The House on Honeysuckle Lane (39 page)

Her phone rang a moment later. It was Maureen. “Oh, my God,” she cried. “I can't believe it. I'm so happy! But what if you come back to Oliver's Well and realize it's not what you want after all? Sorry. You know me, Ms. Practical.”

“Then I figure out where it is I should be,” Emma told her, “and move on. But I don't think that will happen. I really don't. I believe that coming home at this point in my life is what I'm meant to do. I feel as if . . .” Emma thought of Morgan. “I feel,” she said, “as if I'm welcomed here. As if I've been expected.”

“Good. Want to meet for a celebratory drink?”

“Yes,” Emma said, “but after I see Joe Herbert. I'll meet you at the Angry Squire in about half an hour.”
At this rate,
Emma thought,
I really will be getting a nameplate on a chair!

Emma walked the few blocks to Joe Herbert's office. She assumed he would be at his desk, if he really was as busy as he'd told her he was. And he
was
there, red bow tie printed with sprigs of holly firmly in place.

“Emma,” he said, rising from his chair to shake her hand. “What brings you in today?”

So she told him that she was relocating permanently to Oliver's Well and she wondered—“no pressure,” she assured him—if he might be interested in taking on a partner. Joe's grin was answer enough, but she was glad when he said, “You've been reading my mind, Emma Reynolds. I've been considering the idea quite seriously.”

“I'd love to explore the possibility then, Joe,” Emma told him. Then she smiled. “I wonder what Dad would think if he knew I was coming back. That you and I might be working together.”

“I think,” Joe said, “that he'd be thrilled.”

Emma got up from the guest chair and put out her hand. Joe shook it warmly. When she left his office—with the promise of a more formal meeting in a few days' time—she turned back toward the Angry Squire. The restaurant was busier now than it had been when she'd had lunch with Morgan, and as she passed into the bar she heard a pleasant voice call out to her, “Hi, neighbor.” Word certainly traveled fast in Oliver's Well, Emma thought as she smiled and waved to the woman she recognized from the Christmas concert a few days earlier and, she realized, also from behind the counter at the Pink Rose Café.

Maureen was waiting at her favorite table, a bottle of champagne in an iced bucket. “To coming home,” Maureen said as Emma joined her. She handed Emma a glass of the bubbly.

Emma clinked her glass against Maureen's. “To coming home,” she said. “At long last.”

E
PILOGUE

I
t was the middle of October, just about two years since Caro Reynolds had passed, less than a year since her daughter Emma had bought the house at number 32 Honeysuckle Lane. So, so much had happened to Emma and her family in the past months, and in Emma's opinion, it was all for the best.

For one, her sister-in-law Anna Maria's third child, another healthy boy, had been born at six o'clock in the morning on August the twenty-fifth. Emma had given the baby an antique silver rattle she'd had engraved with the initials ACR—Andrew Clifford Reynolds. The baby would be called Andy for short, which, Emma thought, would probably cause confusion in later years whenever he and his aunt Andie were in the same room. But that mattered little.

Along with Emma's new nephew and new home, she could add her new job as a partner at Reynolds Herbert Accountants. Emma and Joe made a good team, as Emma had suspected they would, each contributing their own strengths to a firm that had won a sure place in Oliver's Well so many years earlier. And now, with a partner to carry half of the workload, Joe was able to be home by six o'clock each evening, something that made him very happy.

Another wonderful thing that had happened for Emma—the best, actually—was that she and Morgan Shelby had gotten engaged in the spring. Morgan had given Emma a Georgian era rose-cut diamond ring, so perfectly suited for her she had cried buckets when he presented it to her. Emma had found that she liked to receive gifts from Morgan. It was a totally new experience for her, enjoying the enjoyment it gave a loved one to spoil her. Especially, she thought, when everything the loved one gave her was so . . . perfect. So . . .
Emma
, like the complete DVD set of one of her all time favorite TV shows,
The Avengers
, and the pasta maker she had been secretly eyeing online. Andie was right about the danger of possessions owning the owner, but Emma didn't feel any particular worry about her own newfound delight in both giving and receiving.

“You look wonderful.”

Emma turned to see Morgan in the doorway of what had once been her parents' bedroom, a room that was now theirs. “You don't look so bad yourself,” she said, admiring his well-cut suit and his crisp white shirt. “I don't think we'll disgrace anyone at the dedication ceremony.”

“I certainly hope not!” Morgan came into the bedroom and with a glance at the mirror, straightened his already perfectly straight tie.

