The Gilder (36 page)

Lydia grinned. “The usual, that I should mind my own business. However, she did have a good point, something I hadn’t thought of. What if you two got together and then had a fight or broke up, how would I be able to pick sides? What if you broke his heart?”

“Or he broke mine.” The words slipped out as easily as any bit of friendly banter might, but the instant they crystallized in front of Marina, captive in her frosted breath, there was no denying their truth.

“Then I’d have to kill him.” When Marina didn’t laugh Lydia bumped her again. “Hey, I’m just kidding. I would never choose sides. We’re all adults here.”

Marina put her hand on Lydia’s arm and brought them both to a standstill. “I ... can’t.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Honey, what is it? What can’t you do?” A tear ran down Marina’s cheek. Lydia drew her into her arms. “What is it?” As Marina sobbed, Lydia rubbed her back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll work it out, whatever it is.”

Marina pulled away and wiped her face with a mittened hand. “It’s not okay.” She put her hands to her chest and pressed into the layer of down. “It hurts too much. It’s bro—” Her sobs choked off the words.

Lydia gathered her back into her embrace. “Honey, I know. It’s broken. Your heart is broken.” She spoke softly into Marina’s ear. “It’s been broken for a long time, but now it’s going to mend, you’ll see. Trust me. It’s going to be okay.”

Marina lay on the couch, too exhausted to move. Choosing a Christmas tree with Zoe had always been a production, but this year it had seemed they might never find one that suited her daughter’s criteria. They were all either “gross” or “lame.” After an hour of torment, the poor salesman showed them a tree he was holding for someone else. Zoe promptly pronounced it
“perfectissimo,”
and they tied it to the roof of their car. Marina turned her head to where it stood in the corner of the living room. She had to admit that it was perfect in every way, but she felt sorry for the wrath the tree salesman would incur once his customer discovered his tree had been hijacked.

She sighed. Truth be told, she was feeling a bit sorry for herself as well. In the aftermath of her breakdown with Lydia the day before, she’d felt drained, her mind foggy, her heart numb, and her body sluggish as if weighted with lead. Was it any wonder she rarely allowed herself to cry—the aftereffects were more excruciating than the release. As well, the outburst had unnerved her. She hadn’t seen it coming. She’d felt fine after Peter’s visit. They’d agreed to talk in the new year. No big deal, right? Clearly it was a bigger deal than she realized, but she couldn’t think about it yet. She needed to focus on Zoe.

She listened to the thumping from overhead as Zoe wrestled boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic. Marina had spent a restless night and, as the day dawned pink, had come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be able to help Zoe mend
her
broken heart if she didn’t first come to terms with her own. And there was no denying it was broken. Yesterday’s unrelenting tears and the lingering pain in her chest were irrefutable. She wanted to blame Sarah, but hadn’t she actually broken her own heart by believing in fantasies, then cracked it a little more each time she lied to cover her mistakes? And now she’d broken her daughter’s heart as well. How could she possibly come to terms with that? Lydia’s words came back to her: “Only love can mend a broken heart.” Had she meant she should love herself, love Zoe, or let Peter love her? Zoe’s voice calling from above pierced her thoughts.

“Hey, Mom, I need your help. I can’t do this by myself.”

A few hours later, Marina and Zoe stood back to admire their handiwork. They had a system that had evolved over the years. First, Marina thinned the tree by clipping branches close to the trunk, creating space for ornaments to hang inside the tree rather than solely on the tips of the branches. Next was threading tiny white lights through the branches, which they did together, making short work of an aggravating task. Then Zoe decided on which branch each decoration would hang while Marina stood by with clippers to ensure each ornament hung free and clear of other branches. All in all, it was a laborious process, but the result was stunning.

“Wow, Mom, I think it’s the best one we’ve ever had.” Zoe turned to her mother with shining eyes and cheeks flushed. “Don’t you?”

Marina put her arm around Zoe’s waist and hugged her. “I think you’re right, but it still needs the tinsel. Why don’t you start that while I make us some cocoa?”

For some unfathomable reason, Zoe loved putting on the tinsel. This suited Marina just fine, as the patience she counted on in the studio deserted her when it came to hanging two or three strands of staticky plastic strips on the end of each tree branch, a task that seemed to put Zoe into a Zen state.

