Now, twenty years after Thomas's death, Nora found herself in relatively good health, aside from a few of the typical complaints of old age, like achy, creaky joints and a diminished ability to eat the spicy foods she'd once loved. She'd had cataract surgery in her early seventies, the only surgery she'd ever needed, though in her fifties a podiatrist had tried to persuade her to have bunion surgery. Nora had stood firmâif a bit painfullyâand put aside her heels in favor of more comfortable shoes. No one, she declared, was taking a knife to her unless it was a matter of life and death. Or eyesight. Vanity, she could sacrifice, though truth be told, taking her beloved three-inch heels to the local thrift shop had hurt worse than the bunions.
All in all, Nora was enjoying her lifeâher “twilight years,” as some called them, though the term made Nora think of people stumbling through life in a zombielike fashion and she preferred to be bright-eyed and decidedly awakeâin the house she and Thomas had bought so many years before. When Steve and Julie had retired there, Nora relinquished the largest bedroom, the one she and Thomas had used, in favor of a smaller room on the first floor. She rarely ventured to the second floor, there being no real reason to since Julie took care of the bulk of the housekeeping, but had easy access to the living room, dining room, den, and kitchen. As with many people her age, Nora was in the habit of waking early. She had always hated to feel uselessâbeing not-needed was something akin to a sin in her mindâso she'd taken it upon herself to make the morning coffee for Julie and Steve. Nora preferred tea, English or Irish Breakfast, without milk or sugar. She was almost boasting when she swore she'd never tasted a sip of coffee in her entire life.
Nora had no desire to be “in the way” and with one notable exception had consistently refrained from voicing her opinions about matters not directly related to her. In this way, according to Julie, she'd been the perfect mother-in-law. And as a grandmother, she'd been wonderful to all four children, though she had a special fondness for Lily, a fondness that she had never bothered to hide.
Julie turned from the sink with a sigh. “Well,” she said, folding a dish towel, “that's all done. I think I'll head on up to bed.” Discerning her intention, Hank came to her side.
“I'll be up early tomorrow to start the coffee and breakfast,” Nora assured her.
“And as soon as Henry gets bored with sitting on my lap, I'll be up to bed,” Steve promised.
Julie met her mother-in-law's eyes and the two women laughed. “I'll see you in the morning, then,” Julie said.
The women, accompanied by Hank, left the kitchen, leaving their favorite man sitting contentedly with his best and furriest friend.
7
Thursday, December 21
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Becca sat on the edge of the couch, fully dressed in wool slacks, a Thinsulate T-shirt, a silk blouse, and a cashmere cardigan. She was hungry, and in desperate need of coffee, but not yet ready to join the other Rowans.
One was told by mawkish television commercials and sappy greeting cardsâand Becca would know all about mawkish and sappy, being in advertisingâthat being in the bosom of one's family, especially at Christmastime, should be comforting, but Becca was feeling anything but comforted. So far, every moment she had spent under the roof of her family's house had been tainted by the secret she held from them. Everything wasâwrong.
Absolutely everything her parents had done or said since her arrival the night before had gotten on her nerves, even completely innocuous things like her father using his pocket handkerchief to wipe his glassesâreally, who used a pocket handkerchief anymore!âand her mother pretending to be the sweet, absentminded old lady. And that stupid braid!
Becca checked her watch. Time was passing, but she wasn't quite ready to emerge. So she imagined what was going on in other parts of the house while she hid in the den. Her mother would already have taken a long walk with her dog, a big hairy beast she'd adopted about three years ago. Becca experienced a dim and only vaguely acknowledged sense of jealousy whenever she saw her mother catering to Hank. He was the youngest child and, with everyone else all grown and gone, the focus of much love and attention.
Her father, she knew, would have fed his monstrously hairy cat, Henry Le Mew, first thing that morning, before coffee or toothbrushing or toast. Steve explainedâunabashedlyâthat Henry would have it no other way, and besides, the cat needed to have something in his stomach before his twice-daily insulin injections.
Becca herself couldn't be called an animal person. She thought it slightly crazy that whenever it was time for a checkup, her father loaded his protesting cat into his carrier and drove all the way down to a vet in Portland. Steve loved living the rural life, he said, as long as he had access to big-city medical people for Henry. What he wouldn't do for that cat . . .
Becca's mother, who was a far more relaxed person than her husband about pretty much everything, found the local vet, who dealt routinely with everything from horses to pigs to chickens, perfectly acceptable for her Hank. Plus, he was far less expensive than Henry Le Mew's doctor. Julie wanted everyone to know that she loved to save money wherever she could.
