Christmas 2011 Trio A. Кейт Хьюит
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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,