Promises to Keep (41 page)

A feeling of . . . safety around her. A feeling of peace.

She feels like—dare he even think it?—a
partner
. Already. And in the truest sense of the word.

Already, and without anything physical happening between them, they have fallen into something of a routine. Mason up first, making tea for her, feeding the animals together.

He cloisters himself in his study during the day, attempting to run the publishing house as best he can from home, happy every time he hears her footsteps on the stairs, or murmuring to Fingal as she lets him out of the back door.

She is often out. Shopping, dropping food off or, of course, at her sister’s, and his heart lifts when he hears her car coming back down the driveway.

His favorite times are the afternoons when she is cooking. He will come in for cups of coffee, and she’ll insist on his tasting everything, asking his opinion, then they sit and talk about everything under the sun.

And that is what he has missed most, he is beginning to realize. Someone to talk to. Olivia only talked about people, shopping: Bergdorfs was out of those Manolos in her size; her committee meeting that morning was held at Whitney Timsdale’s, and God, was the decorating déclassé; how much should they give, this year, to the New York City Ballet?

I was lonelier in my marriage than I have ever been in my life, he thinks, with sudden clarity. And shock.

And I never expected to fall in love. Now. With Steffi. So soon. But there is no rush. It is enough, he knows, that they are friends. It is enough that they are there for each other.

The last thing he needs is a rebound relationship. He will look after Steffi, as he promised, as he would even without a promise. She will need looking after, for she still talks in terms of when Callie gets better, even when the doctors refer to these treatments as palliative, explain that they are merely alleviating her pain, making her comfortable until the end.

No one can let Callie go. He saw that the other night. Callie may be ready, but no one else is, and he understands. He wasn’t ready to let his mother go. The doctors kept talking of another treatment, more chemotherapy, something else they could do, and when his mother said she had done enough he was furious with her for giving up.

He gets out of the cab at Grand Central and sends a quick text to Steffi, asking if there is news.

He wonders if he ought to turn around and go back, be with her, but it isn’t quite his place.

He will be there for her when she comes home.

 

 

They have just stepped out of the spaceship to enter Mars 2112, when Lila’s mobile phone rings.

“Okay.” She nods, her face ashen. “Okay.”

“What is it?” The other adults clamor round her.

“It’s Reece. They’re home. They’ve seen the medical team and he wants us to come back.”

C
allie’s family and friends may have thought they were prepared for her death, knowing, as they did, that it was an inevitability, but it is impossible to prepare for the tragedy of losing someone so vibrant, so young.

On December 21, 2010, while Reece and Honor sat at Callie’s bedside, in her bedroom at home, the children at school, Walter out at the grocery store, there was the tiniest change in Callie’s breathing, a rasp, and then . . . nothing.

It wasn’t dramatic. No opening of her eyes and final words. There didn’t need to be. Callie had lived her life showing the people she loved how much she loved them; there was no unfinished business when the end finally came. She was simply there, and then she was gone.

 

 

S
teffi looks at herself in the mirror as she runs a brush through her hair, and checks that she has no lipstick on her teeth.

Her tears are fewer, now. At first there was nothing but the weight of grief, the tremendous emptiness. Then, some weeks later, the shock wore off and Steffi found she had no idea how to deal with the enormity of the loss, a loss she felt every second of every minute of every day.

But you bear it because you have to. What other choice do you have?

Life, Steffi has learned, carries on around the pain, making room for it, absorbing it until it becomes part of the daily fabric, wrapping itself around you and lodging itself in your heart.

Steffi has come a long way in a year. She plays with Eliza and Jack, makes dinner, creates recipes, goes out with friends, reads books.

Then she cries.

She takes showers, plants seeds, picks vegetables, kisses Mason, goes on vacations, eats too much dessert, surfs the web.

Then she cries.

She plans dinner parties, makes love, makes friends, snorts with laughter, builds fires, reads the papers, brushes her hair.

Then she cries.

 

And mostly, she just misses her sister.

December 24, 2011
W
alter and Honor are the first to arrive, carefully maneuvering down the driveway that can’t be plowed because it’s gravel, and is already dangerously slippery.

There was fresh snow last night, and the farmhouse sits shimmering in the light, a fairy tale come to life, with a wreath on the door and lit candles in each of the windows.

“Do you remember the last time they had a white Christmas here?” Honor turns to Walter, who is unloading the children’s Christmas gifts from the back of the car.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says, “but they say we’ll have one this year.”

“What a year.” She looks at him, and he puts the boxes and bags down and holds his arms out to her, enveloping her and kissing the top of her head. She closes her eyes and rests for a few seconds against his chest.

“A terrible year,” he says, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “But, for all the grief and tragedy, in some ways a wonderful one.”

Honor looks at him quizzically.

“Of course I miss Callie every minute of every day,” he says. “But I have the unexpected joy of you. And Steffi, our wayward daughter, has settled down.” He shrugs, his eyes clouded with sadness. “It was hard to see that anything good could come out of it, and yet . . . Reece is an amazing father, is raising those children in a way I never would have thought possible.”

He holds her close again, and they turn as a Volvo wagon noses its way down the driveway.

Waving from the front seat is Lila, who jumps out before the car has even stopped, and runs over to Walter and Honor, flinging her arms around both of them.

“Happy Christmukah!” she says. Walter looks puzzled. “Christmas and Chanukah combined! I’ve missed you! Was the drive down from Maine hellish?”

