Chapter Fifteen
We pulled into the circle drive of the empty house and I wanted to turn around. I hated coming here. To me, it was nothing more than a house, but to Milly it was everything. So I’d kept it.
I had to come out today to grab an old deed my lawyer needed and saw it as a chance to see Frances—and apologize again.
“This is where you grew up?” she asked as we crossed the threshold.
“After my mom officially split. My dad sold the house they had together, and Milly had recently bought this one. I think she saw the whole disaster coming.”
I allowed her a moment to take in the foyer, watching her strain her neck in an effort to look up at the crystal chandelier.
“It’s from Germany. Milly might have loved her home cooking and hanging with the kids, but we were expected to respect her things.”
Frances moved toward the wall and ran her palm over the surface. “Silk,” she muttered.
I nodded at her back. She didn’t need my confirmation.
“Did you have friends in the neighborhood?” This time, she turned to me.
“I did, and always brought friends home from college. It made it easier to have people around.”
“And you don’t want to live here? It’s sitting here…empty.”
“No.”
My answer was firm, and she allowed us to move on without explanation.
“Come on, I’ll give you a tour. We’ll save the pièce de résistance for last.”
“Paps would have called this place a gem. He loved visiting people’s homes and helping them pick furniture. He’d say about so-and-so, they’re living like the rich and famous…” She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, smoothing the sides, and took in every inch of the house.
“It wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Sure, I had it all, but I didn’t have a mom… I’m sorry to keep mentioning it. This place brings out the best and worst in me. That’s why I don’t live here. But I can’t bring myself to sell it.”
I showed her the office while I grabbed the paper I needed. She studied the photos on the wall. “Your aunt doesn’t want it? Susie is her name, right?”
She ran a finger along the gold-edged frame, looking at my dad and Susie as kids.
“She probably does, but Milly had her affairs in order and this house was left to me. Susie got shares in the company and a lump sum, which her husband was very happy with. Her daughters got their college funds and jewelry.”
“This is you?” Frances pointed at a little boy up in a chair at a party.
I nodded, walking closer. “Yes, actually Susie’s wedding. The hora…”
“I know what it is—a celebratory dance at most Jewish occasions. They put the bride and groom up in chairs and dance all around them.”
I watched her take in the photographs, a smile on her face and small furrow in her brow as she studied them.
“And the ring bearer got a turn too,” she added with the sweetest smile.
I pointed to one of the men holding up the chair. “That’s my dad.”
“You don’t look like him—” She caught herself, maybe realizing she was bringing up my mom without meaning to.
“I know. My curse when it came to him. Looking at me only reminded him of her. She was in the rest of the wedding pictures, so Milly took most of them down. Milly hated my mother with a passion.”
“Milly was a strong woman. She raised her kids, endured all that with your grandfather, took you under her wing. Her legacy lives on.”
“She was the brightest spot in my life.” I ran a hand through my hair and looked at Frances. “I want to kiss you, but I’m not going to. Every time I give in to the need, I get spooked. It’s true. I want you and more, Frances, and that’s not something I ever saw for myself.” I swallowed the pride lodged in my throat, and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.
Before she could respond, I led her out of the study, gave an abbreviated tour of the other rooms, save the kitchen, and headed to the armoire, hoping to get the goose chase out of the way…
“Here it is.” I spoke gingerly, noting Frances’s change in demeanor.
Her palm smoothed over the wood, rounding the edges and coming to the door, where she ran a finger along the brass handle. “I know this armoire. My grandparents had the same one.” She spoke quietly, her words coming out one at a time. “It was in the hallway at my grandparents’ house, and my grandmother called it her golden treasure chest. She kept sheets in the drawers and purses on the shelves. She also had a small jewelry box in the back corner.”
“You can open it,” was all I said, sensing Frances was in some sort of state, and not wanting to disturb her emotional response.
“My parents now use it for storage in the third bedroom, my old room. Mostly knickknacks,” she rambled. “My mom said it doesn’t go with the rest of her decor, but my dad insisted my grandfather loved the piece. They always ask if I want it, but I’m not sure it will fit in with my apartment.”
With her slight hand and pale pink manicured nails, she opened the door, revealing a collection of Chanel bags and a whole shelf of perfume, mostly Rose’s Lily. I hadn’t touched a thing since Milly died. I left most of the house intact, paying someone to clean it as is.
Frances opened a perfume bottle and smelled it. “Maybe your aunt wants these?”
I laughed. “That’s what you’re going to suggest? Not that I’m a nutcase for not emptying it sooner? I did donate my grandmother’s clothes to a nonprofit that helps women get back into the workforce.”
“I just meant, the smell must remind you of Milly. Maybe Susie would like to wear it. You don’t make it anymore.”
“It’s dated.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, rattling on about secrets and her parents. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but I heard her breath pick up. This whole experience had spiked my anxiety. I could only imagine what it had done to hers.
Pulling her to my chest, I said, “Breathe.”
She took a deep inhale.
“Poor Frances. Take it easy. You’re mumbling and stressing yourself out. I’m not one to ever think you should discuss something if you’re not ready.” I felt a bit of the tension bleed from her. “It doesn’t surprise me they had matching armoires. Milly and James seemed to be in tune with one another no matter how much separation they had. And no, I don’t need to give Susie a damn thing.”
“Can I explore?” Frances asked me hesitantly, her hand ready to dive into the cabinet.
“Of course. Touch anything you want. You can even put on some perfume.”
