Читать книгу Christmas 2011 Trio A - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 24

Anne Fletcher strolled leisurely along the Seattle waterfront on her way to Pike Place Market. Julie Wilcoff was meeting her at the seafood stand at noon. Christmas was only two weeks away, and the city was festive with holiday decorations and full of contagious excitement. Even the leaden sky couldn’t dampen Anne’s spirits. Despite being alone, she felt the goodwill and joy of others as they went about their business.

Walking up the tiered stairway called Hill Climb from the waterfront area to the market, Anne paused to look back over Elliot Bay, watching as the green-and-white Washington State Ferry glided toward the pier. On a clear day she’d be able to see the snow-crested tops of the Olympic Mountains to the west and the Cascade Mountains to the east. Until the divorce, California had been Anne’s only home. She’d loved living on the ocean; her daily routine had included long walks on the beach. That was a habit she’d continued when she came to Washington.

The move north had been a financial necessity, as well as a practical choice. Roy lived close by, and while she treasured her independence, she needed the security of having her only child near at hand. It was a plus that property values in the more sparsely populated San Juan Islands were low enough to allow her to purchase a small cottage. The contentment she derived from her daily walks had rejuvenated her spirits and helped her recover in those first dreadful months after the divorce.

Seattle and the Puget Sound area were beginning to feel like home. Anne had told Roy she was reasonably happy, and it was true. She’d found satisfaction in her art, and seeing her son fall in love again brought renewed hope for the future.

As Anne made her way through the tide of shoppers and tourists, she discovered Julie waiting for her. The girl was as tall as her father, whom Anne had met the afternoon she’d painted the company window. She’d be a good match for Roy, physically and mentally. She smiled as she recalled her first meeting with Julie, a memory inextricably connected with her painting on the window. That painting had created something of a stir, according to Eleanor Johnson, Roy’s assistant. Fletcher Industries employees had reacted to the angels over Bethlehem the same way Marta had responded to her portrait of the angel. Ms. Johnson claimed the artwork was the talk of the building. Everyone loved it, she said. Knowing her art pleased others filled Anne with a sense of joy.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Fletcher.”

The greeting caught Anne unawares, involved in her thoughts as she was. “Julie, hello!” Anne leaned forward to kiss Julie on the cheek. “Call me Anne, please.”

“All right.”

She slipped her arm through Julie’s, and they strolled into the market. “I can’t resist taking a peek, can you?” The aisles between the vendors’ stalls were crowded with customers buying seafood, vegetables and flowers, both fresh and dried. Arts and crafts shops were located downstairs.

“I love it here,” Julie told her. “My mother used to bring my sister and me to the market on special occasions when we were little. She’d purchase a fresh salmon just so we could see the young men toss them back and forth.”

“You must have a wonderful mother,” Anne said.

“I did. She died earlier this year.” Julie paused as though it was difficult to speak of her mother. “Dad and I miss her so much.”

Anne gave the girl’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s harder around Christmas, isn’t it? Especially the first Christmas.”

Julie nodded. “Dad and I don’t have the tree up yet. We just can’t seem to muster the spirit. I’m hoping we can do it this weekend.”

Anne tried to think of a way to introduce her son into the conversation. “Roy isn’t much for celebrating Christmas. He’ll come to my place for the day, but only because he knows I want him to. If it was up to him, he’d be just as happy to go to the office and appreciate the fact that he isn’t likely to be interrupted.” It hurt a little to admit that, but it was the truth.

“Ebenezer Scrooge, is he?”

Anne smiled and matched her steps to Julie’s. “Yes, I do believe he is.”

“Oh, my!” Julie exclaimed, stopping abruptly. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” Anne looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“A fish just flew!”

“A fish flew,” Anne repeated, certain she’d misunderstood. “These young men throw them back and forth,” she reminded Julie.

“Yes, I know, but one just took off on its own—no one was standing next to it.” She shook her head uncertainly. “I must’ve missed something. Oh, there goes another one!”

Anne looked at the fresh seafood nestled on a bed of crushed ice. Sure enough, a huge coho salmon was spread across a display of large prawns. Just as she noticed it was out of place, the salmon sprang straight up in the air and started to spin tail over fins, as if someone had caught it on a line. Anne rubbed her eyes, convinced she was hallucinating.

“Did you see that?” Julie whispered.

“I did,” Anne said. “I think we should get out of here. There’s something strange going on.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

Arms linked, the two women walked quickly out of the crowded market. Anne couldn’t believe other people hadn’t seen this startling phenomenon. But no one else had reacted at all, let alone with awe or astonishment.

Fifteen minutes later, they were in an Italian eatery off a side street. They sat at a small table with a red-checkered tablecloth; a half-melted candle stuck in an empty wine bottle served as the centerpiece. It reminded Anne of the inexpensive restaurants, usually situated in basements, that she and Burton used to frequent when he was in law school…. She cast off the nostalgia before it could trap her.

Anne and Julie both ordered a glass of Chianti with their spinach salads.

“I’m seeing Roy again tonight,” Julie said after her first sip of wine. “We … had dinner last night.”

“And on Wednesday and Thursday.” Anne had found this out quite by accident when she’d phoned the house to arrange her luncheon date with Julie. It had given Anne such hope, such encouragement. Julie had made a point of letting her know that her father had invited him on Thursday—but that didn’t explain Wednesday. Or Friday.

