Promises to Keep Page 32

  He didn’t realize he had fallen in love with Steffi because he wasn’t looking for it, and because, up until now, he hasn’t known what love is. Infatuation, he thought it was, when younger: mad passion, a feeling that you would rather die than be without the person.

  Or, as with Olivia, a disbelief that someone like her would fall in love with someone like him. How could he reject that? Wouldn’t he be mad not to marry her? He’d never find anyone like her again. She told him so herself. On countless occasions.

  In London, when his wife started disappearing, even before she announced she was leaving him, he found the bright spots in the loneliness were when he checked his computer to see an email from Steffi in his inbox.

  He would find himself reading them with a smile on his face.

  He didn’t come back to Sleepy Hollow to see her, but when he heard her voice at the inn that day he realized that, on some level, he had.

  And now, sharing a house together, he is getting to know her more; and the more he knows, the more he likes.

  Not consciously. Not until he met her sister.

  A feeling of . . . safety around her. A feeling of peace.

  She feels like—dare he even think it?—a partner. Already. And in the truest sense of the word.

  Already, and without anything physical happening between them, they have fallen into something of a routine. Mason up first, making tea for her, feeding the animals together.

  He cloisters himself in his study during the day, attempting to run the publishing house as best he can from home, happy every time he hears her footsteps on the stairs, or murmuring to Fingal as she lets him out of the back door.

  She is often out. Shopping, dropping food off or, of course, at her sister’s, and his heart lifts when he hears her car coming back down the driveway.

  His favorite times are the afternoons when she is cooking. He will come in for cups of coffee, and she’ll insist on his tasting everything, asking his opinion, then they sit and talk about everything under the sun.

  And that is what he has missed most, he is beginning to realize. Someone to talk to. Olivia only talked about people, shopping: Bergdorfs was out of those Manolos in her size; her committee meeting that morning was held at Whitney Timsdale’s, and God, was the decorating déclassé; how much should they give, this year, to the New York City Ballet?

  I was lonelier in my marriage than I have ever been in my life, he thinks, with sudden clarity. And shock.

  And I never expected to fall in love. Now. With Steffi. So soon. But there is no rush. It is enough, he knows, that they are friends. It is enough that they are there for each other.

  The last thing he needs is a rebound relationship. He will look after Steffi, as he promised, as he would even without a promise. She will need looking after, for she still talks in terms of when Callie gets better, even when the doctors refer to these treatments as palliative, explain that they are merely alleviating her pain, making her comfortable until the end.

  No one can let Callie go. He saw that the other night. Callie may be ready, but no one else is, and he understands. He wasn’t ready to let his mother go. The doctors kept talking of another treatment, more chemotherapy, something else they could do, and when his mother said she had done enough he was furious with her for giving up.

  He gets out of the cab at Grand Central and sends a quick text to Steffi, asking if there is news.

  Not yet. Can’t stand it. No one’s at house so I’m going 2 Bedford 2 wait. Xox

  He wonders if he ought to turn around and go back, be with her, but it isn’t quite his place.

  He will be there for her when she comes home.

  They have just stepped out of the spaceship to enter Mars 2112, when Lila’s mobile phone rings.

  “Okay.” She nods, her face ashen. “Okay.”

  “What is it?” The other adults clamor round her.

  “It’s Reece. They’re home. They’ve seen the medical team and he wants us to come back.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Callie’s family and friends may have thought they were prepared for her death, knowing, as they did, that it was an inevitability, but it is impossible to prepare for the tragedy of losing someone so vibrant, so young.

  On December 21, 2010, while Reece and Honor sat at Callie’s bedside, in her bedroom at home, the children at school, Walter out at the grocery store, there was the tiniest change in Callie’s breathing, a rasp, and then . . . nothing.

  It wasn’t dramatic. No opening of her eyes and final words. There didn’t need to be. Callie had lived her life showing the people she loved how much she loved them; there was no unfinished business when the end finally came. She was simply there, and then she was gone.

