One Week In December (28 page)

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Authors: Holly Chamberlin

BOOK: One Week In December
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51
Nora and Lily returned to the living room just in time to hear Steve asking for everybody's attention.
“Ah,” David said, putting aside his book, “the big unveiling!”
Steve proceeded to hand out the finished copies of what he called “a creative family portrait.” “I took some risks,” he explained, “so be kind in your criticism. And I didn't have them framed because I figured everyone might want something very different.”
David laughed. “Something to go with our décor? I think I'd call it Overworked-Underpaid-Kids-Underfoot Chic.”
“And my style is Paint-Peeling-Torn-Carpet-Bad-Plumbing-Student-Apartment,” Lily added. “But I'm thinking of redecorating soon.”
“And no one would have the nerve to criticize a gift,” Nora corrected. “Especially one created and given from the heart.”
Steve smiled and Becca thought he looked embarrassed, but pleased. Even adult children seemed to need a parent's praise, she thought. She certainly did.
Naomi studied her copy. “Thanks for using the double-chin filter, Steve,” she said. “I look ten years younger!”
“Don't mention it. I might have eliminated a few wrinkles from my own face.”
Julie pretended horror. “Oh, Steve! How vain of you!” She peered more closely at her own copy of the portrait. “Hmm. But I do notice that I seem to have fewer gray hairs in this picture. . . . I think I like it!”
“It's wonderful how you worked Grandpa into this, Dad.” Lily smiled at her grandmother. “He really is still a part of our family, isn't he?”
Further comments were forestalled as Rain and her brothers emerged from the kitchen with some fanfare.
“Look what we made!” Michael announced, holding forth a large platter on which sat a pile of muffins.
“All by ourselves!” Malcolm added.
“I handled the oven,” Rain assured her mother.
Grandma Julie's famous cranberry muffins were passed around the room and though they were a little burnt, no one mentioned the obvious fact.
“They're fantastic, Michael,” Becca said, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth. A little dry, she thought, but if she chewed carefully enough, she wouldn't embarrass the boys by choking.
“Thanks, Aunt Becca. Want another?”
Becca smiled. She'd gotten the boys straight and was inordinately proud of it. “Sure,” she said, “why not.” She'd never mix them up again. At least, she'd try hard not to.
“Oh, my gosh,” Lily cried. “Look out the window, everybody!”
There was a general rush to the front windows to see a doe and her fawn just outside, nibbling on the seed Julie routinely left for the birds and animals each winter.
“You know they're just big rodents,” Olivia said. “And the population really gets far too big for its own good. I don't know why Dad doesn't hunt, thin out the herd. They do make pretty good eating, you know.”
James laughed. “I married Miss Sentimental!”
“Even if they are just big rodents,” Lily said, “and I'm not saying they are—who cares? They're so pretty.”
Olivia grimaced. “They're loaded with ticks,” she said, but nobody seemed to have heard.
“And here comes Alex,” Steve said.
Becca felt suddenly—happy. Yes, here came Alex, trudging through the snow, long red scarf wrapped around his neck, and carrying a few small packages. As he approached the house, the doe and her fawn darted off in the direction of the woods.
A moment later, Becca let him in.
“Merry Christmas to all!” he cried when she'd closed the door behind him.
“You know you scared away that doe and her fawn,” Becca said, pretending to scold.
“I did?” Alex looked behind him, but the animals were long gone back into the woods. “Oh, well, they'll be back. Every wild animal around these parts knows that Julie's got the best cold-weather grub.”
Becca eyed him with mock suspicion. “These parts? Grub? What, you're a cowboy now?”
“I reckon.”
“If you call me ‘little lady' I'll have to bop you in the nose,” Becca warned.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Oh, God! Stop!”
“Sorry,” Alex said with a laugh. “I'm done. You didn't know I was a comedian, did you?”
“For good reason,” she shot back, taking the coat and scarf he was handing her. “You're not.”
“Touché! Anyway, I come bearing gifts.”
They were joined in the living room then by Becca's parents.
