Chapter Twenty-five
At 7:00 p.m., Caroline would finally get to meet the man her mother had spent her last vacation with. What if he didn’t show up? And if he did, what would she say when she saw him?
She needed to distract herself. She took Nina’s letter from the stack on the bedside table and started reading.
Dear Anne,
I’m afraid I don’t feel very festive today. My editor at Women’s World Monthly, Margaret Baker, died. When we worked together, she was so sophisticated. I always felt like she was so much older than me, but she was only eighty when she died. In five years, I’ll be the same age and I have so much more to say. I suppose most writers feel that way. How many authors’ books are sold posthumously? As if we’re all determined to have the final word.
Margaret had a long romance with a male travel writer, but they never got married. She became editor in chief of Women’s World Monthly, and went on to be publisher of a fashion magazine based in Rome.
I visited her once and we had a fancy lunch at a restaurant at the top of the Spanish Steps. I never saw her again after that.
But her death still hits hard. If Margaret hadn’t appeared in Vermont that day, my life might have turned out differently. It’s odd how one small event leads to others. I can retell what happened now, but at the time I was furious with Margaret, and with Teddy. I couldn’t show Margaret how I felt. She was my boss and I was a working girl. I depended on my paycheck.
I stood at the door of the farm in Vermont and closed my eyes, wishing that a Christmas miracle would whisk Margaret back to New York. When I opened my eyes, she was still there. I couldn’t risk her firing me for letting her freeze to death, so I ushered her inside.
Margaret glanced around at the fire burning in the fireplace, and the two Christmas trees decorated with ornaments.
“The place looks wonderful, you’re more domestic than I thought.” Margaret trailed her gloved hands over the blanket draped on the sofa. I didn’t explain that the blanket was there because I was sleeping on the sofa, and the extra Christmas tree was the result of the tussle between Teddy and James. Instead, I changed the subject.
“What are you doing in Vermont?” I asked. “You and Harry were going to Palm Beach.”
“Harry got a last-minute assignment covering New Year’s Day in Sydney. I didn’t want to travel thirty-six hours just to see the first New Year’s Eve across the world.” She took off her fur coat. “I was going to go skiing in the Adirondacks while Harry was away, but then Teddy called with the invitation.”
“The invitation?” I repeated, puzzled.
“To your wedding.” Margaret pulled off her gloves. “What a splendid idea! Laura’s fans will love that you got married on New Year’s Eve. You’ll have to write about it in a column, and we’ll add some recipes. Perhaps a special wedding cocktail. The Laura and Teddy Love Potion.”
My stomach lurched.
“Teddy invited you to our wedding?”
“He called this morning. Father Joseph is going to be the officiant and James will be his best man. I’m happy to be your maid of honor.”
Teddy was clever. Having Margaret at the wedding would make sure I went through with it.
I cleared my throat. “The thing is that I’m not marrying Teddy. James and I have fallen in love, and we’re getting married instead.”
Margaret looked at me as if I’d told her that I had walked on the moon.
“You’re marrying the contest winner?” Her eyebrows shot up.
“James is handsome and kind and intelligent,” I said enthusiastically. I had to make Margaret believe me. “His grandmother started Barbara’s Pies, and James is a successful pediatric oncologist. We have so much in common. He loves reading and history…”
“I don’t care if his grandmother is the CEO of Sara Lee and James’s the head of NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, you can’t marry him. Laura’s fans would be furious. Laura can’t ditch her fiancé for a man she’s known for a few days.”
“Her fans don’t have to know,” I said.
“Of course they’ll know! If Father Joseph is officiating, people in town will talk. It’s out of the question. And marrying Teddy on New Year’s Eve will be so romantic, Laura’s readership will go through the roof.”
“I can’t marry Teddy to please Laura’s readership.”
“Of course you can. You’re going to marry him anyway,” Margaret said patiently.
“But I’m not Laura Carter. I’m Nina.”
