Grace was hunched over the seating charts when Jane came into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and slunk into it with a sigh. Though she was grateful for the extra work hours, especially with the holidays quickly approaching, she was also bone tired.
Fortunately, their mother was cooking tonight, and from the smells wafting from the oven, Jane could tell her roasted chicken would be ready soon.
“Only a week to go until the big day,” Jane said. “Can you believe it?”
Grace’s expression lit up. “This all feels like a dream come true, honestly. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”
“Don’t say that,” Jane said, thinking that she had once worried the same, only with good reason. “Ivy was just unwrapping the vases for the centerpieces today, and you know Anna won’t let you down with the cake.”
“I wouldn’t,” Anna unwrapped her scarf as she came into the kitchen, “if I could finally start the thing.” She turned to Grace. “Please tell me you have finally decided on the flavor.”
Grace winked at Jane before glancing back at Anna. “Red velvet.”
“Of course.” Anna tossed her hands up in the air. “I believe that was the very first one I suggested, back when Luke popped the question.”
“I needed to be sure,” Grace replied.
“Well, so long as you’re happy.” Anna settled into a chair and tipped her head at Jane. “And speaking of happy… Shouldn’t you be beaming from ear to ear?”
Jane forced a smile and forced back the pain in her heart every time she thought of Henry’s coldness the last time they’d spoken. “Of course. I’m just still in shock, I guess. I came so close to losing Sophie that it’s hard to believe the threat is gone.”
“And you still don’t know who wrote the letter?”
“No…”
Grace set down her pencil. “I’ve been wondering, Jane. Do you think Patty wrote it?”
Jane stared at her sister. “Adam’s mother?” The thought had never even occurred to her, but now that Grace mentioned it, she could see the possibility. Patty had certainly seemed conflicted the day she’d stopped by the bookstore, and there was the fact that she wouldn’t want Sophie so far from her, either.
“Well, whoever it was,” Kathleen said, bustling into the room, “it seems like they wanted to remain anonymous. All I know is, had I known—” She gave Jane a stern look. “Had I known, I would have written the letter myself!”
Jane smiled. It had been such a relief to tell her mother what was going on once the threat had passed. It felt good to deliver good news for a change.
“Maybe it was Patty, then,” Jane mused. She chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, replaying the conversation with her ex-mother-in-law. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her since, and if it was her, she’d want to thank her. Still, a part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been Henry.
“You don’t look convinced,” Anna pointed out. She stood and filled the kettle with water as their mother opened a tin of cookies, fresh from Anna’s kitchen.
“I guess I just hoped it had been Henry,” Jane admitted.
Grace raised her eyebrows. “Hoped?”
Jane felt her cheeks flush. “I mean, thought. I thought it was Henry.” She gritted her teeth, annoyed with her slip. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Grace mouth curved into a pleased grin.
“It’s okay to have feelings for Henry,” Anna said from across the room. “We always wished you’d have picked him instead of Adam anyway—”
Kathleen flashed Anna a stern glance and Anna quickly clamped her mouth shut.
“Is this true?” Jane demanded of her mother.
Kathleen just lifted her hand, sighing. “Henry was always so sweet to you. When I think of the way he showed up on our doorstep to take you to the prom…”
“Because Adam asked him to,” Jane pointed out.
Her sisters and mother exchanged glances but no one said anything. Jane frowned, as everything began to come clear. Adam had never even called to tell her he was canceling, and then the doorbell rang, and there was Henry, all dressed up, with that warm smile, and she’d just assumed…
He must have picked up the flowers, too. Pink peonies. Her favorite.
Good grief, he’d come on his own. Covering Adam’s mistakes, making sure she was taken care of.
Judging from the existence of that letter, he was still doing it.
Even Henry had to admit the old house had never looked better. With the new roof and fresh gray paint covering the dingy white siding, it was almost cheerful. Ivy had hung a fresh pine wreath on the door, secured with a dark orange velvet ribbon. “Curb appeal,” she said with a wink. The windows were washed, the yard was picked up, and even the detached garage didn’t look so sad anymore.
