CHAPTER 43
Gincy was surprised to learn that not only did her mother very much want to have dinner that evening at the Country Store but also that she had been wanting to have dinner there since her husband died. But because eating alone in public was out of the question for a woman like Ellen Gannon, she had not been to the restaurant since May.
“Your father and I went to the Country Store for dinner the first Saturday of every month for the past twenty-five years,” Ellen told her daughter. It was another nail in the coffin of Gincy’s formerly held notion that her parents had had an unhappy marriage.
“This place looks like fun,” Tamsin said when the family was gathered at the hostess station.
“Are the waiters and waitresses dressed in . . .” Justin watched as a young woman in vaguely eighteenth-century garb—complete with long dress, apron, and mobcap—passed by carrying an enormous tray of empty plates on her shoulder. “Yep,” he said. “Just what I thought.”
The Country Store. Long wooden tables with benches instead of chairs. Wooden barrels full of apples (plastic, Gincy suspected), spinning wheels, bales of hay, metal buckets of all sizes hanging from walls and posts, an oil lantern on every table, and peanut shells scattered across the floor. The décor might have been a nod to an idealized countrified past, but the menu was decidedly twenty-first century—burgers, nachos, triple-decker sandwiches, pizza, and chicken nuggets.
“I used to come here,” Tommy said when the family was seated. “Back when I was with Kate.”
Gincy smiled at her brother. “And what was your favorite thing to order?” she asked.
“The onion blossom. Look, it’s still here on the menu!”
“Is it big enough to share?” Tamsin asked.
“It’s huge,” Tommy assured her. “I’ll get one and we can all eat it. But I’m going to get a burger, too.”
Their waitress arrived shortly after and introduced herself as Stacy. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Gannon,” she said. “The usual?”
“Yes, please. The beef pot pie. I just love the beef pot pie here.”
“I think I’ll get that, too, Grandma,” Tamsin said.
Tommy, seated to the right of his sister, leaned in and whispered. “What happened to Mom? She seems so much better. What did you say to her?”
Gincy shrugged. “I didn’t say anything. I guess the Christmas season worked its magic.”
“Well, whatever happened, I’m glad. I was starting to think she’d . . .”
“Tommy,” Gincy said, “I think Mom will be with us for a good long while. Hey, I remembered something when Tamsin and I were decorating Mom’s tree. Do you remember the time we made those Christmas ornaments out of Styrofoam and glitter? And we started throwing around the glitter and squeezing the bottles of glue all over the place? You were really young, so maybe you don’t remember.”
“I remember.” Tommy laughed. “We got in so much trouble. Well, mostly it was you who got in trouble. Mom was like, Virginia, you’re the older one, you should have known better.”
Gincy shrugged. “I guess I should have. But we did have fun, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “We did. But you know what? I don’t remember who started throwing stuff around.”
Gincy smiled. “Neither do I, but I guess it doesn’t matter.” All that matters, she thought, was that Tommy and I remember being together.
There was much laughter over the course of the meal, first when Tommy’s onion blossom arrived and proved to be large enough to feed twenty people, then when Justin recounted the antics of his roommate’s new puppy—“I swear his paws are bigger than his head, and he’s constantly tripping over his own ears”—and, of course, when Rick managed to squirt ketchup all over his shirt. “It’s not a night out,” he said, ineffectually wiping at the stain, “without me ruining a shirt.”
When they had all eaten their fill and more and it was time to pay the bill, their waitress told them that the owner of the restaurant had taken care of the cost of Ellen’s meal. “We’re just happy to have you back, Mrs. Gannon,” she said. “Now, try not to be a stranger.”
Tommy patted his mother’s hand. “We could come together, Mom,” he said. “I mean, if you want.”
“I think that would be nice,” Ellen said. “Thank you, Tommy.”
Rick and Justin split the bill. “I make decent money, Dad,” Justin said when his father protested. “It’s not a problem.” After the bill had been paid, father and son went back to the bed-and-breakfast, Rick in his Volvo wagon and Justin in his two-year-old BMW. Tommy got in his truck and headed out, after promising to be at Number Nineteen for breakfast Christmas morning. Gincy got behind the wheel of her car, Ellen beside her and Tamsin in the backseat.
“Put on your seat belt, Mom,” Gincy said, as she started the engine.
“You’re very bossy, Virginia,” her mother replied.
Gincy smiled into the winter dark. “I know,” she said. “I got it from you.”
“Grandma?” Tamsin said. “You want to go to church tomorrow, right?”
“Of course,” Ellen said firmly. “Why in the world wouldn’t I?”
“Good. You—I mean, we’ll all see your friends again.”
“It was almost a perfect evening, wasn’t it, Virginia?” Ellen Gannon said after a moment. Her tone was unmistakably nostalgic but not sad.
“Yes, Mom,” Gincy replied, eyes on the road. “Almost perfect.”