C
HAPTER
17
N
ORA
“
T
ravis, honey, are you upstairs? Let's get a move on, we'll drop you off at school today. I'm going that way anyway, save you a bus ride,” Nora said, calling from the downstairs landing, her voice carrying upward. She waited for a response but didn't get one. Checking her watch, she saw it was seven thirty-five; he'd have been getting a ride from her anyway, since he'd missed the normally scheduled bus departure. Which meant if he was running behind, so was she. Like always, even her day off was carefully mapped out. “Hey, Travis . . .”
“I'm here, I'm here,” he said, approaching the top of the staircase. He was putting his sneakers on his feet while hopping on each foot, the laces undone, and if the one action didn't make her fear he could fall down the stairs, the second certainly did. Kids, they were so fearless, that is until that first tumble rocked their confidence. But Travis made it downstairs without incident.
“What's the rush?” he asked.
“First of all, you're going to be late for school, which is not something I'm happy to be reminding you about,” she said. “And second, I've got an important meeting out of town and I need to get moving. Oh, and just in case we're not back by the time you're home from school, I told Brian to expect you over at the farmhouse, you can just get off the bus with Janey there. I'll send you a text to let you know when we'll be home.”
“Who's this we? Why can't I just come home, where's Grandma going to be?”
Emerging from the kitchen, all dressed in a long red winter coat and green scarf and gloves, her wire-framed glasses perched atop her nose, she gave off the look of a Rockwell-like grandmother figure. Nora supposed that was appropriate given the part of the world where they were headed; Gerta was indulging her part. “Your mother and I are taking a little trip today. Like I said, I expect we'll be home sometime around three but you never know, time could get away from us or weather up in the mountains could delay us. So keep close to your phone,” she said, with an easy laugh. “Which is like telling a fish to stay in the water.”
Nora, Gerta, and Travis made their way out of the house and into a wintery mix. It was Monday and the start of a new week, Christmas just six days away and Travis already had that distanced look of a kid who believed school break was in full bloom. He forgot his books and had to go rushing back upstairs, delaying them once again. Nora waited until his return to have him assist his grandmother down the icy path and into the front seat. All day Sunday and overnight a mix of snow and rain had fallen, the temperatures falling then rising, so coating the sidewalks and road was a slushy, icy mess. Nora had considered cancelling, but she'd worked hard to get to this appointment. Today's trip wasn't about her, others were depending upon her. She was going, of course, but just this morning had tried to talk her mother out of joining her.
“Nonsense, I'm looking forward to our little adventure, if you wait for the weather to be perfect you won't be doing anything until . . .”
“I know, July,” Nora said. “Okay, fine.”
“High time the two of us did something fun like this, just you and me.”
“Mom, it's work.”
“Maybe for you it is,” she said with a smile.
So now the Mustang pulled out onto the road, Nora testing the road with her brakes. The plows had been out and the salt was doing its job, so the driving was smooth sailing. First stop the Linden Corners school complex, where they dropped off Travis with just minutes to spare before homeroom. Both mother and grandmother kissed him on the cheek good-bye, and when he wiped them away with a shade of embarrassment to match Nora's car, she said, “Next time, don't miss the bus.” The laughter shared by both women carried them to the village borders, and soon the sporty red car was zooming along country roads toward the New York State Thruway, following signs pointing them to the Mass Turnpike. Their eventual destination: Exit 2, and the village of Lee, a lovely village set high among the Berkshires, the home of Nicholas Casey, the ironically named descendant of Alexander Casey, an artist with an affinity for ol' Saint Nick and the green suit.
“Nora, honey, do you really think you'll find the book that Thomas wants?”
“All I can do is try,” she said. “Mr. Casey was evasive over the phone, he just told me that if I had an interest in his great-great-grandfather'sâor is that three greats, I can't recall right nowâand I lived so close by, why not come for a visit. It would be easier to explain in person.” Indeed, Nicholas Casey had been intrigued by the phone call from Nora, and not just because of her interest in the edition of
A Visit from Saint Nick
but because of where she said she hailed from, “Yes, Linden Corners, that's the home of the famous windmill,” he had said. So the intrigue went both ways, Nora wondering about Nicholas's knowledge of the windmill.
As daughter drove, mother continued to look out at the passing countryside, remarking how beautiful the mountains looked with the fresh dusting of snow that had fallen. It had been so cold up here they had seen none of the rain, and so the morning's sun exposed a picturesque setting that any photographer or nature artist would want to capture. Then, as the Castleton Bridge approached, Nora actually gunned her engine a bit, and the fiery little Mustang shot across the wide expanse, both of them sneaking peeks at the spectacular valley below as the Hudson River cut through the rocky banks on its endless journey. Before long the Berkshire exits B1â3 fast approached, and eventually the border of Massachusetts.
Knowing they were closing in on their destination, thoughts of the original edition of Moore's book filled Nora with a sense of anticipation. What if she found Thomas's book after all these years? How would she feel? More importantly, how would Thomas react, especially considering the old man had no idea Nora was still on the case. She laughed at the idea, not a job but a case, like she was Nora Charles, and here she was seeking her own Nick. A black-and-white movie flashing before her eyes, the tarmac and the snow a bland match for the nostalgic backdrop. Depending upon how the day played out, she might be able to erase the memory of that night when she had handed Thomas the reproduction edition. Instead she would be putting into his hands the same one he had held as a child, doing so as mutual smiles sealed their fates. There was much to be said for the satisfaction of a job accomplished.