“I guess we should walk through one last time to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”
Henry nodded his agreement. The house would be listed Monday. With any luck, they’d find a buyer before the first big snow hit.
He took the steps slowly, knowing this was going to be the last time he ever set foot in the house he’d grown up in, and for some reason, he struggled to accept that. His mother was gone, and soon this house would be, too. There was nothing to hold on to anymore, nothing to blame, nothing to remind him of a time he wanted to forget. In a way, the finality of this saddened him, suddenly seizing him with the notion of all he’d once had here—good or bad—and all he was permanently leaving behind.
The first thing he noticed upon entering the house was the light. Their mother had kept the curtains drawn at all times, but with the heavy drapes gone, the darkness that seemed to bear down on them and fill every day with dread and despair had vanished. The front hall glowed with morning sunlight that bounced off the freshly painted linen-colored walls. The floors had been sanded and stained, the dark woodwork was painted white, and the banister rail leading up the curved stairs was almost inviting. Henry shifted his eyes to the living room, now empty, and instead of picturing himself and Ivy as young children sitting on the old stained rug, he could imagine other children happily playing, their toys filling the corner, maybe a television above the mantel.
“You’d never know it was the same house,” he murmured, turning to Ivy. Even though he’d stopped in to oversee the work, seeing the house in finished form left him awestruck.
“I’m almost sad to let it go,” Ivy said. “It wasn’t a bad house; it was just… a bad time.” She gave a brave smile. “It deserves to have some happier memories.”
“We all do,” Henry said quietly. He frowned, and turned back into the hall. He’d seen enough, and there was no sense in getting sentimental now. It was a fitting ending to this house and this town, he supposed. Next time he came through, a new family might be calling it home. By then, he wouldn’t have any more excuses to look back.
“It seems like you’ve had a good visit,” Ivy commented. “Does any of it have to do with Jane?”
He tried to keep his tone light. “Why would you say that?”
Ivy just shrugged, but a knowing smile played at her mouth. “You spent a lot of time with her, that’s all.”
“I was always fond of Jane,” Henry replied gruffly. He bit back on his teeth and gazed out the window. He still was fond of Jane, and that was all the more reason to put distance between them. How many times had he seen the hurt in her eyes and tried to take it away? It was different when he was the one causing it. He’d done it once, and he’d be damned if he’d do it again.
And he couldn’t trust himself to think there wouldn’t be a next time.
He wanted to give Jane everything she deserved and then some. But if he couldn’t? The mere thought made his blood run cold.
“Then why’d you go to Adam’s wedding?” she countered.
“Why do you think?” he shot back. “Besides, you know I’m not looking for anything serious. I was married once, and it wasn’t for me.”
“It didn’t work out. That doesn’t mean it isn’t for you. Caroline just wasn’t the right person for you.”
He couldn’t deny the truth in her words. He’d cared about Caroline, maybe even a part of him had loved her, but what he’d loved more than her, he knew, was everything she represented. A stable family life. A good background. But he’d still run from it. Still traveled too much, still invested too little.
He wouldn’t be making the same mistake twice.
“Will you come back for Thanksgiving?” Ivy asked hopefully, once they settled into the car. His bags were packed and loaded in the trunk with the intention of dropping her off before he headed to the airport in Burlington.
“Why don’t you come out to San Francisco for Thanksgiving?” he asked.
Ivy’s expression became tight. “I have some traditions here. Ones I created for myself, I guess you could say. Nothing much—usually a night out with girlfriends after a meal at the Madisons’…”
“You’ve really found your home here,” he observed, the bitterness over this fact now gone.
“It’s your home, too,” Ivy said.
Henry gripped the steering wheel and shifted the car into gear. He stared out the windshield, focused on the winding road straight ahead and not the small house on the hill, growing smaller with each passing second, wishing with everything in him that he could believe that.