Page 60 of Ten Christmases Without You
With a finger, he pushed her mother’s drawing to her side of the small table. “Was that all you needed to know?”
What? No.She’d barely gotten any answers.
He stood up. “Anything else? I need to get going.”
“You haven’t had your coffee. And you said it’s your favorite.”
He shifted his weight.
“Please don’t go. I don’t know anything about my mother’s life when she was younger. I just got these drawings of hers from Baudelaire’s, and your name was only on the back of this one.” She flipped the drawing over again for emphasis and pushed it to his side of the table. “I was hoping you’d tell me a little bit about her designing days. That’s all.”
He sat back down, his downturned lips parting just slightly as he looked at her mother’s handwriting.
“How did you know her?”
His shoulders remained tightly raised, but he picked up his cup and took a drink. He swallowed. “I was an apprentice to Benoît Baudelaire, and being American, he had me mentor your mom while she studied there.”
“Oh, she studied under you?”
“Yes.”
“What was she like back then?”
There was an undeniable sparkle in his eyes and a lift at the corners of his lips when Emmy asked the question, but then he straightened out his expression. “She was a genuine person, so I suppose she was the same as she was when you knew her.”
“She didn’t talk a lot about her designing days, and I’ve wondered why.”
He shifted in his chair.
“Could you tell me more about your time with her?”
He allowed a small smile to emerge. “She was elegant, soft-spoken, and thoughtful about everything she did.”
“You were right: That’s exactly how she was when I was growing up. But I can’t figure out why she left her talent behind entirely. Do you know?”
He paused, his knee bouncing. “I... couldn’t tell you.”
So he didn’t have any answers either? She doubted that. Certainly, he sawsomethingif she worked for him day in and day out.
“I should go,” he said, more calmly now.
“Thank you for your time. I know you must be incredibly busy.”
Perhaps her mother’s motivation for leaving the design world behind would remain a mystery. Maybe she just changed her mind about what she wanted for her future. Could her mom’s life decisions have been that simple?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“So, what did you find out from the mysterious Mitchell Augustine?” Madison asked Emmy over the phone that afternoon.
“Not a whole lot,” she said, flopping back onto her bed. “Mr. Augustine was Mom’s mentor, and she designed a wedding gown for his fiancée, but Augustine never ended up getting married. That was all I could pull out of him.” While she cuddled up under the warm comforter, back in her soft pajamas, she explained how he’d acted during their short and perplexing coffee meeting.
“I wouldn’t read too much into it. He might have just been uneasy since you were Mom’s daughter, and he wasn’t sure how to approach you in the situation. Also, if he was being truthful about not getting married, we don’t know what the story is with his former fiancée or the baggage he might be dealing with. The whole topic might have made him uncomfortable.”
“True.”
“Did you end up making something to wear?”
“Yes.” She looked over at the dress, now back on its hanger, pride filling her. “I was mortified. He asked who the designer was.”
