Page 51 of Summer Rush

Although Nancy had plans with the rest of her family on Christmas Day, she’d decided to spend the entire Christmas Eve with Stan, which thrilled him to no end. The pancakes were just the tip of the iceberg in terms of food, as he’d apparently plotted a multi-course, day-long event with Greek, French, and Italian-inspired dishes that nearly brought Nancy to her knees.

Around four-thirty, Stan’s ex-stepson, Tommy, came over with his wife, Lola Sheridan— the youngest daughter of Anna— and the four of them sat around the Christmas tree for an hour, catching up, before Lola and Tommy were needed with the rest of the Sheridan family at the Sunrise Cove Inn. Lola was a classic bohemian with long hair, an open smile, and eager curiosity, proof she’d worked as a wonderful journalist throughout her career.

“You must have some kind of secret power, Nancy,” Lola said. “I would have never imagined Stan would put up a Christmas tree. Not in a million years.”

“We picked it out together,” Nancy said, blushing at the memory of that snow-filled afternoon a few weeks ago, when Stan had brought his ax from the garage, and he’d hacked down Nancy’s favorite Christmas tree at the Christmas tree farm outside of Oaks Bluff. Stan had dragged the tree back to the truck, and together, they’d tied it up, their hair filling with snowflakes. It was a level of domesticity Stan had probably only dreamed of.

When Tommy and Lola left, Stan hugged his ex-stepson extra long and waved as Tommy backed his truck out of the driveway. Nancy watched him with her heart in her throat. Who was this man? And how had she gotten so lucky to know him?

For dinner, Stan had planned a feast: honey-glazed ham, asparagus, yams, and freshly baked bread. For dessert, he’d put together a remarkable cheese plate with camembert, brie, an aged gouda, a roquefort, and a Norwegian cheese that tasted a bit like caramel. Stan opened up a beautiful bottle of French wine, which he poured a small portion of into Nancy’s glass, pretending to be a waiter at a fancy restaurant. Nancy sipped, nodded her head, and said, “Monsieur, it’s marvelous!”

“Trés bien is how we say it,” Stan joked, feigning a French accent.

As they ate, Nancy couldn’t help but be nostalgic. And, because Stan was a wonderful listener, he allowed her to fall into her worlds of memories, thinking back to the Christmases when she’d been a girl.

“All the other kids got presents, you know. But I always knew that wasn’t coming, not for me. And my daddy always got so drunk on Christmas Eve. Drunk and sad. Oh, it hurt me so much when he got like that.” Nancy sighed and scraped her fork over her yams. “It’s insane to me how long ago that was. I’ve turned into an old woman.”

Stan reached for her hand and slid his thumb over hers. Her heart hummed with yearning.

“You don’t look old to me,” Stan said.

“Maybe we should get you a new prescription for your glasses.”

Stan laughed, opening his mouth wider to show his healthy, white teeth, his shoulders shaking. Nancy thought again of Anna, all those years ago, when she’d been frustrated in her marriage and sought refuge here, with him. But Nancy wasn’t seeking refuge with Stan. She was building a life with him. There was a difference.

“I’m so happy to live in a house like this,” Nancy said spontaneously.

“What? Are you joking? That house you were in was a mansion! It was beautiful.”

“Exactly. When I was growing up, and even later, into my forties, I always lived in little places. I loved it, feeling like I was tucked away in my hiding place as the big world went on without me.”

“What did living in such a big house feel like?” Stan asked.

“Like I said before,” Nancy breathed, “I felt like a ghost in that place sometimes. Like I was living in someone else’s house, walking the hallways, feeling lost.”

“I hope you won’t feel lost here,” Stan said.

Nancy squeezed his hand. “I’ve never felt lost with you. I always know exactly who I am and where we stand.” She frowned, surprising herself with how open she felt. “And that’s a very rare thing, you know?”

“I know,” Stan said, kissing her hand. “I’ve felt misunderstood all my life— by the world and by myself.”

“I hope those days are over.”

“I think they finally are,” he said, his eyes shining.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Janine stood over two cribs. To the left slept Leo, born November 8th, and to the right slept Lorelei, born December 18th. Remarkably, neither of them had stirred for two hours, leaving the Remington House (or was it the Potter House?) in silence. It was New Year’s Eve, the final day in what had been a truly sensational year. And Grandma Janine was babysitting.

Downstairs, Janine found Henry in front of the television with a beer and several bowls of snacks filled with peanuts, pita chips, and pretzels, along with several types of spreads, including hummus, spinach and artichoke dip, and cheese. On the surface, it looked as though they’d over-prepped for just the two of them, but they knew that, before midnight, Nico, Alyssa, David, and Maggie would return home to celebrate the ball drop together as a family. With them there, the food would be gone in no time flat.

In the silence, Janine cuddled up against Henry, watching as Quentin Copperfield and a co-host spoke on television in Times Square, introducing musical guests and counting down the hours till 2024.

“Three suitcases,” Janine repeated, thinking again of her mother’s big move to Stan’s.

“I doubt you’ll be able to make that happen,” Henry teased her, kissing her on the ear.

Janine laughed and wrapped her arms around her knees. “You should have seen the closet space I had in Manhattan. Walk-in closet after walk-in closet. I felt like the queen of the Upper West Side. For a while, I really was.”

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