Out in the Country (19 page)

Downstairs Lynne lit the fire that had already been set in the hearth in the living room, and then headed to the kitchen to put the coffee on. Surprised, she found the room already lit, the coffee brewing, its rich fragrance scenting the air. Molly sat at the kitchen table, gazing rather blankly down at the sheaf of papers in front of her.

“Molly...?” Lynne came into the room and laid a light hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re up early.”

“Trying to get a head start on these midterms.” Molly looked up, smiling with what Lynne thought looked like forced brightness.

“On Christmas morning?” She moved to the cupboard and took a thick ceramic mug from the shelf, gesturing to another one. “Can I pour you a cup?

“Sure.” Molly dropped her pen and shoved the papers away. “I put the coffee on and then forgot all about it.

“It smells wonderful.” Lynne poured two cups and then sat down at the table, handing one to Molly. “What’s up?” she asked lightly. She wasn’t really expecting an answer, so when Molly shook her head, her eyes filling with tears, Lynne felt a lurch of alarm.

“Nothing is,” she said in a choked voice. “Up, I mean.”

Lynne reached over to touch Molly’s hand. “What’s happened, sweetheart?”

Molly shook her head, and pressed her palms to her eyes. Lynne had the feeling that she was trying to keep herself from crying, when a good, long cry was probably just what she needed. “Oh, Mom,” she finally whispered, her hands
still covering her eyes. “What do you do when nothing turns out the way you wanted it to... the way you expected it to?”

“Well.” Lynne sat back and took a sip of coffee, trying to marshal her thoughts. She wanted to say what was helpful to Molly. She also wanted to speak the truth. “I suppose I gave myself to adjust,” she finally said. “And grieve.”

Molly looked up with a loud sniff. “Are you talking about Dad?”

“I suppose I am,” Lynne said with a sad little smile. “I never expected to be a widow at forty-five.”

Molly glanced down again, tracing the rim of her coffee mug with one finger. “Nothing like that has happened to me--”

“And I should hope not, at your age,” Lynne replied. “But that doesn’t mean whatever you’re going through isn’t hard--”

“It certainly feels hard.” Molly lapsed into silence, and Lynne waited. She’d been a mother long enough to know that sometimes not speaking was better than any advice she could give. Outside the wind shivered through the trees, their bare black branches encased in ice, and a bit of snow slid from the kitchen roof onto the drifts below. “I don’t like teaching,” Molly finally confessed, her words hushed, as if she were afraid to actually admit to saying them. “I think I might even hate it.”

Lynne took another sip of coffee, somewhat taken aback. She’d expect Molly’s
anxiety to be about Jason rather than her chosen profession. She bit back the words
but you’ve always loved it
and waited some more instead. Molly looked up, her eyes bright with tears even as she managed a twisted little smile.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

So sometimes silence wasn’t better, Lynne thought wryly. “When did you start feeling this way?” she asked.

“If I’m honest, my first day.”

Lynne remembered how worn and dispirited Molly had looked when she’d come home that day. She also remembered, with a pang of guilt, how preoccupied she’d been with Jess’s broken engagement and the unraveling of her own plans to go to Scotland. And she’d been preoccupied with the inn since then... was part of Molly’s disillusionment because Lynne hadn’t been there to support and encourage her?

“Well, I imagine,” she began carefully, “that when you were so excited about the idea of teaching for so long, the reality would be hard put to live up to the expectation.”

“But that’s just it,” Molly said with a sad little laugh. “It was the idea I loved, not the thing itself.” She let out her breath in a loud sigh.
“And I’ve made it even worse for myself--” She paused, then continued a bit awkwardly, “There’s another teacher there--a man--” Oh no, Lynne thought, her heart sinking as she watched Molly blush. “I’ve made such an idiot of myself--” Lynne must have drawn her breath in rather sharply, wondering just how much an idiot her daughter had been, because Molly looked up, smiling wryly although her eyes still sparkled with tears. “Don’t worry, Mom. I haven’t done anything I’ll regret. It’s just made things a bit awkward at school. He took me under his wing--I was his
newbie
--and it meant a little more to me than it did to him.” She sighed again, pushing her hair away from her face. “Probably because I was so miserable and lonely.”