“First, a gift for Sir Henry Le Mew.” Alex handed a small package wrapped in green cellophane to Steve.
“He's been knighted?” Steve inquired with a grin. “He'll be happy to hear that. He's been expecting a preferment.”
“It's some fancy organic catnip one of my students grows. She says her cats are wild for it.”
“Well, Henry does have discriminating taste. . . . Thanks, Alex.”
Alex then handed the other package to Julie. “And this is for all of you,” he said. “The Rowan family.”
Julie unwrapped a small, carved sculpture in an abstract design. The wood was American walnut, Alex told them. Its sheen came from a coat of linseed oil.
“It represents friendship,” he explained. “Well, at least to me it does. Something natural, and beautiful, and solid. Something to be respected.”
“It's lovely,” Julie said feelingly. “Steve, don't you think so? I'll put it on the mantel right now.”
Steve reached to shake Alex's hand. “Thank you, Alex. You really needn't have gone to the trouble.”
“No trouble at all. You guys have been wonderful to me. What would an old bachelor like me do on Christmas without a family to take him in?”
“Old bachelor!” Julie was back from setting the sculpture on the mantel and swiped his arm with the dish towel she'd been carrying over her shoulder. “Now, come on, everyone. It's time to eat.”
“Again?” Alex groaned. “Oh, well, if I have to I have to.” And then, when Julie and Steve had preceded them to the dining room, he grinned at Becca. “You see what a good deal I have here?”
Becca grinned back. “What a good deal we all have here.”
52
After brunch, Alex took Rain and the boys out for sledding. Naomi, claiming that she felt a food coma coming on, went upstairs to nap. Olivia and James, Lily and Nora, Steve and Julie were occupied elsewhere. So by default, Becca found herself sharing a private moment with her brother. They were in the living room, each stretched out in a comfortable chair, each in a classic, and unattractive, pose that would hopefully aid in digestion.
“So,” David said, in his usual blunt way, “what made you change your mind? You have really changed your mind, haven't you?”
“A lot of things. And yes, I have really changed my mind.”
“Thanks, Becca. I mean, I know it must have been hard for you. . . .”
“Yeah, it was,” she admitted. “But it's okay now.”
The two sat in easy silence for a bit. At least, the silence was easier than it had been for some time.
“Look,” David said eventually, “I want to apologize. I know I can be a bit of a bully.”
“A bit?” Becca laughed. “Try a big fat bully.”
David looked down at his middle. “Do you think I've gained weight?” he asked worriedly. “I have been eating a lot of rich food lately. Maybe I shouldn't have had that third cranberry muffin just now.”
“A big fat vain bully. No, David, you look just fine.”
“You gave me quite a scare, Becca.”
“About your weight?”
David tried to glare at her; he was a terrible actor, Becca thought.
“I know, I know,” she said. “I'm sorry. Really.”
“Maybe a little heads-up the next time you're going to freak out, okay? A phone call, an e-mail, a text message, something.”
“Deal. But I don't think this particular ‘freak-out,' as you so interestingly call it, is going to happen again. In fact, I can promise it won't.”
David nodded. “Good. You know, I have to admit I didn't believe you'd come through like this. I really was expecting you to ruin Christmas morning for us all. Not to mention the rest of our lives.”
Becca took that in; she'd guessed correctly. “I've never given you any reason to doubt me in the past, have I?” she asked. “I mean, I've always done right by you—and by Rain.”
“That's true,” her brother admitted. “So, I'm sorry I didn't believe in you this time, but you have to understand how—how frightening this has been. Seriously, Becca, I feel as if I've aged ten years in a few days.”
Becca felt newly stricken with guilt. There was little doubt about it. The Rowan family had been injured and it would take some time for the injury to scar over. She could only hope it would heal entirely. “I think I do know how awful it's been for you,” she said. “And I can't apologize enough, David. It's been awful for me, too . . . this past year. . . . But that didn't give me the right to . . .” Tears threatened again.
“Hey,” David said quickly, “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Let's just move on from here, okay? Let's—let's promise to talk more about stuff that bothers you. Let's not drift apart again. Bad things happen when you drift apart from the people you love—and from the people who love you.”