At the start of the summer, Morgan had rented his apartment above the gallery to a young couple recently returned to Oliver's Well after four years at college and had moved in with Emma at 32 Honeysuckle Lane. When Morgan and Emma were married the following January, his name would go on the mortgage. Together they had stripped off old wallpaper and redecorated with their own belongings once the auction of the house's contents had gone through. They had changed the paint colors in every room but for Emma's childhood bedroom (she was sentimental about the sunny yellow walls), and with the help of a contractor they had extended the kitchen further into the backyard, still leaving plenty of lawn and flower beds. In only a few months time the house had come to feel truly theirs, and not, as Emma had sworn it would not be, a shrine to Cliff and Caro Reynolds.

“How are you enjoying the books Andie recommended?” Morgan asked, picking up a paperback from her bedside table and flipping through it slowly.

“I'm enjoying them very much,” Emma said, putting an earring in place and looking at Morgan through the mirror. “Hafiz's writing is really beautiful.”

Morgan smiled and returned the book to the table. “Why don't you quote me something?”

Emma turned away from the mirror. “Well, I haven't got any of the poetry by heart,” she admitted, “but something I read just last night seems to have lodged in my brain. Here goes. ‘When all your desires are distilled; you will cast just two votes: To love more, And be happy.' ”

“Words of wisdom indeed.” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “But I'm not sure I could love you more than I already do.”

“Try,” Emma teased.

“Gladly.” In two strides he had enveloped her in his arms and kissed her.

“Mmmmm,” Emma said after a moment. “This is very nice, but we'll be late if we don't hurry. You know how Danny can be about ceremonies!”

Morgan released her. “At least he can laugh at himself now.”

“But I'm one of the godmothers,” Emma pointed out. “I
can't
be late!”

* * *

“Are you nervous, Mom?” Rumi asked. “You keep checking your watch. You never care much about what time it is.”

Andie laughed a bit. They were sitting side by side on chairs that had been placed in a circle in the main meeting room of the Unitarian Universalist Church—the room where the Reynolds siblings had lit candles in memory of their parents the Christmas before—waiting for Daniel and his family to arrive. Members of the Spinelli family, most notably, Anna Maria's parents and siblings, had arrived a bit earlier, and after greeting Andie and Rumi, had taken their own seats in the circle.

“As a matter of fact,” Andie said, “yes. I am nervous. And yet, this is probably the most thoroughly receptive audience I've ever had to stand up in front of.”

“Well, you've never been a godparent before. I mean, even though it's not the same as being, say, a Catholic type of godparent, it's still a big responsibility. I guess it's normal you'd feel a bit anxious.”

Andie took her daughter's hand. She had been deeply touched when Daniel had asked her to stand up with Emma at little Andy's child dedication ceremony. She loved her younger nephew with a strength she hadn't felt when Daniel's other children had been born. She didn't question this attachment to the child; she simply acknowledged and respected it. And if it brought her back to Oliver's Well more often, her daughter's home, so much the better.

It had been an exciting year for mother and daughter. Early that summer Rumi had visited Andie's home in Woodville Junction. Andie had introduced her daughter to her friends and colleagues. They had “taken tea” using Caro's Lenox tea service and had shared meals they prepared together. They had enjoyed long walks and periods of meditation. They had shared memories of Cliff and Caro, new vegetarian recipes, and laughter. They had talked about everything under the sun, from the past to the present to the future, from the spiritual to the mundane.

At one point during Rumi's visit, Andie had given her Caro's wedding set. “You can do with it what you will,” she told her daughter. “You can sell it and use the money to help pay back your student loans or to save up for a house of your own one day. You can keep the rings in a safe deposit box at the bank and forget about them. Or you can wear the rings now. You don't have to wait until you marry.”

“I think I will save them to wear when I marry someday,” Rumi had replied. “I think Grandma would like that.”

Rumi was still pursuing her studies in dental hygiene—as she pointed out, bills had to be paid somehow!—but with Andie's and Bob's encouragement she had also decided to study jewelry design at the GIA—the Gem Institute of America—at its New York City location, right in the heart of the Diamond District. “What if I can't cut it?” she had worried. “The GIA is the big time.” Bob had replied that she would never know what she could achieve unless she tried. “Maybe I should just do the e-course and stay here in Oliver's Well,” Rumi had suggested. To which Andie had replied that being in the company of teachers and other students, people who shared her growing passion for stones and creation, was bound to be infinitely more nourishing than sitting alone at home. In the end, Rumi had found the courage to make the commitment and as soon as she finished her dental studies she was off to the Big Apple.

The sound of a door opening caused Andie to look over her shoulder to see Emma, Morgan, and Bob entering. She waved and whispered to Rumi, “Have you met the woman your father is seeing?”

“Not yet. They've only been out a few times. I don't think Dad wants to bother introducing me to someone who might be gone before long.”

“Probably not,” Andie agreed. “But from what he's told me, she sounds very nice. I guess we'll just wait and hope for the best between them.”