“That’s the wonderful thing. Betty has kept Laura’s fiancé so private, her readers don’t know anything about him.”
I glanced at the scotch bottle on the sideboard. If this charade kept up much longer, I’d develop a serious drinking problem.
“You and Teddy can get married again properly when you get back to New York. I’ll even get you a good deal at the Waldorf Astoria, they’re big advertisers of the magazine. It will take a bit of work to get Laura’s name changed to yours on the marriage certificate, but I know someone at City Hall.”
I tried one more time. “Things between Teddy and me have been strained for a while. James and I really are in love. Wait until you meet him.”
Margaret gave me the same look she used on a copy editor who was late on a deadline.
“I told you, it’s out of the question.” Then her expression softened. “All couples go through difficult times. You and Teddy have been together for so long, you’ll work it out.”
Before I could answer, James entered the room. He had changed for dinner and looked particularly handsome in a V-neck sweater and gray slacks.
“This is James Stanley, the contest winner,” I said, introducing him. “This is Margaret Baker, lifestyle editor at Women’s World Monthly. ”
Margaret let out a slow whistle.
“You really are handsome, we’ll have to get a photo of you. Laura’s readers will love it.”
“Delighted to meet you.” James shook her hand. “My grandmother is a huge fan of the magazine.” He shot me a smile. “And Laura has been the perfect hostess. I’m having a wonderful time.”
Margaret’s fawning expression faded.
“Laura filled me in on recent events. You can’t marry Laura. It’s a ridiculous idea, and I could lose my job. I’m the one who set this all up.”
I hadn’t thought of that. I glanced at James beseechingly.
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” James said. “The thing is, Laura and I fell in love and…”
Teddy took that moment to enter the living room. It was almost as if he had been listening at the door. He wore an apron over a wool sweater.
“Margaret! You made it.” He beamed. “I’m cooking beef Stroganoff. The beef comes from a local farm.”
“I love Stroganoff, but we have to settle something first,” Margaret said. “There seems to be some confusion on who is the groom. You invited me to your and Laura’s wedding. That’s the one I plan to attend.”
Teddy walked over to me and placed his arm around me.
“We already talked about it, of course we’re getting married.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Lots of brides get cold feet before the big day. What we all need is a round of drinks.”
Teddy fixed scotch and sodas for everyone. He and Margaret talked about Palmolive’s advertising budget for the new year.
Teddy refilled Margaret’s glass. “The farm is getting crowded, so I reserved a room for you at the Mountain Inn. It’s not quite the Ritz, but you’ll be comfortable.”
“As long as there’s central heating.” Margaret nodded. She glared at me. “Now about this wedding. Are we clear on who’s marrying whom?”
I had known Margaret long enough to recognize when it was time to wave the white flag.
“I’ll marry Teddy,” I said glumly.
Teddy leaned over and kissed me. “That’s my girl. Why don’t you help me with the beef Stroganoff. Give James and Margaret time to get to know each other.”
Dinner was more pleasant than I expected. Teddy was his most charming self. I resigned myself to marrying him. I’d get it annulled when I returned to New York. By the same time the following week, I’d be Nina Buckley again. I even resolved to stop putting off writing my next novel.
James and Margaret got along so well, they flirted with each other. I didn’t blame Margaret. James was polite and good-looking, and Harry had been stringing her along for ages. Margaret deserved a man who treated her properly.
It was the next morning that all hell broke loose. Father Joseph was going to arrive at noon; the ceremony would be at 1:00 p.m., followed by a light lunch and wedding cake.
When I entered the kitchen, the house was quiet. James was out and Teddy must have gone to the inn to pick up Margaret.
I was making coffee when there was a knock at the door. A man in a bulky lumberjack jacket stood outside.
I opened the front door. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Jack Arnold, a friend of Father Joseph’s,” he said. “I wonder if I could come in for a minute.”
I ushered him inside.
“I was making coffee, would you like some?”