She immediately grabbed a bottle and spritzed some on her wrist.
“I was kidding…”
“I wasn’t.” She thumbed through the purses, oohing and aahing over a dark pink boucle one. “Sheila, who works in handbags, would die if she saw these.”
“You can take them to show her.”
“No, I could never. You have kept them for two decades in this cabinet. I’m not messing with a piece of your history.” She was fiddling with a black quilted bag, opening it and looking inside. “They always have the nicest linings, Chanel…” She stopped in her tracks and said, “Oh, there’s something in here.”
Pulling out a folded stack of papers, she handed them to me.
Her hand shook and my mind raced.
“Is that what I think it is?” Frances asked me, the two of us communicating in a way I didn’t believe possible.
I nodded, whispering, “Letters.”
Frances waited patiently, and I wished I’d gone ahead and kissed her earlier, delaying this moment.
I cleared my throat and read the top page.
My Dearest James…
You’re no longer mine. My Jimmy.
You probably won’t even see this letter. I’m writing it more as a reminder to myself.
Today, I got myself all dressed and put my grandson, Mackenzie, in the car, and had the driver bring us to your store.
It’s a lovely store. Big, busy, and full of items I’d choose.
It’s Christmastime, and Santa was there for young families to visit. What a great idea! I knew you would be successful.
There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about you.
I’ve been married for a long time, but this still holds true. My husband is a good man, a hard worker, and we made a life. But I can’t help but think what life with you would have been like.
I wanted to see you happy. Seeing you help a customer, smiling and thriving, was what I needed. Your wife came to call you away, and she looks like a nice person with kind eyes, and I decided it was lucky you didn’t see me. I’m sure your family is very happy.
I didn’t want to linger and not buy something or take up a salesperson’s time for nothing, so I purchased an armoire. It will look beautiful in my house.
My grandson, Mackenzie, lives with me now. His mom left him, and he’ll never be the same.
My heart dropped to my feet at this statement, and Frances grabbed my hand and squeezed tight.
“I’m fine,” I muttered. I didn’t know if it was for me or her or Milly or who…
I hope one day he finds a love like we had, and no one tears him away. He deserves it.
Merry Christmas,
Forever your Rosie
My throat clogged toward the end, my words coming out sounding like a frog was lodged in my vocal cords.
When I started to pull out the second letter, Frances touched my hand and said, “Let’s save it for another time. That was a lot to digest.”
She looked into my eyes, her expression soft and comforting, like a blanket tucking in my tired, aching heart.
Stealing the letters from me with her free hand, she said, “It’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much this would be for you. The internet makes you out to be a badass, and for some reason I thought this would be a quick thing. And that you would just tell me what you knew, or I don’t know. But you’re hurt…”
I pulled a rambling Frances into my chest, and whispered, “Shh.”
I kissed the top of her head, my mouth brushing against her soft hair. I breathed her in; she smelled like peaches and mango. I wanted to hold her tighter, feel her closer as the two of us stood in between the open doors of the armoire. More like a Pandora’s box, but I didn’t want to add any more pain to the woman in my arms.
“It’s true, I’m sorry.” Her mouth tickled my chest while she spoke, and I wrapped her small body tighter.
I didn’t want to look at her while I spoke. “My mom is a bad subject. I spent most of my childhood wishing she would come back. Then, I’ve spent the great majority of my adult life putting her away on a high shelf. Keeping her out of my story, away from my business and in the back recesses of my mind, has been my mission. She’s the one who hurt me. Clearly Milly knew it. I don’t like others to be privy to it because they can take advantage of it. But that’s not you. You wouldn’t do that. I’ve known that since the day you hijacked my soul at the mall…”
I felt her tilt her head back and look up at me. “I did not hijack your soul.”
My lips met the top of her head again. “You did. You and your kickboxing moves…”
“I’m falling for you,” she blurted out. “Shit!” She stole away from my grasp. “I didn’t mean to put that out there.”
I strode toward her, wanting her back in my arms.
“I never wanted to fall for anyone. I’m thirty-eight…too old for crushes and like-liking someone, you know? I see men all day and I never fall for anyone. Working with men in my safe place. I am unemotional when it comes to your sex—ugh! This is not coming out right. Working with men has been a way for me to keep up boundaries. I don’t like your kind!”
This had me laughing. “Well, you just said you are falling for me, so I disagree.” I wrangled her back into my arms. “Frankie…” I said against her forehead.
“Not Frances?”
“Frances, beautiful Frances,” I corrected myself. “I said earlier all I want to do is kiss you, but I don’t want to run the other way from you. I want to race toward you. But Milly was right, I’m broken in certain ways. More than most, I recognize. Being with you shows me that life doesn’t have to be like it was with my parents…or my grandparents. I just am trying to slow the process because I want to do things right…or how they feel right.”
“Mack.” My name was a breath or a whisper. “Kiss me.”
I couldn’t say no to Frances, so I did as I was told. My mouth melted into hers, the tension rising quickly. Her lips parted so our tongues could meet and I felt like I breathed in as she exhaled out.
I was in trouble. I’d spent decades crafting industrial-strength walls around my heart, while not forgiving myself for abandoning what Milly wanted. Now, when I was closer to fifty than forty, my grandmother was taking the reins. Frances Burns was not going anywhere, and I wasn’t sure I wanted her to go anymore.
With the letters still in one hand, the other palm sliding up and down my back, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“And forget the house tour?”
“Screw the tour,” she said, and we did.