“We talked for a long time last night.”

Anne noticed that Julie’s hand tightened around the stem of her wineglass. She had to restrain herself from leaping up and shouting for joy. She wondered how much of their story Julie knew, so she asked, “Did he mention Aimee?”

Julie’s eyes held hers. “No. Is she the reason you suggested lunch?”

“Not really.” Anne shrugged. “I hope you don’t think I’m a busybody.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m so glad Roy’s finally met someone he can love.” Julie abruptly dropped her gaze and Anne realized she’d spoken out of turn. “Oh, dear, forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t know if Roy loves me—and it’s far too soon to know how I feel about him.”

“I’m so sorry. Please forget I said anything. I’m just a meddling mother who’s eager for grandchildren.” The instant those words were out, Anne realized she’d done it again.

“Grandchildren?” Julie’s eyes grew huge.

“Oh, dear,” Anne gasped. “I do seem to be having trouble keeping my foot out of my mouth.” She set her wineglass down, determined not to take another sip until she’d fully recovered from whatever had loosened her tongue. Every word embarrassed her more.

“I take it Roy was once in love with Aimee,” Julie said as the waiter brought their salads.

“He wanted to marry her, but she chose … someone else.” Anne hoped to avoid the more sordid details.

“Seeing how successful Roy is now, I imagine she’s sorry.” Suddenly Julie looked chagrined and lowered her fork. “Forgive me. That was a dreadful thing to say.”

Immersed in her own thoughts, Anne was confused. “Dreadful? How?”

“I didn’t mean to imply that the only reason Aimee or any woman would love Roy is because he’s successful.”

“I know you didn’t mean anything disparaging,” Anne assured her. “Besides, you’re wrong.”

Julie looked puzzled, and Anne felt obliged to explain. “Aimee doesn’t appear to have any regrets.”

“Then she’s happy?”

“I wouldn’t know. You see—” Anne took a deep breath “—she’s married to my husband.” Although she tried hard to keep her emotions out of it, Anne heard the hint of bitterness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Julie, I meant my ex-husband.”

The linen napkin on Julie’s lap slipped unnoticed to the floor. “No wonder Roy has a problem with trust,” she whispered. “His fiancée, his father …”

“Now you know,” Anne said softly. “Roy wouldn’t appreciate my telling you, though.”

“I won’t say anything.”

Anne appreciated that. “Actually, digging up the skeletons in our family’s sad history isn’t why I asked you to lunch,” she said. “I want to get to know you better.”

“I feel the same way. I loved the picture you painted on the window. Dad says everyone’s talking about it, and Roy speaks so fondly of you and—”

“What did he say?”

“Well,” Julie said, beaming Anne a bright smile, “he brags about you.”

“My son brags about me?” Anne hated to sound shocked—but she was. Half the time, she felt as though she was nothing more than an obligation in her son’s life. He only tolerated her concern and seldom sought out her company.

“He’s very impressed with your work. He told me about several of your pieces he’s displayed in the building. He promised to show them to me on my next visit.”

“If you can get in,” Anne teased. It’d been a source of amusement, the trouble Julie had getting past the security guard.

“Ah, yes, Jason, protector of the gate.” Julie rolled her eyes.

Anne had witnessed for herself how committed the young man was to keeping the poor girl on the other side of the company doors. She stabbed at a piece of spinach, suddenly realizing what Julie had said. “Let me make sure I understood you correctly. Did you really say Roy has my artwork hanging in his office building?”

“That’s what he told me.”

This was news.

“Five landscapes, I think he said. You didn’t know that?”

Anne shook her head. “I never told him my pseudonym.”

“He must’ve found it out on his own,” Julie said evenly.

“I … I don’t know what to say. Part of me is pleased and another part is irritated.”

“But why? He’s proud of your talent.”

“I’ve told him a dozen times that I refuse to let him support me. I want my paintings to sell on their own merit. The last thing I want or need, especially from my own son, is charity.”

“I doubt Roy would display work he didn’t genuinely like.”

Julie meant she was overreacting, Anne thought. “You’re right of course.” To cover her embarrassment, she dug into her salad.

Julie reached for a warm sourdough roll. “I’m glad you asked me to lunch.”

“As I said, I want to get to know you—and I want to thank you for being so patient with my son.”

Julie lowered her head and struggled to hide a grin. “We’ve certainly had our ups and downs. He’s surprised me more than once.”

Anne found this curious. “In what way?”

“Dinner on Thursday night—to take one example. I made a pot of black-bean soup and he seemed to really enjoy it. Plain ol’ black-bean soup.”

“You cook?”

Julie nodded. “A little. My twin sister is the real chef in the family, but I’m learning.”

“Are you close to your sister?”

“Very. She lives in Florida, but we talk almost every day via e-mail. I’ve told her about Roy.” Julie glanced down, as if she regretted telling Anne that.

Anne tried unsuccessfully to keep her tears at bay.

“Anne, is everything all right?” Julie leaned across the table and squeezed her hand.

“Of course it is,” Anne whispered, smiling through her tears. “It’s just that … I’d given up hope, you see. I’d convinced myself that Roy had completely closed himself off from love, and now he’s met you and the whole world looks brighter. Thank you, Julie, thank you so much.”

Julie shook her head. “You don’t have anything to thank me for.”

“But I do,” Anne countered. “Don’t you see, my dear Julie? You’re the answer to my prayers.”