The man sat on the sofa. He nodded. “I’ve lived here all my life, but I still get cold without my morning coffee.”
I brought his cup into the living room and sat opposite him.
“My wife ran into Father Joseph’s wife at the general store, you know how women love to gossip. Father Joseph’s wife mentioned that Laura Carter is getting married today, the whole town is excited.” He nursed his cup. “I write a column for the local newspaper. I’d be honored if you give me a quick interview, just a few quotes about the wedding.”
I put down my coffee cup.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question. My fiancé is very private, you might say he’s reclusive.”
“You don’t have to mention his name,” Jack pleaded. “It would mean so much to all of us. You helped put this town on the map, and tourists bring in money.”
If the whole town was gossiping about the wedding anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to give him a few quotes.
“There’s not much to tell,” I began. “Teddy and I have known each other for ages. We both love Vermont, it’s so invigorating.”
At that moment the kitchen door swung open. James entered; he was carrying an armful of logs.
The man jumped up and held out his hand. “Jack Arnold. Nice to meet you, Teddy.”
“I’m not Teddy.” James moved the logs so he could shake Jack’s hand. “James Stanley, contest winner.”
Jack looked puzzled. I was about to explain about the magazine contest when the kitchen door opened again. This time it was Teddy and Margaret. Margaret wore her fox fur coat and matching muff.
I introduced everyone.
“Jack writes a column in the local newspaper. He wants to write a short piece about the wedding.”
Margaret was looking intently at Jack. And Jack was staring at Teddy.
“That’s not Jack Arnold, that’s Jack Gold, page six photographer for the New York Post, ” Margaret announced. “What are you doing here?”
A smirk crossed Jack’s face. “A little bird tipped me off that Teddy Chandler the Third was getting married today. Except the bride isn’t Laura Carter.” He turned to me. “I recognize you from that women’s lib event in New York. You’re that author who hates men, Nina Buckley.”
“I do not hate men,” I said before I could stop myself. “I simply believe that women have rights too.”
At that moment, Jack took a camera from under his jacket and pointed it at our little group.
“Page six readers won’t care about that. They’ll be more interested in why you’re pulling the wool over thousands of readers’ eyes and pretending to be Laura Carter.”
Then he clicked his camera.
Dearest Anne, I have to stop there. I’m going to donate some money to the animal shelter in Margaret’s honor. She loved animals, especially stray dogs.
I promise I’ll finish the story in my next letter. I know that even the best writer loses her audience when a book drags on for too long.
Thank you for listening to me. Writing these letters has been the best therapy I could imagine.
Regards,
Nina
When Caroline arrived at the Limelight Hotel, Nick wasn’t in the little office. She found him in the lobby. She almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was neatly combed and he wore a collared shirt and loafers instead of his usual black sneakers.
He jumped up when he saw her.
“Savannah will be here any minute.”
Caroline was about to tell him about her conversation with Claudia when a woman in her late twenties entered the lobby. She was strikingly beautiful, with green eyes and wavy strawberry-blond hair. She looked extremely chic in a cream sweater and beige cashmere slacks.
Caroline glanced at Nick’s almost dazed expression and knew immediately that this was Savannah.
Savannah walked up to them and kissed Nick on the cheek.
“You haven’t aged a bit in five years,” she said.
“This is Caroline,” Nick said. “She’s my editor.”
“I couldn’t believe it when you told me over the phone,” Savannah gushed. “You sold your novel! I feel so proud.” She turned to Caroline. “I encouraged Nick to write, I knew he could do it if he tried.”
“The book hasn’t sold yet,” Caroline said. “But I know it will, as long as we do the work.”
“Well, I want to hear all about it.” Savannah took Nick’s arm. “Just think, I know a famous author.”
Caroline glanced at Savannah curiously. There was something about her tone that was almost cloying. But Nick was like a kitten lapping up a bowl of milk.