Yes, Becca thought. She knew that now. “Remember the time when you helped me with that Halloween poster contest?” she asked, more than willing to change the topic to something less fraught.
David thought about it for a moment. “No,” he said. “But remember the time when you played hooky to go into Boston and wait all day on line for tickets to some concert? Mom wanted to kill you, but I thought it showed guts. If Dad hadn't been in the neighborhood visiting a client and seen you, you probably would have gotten away with it.”
“I have absolutely no memory of that,” Becca said. She laughed. “Maybe for good reason. I'm assuming I was punished.”
“Well, at least we've got the memories tucked away safely. They're not lost as long as one of us remembers.” David groaned as he got to his feet. “Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to find the Tums.”
 
An hour later, Naomi came downstairs and declared herself recovered from the food coma. In fact, she announced, she was almost ready for another meal. Almost.
Becca, still sprawled in the living room, smiled ruefully. “My trainer is going to ask me if I stuck to a healthy diet this holiday. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to lie and say that I did.”
“I can't imagine working with a trainer,” Naomi admitted. “I don't even think our local Y has such a thing. But I want to talk about something more pleasant than weight maintenance.”
Becca was only too happy to agree.
“Let's do something fun after the holidays,” Naomi suggested. “Maybe I could come down to Boston and we could see a movie and do a little shopping or something. Just you and me.”
“That sounds good,” she said. She had no clear idea if she and Naomi could rekindle the closeness they once had shared all those years ago, but she was willing to give it a try. Any sort of friendship would be better than the decay of good feeling that had been happening over the past years.
“Maybe,” she said then, “I could make lunch for us. I've never used my good dishes and I am actually pretty good in the kitchen. When I use it, which is next to never.”
“It must be hard to make a meal at the end of a long workday,” Naomi said, and her sympathy was real. “Tell you what. I'll bring you some of the pesto I made this summer from our basil crop. I've got a freezer full of it. And I'll bring you a container of beet pesto. I know it sounds odd, but it has the sweetest flavor. And the color is so bright! You simply feel happy eating it.”
Becca was grateful for the offer. “You know those mugs you made for Mom, the ones with the teal glaze?” she said.
“Sure. What about them?”
“I was thinking I'd like to commission a set. The color is really beautiful.”
Naomi smiled. “First of all, thank you. I did work hard to get just that color. And second of all, I'd be happy to make you a set at no cost.”
“Naomi, in a business transaction, a person pays for a service.”
“Yes,” she said pointedly, “but this is not a business transaction. This is family.”
“Oh,” Becca said, feeling a wee bit chastened. “That's right.” She would try not to forget that again.
 
Steve was in the front hall putting on his coat when Becca approached him.
“Going out to your studio?” she asked.
Steve nodded. “Just for a minute. I need one of my cameras. I want to try the add-on light diffuser Rain gave me. Though I do wish she hadn't spent the money on me. I'm sure there are things she wants for herself. . . .”
Like overpriced jeans, Becca thought, proud of her daughter for having acted unselfishly. Well, she thought, she had good parents in David and Naomi and they had taught her well. She reached for her own leather coat. “Can I walk with you, Dad?” she asked. “There's something I want to say.”
Steve smiled. “Of course. But bundle up. Oh, and Henry will be joining us.”
Becca looked down to find Sir Henry Le Mew sitting at her feet, waiting for someone to open the front door. She laughed. “I didn't see or hear him coming.”
“He's very stealthy for such a big guy. It's one of his many talents.”
Together father and daughter and feline headed out for the old converted barn. They walked in companionable silence. But once inside her father's studio, Becca spoke.
“Dad,” she said, “will you forgive me?”
Steve looked up from the worktable on which his camera and equipment were laid out. He seemed surprised. “For what?” he asked. “You've done nothing wrong. I've nothing to forgive.”
“Yeah,” she said, “you do. I didn't trust you. Somewhere along the line, I lost sight of something I must have once known—that you and Mom and Grandma, everyone, that you acted honorably. I lost sight of the fact that you really were trying to help me—and help Rain. Somewhere along the line I started to blame my family for the inadequacies of my own life. And that was wrong.”