“Oh, Molly.” Lynne reached over to give Molly a one-armed hug across the table. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’ve been so wrapped up in all of this--too
wrapped up--”

“No, Mom.” Molly returned the hug then sat back, smiling ruefully. “I’m so glad you’ve found this. I admit, I was surprised when you decided to move to Vermont, but since coming here I can see how happy this place has made you. I’m glad you’ve had something to call your own, especially since Dad died.” She looked around the kitchen, the doors festooned with holly garlands and the snow piling up in pillowy drifts outside and smiled again, this time the gesture touched with a certain wry wistfulness. “I wish I had something like it.”

“And so you will,” Lynne returned after a moment. The peace and warmth of the kitchen seemed to settle into her bones, giving her an almost sleepy satisfaction. “At least now you know what you
don’t
want. You have plenty of time to find out what you do.”

Molly took a sip of coffee, smiling over the rim of the mug. “I guess I do.”

Within an hour the house set to stirring; Jess came down,
full of brisk efficiency as she took a tray of prepared cinnamon rolls out of the fridge and put them in the oven. She then proceeded to take out what seemed to be half a dozen mixing bowls and assorted pots and pan for the Christmas Day brunch she’d planned.

Lynne was dying to ask Jess about Rob--they hadn’t had a chance to speak alone since his arrival last night--but something about the fixedness of her smile and the way she bustled around the kitchen without a word to anyone made any question die on Lynne’s lips.

Sarah, it seemed, was just as curious as Lynne. She entered the kitchen, elegant as always in a cashmere pullover and slim designer jeans, while Jess was in the shower. She glanced around, inhaling the yeasty scent of the cinnamon rolls baking, and raised her eyebrows. “So who exactly is the mystery man with the delicious Scots accent?”

Lynne made a face. “Jess’s ex-fiancé,” she said, pouring Sarah a mug of coffee.

“Ex?” Sarah’s eyebrows rose further. “How... interesting.”

“That’s one word for it,” Lynne agreed.

“Has he come to win her back?”

Lynne looked up, the question seeming to reverberate through her. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I suppose he has. What other reason could there be?”

“It does seem the most likely explanation,” Sarah put in rather dryly. Lynne barely heard her. What if Jess decided to marry Rob after all, and return to Scotland? The possibility hadn’t even occurred to Lynne last night, and yet now it seemed all too possible, and most unwelcome. Of course, she wanted Jess to be happy... but she also wanted Jess here, helping with the inn. They’d had such fun together these last months, and the thought that it might end made sorrow well up unexpectedly inside of her.

“We don’t know anything yet,” she told Sarah. “Although if I’m honest,” she couldn’t resist adding, “I hope Jess sends him away with a flea in his ear.”

Sarah let out a little laugh. “Not a very nice welcome!”

“He hurt Jess very badly,” Lynne said quietly. “I have a hard time forgiving that.”

“Perhaps she does too.” Sarah leaned against the counter, surveying the warm kitchen with a look, Lynne thought, of almost sadness. “You’ve really created something here, Lynne,” she said after a moment. “I’m almost jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Sarah nodded. “There’s a comfort and a warmth here that makes you want to stay and become a part of this world. Your world.” She met Lynne’s surprised gaze with a wry smile. “I know I wasn’t all that keen on you becoming rustic, but I see now why you came, and certainly why you stay. I shouldn’t wonder if Rob sees it and wants it too--never mind Jess!”

“Never mind me?” Jess came into the kitchen, freshly showered, her hair still damp. Lynne and Sarah exchanged quick, complicit looks.

“I was just saying,” Sarah said, “that this inn has a certain quality--a cozy friendliness that makes you want to stay. Your cooking, Jess, is an added bonus!”