They went to a coffee shop on Main Street. Caroline and Nick had hot chocolates and Savannah ordered avocado toast and chai tea. Caroline was surprised when Savannah asked Nick to pay for hers.
“My parents have me on an allowance.” Savannah rolled her eyes. “And their condo in Vail only has rich, fried Southern food. I’ve spent the last five years in Europe, I’m not going to eat unhealthy fried eggs and grits.”
Savannah told them everything she had done since she left the ranch. First, she spent the year on an archaeological dig in Greece, followed by a few months in Croatia and Malta. But she found that the sun on archaeological digs was usually too hot, and everyone slept in tents.
“All I wanted was to sleep in a proper bed, so I took a job for the winter working at a ski resort in the German Alps. Then, last spring I went to Spain. I love Spain,” she said dreamily. “I worked at a resort on the Mediterranean. Everyone takes long siestas during the day and stays out late at night.” She beamed at Nick. “I even taught horseback riding. I was going to stay forever, but then something happened.”
Savannah fell in love with a dashing older Spaniard named Antonio. She swore she didn’t know he was married. One day, his wife appeared at the resort. She made a terrible scene in front of everyone. Savannah was fired; she couldn’t find another job and ran out of money.
“I had to ask my parents for the plane ticket home.” She gave a heavy sigh. “Now they have me practically under house arrest. They’re insisting I spend a year in Atlanta at home. I don’t know what I’ll do for work. It’s easy to find work in Europe without a college degree, but it’s different here. And everyone in Atlanta knows what happened. I won’t be able to show my face anywhere.”
Savannah went to the restroom. Caroline and Nick sat together at the table.
“Poor Savannah.” Nick stirred his hot chocolate. “She’s had a hard time.”
Caroline wanted to say that spending five years in Greece and Croatia and Spain didn’t sound that hard. But she could tell by Nick’s expression that he wouldn’t hear her.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Caroline said instead. “I had a call with Claudia today.”
Nick looked up from his cup.
“Can it wait?” he asked. “I’m going to drive Savannah back to Vail. She took the bus here, her parents wouldn’t lend her their car.”
Savannah returned and gave Caroline a quick hug.
“I’m so glad to have met you.” She linked her arm through Nick’s.
When Caroline arrived back at the inn, Daphne was standing outside her room.
“I thought you would be with Luke all day,” Caroline said, opening the door.
“He went to the airport to pick up Eric, his best man,” Daphne answered. “I wanted to see you. You left Zane’s and didn’t come back.”
Caroline took off her jacket and sat on an armchair.
“Max came outside, we had a long talk.” She remembered how he looked so handsome in a suede jacket.
Caroline told Daphne the whole story.
“Max is right, I could work remotely from Aspen some of the time. But part of my job is taking authors and agents to lunch. And I couldn’t live without the throb of New York.”
“You’re living without it now,” Daphne reasoned.
“It’s Christmas week in Aspen. Anyone can live in a fairyland for a while.”
Caroline expected Daphne to keep arguing.
“I’m proud of you for opening your heart,” Daphne said instead.
“I’m proud of me too,” Caroline laughed. She realized she did feel better. Falling for Max had opened something inside her. She felt freer, and almost happy.
“I’m so anxious. I hope Mom’s lover will be there.”
“That’s the other reason I came,” Daphne replied. “I can go with you if you like.”
Caroline shook her head. “What if Mom didn’t tell him about us? It will be overwhelming for him to meet both of us at the same time.”
“I guess you’re right,” Daphne agreed. “I’m going to take my last, long bath as a single woman. Luke and I promised to save on hot water. It will reduce our monthly bill and it’s good for the environment.”
As Daphne was about to leave, she turned from the door.
“Even if you and Max aren’t together, I’m still going to throw you the bridal bouquet. You tried and that’s a good start.”
Caroline stood across the street from Santa’s Little Red Mailbox. Main Street was quieter than Caroline had seen it. Most people were at their hotels, getting ready to celebrate New Year’s Eve.