  Steffi looks at herself in the mirror as she runs a brush through her hair, and checks that she has no lipstick on her teeth.

  Her tears are fewer, now. At first there was nothing but the weight of grief, the tremendous emptiness. Then, some weeks later, the shock wore off and Steffi found she had no idea how to deal with the enormity of the loss, a loss she felt every second of every minute of every day.

  But you bear it because you have to. What other choice do you have?

  Life, Steffi has learned, carries on around the pain, making room for it, absorbing it until it becomes part of the daily fabric, wrapping itself around you and lodging itself in your heart.

  Steffi has come a long way in a year. She plays with Eliza and Jack, makes dinner, creates recipes, goes out with friends, reads books.

  Then she cries.

  She takes showers, plants seeds, picks vegetables, kisses Mason, goes on vacations, eats too much dessert, surfs the web.

  Then she cries.

  She plans dinner parties, makes love, makes friends, snorts with laughter, builds fires, reads the papers, brushes her hair.

  Then she cries.

  And mostly, she just misses her sister.

  Apple and Almond Pudding

  Ingredients

  1 pound cooking apples, cored and diced

  ¼ cup brown sugar

  ½ cup butter at room temperature

  ½ cup sugar

  2 large eggs, beaten

  ½ cup ground almonds

  Method

  Preheat the oven to 350°F.

  Toss the apples in the brown sugar.

  Cream the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Slowly add the eggs and continue beating until fully mixed.

  Fold in the almonds, then add the apple and sugar mixture.

  Place in a greased pie dish, and cook for 45 minutes.

  Epilogue

  December 24, 2011

  Walter and Honor are the first to arrive, carefully maneuvering down the driveway that can’t be plowed because it’s gravel, and is already dangerously slippery.

  There was fresh snow last night, and the farmhouse sits shimmering in the light, a fairy tale come to life, with a wreath on the door and lit candles in each of the windows.

  “Do you remember the last time they had a white Christmas here?” Honor turns to Walter, who is unloading the children’s Christmas gifts from the back of the car.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he says, “but they say we’ll have one this year.”

  “What a year.” She looks at him, and he puts the boxes and bags down and holds his arms out to her, enveloping her and kissing the top of her head. She closes her eyes and rests for a few seconds against his chest.

  “A terrible year,” he says, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “But, for all the grief and tragedy, in some ways a wonderful one.”

  Honor looks at him quizzically.

  “Of course I miss Callie every minute of every day,” he says. “But I have the unexpected joy of you. And Steffi, our wayward daughter, has settled down.” He shrugs, his eyes clouded with sadness. “It was hard to see that anything good could come out of it, and yet . . . Reece is an amazing father, is raising those children in a way I never would have thought possible.”
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br />   He holds her close again, and they turn as a Volvo wagon noses its way down the driveway.

  Waving from the front seat is Lila, who jumps out before the car has even stopped, and runs over to Walter and Honor, flinging her arms around both of them.

  “Happy Christmukah!” she says. Walter looks puzzled. “Christmas and Chanukah combined! I’ve missed you! Was the drive down from Maine hellish?”

  “No, it was rather wonderful. A romantic road trip,” Honor confides. “Now where is that little one? Let me see him.”

  They turn to see Ed unstrapping the car seat and proudly bringing their baby boy over to see everyone.

  “Oh my word!” Honor gasps, bending down and extending a finger for the baby to grab. “Isn’t he precious! Look at all that curly hair! Hello, sweetie!”

  “This is Carl,” Lila says, swallowing the lump in her throat, for this is the first time Callie’s parents have met the baby. It was not a girl, as Callie, and consequently Lila, had thought, but a strong, chubby boy.

  “May I hold him?” Honor asks.

  Lila unclips him, lifting him up gently and handing him over. Honor bounces him up and down, delight in her eyes.