Marina rummaged through the cupboard for a tin of cocoa powder, then gathered sugar, milk, and a saucepan.

“Hey, Mom,” Zoe called from the living room, “can I sleep under the tree on Christmas Eve? You know, like you did once. How old were you? What did Gram and Gramps think?”

Marina stirred the milk, the grit of sugar grating against the bottom of the pan. “Sure,” she called back. Was it a lie to let Zoe think it was something she’d done in childhood when in actuality the only time she’d done it had been the Christmas she spent with Sarah and Thomas? Marina tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Christ, Zoe seemed to remember everything she’d ever told her. Marina would just have to figure out a way to untangle the mess, lie by lie, and honor the promise she’d made to answer all Zoe’s questions about her father. What sort of backlash would there be when Zoe came to realize just how much she had made up? How would it be for her to have her childhood fantasies disassembled piece by piece? Thankfully, she hadn’t asked any questions so far, but Marina knew it was only a matter of time.

“That looks great, sweetie. Here, take a break and have your cocoa.”

Zoe came down from the stepladder and took the mug from her mother while eyeing the tree. She pointed. “I think that red one there is too close to the gold star. What do you think?”

Marina smiled. This was the final phase, rearranging wayward ornaments as the tinsel was being put on. The tree looked fine to Marina but, too tired to argue, she sipped her cocoa and nodded in agreement.

Zoe removed the red ball and stood with it in her hand as she scrutinized the tree. “I think it’s sad that Peter’s not coming to Christmas. Did he tell you why?”

Marina lowered herself onto the couch. “He’s not coming? He didn’t say anything. I didn’t know he wasn’t going to be here.”

Zoe found a place for the ornament. “Sasha said he’s going skiing.”

Marina put her head back and closed her eyes, willing the knot in her chest to release.

The sea of crumpled wrapping paper and tangled ribbon that spread from the base of the tree to the foot of the couch was the only sign of the three adolescents who had spent the previous two hours sorting, passing, and unwrapping gifts with great whoops of glee. The pungent aroma of New Zealand lamb drifted in from Marina’s kitchen, where June stood at the sink washing the breakfast dishes. Lydia lay on the couch in the living room, flipping through a new cookbook, while Marina set the table for a late lunch. Early that morning, Lydia and June had opened stockings with Sasha and Ben at their house and then loaded all the gifts from under their tree into the car and delivered them to Marina and Zoe’s tree, a system that was reversed on alternate years and never questioned. From the very beginning, the two families had taken turns hosting the holidays, transporting food, baking dishes, and gifts from one house to the other, and now that the children were older, the secret middle-of-the-night Santa runs were, thankfully, no longer necessary.

Marina held up champagne flutes. “Champagne with the oysters?”

Lydia looked up from her book. “You don’t have to ask me twice, and you know you don’t have to ask June at all. Too bad Peter’s not here. We could have made him spring for the bubbly.”

Marina glanced at the small pile of unopened gifts under the tree and went back to setting her table. Had she imagined it, or was there an edge to Lydia’s comment about Peter? Was it Marina’s fault that he decided to go skiing with friends instead of join them for Christmas? He’d called her a few days after their lunch and was contrite when he heard she already knew he was going away; he’d wanted to tell her himself. Friends of his had a ski house out west, and none of them had kids, so it would be adults only.

“Not that I have anything against kids. You know that. I’ll miss you all.”

“Zoe will miss you,” Marina managed, hoping he couldn’t hear the disappointment and irritation she felt.

“I hope you will miss me, too.”

“Of course I will.” She wasn’t sure if she was angry with him for deserting them or angry with herself for caring.

“Do you think you can handle the gravy without me?”

Marina smiled. “It’ll be hard, but I’ll manage somehow.”

“I’ll see you in the new year. Remember, January one.”

“I’ll be here.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He told her he’d left a gift for her with Zoe, something they’d collaborated on, and that she should open it on Christmas and not wait for him. Marina glanced at the pretty package leaning against the wall near the tree. It looked like something in a frame. Zoe had wanted her to open it earlier, but not wanting to open it in front of Lydia and June, Marina had begged off, using the excuse of attending the roast. Nor had she given Zoe the etching of the English Cemetery, deciding at the last minute to hold it back until they were alone. She would surprise Zoe later, and they could open their packages together.