Jess smiled, although Lynne saw a look of worried curiosity flash in her eyes. “Speaking of, I’d better take those cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”

“I don’t think you need any advertising gimmicks, Lynne,” Sarah said as Jess busied herself about the kitchen. “The inn speaks for itself. You just need people to come and see for themselves.”

Lynne made a face. “That’s easier said than done.”

Sarah smiled. “That’s where I come in, of course,” she said, her smile broadening into a full-fledged grin. “I have a lot of friends.”

The day passed in a busy yet comforting blur of food, presents, and more food. John came by for
brunch, and Graham and Kathy showed up for Christmas dinner. Lynne was so busy seeing to everyone she barely had a moment to consider what might happen between Jess and Rob, although she did catch Rob glancing around the inn in a considering way, as if he were wondering just how great his competition might be.

Late that afternoon Lynne managed to catch Jess in the kitchen, scrubbing a pan, which she took straight from her hands. “Let me do that. You’ve been busy all morning--”

“I like being busy,” Jess said, and Lynne cocked her head.

“Are you trying to avoid someone, perhaps?”

Jess glanced down at her sudsy hands. “Oh, Lynne,” she whispered, “I don’t even know what I feel, much less what I should do--”

“He wants you back.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes. I think so.” Jess laid the rinsed pan on the drying rack and wiped her hands on a towel. “There’s a part of me that is fiercely glad he came, because it means what we had wasn’t--wasn’t--” She swallowed and blinked. “Worthless.”

“Oh, Jess--”

“But another part wishes he’d stayed away. I was halfway to forgetting him--”

“But maybe you shouldn’t forget him,” Lynne said quietly and Jess looked up in surprise.

“You think I should give him another chance? Go
back
?”

“I can’t tell you what you should do. But even if you decide not to be with him, saying goodbye is better than just forgetting.”

Jess nodded slowly. “Yes. That closure, right?”

“Right.”

Jess didn’t find an opportunity to see Rob alone until Christmas night; dinner was finished, the dishes cleared away, and most people were relaxing around the crackling fire in the living room. Jess was in the kitchen, wiping down Kathy’s sterling silver and replacing in its velvet box when Rob found her.

“Sometimes I think you hide in here.”

She glanced up at him. “I needed to think.”

“Have you finished?”

Jess placed the last fork in its velvet bed and closed the box. “Yes.”

They were both silent, and then with a little smile she knew so well--and had loved--he gestured to the darkness outside, as velvety and soft as the lining of the box she’d just closed. “I know it’s about twenty below, but do you fancy a walk outside?”

“Actually, it’s just a bit below freezing. But yes, a bit of fresh air might be just the thing. Let me get my coat.”

A few minutes later, bundled up in coats, scarves, gloves, and hats, they walked down the path John had shoveled towards the creek at the bottom of the garden.

“I suppose it was a bit cheeky of me to come here unannounced,” Rob said after a moment when the only sound was their boots crunching in the snow.

Jess glanced up at the night sky, spangled with stars, the moon a pale sliver of silver high above them. “You always appreciated the grand gesture.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” Jess said, and silently added, and
they were just gesture
s
. She wondered even now if Rob really wanted her back... or had the idea of crossing the ocean and wooing his lost love carried him away?

“I suppose I wanted to surprise you,” Rob admitted.

“You did that.”

“Was it a good surprise?”

They’d reached the creek; a thin layer of ice covered it, although by the light of the moon Jess could see the frigid water burbling with merry determination below. “Sort of,” she said at last.

“Sort of is better than a straight no,” Rob said. His voice, to her surprise, sounded wobbly. He wasn’t as certain as he’d been, and Jess found she was glad. “Jess--” Fumbling a bit, he reached out one hand, encased in a woolen glove, to touch her cold cheek. Jess let him for a moment before she stepped away. Her boot slipped and she stepped on the creek, cracking the ice with a surprisingly loud sound.