when she paused and said, “I’m having a wonderful Christmas. Thank you, dear.”
“We love having you.” Gerry meant it.
“I know I’m not the easiest,” her mother went on matter-of-factly, smoothing a wisp of rusty hair that had sprung loose at her temple. “It’s hard being old. The worst part is feeling so useless.”
Gerry squatted down to fish a wad of wrapping paper from under the couch. “Useless? You never sit still!” There was bridge on Tuesdays, and the senior center on Wednesdays. Thursday mornings it was pool aerobics at the YWCA, and Fridays her sewing circle.
Mavis shook her head. “It’s not the same.”
Gerry felt a rush of concern. There was more color in her mother’s cheeks these days, but she was still so frail.
“Did you look at that brochure?” For months she’d been working on her mother to sell the house, move into one of those nice new condos out where the old Hensen ranch used to be. Mavis would be around other people her age, the hospital only minutes away.
Mavis flapped a hand dismissively. “What’s the point? I’m not going anywhere.”
“That old house is too big for one person,” Gerry insisted. “Not to mention it’s falling down around your ears.” The argument was tired, old ground they’d been over many times.
“Well, then, when I’m dead and gone, you can give it a good kick and save yourself the cost of a funeral.” Her mother grinned. She might be crumbling like her house, but she still had a full set of teeth and all her marbles—enough to trump Gerry from time to time.
Gerry couldn’t keep from smiling. “You shouldn’t joke about a thing like that,” she said.
Mavis lowered herself gingerly onto the couch. “Why not? People die all the time—especially old people.” She cocked her head, peering up at Gerry. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s
really
on your mind? You didn’t get those dark circles under your eyes fretting over me.”
“What do you mean? I’m fine.” Gerry glanced around. Justin was still outside, and Andie on the phone with Finch. Gerry could hear her down the hall, comparing notes on Christmas gifts. It seemed Finch had been given a horse of her own, in addition to the two Laura and Hector owned, and it was all they could talk about.
“Nonsense,” Mavis scoffed. “Something’s wrong. It’s no use trying to hide it.”
Gerry hesitated a moment, then wordlessly went over to the front hall closet and retrieved the folded envelope from the pocket of her good winter coat. She walked back and handed it to her mother.
Mavis fished her glasses from her cardigan and bent to read the letter, holding it so close it was practically touching her nose. After an eternity she lowered it to her lap, letting out a long sighing breath. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”
“I wish I’d done it years ago.” Gerry spoke with defiance.
“You had your children to think of.”
“She
was my child, too.” A sleeping dragon stirred to life in Gerry’s chest, beating inside her with leathery wings. “I never should have given her away.”