A Wedding In December. Sarah Morgan
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partying in my mind. I’m at a virtual party right now.”
“Does that come with a virtual hangover? Who is getting married?”
“My sister. In less than four weeks.”
“This is the sister who is studying fairy tales?”
Katie winced. “I might have overdone that joke. She’s studying Celtic languages, myth and folklore at a certain Ivy League college. She would claim it contributes to the understanding of the culture and beliefs of society. It has been the subject of many lively arguments round the dinner table. She really is super smart, but I still think of her as my little sister and I overdo the teasing.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “It feels like yesterday I was reading her board books.”
“Big age difference?”
“Ten years. I think my parents had given up on having another child, and then Rosie arrived.”
“And you were hit by a massive dose of sibling jealousy?”
“What?” Katie stared at him. “No. I adored her. Right from the first moment I saw her funny little hairless head.” She thought about Rosie, an adorable toddler, following her everywhere. Rosie in her favorite dinosaur pajamas. Rosie turning blue with an asthma attack. “I confess I might be a tad overprotective, which is why I’m flying to Colorado to meet this guy.”
“You haven’t met him?”
“No. And don’t look at me that way. I’m already freaked out. They’ve known each other a couple of months. What can you know about someone in a few months? What if he’s a gambler, or a narcissist? He could be a psychopath. Maybe a serial killer.”
He leaned against the door and folded his arms. “Dr. Doom. Always the optimist.”
“I am not Dr. Doom. I am Dr. Reality, thanks to the years I’ve spent working here. Having the realities of life under your nose tends to cure optimism. There are no certainties in this life, we both know that.”
“All the more reason to grab the happy moments that come your way.”
“Did you honestly say that? If you get thrown out of medicine, you could write greeting cards.” She finished her coffee and walked to the door.
“Katie—”
“What?” She turned and saw the concerned look on his face.
“Does your family know what happened to you?”
“No, and there’s no reason to tell them.”
“They could give you support.”
“I don’t need support. I’m my own support.” Her parents had done enough supporting in their lives. It was time for them to enjoy their time together.
“Maybe a couple of weeks enjoying outdoor living and breathing in mountain air will be good for you.”
“Maybe.” Blocking out his concerned look, she let the door swing closed behind her.
She didn’t care about outdoor living. She didn’t care about mountain air. She didn’t even care about a white Christmas.
She was flying to Colorado for one reason, and one reason only.
She was going to stop her sister’s wedding.
Armed with a strong cup of coffee, Maggie typed Catherine’s name into a search engine.
There were pictures of Dan’s mother at a benefit in Manhattan, slender as a reed, blond hair swept up in a style befitting a red-carpet appearance.
Feeling gloomy, Maggie scrolled through a dozen more images.
Catherine, skiing a near-vertical slope in Aspen.
Catherine, fist in the air in a gesture of triumph as she stood on top of Mount Kilimanjaro, raising money for a charity researching heart disease.
Catherine, rushing to a meeting in a form-fitting black dress with a planner tucked under one arm.
Rosie had told her in an earlier conversation that Catherine’s husband had died suddenly of a heart attack when Dan was in college. The family had been devastated by the loss, but Catherine had forced herself forward.
Maggie enlarged the photo. This woman didn’t look broken. There were no signs of grief or anxiety. Not a frown line. Not a silver hair. How could someone survive such a life blow and look so together? A leading American magazine had run an article on her, entitled “From Tragedy to Triumph.” Maggie read it from beginning to end, learning that Catherine Reynolds had set up the wedding business after she was widowed, turning her skills as a hostess into a commercial venture.
Dan was twenty-eight, which meant that unless she was a medical freak, Catherine had to be at least late forties.
The woman smiling back at her from the screen didn’t look forty.
Maggie fiddled with the ends of her hair. She’d had it cut at the same place for the past thirty years and had kept the style the same. In fact there was very little of her life that she’d changed.
While Catherine had been reinventing herself and starting over, filling her life with new challenges, Maggie’s life had slowly emptied. First Katie had left home, and then Rosie. Her daily calendar, once filled with a whirl of school and sporting commitments, had big gaps. She’d carried on doing what she’d always done, working at her job and tending her garden. She’d been used to cooking for four, but that had turned to three, then two and then, after the life had drained from her marriage, one. Instead of building a new life as Catherine had obviously done, Maggie had carried on living a diluted version of the life she’d always had.
She pushed her laptop to one side and looked at the file that lay open on the table next to her. It was almost full. Soon she wouldn’t be able to close it.
Reading about Catherine’s determined fight to reinvent herself made her feel pathetic and useless. Catherine had lost her husband in a tragic way. Maggie had lost hers through carelessness. Or was it apathy? She didn’t even know.
Maggie couldn’t shake off the feeling that she’d somehow wasted her marriage.
Part of the reason she hadn’t yet shared the news with the girls was that she hadn’t managed to absorb it herself.
Should she and Nick have tried harder?
Conscious that she’d wasted an hour depressing herself, Maggie closed the file and tucked it into a drawer out of sight. She didn’t want Nick to see it, or it would trigger a conversation she didn’t want to have.
Next she closed her favorite Christmas recipe book that had been open on the table for the past week and slid it back into its slot on the shelf. She wasn’t going to be needing it after all.
It was embarrassing to admit it, but she’d been planning Christmas in her mind since September and making lists since October. The first hint of winter in the air had her thinking of slow-cooked casseroles, hearty soups and roasted root vegetables. She’d been looking forward to the festive season for the comfort of its culinary rituals; stirring, simmering, baking in a warm cinnamon-scented fog. Most of all she’d been looking forward to the time she’d get to spend with her family.
She curled her hands around her mug and stared through the window into the garden while she sipped her coffee. Frost sparkled and shimmered on the lawn and a layer of mist added an ethereal touch. At this time of year the only splash of color in her garden came from the holly bush, its berries bloodred and plump. Maggie had been hoping the birds would leave enough for her to use as decoration around the house, but it no longer mattered.
She wasn’t going to need berries. Nor was she going to