At the same time that Becca admired this trait of her mother's, she also found it incredibly annoying. Come on! How expensive could a box of plastic storage bags possibly be! To Becca's mind, reusing plastic bags that had once contained food was way beyond reason. Had her mother never heard of food poisoning?
Becca sighed and checked her watch. It was almost eight-thirty. She hoped her father had already gone to his studio, cat by his side. She got the feeling that Henry Le Mewâreally, what a ridiculous name!âdidn't much care for her. More than once she'd caught him giving her what could only be termed a malevolent yellow-eyed stare. And she didn't think she was being in the least bit paranoid.
Becca lingered another few minutes in the den until the desire for coffee became too strong to resist. Besides, she couldn't very well avoid the Rowan clan all day. She had come to this house with a purpose. She left the den, shutting the door behind her.
On her way to the kitchen, she encountered one of the twins. He was poking at the pasted-on fuzzy beard of one of the many wooden Santa Claus statues that filled the house.
Think
, she told herself.
You should know the difference between them by now
.
This one is
â
“Hi, Malcolm,” she said.
“I'm Michael.” He continued to poke at the Santa.
Becca cringed. She was glad David hadn't witnessed her slip. It wasn't the first time she'd confused her nephews and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. Becca was aware that she was the only one in the family who regularly confounded the boys' identities, and she did try to differentiate them, really. For God's sake, they weren't even identical; it shouldn't have been hard to keep them straight. But she just didn't seem able to do it. Something about not paying close enough attention, she supposed.
“Oh. Right,” she said, walking on. “Sorry. Michael.”
Becca came into the kitchen. David, Naomi, Lily, and Nora were seated at the table. Her father had indeed already gone to his studio. Perfect. Now she wouldn't have to work to avoid him before coffee. She walked directly to the counter on which the coffeemaker sat, hoping the brew wasn't the usual weak blend her parents favored and knowing that it probably was. Some things never changed, and they always seemed to be the ones you really wished would.
Julie came from the sink, where she had been rinsing a plate, and launched what Becca thought of as her first assault of the holiday.
“You've been almost like a stranger this past year,” she said, pouring coffee into a mug for her daughter. Naomi had made the mug for Julie's birthday the year before; it was decorated with the profile of a Chinook dog like Hank. Becca thought it was ridiculous. “Your father and I haven't seen you since . . . well, since last Christmas! Is everything all right, Becca? I mean, aside from . . .”
“Aside from what?” Becca was further annoyed by the meaningfully lowered voice, the trailing off of words. She held her mother's gaze steadily.
“Oh, I don't know, stress at work?”
Becca wasn't at all sure her mother understood the nature of her job as vice president of a business-to-business advertising firm. “Work is fine,” she said. “And of course everything is all right. Why shouldn't it be? I've just been very busy. Did I tell you I almost single-handedly landed the Loring account? You know that's a biotech company, the fastest-growing in the business. They've got beautiful offices in Cambridge. The Loring account is the biggest account our firm has ever had.”
“Really?” Julie said. “That's wonderful, dear.”
In spite of her words to the contrary, Becca didn't think that her mother sounded very impressed. “Yes,” she said with emphasis, “it is wonderful. I worked very hard to land the account. I don't think I was in bed before midnight for over three months. But it was worth it in the end. This is going to be excellent for the company.”
“That's nice.” Julie toyed with the tip of her braid; Becca wanted to rip the braid out of her mother's head. “Tell me, Becca. Do you have any time for fun? When was the last time you had a vacation, a real vacation, not a weekend visiting your brother and Naomi?”
“And Rain.”
“Of course. But a woman your age must want something more out of life than spending time with her family.”
And there it was, the old theme. When are you going to meet a nice man and get married? Have another child? Start working part-time and being a soccer mom in your off hours? All work and no play serves only to make Becca a dull daughter. “I'm fine, Mom,” Becca said, her voice tight. “Leave it alone.”
“Some adventure,” she went on, ignoring her daughter's command, “maybe a trip to Europe, or a romance. Have you tried any of those dating services I see advertised on television? Those couples seem awfully happy. It's all about compatibility, you know. I read an article the other day about the success rate ofâ”
“Mom!” Becca shot a glance at the family members at the table. No one seemed to be paying her any attention. She turned back to her mother and in a lower voice said, “Enough. If you're going to grill me on my personal life every time we're within ten feet of each other Iâ”
“Yes, dear?” Julie said with eyes wide and maddeningly calm. “You what?”