Emma, Morgan, and Bob greeted the Spinelli family, and then Bob slipped into the seat next to his daughter; Emma and Morgan sat to Bob's right. A moment later, Daniel and his family arrived, and a few minutes after that the dedication ceremony began.

After Reverend Fox had welcomed the Spinelli and the Reynolds families—“most especially, Andrew”—he spoke a few words about what it meant to belong to the community of those who shared and lived by the seven principles of the church. “Perhaps most important,” he said, “is our first principle, that of the inherent worth and dignity of every person.” And then he offered a blessing. After this, Daniel and Anna Maria expressed their hopes for their child's life, including that he learn to embrace the virtues of justice, equality, and compassion, and then everyone gathered promised to support and to nurture Andrew as he grew.

Finally, Andie was invited to offer a benediction from her beloved poet and prophet.

“You were born with potential.

You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams.

You were born with greatness.

You were born with wings.

You are not meant for crawling, so don't.

You have wings.

Learn to use them and fly.”

When she had finished reciting the lines she knew so well by heart, she glanced at the others gathered around the baby who had brought them all together. She noted their smiles and their tears. She noted the joy that shone on their faces. And in that moment she felt such bliss as she thought she had never felt before.

* * *

“It was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it, Daniel?”

Daniel smiled at his wife, who was holding their youngest child in her arms.

“It was,” he said. “And thanks again for agreeing to our naming my sisters Andy's godparents.”

Anna Maria smiled. “It was only fair, what with my siblings being godparents to Sophia and Marco. Oh, look!” she said. “There's Richard Armstrong. He promised he'd come by.”

Anna Maria went off to welcome the most recent guest to the celebration at number 32 Honeysuckle Lane. The Herberts were already there, as was Maureen Kline and her beau Jim, the elder Klines, as well as various locals and members of Anna Maria's extended family. Reverend Fox and his partner had stopped by on their way to a family event of their own. The house was bursting with people and brimming with good feeling.

Daniel smiled at the sight of his sister and her fiancée sharing a brief hug. Emma and Morgan had insisted on making all the food for the party. “Just this once, Danny,” Emma had said. “You need to take a break every now and again. And the day of your new baby's dedication ceremony is the perfect time!” If certain dishes weren't exactly as Daniel himself would have presented them—he would have served the duck sliders with chutney instead of blackberry jam—they were no less good for that.

No doubt about it, Daniel thought, stepping aside to let two of the young Spinelli cousins dash through to the kitchen, this was a real celebration. At this time the year before he had been in a very dark place. Now, life was so much brighter, and he credited his wife as well as his sisters for helping him to cast away the demons—the regrets and haunting memories of the past—and focus on what mattered most, the present and the future.

And that future could be anything Daniel chose it to be. Earlier that year he had been scouted by Le Petit Versailles in Lawrenceville. It was an honor, but especially with a third child on the way, he had been and still was determined to stay in catering. It was a challenging business—made a bit easier by the kitchen upgrade the sale of his parents' house has afforded—but it allowed a more flexible schedule than what could be found in restaurant work. And to be with his wife and children was the most important thing, hands down. That said, Daniel had taken on a few more private cooking students; the money was good, but more importantly, the work was becoming increasingly meaningful to him.

Daniel noted that the elder Fitzgibbons hadn't yet come by, though he was sure they would make an appearance at some point, if only to thank the Reynoldses yet again for the five-year loan of the George Bullock desk to the OWHA. At the end of the five years the Reynolds family would decide either to renew the loan or to bring the desk back to the house on Honeysuckle Lane. The plaque identifying the Regency piece thanked Caroline Carlyle Reynolds for her generosity; Daniel had come to see that the gift was a fitting tribute to his mother, after all. And if Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon thought it odd that the offer of the desk had been once made, then retracted, then made again in an altered version, she was far too well bred to say anything.

Daniel looked around at the guests once again. His mother- and father-in-law were comfortably settled on the couch—Emma's couch—chatting with Jenna Herbert. His sister-in-law Gabriella was laughing with Emma. Richard Armstrong was deep in conversation with Daniel's brother-in-law Carlo, also the owner of a restaurant. Daniel decided it was the time for a toast.

“May I have everybody's attention!” he cried. The living room quickly quieted, and following Daniel's lead, the guests raised their glasses. “To Andrew Clifford Reynolds,” he said, “and his very bright future!”

Before the guests could reply, Andy, in his mother's arms, let roar, just once, but it was enough to silence everyone in the room—for a moment. Emma flinched and Rumi put her hands to her ears. Over laughter and the clinking of glasses, Bob turned to Daniel. “He wanted to add his voice to his father's!” he said.