But she was getting ahead of herself, she warned herself, there were still a few exits until their destination, still miles to go before they could bring a resolution to their mystery, whether good or not. As she drove on the near-empty highway, the questionable weather and early part of Monday a factor, Nora was busy anticipating questions that Nicholas Casey might have for her. If his ancestor's book was so rare, he might wish to learn the provenance of the book Lars Van Diver had given his son, a detail Nora didn't have. She wondered if Thomas had said anything of his past to his neighbors at The Edge; he'd been elusive with her, did a man of eighty-five years open up to people his own age, or had he lost so many friends that all his words were kept inside his mind?
“Mom, what do you know about Thomas Van Diver?”
“Oh, I hardly know the man, met him of course at the dinner Brian had in his honor at the farmhouse,” she said, “and I've seen him around Edgestone a few times when I've gone to play cards with Myra and the girls. But other than mealtime they say he keeps mostly to himself, sitting in a corner of the rec room, watching rather than partaking in the various activities, despite Elsie's attempts. Or maybe, observes is a better word; like he's studying us, wishing he could join in but something holds him back. I wonder if he envies us our connections, the fact we've all known each other for so many years. We may be old, but that doesn't mean our lives are over. Thomas, to me, seems like a man thinking too much about the end, not the now.”
“But what about his family?”
“I don't know about that,” she said.
Nora pursed her lips just as she saw the approaching green sign indicting their exit. She needed to concentrate now, she was in unfamiliar territory. But she felt she was on the verge of discovery, so she pushed the conversation a bit further. “Was he ever married? And if so, where is his wife? Was he widowed? That's the only thing that makes sense to me, why else would he return to his childhood home at this point in his life if not to look back on all he's lost? I don't know why I think that, he just doesn't seem to have the soul of a divorced man.”
“Divorced men have souls?” Gerta asked, her tone genuine.
It was Nora who responded with a derisive snort. “I'll be sure to let you know,” she said.
“Oh Nora . . .”
“Mom, we're talking about Thomas, not me.”
“Why are you so curious about this man's personal life?”
“Because, Mom, when you understand the customer, you better understand his needs.”
“You know what I think?”
“No, but I think you're going to tell me.”
“You're trying too hard, dear.”
“Trying too hard? To do what?”
“To find Thomas's book,” she said.
“Of course I am, a job well done means a job accomplished,” Nora said. “To not get him what he's looking for, it'd be like a hung jury coming back on one of your big cases. Neither side goes home happy. And much to the displeasure of the judge, in the end the prosecution and defense commiserate over drinks while the defendant's life lies in limbo.”
“Hmm, an interesting metaphor, Nora.”
“Mom, can we stop dancing around the issue? Just tell me what's on your mind?”
“Thomas was your first customer and I think it's important to you to finish out the job.”
“Yes, for him.”
“No, dear, that's where you're wrong. It's for you . . . to justify your new life.”
Such strong words coming from her usually tight-tongued mother shocked her, so much so she nearly missed their exit. But she corrected at the last minute, a honk from the driver behind her snapping her to attention; my God, she thought, it's nearly like my first day back in Linden Corners when I had the fender bender with Brian. She had been lost in doubt then about her store, and now here she was faced with those same demons now, and at the unlikely hand of her mother. It wasn't true, she wasn't looking for personal satisfaction. Like any businessperson she wanted her customer to feel satisfied . . . right?
“Mom, I don't know what you're trying to do to me. Let's just go see if you can locate the book and on the ride home you can play psychiatrist all you want,” she said, feeling the heat rise up in her throat, words bubbling to the surface that she couldn't control. Like the lid had been taken off a boiling pot and now its contents were spilling out. “You can tell me that what I've done is all wrong and that I've messed up Travis for life, and in the end all I'll be is a divorced woman of fortysomething with a smart-mouthed teenage kid and a store that I use to escape from my real problems by immersing myself in junk from the past. Oh, and the past is supposed to evoke fond memories, everything tinged with fondness, nostalgia. Nothing bad ever happens in your past. It can't, because you can rewrite it to your satisfaction.”
“Looks to me like someone has already done the analyzing,” Gerta said.
“Mom!”
Nora was beginning to wish she'd never invited her mother along.
But that was just one in a long line of regrets that threatened to overwhelm her. Buying Elsie's Antiques, moving home to Linden Corners with her son in tow, uprooting their lives, allowing Dave to go running off to Europe with a boss who dominated him in more than just the boardroom, impulsively kissing Brian Duncan in the shadow of the windmill, and most of all, agreeing to this fool's errand of finding an antique book in a world where the printed word meant about as much as yesterday's fish, much less news.
She thought they might as well turn around.
Until her GPS told her they had arrived at their destination, downtown Lee. More specifically, the Casey Gallery. So the sign stated, in a thin black script. K
EEPING
THE
P
AST
A
LIVE
was the motto printed beneath its name. Nora just exchanged a wide-eyed look with her mother, who finally nodded with a hint of approval.
“You may just be on to something here, Nora.”
“Shall we?”
“We shall,” Gerta said.
When they opened the front door to the gallery, Nora was comforted not just by the blast of heat that welcomed them inside, but by the fact there were no annoying bells ringing over her head doing the same. Plus, the walls, painted in a fresh coat of white paint, were adorned with an array of paintingsâbright watercolors and oils, penciled black-and-white sketches, canvases both large and small. The friendly face that looked up from behind a newspaper was as warm and inviting as the atmosphere. A cup of fragrant cranberry-scented tea enveloped the room, and both Nora and Gerta found themselves closing the door behind them, like they were here to stay. She immediately sent Travis a text. They wouldn't be home for a while.