Becca hesitated. She could threaten never again to visit, but after what she had to say to the family this holiday, she might never again be invited to visit.
“I need my coffee,” she said and took a seat at the kitchen table.
Becca couldn't help but feel like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Everyone around her was ignorant of what was about to befall the Rowan family. Not one of them could possibly guess that the holiday would not be an ordinary one. No doubt they were expecting, even looking forward to, decorating the large evergreen in the corner of the living room, and going to church on Christmas Eve, and the revelations of the Secret Santa exchange on Christmas morning.
Though still resolved in her intentions, Becca again felt nervous, as she had the previous night at dinner. It was one thing to make a resolution in the safety of her own home back in Boston, in her neat and orderly South End condo, but when faced with the very people whose lives she was about to interrupt . . . Well, that was quite another thing.
Becca reached deep down for the store of courage she believed she possessedâand didn't find much there. Maybe the weak coffee was to blame. Next time, if there were a next time, she would remember to bring a bag of the strong blend she usually consumed by the potful.
“Where's Rain?” she asked, aiming for a casual tone and afraid she'd betrayed some of her anxiety.
“Sleeping late.” Naomi laughed. “It's no surprise. When I was sixteen I slept late any chance I could get.”
Becca bristled. What did Naomi's childhood habits have to do with Rain's? They weren't even related, by blood anyway. Becca might have been having trouble finding the courage to forge ahead with her decision to tell Rain the truth about her parentage, but she was having no trouble at all finding a huge store of resentment. Resentment would give her the guts to see things through. Resentment was underrated as a motivator.
Lily was toying with a piece of toast. Becca restrained herself from snapping at her sister. She wanted to tell her to eat the stupid piece of toast or throw it in the garbage. It really wasn't like Becca to be so short-tempered with someone who'd never done her harm. She blamed her bad mood on the earlier confrontation with her mother. And on the lousy coffee. Why not?
Clearly, her younger sister was bothered by something, but even if Becca had wanted to ask her what was wrong and to offer help, she really didn't know how. Only once had the sisters come anywhere near intimacy and that was when at eighteen, Lily had learned the truth of Rain's birth. Lily had approached Becca, wanting to offer sympathy and needing to talk through such shocking news, but Becca had rejected Lily's attempts at communication. Lily hadn't tried again.
“Do you want some jam for that toast?” Becca blurted.
Lily startled at her sister's voice. “Uh, no,” she said. “Thanks.”
Well, at least she had tried. Becca turned her attention to more important matters, like wondering if she had even one ally in the family, one person who would support her decision to reveal herself now as Rain's biological mother. She doubted that she had.
She took another look around the table. David was engrossed in the local paper. David, she knew without a doubt, would be hostile to the idea. Naomi would, as well. She might look like a warm and fuzzy pushover with her pale hair and big blue eyes and cozily rounded figure, but her looks were deceiving. Becca had seen her face down her husband when others had backed away, intimidated by David's occasional arrogance.
What about Olivia, who presumably was arriving later that day? Becca certainly couldn't expect support from her. They'd never been close, and increasingly, Becca sensed from Olivia a feeling of envy, though what she might envy about her younger sister, Becca didn't know. Could Olivia be jealous of her sister's successful career? Maybe, but she and James had a pretty good business of their own. It was a puzzle, and one Becca didn't really care to solve.
“Hey, everyone, listen to this.”
David began to read aloud an inspiring bit from the paper about local siblings, a brother and sister, who together had raised one thousand dollars for the care of one of their schoolmates who'd been stricken with cancer. Suddenly, the story brought to Becca's mind a memory of a time when she was probably about seven and David a young teen. She remembered that she'd entered a Halloween poster contest at school. She didn't quite remember why she'd entered the contest; she'd never been artistic. Probably she'd wanted the recognition of winning; that seemed a likely motive. Anyway, the night before the contest deadline, she'd sat facing an empty square of poster board, completely stumped, not one idea of what to do with the tubes of orange and silver glitter and black construction paper her mother had bought her at the craft store. And David had come to the rescue. She hadn't won a prize, but at least she'd shown up with an entry, thanks to her brother's skill with scissors, paste, and glitter.
How close she and David had once been, in spite of the six-year age difference!
Becca frowned down at her silly dog-cup of weak coffee. She knew she had to close her mind to the past, lest sentimentality weaken her resolve. Sentimentality wasn't for people like her, people who had known fear and sacrifice so young. Sentimentality was as dangerous as its troublemaking cohort, nostalgia.