She had arrived ten minutes early. Now it was exactly seven o’clock and the other things on her mind—Daphne and Luke’s wedding, her phone call with Claudia, the reappearance of Savannah in Nick’s life after all these years, even her feelings for Max—faded. What would her mother’s lover be like and what would she say to him? Would she know who he was when she saw him?
Another twenty minutes passed. Caroline’s nervousness and excitement turned into disappointment. He couldn’t have written such a heartfelt letter begging Anne to come, and then not show up himself.
At seven thirty she was about to leave when a man rushed up to the mailbox. He glanced at his phone and then peered up and down the street.
The man was very tall, with dark brown hair and a longish face. He wore a calf-length wool coat and leather gloves.
Caroline took a deep breath and strode across the street.
“I’m Caroline,” she said, introducing herself.
He pulled his gaze toward her.
“Caroline Holt,” she said. “Anne Holt’s daughter.”
The man paused, then held out his hand.
“I’m Michael. Where is Anne?” His eyes were bright. “I can’t wait to see her.”
Caroline shook her head. She dug her hands into her pockets. “She didn’t come.”
She waited, not quite knowing what to say next.
He frowned, puzzled. “So, she sent you to tell me?”
“Not exactly. You see, my mother died two months ago. I found the letter in a pile of mail, so I…”
“Anne is dead?” he asked, heartbroken.
Caroline could tell from his expression that he never knew Anne had cancer.
“She had cancer. Last summer, she was in remission. The cancer returned in September and she died a month later.”
“Cancer,” he breathed. He looked at Caroline intently. “So, you’re Caroline. Did she mention me to you?”
“She didn’t say anything. I came because I didn’t want you to think that she stood you up.” Caroline gulped. She didn’t know why she felt like she had to explain, but the words kept rushing out. “She wasn’t like that. She never kept anyone waiting, and she was so giving. I’m sure if she got your letter, she would have gone out of her way to meet you. She was a very special person, I miss her every day.”
“I’m glad you came.” He nodded. His eyes were kind and gentle. “Why don’t we get coffee? I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind a warm place to sit and talk.”
They sat in a booth at Paradise Bakery and ordered coffee and orange-iced muffins.
“Tell me about the cancer,” Michael said, eating a bite of muffin.
Caroline told him how her mother kept it secret in the beginning. After she finished the treatment, she seemed so confident that she would stay in remission.
“My sister, Daphne, and I were shocked when she went back to the hospital. She had asked us to come to the Aspen writers’ conference and we both said no. Now I wonder if she knew that it would be her last summer. She did some other odd things too, things she hadn’t done before.” Caroline sipped the cider. “She bought herself a pair of earrings simply because she thought they were pretty. My mother loved jewelry but she only bought pieces when one of her authors had a big success. It was one of her traditions.”
“I would have liked you and your sister to have come.” Michael nodded. “She never told you anything about me? How we met or what happened afterward?”
“I don’t even know your last name,” Caroline said. “All I had was your letter asking her to show up at Santa’s Little Red Mailbox.”
Michael picked up his cup and told her the whole story. They met during college, while they were studying abroad. Michael was an architecture major and spent the spring and summer in the South of France. They became serious and for a while they were inseparable. They traveled together on the weekends, and they spent countless hours sitting at cafés and talking about what they wanted out of life.
“A few weeks before we were supposed to go home, Anne just left,” Michael said. “It was a different time. We didn’t have cell phones or emails. And we hadn’t given each other our home addresses or phone numbers. Why should we? We saw each other every day. I couldn’t understand why she left without saying goodbye or even without leaving a note, but I blamed myself. I was young and scared, I never told Anne that I was falling in love with her. She probably thought it was a college romance and it was better to end it quickly than for it to drag on when we got back to the States.