  The front door opens and Fingal lopes outside to say hello, sniffing curiously at the baby, wondering what that new, unfamiliar smell is. He is closely followed by Steffi, then Mason, in striped apron, with a bottle of champagne in hand.

  “You made it!” He is clearly thrilled to have them all here, and he leans down to kiss Honor and welcomes Walter with a hearty hug.

  There are hugs all around for everyone.

  “Come inside, quickly.” Steffi picks up stray bags and ushers everyone up the steps. “It’s freezing. Come and sit by the fire. When’s Reece getting here? Anyone know?”

  “He should be here any minute,” Honor says. “We spoke to the kids this morning and they were going out to do some last-minute something or other. Oh my, Steffi,” she walks into the hall, still clutching the baby. “This is beautiful.”

  This is Steffi’s first Christmas. In previous years they have always gone to Callie’s. Steffi has never had to buy a tree, or choose decorations, or, for that matter, do anything other than the cooking.

  This year, when Steffi and Mason were out walking, they found a blue spruce on the edge of the property that was perfect. “Thank you, Callie,” Steffi whispered, looking up at the sky.

  She does that a lot. She talks to Callie all the time, convinced that whenever serendipity intervenes it is in fact Callie, her guardian angel, watching over her.

  “I am doing Christmas with Callie,” she told Mason, “and you. The three of us together.” She loved that he didn’t question it, that he seemed to understand exactly what she meant.

  She has bought wooden nutcrackers from Mary’s store, and looped garlands of popcorn and cranberries on the tree, decorating it with homemade gingerbread men and Christmas cookies on red velvet ribbon, side by side with delicate ornaments that had belonged to her grandmother, which Reece gave her after Callie died.

  Garlands of mountain laurel are wound around the banisters and candles of differing shapes and sizes sparkle on every surface.

  Mason brought home a box of crystal icicles that he’d found in a liquidation sale in the city, and Steffi has hung them from the Victorian chandelier in the hallway. The entire house is filled with the smells of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves.

  “Oh, honey”—Honor turns to her, with the baby still in her arms—“you know she would have loved this.”

  “I know.” Steffi smiles. “I felt her with me every step of the way.”

  It wasn’t ever thus. Those first few weeks after Callie died had indeed been a blur. Steffi kept waiting, expecting to dream of her, hoping for a sign, but nothing came.

  When she finally did dream of Callie, it wasn’t Callie coming to tell her she was fine and happy, and not to worry, as had happened to other people she had known, although not with Callie; it was a dream in which Steffi was shocked, and thrilled, to find Callie was alive, that it had all been a terrible mistake.

  She awoke, the dream as vivid as life, and burst into tears; for the entire week she bore again the weight of the loss, suddenly as sharp and searing as it had ever been.

  The first few weeks were, in many ways, the easiest. There were funeral arrangements that had to be made, a memorial service to organize. Busy, busy, busy, and in deep shock. It took much longer for the reality to hit her.

  When it did, Mason looked after her. She slept. A lot. Wanted to sleep all day, and sometimes she did. Mason was the one who brought her tea, sat on her bed and talked to her, and eventually persuaded her to see a doctor, who diagnosed depression and prescribed Lexapro to bring her back to her self.

  He wrapped her in blankets and sat her in front of the fire, or found silly videos on YouTube that started to make her laugh.

  He warmed her up again, and she found herself looking at him one night, when he was going into the city to see the children, and thinking: I love this man.

  It was unexpected, and yet completely right. For the first time, she knew that this was love.

  It was everything about him. From the way he lived his life, his beliefs, his kindness and gentleness, to the way he smiled, and even, she realized, his smell.

  His soon-to-be-ex, Olivia, was back in New York. The fling with the decorator had turned out to be just that, a fling, and she had come running back to New York City. Steffi felt a flash of fear that Olivia might attempt to win Mason back, but this was not the case. Steffi quickly shared Mason’s delight that his children were home in New York, back at the same schools they had always attended, seeing their father one night a week and every other weekend.