Steve hesitated before answering. “I don't know what to say, Becca,” he said finally, “except that everyone questions past decisions. Everyone reassesses his past—her past—and wonders. Everyone feels regrets, for better or worse. Second-guessing isn't a sin. It isn't an offense against anything but peace of mind.”
“Maybe. But humor me, Dad. Just say that you forgive me. Please.”
Steve looked into his daughter's eyes—the Rowan eyes— and realized that she really did need his forgiveness before she could be happy. “All right, then,” he said. “I forgive you for whatever it is—”
“No caveats or conditions.”
Steve smiled. “You're tough, Becca. You'd have made a good lawyer. Fine. I forgive you.”
“Good. I mean, thank you. And, look, I was thinking, next time you and Mom are coming to Boston, you should let me know. I'll be sure to be in town. Maybe I could go to the museum with you. I mean, if it's on a weekend.”
Steve slung his camera case over his shoulder. “You do work too much, you know that. You get it from me, I suppose.”
“I know. I'm thinking about cutting back a bit. Though I can't make any promises yet.”
“I think you should consider getting a cat.”
Becca glanced down at Sir Henry Le Mew. He looked up at her and yawned. Becca was fascinated by all the—corrugation—inside his mouth. It reminded her that while cats were all cute and fuzzy in appearance, they were predators at heart. She supposed it was a key part of their charm.
“Why?” she asked. “For companionship?”
“For companionship, yes, and for the lessons you can learn from living with a feline. Lessons like how to be still. And how to be patient. And how to find great pleasure in little things like food and sleep. Plus, it's very funny when they chase their own tails.”
Becca smiled at the image she'd conjured of Sir Henry Le Mew scooting in a frenzied circle of whirling fur. “I'll think about it, Dad,” she promised.
“Good,” he said. “Just promise me you'll get a cat from a shelter. Well, I've got my camera, so . . .”
There was one more thing Becca wanted to say to her father. Rather, one more thing about which she wanted to ask his opinion. As the three made their way back home, she said, “Dad, I'm thinking of telling Alex about Rain. We've become— friendly. It feels somehow wrong to be hiding the truth from him. And he's so close to you and Mom and Grandma. Anyway, I want to know if you think it's a good idea.”
Steve couldn't hide the smile of pleasure that came to his face. Secretly, he was as much of a matchmaker as his wife. He knew why Becca would want to tell Alex the truth about Rain's birth. And he couldn't think of a better son-in-law than Alex Mason. But maybe he was jumping the gun.
“I think,” he said, “that's a fine idea.”
 
Olivia waylaid her mother as she was coming out of the kitchen.
When,
Julie thought,
will I stop associating my daughter with acts of confrontation and violence?
“Mom,” Olivia said, “can we talk for a minute?”
“Of course,” she said. Mentally, she braced for a scolding and then thought the presumption unfair. Olivia did seem different this morning, more—mellow.
“When you asked me the other day if everything was okay between James and me, well, I lied. Sort of. Everything wasn't okay—isn't okay—but I just didn't know it. Or I didn't want to know it.”
Julie nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging way. “I'm truly sorry to hear that,” she said.
“So James and I have decided to go to counseling. We—he, actually, confronted me. He's been very unhappy. I know I've been . . . sad, but I didn't even notice how miserable he was. How miserable I was making him.”
“Oh, Liv,” Julie said, reaching out to squeeze her daughter's arm. “I think going to counseling is a wonderful idea. I have great faith in you, and in James.”
“Thanks,” Olivia said, with a wobbly smile. “Look, Mom, I'm sorry for giving you a hard time about the salt cellar. Maybe this counseling will help my—mood.”
“I'm sure it will,” Julie said heartily. “But in the meantime maybe this will cheer you up. I did some searching through a stack of old papers and I found a journal I kept around the time I got that old gravy boat you were interested in the other night at dinner. Here.” Julie reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I wrote down what information I found. I thought you'd like to have it.”

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