Chapter Eighteen
The used bookstore was already bustling when Caroline entered the next morning. A mother was trying to entertain her small son, while flipping through books at the same time. Two college students were picking through the classics table and an older man was browsing in the fishing section.
“I brought you a cappuccino.” Caroline handed it to the salesgirl who had helped her two days ago.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.” The girl accepted the to-go cup. “My name is Allison.”
Caroline introduced herself and told her why finding out more about her mother was so important to her.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Allison said. “I’m twenty and my mother is my best friend. She taught me to love books, now I’m getting a degree in library science. Girls in my sorority adore perfume, I love the smell of books.”
“I’m the same, I can’t imagine having a career that doesn’t include books,” Caroline acknowledged. “You were so helpful, I wondered if you remembered anything else about my mother.”
Allison switched on her computer.
“She did come in another day. She bought a copy of Under the Tuscan Sun, by Frances Mayes.”
Caroline had found a copy of the book on her mother’s bedside table ages ago, and read it then. It was about a couple who bought a villa in Tuscany. They wanted to spend a romantic Christmas there, but when they arrived it was in shambles. It took them six months to fix up. There were so many obstacles along the way. Leaking faucets, workers who only showed up to eat the food in the pantry, a family of mice that wouldn’t leave. It was finally ready the following summer and it was the best time of their lives.
Why would Anne have wanted to read it again after all these years?
Perhaps she had believed she was in remission and was planning her future. She was going to retire and buy a villa in Tuscany. She and her lover were going to renovate it together. Caroline imagined spending Christmases there with Anne and her lover and Daphne. Midnight services held in a six-hundred-year-old church. Going caroling with other villagers. Christmas dinners that included lasagna and panettone for dessert.
Allison scrolled further down the computer screen. “Oh, but she returned it a few days later.”
“She returned the book. Did she say why?”
“I wasn’t here.” Allison shook her head. “I’m sorry, there’s no note.”
Caroline’s hopeful feeling disappeared. She thanked Allison and walked back onto the street. A soft snow was falling, and a layer of fresh powder dusted the sidewalk.
She had been wrong. Anne bought the book because it brought back memories of when she was healthy and could plan a future. Or, even worse, being at the Aspen writers’ conference—strolling along Main Street on warm summer evenings, browsing in the shops and having dinner at the outdoor cafés—made her believe she was going to be all right, but then something happened: the night chills caused by the cancer returned, and she knew that living in Tuscany would remain a dream.
Tears formed in Caroline’s eyes. She wished she could talk to someone. But Daphne and Luke had gone cross-country skiing.
Her phone rang. It was Max.
“I was hoping I’d catch you,” Max said when she answered. “How’s Daphne?”
Caroline told him about the bouquets of roses.
“I’m glad they’re working it out. Luke is a nice guy,” Max said. He gave a low chuckle. “Lily is reading Romeo and Juliet. I’m beginning to feel like you and I are star-crossed lovers. First, I twist my ankle, then our romantic dinner gets interrupted by Daphne.”
“Isn’t Lily a little young to be reading Romeo and Juliet ?”
“There’s a ‘Shakespeare for Kids’ version,” Max explained. He paused for a moment. “How about we go snowmobiling? Then there’s a new exhibit at the art museum, and we could finish the day with room service in your room as planned. This time we’ll turn off our phones, and keep the lights dimmed so no one can find us.”
Caroline didn’t say anything. She thought of Nina’s letters, and Nina being alone in her seventies. Of Daphne’s face when she saw Luke’s grand gesture of all the roses. Of her mother’s last brush with love the previous summer.
“Unless I’m being presumptuous and the offer is off…” Max said.
“Nothing has changed,” Caroline replied. She took a deep breath. “I’d love to spend the day together.”
Max met her in the lobby of the Aspen Inn two hours later. He looked handsome in a fleece-lined suede jacket over a green turtleneck.
“I brought you something.” He handed Caroline a small package.
Caroline unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside was a silver coin.
“It’s a copy of a coin that was made from the first silver rush,” he explained. “Mad Finn kept one in his pocket, he swore it brought him good luck.”
The coin was so different from the gifts her flings had given her to impress her: the Chanel perfume that Jack bought after they’d been sleeping together for a week (Caroline would never wear Chanel, other editors would assume she was being overpaid), the Gucci scarf Brad gave her on the last day of the London Book Fair (it was a sweet thought but she never wore it without feeling like a walking advertisement for Gucci).
Caroline slipped the coin into her pocket. “It’s perfect, I love it.”
“Not that you need luck, you’re beautiful and capable,” Max said hastily.
Caroline gave him a quick kiss. “Everyone needs luck now and then. I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
Max had rented the snowmobile from the T-Lazy-7 Ranch. There was usually a tour guide, but Max knew the area so well, they crisscrossed the trails by themselves.
They drove through White River National Forest. Caroline was overwhelmed by the snow-covered mountains reaching up to the sky, the deep valleys below and frozen waterfalls. They stopped at a cabin owned by the T-Lazy-7 Ranch and took out Max’s picnic. A thermos of hot chocolate, cheeseburgers from the Silver Nickel, a plate of Lily’s brownies. After lunch, they drove to Maroon Lake at the foot of Maroon Bells. Aspen groves opened up to wide meadows. The only sounds were of deer darting through the snow, and her own heart beating when she wrapped her arms around Max’s waist.