“I graduated and got a good job at an architectural firm. I traveled the world designing buildings and became quite successful. I didn’t see Anne again for thirty years. Then last year, I ran into her in New York. She looked more beautiful than ever: she was so poised and sophisticated. I insisted we have coffee and we filled each other in on our lives. She told me she was a successful literary agent. She had been married and had two daughters. Her husband died a few years earlier. This time, we exchanged phone numbers. But when I called the number I realized it was her office. I left messages but she never returned my calls.
“Then, in June, she called and asked if I wanted to attend the writers’ conference in Aspen. I said yes and we had a magical time. I admitted my old feelings for her and told her they hadn’t changed. She never said ‘I love you,’ but I felt confident she felt the same. So, on the last day, I wrote her the letter from Santa’s Little Red Mailbox.” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it. “I was trying to think of the most special way to propose. I decided to ask her to marry me on New Year’s Eve.”
Caroline gasped. The engagement ring was beautiful, a square diamond on a platinum band. Her mother would have loved it.
Tears formed in Caroline’s eyes. She looked at Michael.
“I’m so sorry, she never said anything.”
“She didn’t tell you anything about me and you?” Michael questioned.
“Me and you?” Caroline repeated, puzzled.
Michael set the jewelry box on the table.
“The reason she went back to New York without telling me was that she was pregnant. She was afraid that if she told me, I’d do the honorable thing and insist we get married.”
A chill ran through Caroline. Of course, she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Michael’s last name must be Palmer. He lived in Philadelphia and he was her father.
“She told me everything last summer, but she made me promise not to contact you. She wanted to tell you herself first.”
“I guess there wasn’t time,” Caroline said. Tears welled in her eyes. She bit her lip and pushed them away. If she let them start, they’d never stop. “She went into the hospital a couple of months after she came home.”
Michael touched Caroline’s hand.
“She was terrified you wouldn’t forgive her. She felt terrible for depriving you of a father and me of a daughter. Times were different then. She was afraid she’d end up as a housewife. Her future and her career were so important to her, she couldn’t just let them go.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Caroline stammered. The whole world seemed different. The room tipped and she was afraid she might faint. It was impossible to know how to feel. She wanted to ask her mother so many questions. Why hadn’t she told Michael that he had a daughter? What would it have been like if Caroline had known him as a child? Would she have spent Christmases with him, or visited him for a month in the summer?
For a moment, Caroline was furious. A father/daughter bond was so important; Caroline had missed out on something she could never get back. But at the same time she could understand Anne’s reasoning. Caroline had Walter as a father. Anne didn’t want to separate the family or create any distance between Caroline and Daphne. Perhaps she was even afraid that Caroline would want to go live with Michael. Nothing was more important to Anne than her daughters.
Caroline pulled her mind back to the present. Michael was still talking.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Michael assured her. “I never married. I told myself it was because I was busy traveling for work, but the truth was that I never met anyone like your mother. And I always wanted a daughter. I’m sure you have a full life, but I’d love to spend time together.” His own eyes clouded over. “You had Anne for a mother, you must be very special.”
Michael was right, her mother was very special. And whatever reasons she kept Caroline and Michael apart didn’t matter anymore. Her mother was dead, and Caroline and Michael had found each other.
Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat. She blinked away the tears and suggested he come to Daphne and Luke’s wedding.
“Daphne would love to meet you. She wanted to come to the mailbox but I wanted to go alone.”
“Are you sure it won’t be an imposition?” Michael asked. “I don’t want to interfere with the most important day of her life.”
Caroline promised it would be perfect. As if part of their mother—the young Anne whom neither of them had known—would be there.
They talked about Michael’s life in Philadelphia, and Caroline’s job at the publishing house. Michael was staying at Hotel Jerome, and they walked together down Main Street.
Then Caroline went back to her room and sent Daphne a text saying she had a headache and wasn’t going to stay up until midnight. She wanted to feel her best for the wedding.
Meeting her father in front of Santa’s Little Red Mailbox was a Christmas miracle. If only her mother had been there too.