“No, it was rather wonderful. A romantic road trip,” Honor confides. “Now where is that little one? Let me see him.”

They turn to see Ed unstrapping the car seat and proudly bringing their baby boy over to see everyone.

“Oh my word!” Honor gasps, bending down and extending a finger for the baby to grab. “Isn’t he precious! Look at all that curly hair! Hello, sweetie!”

“This is Carl,” Lila says, swallowing the lump in her throat, for this is the first time Callie’s parents have met the baby. It was not a girl, as Callie, and consequently Lila, had thought, but a strong, chubby boy.

“May I hold him?” Honor asks.

Lila unclips him, lifting him up gently and handing him over. Honor bounces him up and down, delight in her eyes.

The front door opens and Fingal lopes outside to say hello, sniffing curiously at the baby, wondering what that new, unfamiliar smell is. He is closely followed by Steffi, then Mason, in striped apron, with a bottle of champagne in hand.

“You made it!” He is clearly thrilled to have them all here, and he leans down to kiss Honor and welcomes Walter with a hearty hug.

There are hugs all around for everyone.

“Come inside, quickly.” Steffi picks up stray bags and ushers everyone up the steps. “It’s freezing. Come and sit by the fire. When’s Reece getting here? Anyone know?”

“He should be here any minute,” Honor says. “We spoke to the kids this morning and they were going out to do some last-minute something or other. Oh my, Steffi,” she walks into the hall, still clutching the baby. “This is beautiful.”

This is Steffi’s first Christmas. In previous years they have always gone to Callie’s. Steffi has never had to buy a tree, or choose decorations, or, for that matter, do anything other than the cooking.

This year, when Steffi and Mason were out walking, they found a blue spruce on the edge of the property that was perfect. “Thank you, Callie,” Steffi whispered, looking up at the sky.

She does that a lot. She talks to Callie all the time, convinced that whenever serendipity intervenes it is in fact Callie, her guardian angel, watching over her.

“I am doing Christmas with Callie,” she told Mason, “and you. The three of us together.” She loved that he didn’t question it, that he seemed to understand exactly what she meant.

She has bought wooden nutcrackers from Mary’s store, and looped garlands of popcorn and cranberries on the tree, decorating it with homemade gingerbread men and Christmas cookies on red velvet ribbon, side by side with delicate ornaments that had belonged to her grandmother, which Reece gave her after Callie died.

Garlands of mountain laurel are wound around the banisters and candles of differing shapes and sizes sparkle on every surface.

Mason brought home a box of crystal icicles that he’d found in a liquidation sale in the city, and Steffi has hung them from the Victorian chandelier in the hallway. The entire house is filled with the smells of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves.

“Oh, honey”—Honor turns to her, with the baby still in her arms—“you know she would have loved this.”

“I know.” Steffi smiles. “I felt her with me every step of the way.”

 

It wasn’t ever thus. Those first few weeks after Callie died had indeed been a blur. Steffi kept waiting, expecting to dream of her, hoping for a sign, but nothing came.

When she finally did dream of Callie, it wasn’t Callie coming to tell her she was fine and happy, and not to worry, as had happened to other people she had known, although not with Callie; it was a dream in which Steffi was shocked, and thrilled, to find Callie was alive, that it had all been a terrible mistake.

She awoke, the dream as vivid as life, and burst into tears; for the entire week she bore again the weight of the loss, suddenly as sharp and searing as it had ever been.

The first few weeks were, in many ways, the easiest. There were funeral arrangements that had to be made, a memorial service to organize. Busy, busy, busy, and in deep shock. It took much longer for the reality to hit her.

When it did, Mason looked after her. She slept. A lot. Wanted to sleep all day, and sometimes she did. Mason was the one who brought her tea, sat on her bed and talked to her, and eventually persuaded her to see a doctor, who diagnosed depression and prescribed Lexapro to bring her back to her self.

He wrapped her in blankets and sat her in front of the fire, or found silly videos on YouTube that started to make her laugh.

He warmed her up again, and she found herself looking at him one night, when he was going into the city to see the children, and thinking: I love this man.

It was unexpected, and yet completely right. For the first time, she knew that this was love.

It was everything about him. From the way he lived his life, his beliefs, his kindness and gentleness, to the way he smiled, and even, she realized, his smell.

His soon-to-be-ex, Olivia, was back in New York. The fling with the decorator had turned out to be just that, a fling, and she had come running back to New York City. Steffi felt a flash of fear that Olivia might attempt to win Mason back, but this was not the case. Steffi quickly shared Mason’s delight that his children were home in New York, back at the same schools they had always attended, seeing their father one night a week and every other weekend.

Steffi has come to love the children, and they love her. Olivia refers to Steffi now as the Tenant, which is no improvement from the Chef, but Steffi doesn’t much care. Olivia was not, and never will be, a friend. The most she can hope for is a good working relationship, and she tries to stay in the background much of the time if Olivia is involved.

That night, as Mason was leaving, Steffi laid a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her, and she looked him directly in the eye. She hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t even thought it before this instant, but the words were out before she could think about them.

“I love you,” she said, and the words hung in the air for a second as Mason registered what she had said.

Mason stood still for a moment, shocked. He was in love with her, but he never dared allow himself to dream she might feel the same way. He drew her close and squeezed her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you I love you I love you.”

Later that night, he knocked on her door. She sat up and welcomed him to her. He kissed her with such sweetness, such gentleness, and she felt a swell of emotion that was entirely unfamiliar.