They passed through the town of Independence on the snowmobile and Max told her the history of the town. At its peak in the 1880s, it contained a bank and three post offices and a stamp mill where they processed silver ore. Then, like in other mining towns, the silver began to dry up and the miners moved on. The blizzard of 1899 caused the remaining residents to leave. They skied down to Aspen on skis made from their dismantled houses. All that was left was a few stables and the old jail with a plaque of the town’s history.
Max was a wonderful storyteller. She asked him to tell her more. He told her about Isabel, the girl in Aspen who stole Mad Finn’s heart. Isabel’s father worked in the post office, but he was often hungover from too many whiskeys at the saloon, and she took his place. About their four children, who wanted to get as far from Colorado as possible—to California, where there were so many opportunities, or to Philadelphia, where the railroads were creating new millionaires.
Max’s stories made Caroline long for a father of her own in a new way. She wanted to know about her ancestors, to feel connected to places and times in history. If only her mother had told her something. Now she never would.
After they returned the snowmobile, they spent an hour at the Aspen Art Museum. It was housed in an old hydroelectric plant. There was an outdoor area with sculptures and a fountain. Caroline joked that it was no rival to the Guggenheim in New York. Max teased back: Where else could you find a steel statue made of reused horseshoes, or a papier-maché landscape of the Aspen Highlands?
Max dropped her off near the inn and she spent an hour browsing in the boutiques on Main Street. She treated herself to a red wool dress to wear for dinner, and bought Max a small bottle of cologne. She put it back on the shelf twice before she decided to buy it. She rarely gave gifts to the guys she dated. The relationships were too brief, the smart tie would end up in a drawer and never be worn. But Max had given her the silver coin. And the cologne smelled good, like the aspen trees they had passed that afternoon.
For the first time, she envied the couples strolling arm in arm, the young families with a toddler perched on the father’s shoulders. She was surprised at herself. She hadn’t known she wanted those things. But she recalled how good it felt to wrap her arms around Max’s waist when they were riding the snowmobile. It was more than the physical attraction; for the first time she felt part of something.
When Max arrived for dinner, he had changed into a white shirt under a snowflake sweater. His hair was smooth and worn to the side, and he wore navy slacks.
“I have something for you.” Caroline ushered him inside.
The hotel room had never looked so lovely. A Christmas tree twinkled beside the window, and red candles flickered on the fireplace mantel. The dining table was covered with a silver tablecloth and set with white china and sterling silverware.
Max opened the package. He glanced at Caroline in surprise.
“I thought you didn’t do that sort of thing—you know, give gifts.”
She suddenly felt embarrassed. Had she told him that she didn’t give presents? She couldn’t remember.
“You gave me the silver coin, and it is Christmas,” she reminded him.
Max unscrewed the lid and inhaled the cologne.
“Thank you. I’ll wear it every day,” he said, smiling. “Now, I think we should start the evening with cocktails.”
Max found a bottle of gin and a Tom Collins mix in the minifridge. He stirred them in a cocktail shaker and poured two glasses.
“Lily said it’s a good idea to drink on a first date.” He handed her a glass. “Her best friend, Emily, said it makes everyone relaxed so there are no strained silences.”
“Emily is Lily’s age! How does she know?” Caroline asked with a laugh. The Tom Collins did make her feel relaxed. Suddenly she didn’t know why the evening made her tense. She had done this kind of thing dozens of times before.
“Apparently Emily’s mother watches a lot of reality shows.” Max grinned.
They sat on the sofa and ate pumpkin balls as appetizers. Max told her a story about teaching Lily to play backgammon, and Lily beating him three times in a row.
“Lily is lucky to have you as an uncle,” Caroline reflected.
“Now that I don’t live in California, I don’t see my sister and her family often.” He shrugged. “Helen and her husband work hard, I’m happy to help out.”
Caroline shared her fears about Daphne and Luke. Daphne didn’t realize how difficult it would be to raise a child if they both worked in a restaurant.
After the appetizers, they moved to the dining table. The chef had prepared roast rack of lamb and shrimp risotto. There were soft rolls and a cranberry salad. Their conversation was light and easy. Caroline tasted the sweet Colorado butter and gazed at Max in the candlelight and a warmth spread through her.
“Now we move on to the best part of the evening,” Max said after they had eaten dessert and were sitting on the sofa.
The dishes were stacked on the room-service cart and the lights were turned low.
“If this was a romantic movie, I’d put on slow music and ask you to dance.” Max trailed his fingers across Caroline’s thigh. “But we’ve had enough distractions.”
Max’s kiss was deeper and longer than his previous kisses. His hand slipped beneath her dress.
His palm felt good against her skin. But suddenly she had an image of other men she’d slept with. Lying alone in bed after they’d gone home, or waking to the empty coffeepot the following morning.
She pulled away, and straightened her dress.
“I think I need a walk. I ate too much lamb.”
Max sat up straight on the sofa.
“I don’t understand, I thought this was what you’re all about. The sexy, successful New York editor having her little flings.”
“I guess I’m not ready. With my mother dying and everything going on between Luke and Daphne…”
“People die, Caroline. Even parents,” Max said crisply. “It’s terrible and sad but it happens. At least Daphne is trying to build a life.”
“You don’t think it’s a bad idea for Daphne and Luke to get married so soon?” Caroline repeated. The mood was broken and she felt confused and upset.
“It’s not up to me to approve. All I see is a couple who are in love and trying to work it out. You’re like a turtle retreating into its shell.”
Caroline stood up. “I think you better leave.”
Max opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he grabbed his jacket.
“You’re special, Caroline. I could really fall for you,” he said. “But you don’t know how to give yourself a break. And no one can help you but yourself.”