Her Christmas Wedding Wish. Judy Christenberry
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them. “I’ll show you your rooms if you’ll follow me.”
Molly nodded and followed him, Toby clinging tightly to her hand. No wonder. He had sounded as remote as a hotel employee. They went up a grand stairway to the second floor. He turned left and led them down the hall to two rooms side by side.
“These rooms are actually connected by a door inside. I thought you might want to leave the door open the first few nights Toby is here, Molly, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t. That’s a good idea, right, Toby?”
Richard opened a door. “This will be your room, Toby.”
Molly walked into the room with the little boy. “This is great, isn’t it, Toby? You have a lot of windows and you can look at the garden behind the house. When it’s warmer, you may be able to play there.”
The man nodded. “Of course.” Then he crossed to another door and opened it. “This will be your room, Molly.”
It was beautiful, not what she expected. She laughed to herself as she realized nannies were housed in the attic only in gothic novels.
“Thank you, it’s lovely, Richard.”
He frowned, as if she’d said something wrong. What could it have been? She’d smiled at him, trying to be gracious.
“Yes, well, I need to see about my mother. If you need anything, please ask Delores or Louisa. They’ll be glad to help you.”
So they’d already been handed off to the staff. Molly nodded in response, but she didn’t say anything. If she’d spoken, she might’ve said the wrong thing. The man had been kind to Toby when he’d shown him the room, but it was clear he was going about his business as usual.
One thing was certain: Richard Anderson did not have a kind heart.
One thing was certain: Richard was irritated with Molly. Condemnation fairly glowed in her green eyes. He had a lot of things on his plate. He’d brought her here to help Toby settle in okay. That was her job. And he wasn’t going to be chastised for doing his job by someone he’d hired.
He shook his head as he went to the other end of the house where his mother’s suite was located. Tapping lightly on the door, he stood waiting for it to open.
Louisa came to the door.
“I’d like to see my mother. Is she asleep?” he asked.
“No, sir.” Louisa stepped aside and swung the door wide. Then she silently made her way out.
Richard took the chair opposite his mother, in a sitting room professionally done in southwestern decor. He noticed she looked tired, drawn, much the same as she’d looked for the past year and a half. The depression had taken its toll on her. And now, the funeral.
Before he could speak, she said, “You know, Richard, ever since the incident between Susan and your father, I’ve regretted her leaving. But never like I regret it now.” She looked up and there were tears in her eyes. “She ran away because of your father—but I had nine years to make it right and never did. I was too afraid to cross him.” The tears spilled down her cheeks now as she said, “And after he died, I was too distraught and depressed to make the move. I thought I had more time…”
Richard reached out and took her hands in his, rubbing the tops of her hands with his thumb. Her skin was soft and firm, and he realized as he looked at her just how lovely a woman she was. Elizabeth Anderson had once been in the Dallas social scene, a benefactor, an organizer, a supporter of the arts. She had a closet full of designer gowns and suits for the variety of functions she’d attended and chaired. But in the last eighteen months she’d spent most of her time right here in this room. Had he done enough to help her through her hard time?
He could certainly help now.
“You know, Mom, the incident had nothing to do with you.” Funny, he thought, how they referred to it—“the incident.” As if giving it a generic name made it more ephemeral, less real. But the day Susan walked out couldn’t have been more real. He remembered it as if it were yesterday, though it was almost a decade ago. It was the day everything changed.
Susan and their father, James, had always butted heads. He was an autocrat and Susan a free spirit—a doomed combination. When James laid down a law, he expected it enacted, but his sister had a hard time conforming; she was confident and eager and resented her father’s strict hand. But that didn’t deter James. He tried to control everything: her clothes, her friends, her studies. But the day he’d tried to control her heart was the end. He’d found out she was seeing a young man behind his back, a young man from a working-class family who was studying to become a teacher. Kevin Astin was far from the rich, privileged, connected man James had wanted for Susan. He gave her an ultimatum: ditch him or get out.
Susan opted for the latter. In an hour she’d packed her bags and left Highland Park for good. In nine years she hadn’t ever been back.
She moved to Florida with Kevin, whom she married almost immediately. And a year later they had Toby. The nephew Richard had never seen until yesterday.
In the intervening years he’d spoken to Susan twice, and his mother never, both fearful of James Anderson’s wrath. Not that he’d ever been physical with them; but his disapproval took other forms, equally distasteful. Somehow it had just seemed easier to agree with him, or at least conform to him.
Richard realized he was equally to blame. Nothing, no one, should have kept him from his sister, kept Elizabeth from her daughter. But there was nothing either of them could do now, except pray for forgiveness. And care for Toby.
He told his mother all that, and she listened to him. After a while her tears stopped, her sobs turned into steady, even breathing. She held his hand and almost mystically he could feel her pain exiting. He knew nothing could ever erase the agony she’d suffered, but Elizabeth was on the way to recovery.
They talked about Susan, about what they remembered, about what they’d heard of her recent life at the funeral. Richard realized this felt more like a funeral than what they’d endured in Florida. This was a memorial to Susan Anderson Astin, who would live forever in their hearts, where she belonged.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Richard. But I do know what I intend to do.” She stood up and looked around. “I intend to get out of the prison I’ve made of this room and start living again. The way Susan would want me to. And I intend to care for her son.”
“That’s the Elizabeth Anderson I know.” Richard hugged her and she held him tight, conveying her gratitude in the maternal embrace.
“Now, Mom, I have to get to the office. I’ll try my best to get home in time for dinner.” For the first time in over a year, when he closed her bedroom door he knew his mother would be okay.
And so would he.
He walked back downstairs to the kitchen, where their cook, Delores, ruled. Now nearing fifty, the Mexican-American woman had worked for the Andersons for decades, as had her husband, Albert.
“Delores, I’m going to the office for a couple of hours. If the nurse or the child needs anything, please take care of them.”
“Yes, sir, Richard.”
Richard’s law firm was located downtown, very close to their neighborhood, Highland Park, an exclusive area. It only took a few minutes to reach the parking garage connected to the building where the law firm had offices.
As expected, he found a pile of messages and mail on his desk that his secretary had sorted and opened for him. After dealing with those matters, he asked his secretary to gather the partners in his office for a quick briefing. Then there was a list of phone calls to be returned. By the time he’d finished half the calls, he put aside the rest of them for the morning and packed up to go home.
He’d probably already missed dinner. Normally he made it home for dinner at least three nights a week, or else his mother