  Steffi has come to love the children, and they love her. Olivia refers to Steffi now as the Tenant, which is no improvement from the Chef, but Steffi doesn’t much care. Olivia was not, and never will be, a friend. The most she can hope for is a good working relationship, and she tries to stay in the background much of the time if Olivia is involved.

  That night, as Mason was leaving, Steffi laid a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her, and she looked him directly in the eye. She hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t even thought it before this instant, but the words were out before she could think about them.

  “I love you,” she said, and the words hung in the air for a second as Mason registered what she had said.

  Mason stood still for a moment, shocked. He was in love with her, but he never dared allow himself to dream she might feel the same way. He drew her close and squeezed her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you I love you I love you.”

  Later that night, he knocked on her door. She sat up and welcomed him to her. He kissed her with such sweetness, such gentleness, and she felt a swell of emotion that was entirely unfamiliar.

  Steffi had always shuddered at the phrase “making love.” She thought it was cheesy, sentimental, a ridiculous description for such an unbridled animalistic act. That was before Mason.

  If he wasn’t softly kissing the length of her body, teasing her with his tongue, he was gazing into her eyes and whispering words of love. He moved slowly, and surely, surprising her with the way he seemed to know exactly what she would like.

  Afterward, when he was sleeping, Steffi shifted onto her side and watched him, shocked at how gorgeous she suddenly found him, astonished she had never quite noticed it before.

  As Mason pours the champagne and he and Ed hand out the glasses to everyone, the kitchen door opens and Eliza and Jack run into the room.

  “Jack! Eliza!” The grandparents crouch down to welcome the children, who fling themselves into their open arms.

  Reece follows them into the kitchen, his arms filled with gifts, his cheeks red with cold.

  “Reece! We didn’t hear your car!”

  “You must have been making too much noise.” He smiles, leaning in to kiss Steffi on the
cheek. “The Tollemache family has never exactly been known to be quiet.”

  They exchange smiles, for Callie was always the loudest of them all. She was the one always teasing, roaring with laughter at nothing other than the sheer joy she took in living.

  “Where’ve you been?” Lila throws her arms around Reece, then steps back to berate him. “We’ve barely seen you since Carl was born.”

  “Me?” Reece starts laughing. “You’re the one who keeps complaining she’s swimming in sterilizers and breast pads every time I phone, and oops, I have to go, the baby just woke up.”

  “Okay, okay,” she grumbles. “Fair enough.”

  “Can I hold the baby?” Eliza appears in front of Lila, looking up hopefully.

  “Of course. But you have to sit down. I’ll bring him to you.” Then she takes Carl from Ed, and places him gently in Eliza’s arms. Eliza’s face lights up as she gazes at him.

  “He’s so tiny!” she says.

  “He’s actually pretty huge.” Lila laughs. “Off the charts in terms of percentile. Height and weight, I mean. Hey, baby,” she says, leaning down and looking him in the eye, “what do you think of your auntie Eliza?”

  “Am I really his auntie?”

  “Not officially, but I consider you my family, so I’d have to say yes.”

  Reece leans back against the kitchen counter and smiles, watching his kids. He loved them from the minute they emerged from Callie’s body, but he didn’t know them in the way he knows them now, didn’t appreciate them the way he does now.

  They are amazing. He finds himself hugging them tightly every day, marveling at how they squirm to get away, how resilient they are, how well they are doing, given everything that has happened.

  Callie is still very much present. They talk about her, and talk to her. There are no subjects off-limits, nothing that cannot be said. It is hardest at night, the nights they can’t sleep, appearing next to his bed with tear-stained faces. He will take their hands and walk them back to their bedrooms, tuck them into bed and stroke their backs as he whispers stories of when they were babies, of Mommy.