“Do you like it, Mom? It was Peter’s first choice all along, but I made him show me some other maps before I gave him the go-ahead.”

The day had wound down to its inevitable conclusion of overstuffed bellies and foggy heads. The house was in a state of disarray, but Zoe couldn’t wait another minute and insisted Marina open her gift from Peter. Marina stared at the map of Florence, the one Peter had shown her that day in the shop, which was even more beautiful framed and matted. She looked at Zoe. “I can’t accept this. It’s much too valuable.”

“You have to. He was so excited to give it to you.”

It suddenly struck Marina that Zoe had spent time with Peter while she was gone, just the two of them on their own. It felt odd to think of Zoe having a secret with Peter. Not an unpleasant thought, just different. It occurred to her that if she ever hoped to share her life with someone, she’d have to get used to the idea of sharing Zoe. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing to get involved with someone who already knew her daughter, like starting in the middle of a story rather than at the beginning.

“Earth to Mom.” Zoe waved her hand in front of her mother’s face.

Marina looked at the map, remembering her conversation with Peter that day at his shop and her wish for a map that would show her the way. Perhaps she was looking at it. She looked at her daughter’s expectant face. “Yes, of course I’ll keep it. I love it.”

For a while the two of them sat side by side with their heads bent, studying the map, Zoe tracing the streets with her finger as Marina pointed out landmarks.

“Where’s the English Cemetery? Where Dad is.”

Marina clenched her jaw at the reference to Thomas as “Dad.” “It’s not on this map, sweetie. But that reminds me. I have one more gift for you.”

Zoe unwrapped the small package and held the framed engraving for so long without saying anything that Marina began to doubt her choice. Finally Zoe whispered, “It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

Marina turned off the car and turned to Zoe, who was still pink from her afternoon of ice-skating with Sasha. “What do you say we take the tree down on New Year’s Eve instead of waiting until after the new year?”

Zoe gathered her hat and mittens from the floor of the car. “Why would we do that?”

“I just thought it might be nice to start next year with ... a clean slate.”

“It’s a dumb idea.” Zoe got out of the car and headed for the house.

Marina watched her cross the lawn and pick up a large box from the front porch on her way into the house. It probably was a dumb idea. But in the days following Christmas, Marina found herself unable to settle into her work. Instead, she sorted drawers, organized closets, and made great piles of things to be taken to the Salvation Army. On several occasions, she’d tried to entice herself into relaxing in front of the fire with a glass of wine and a new novel, but whenever she sat still, her mind began to speculate on the conversation she and Peter were to have on the first day of the year—what he might say, how she might feel, would they fall in love, was she already falling—and before too long, she found herself dragging boxes out from underneath a bed or folding napkins she hadn’t used in years.

Marina shrugged off her coat in the front hall and tossed her hat and gloves into a basket under the Shaker bench. She found Zoe in the kitchen, staring at a large box on the table. “What is it? Did we order something?” Marina picked up the kettle from the stove and filled it at the kitchen sink. “Sorry, what did you say?” She adjusted the flame under the kettle.

“It’s for me.” Zoe’s statement sounded like a question.

“Would you like some tea, I’m having some?” Marina pulled two mugs from the cupboard.

“Mom, I think it’s from Italy.”

“What?” Heat flooded Marina’s body, followed by a flash of icy cold that prickled the hairs on her head and down her arms. “Let me see.” The return address confirmed her fear. She placed her hands on either side of the box as if she could divine its contents, calculating the harm it might do her daughter.

“It’s from Sarah, isn’t it?” Zoe already had the kitchen shears in her hand and began slicing through the tape and cutting the string.

Marina stood, unable to move or speak, and of all things, her mind focused on the small lead
piombino
that secured the string just below the knot. She recalled the first time she’d tried to mail a package from Florence and the poor woman at the post office who’d tried to explain that she needed a
piombino,
and how it was Sarah who finally helped her buy the little lead seal and showed her how to thread it on the end of the string before tying the knot, and then flatten it with pliers so that the package could not be opened without cutting the string.