Christmas in Vermont Read online

  “Look, it’s the playhouse.” Lola pointed to a brick building with white columns. The roof was strung with Christmas lights and there was a sign with black lettering.

  “You must be Lola,” a man in his early sixties said, greeting them. “Betty called and said I should be expecting you. I’m Stephen Green.”

  “This is my father.” Lola pointed to Fletcher. “His name is Fletcher Conway and he’s a big Broadway director. And this is Emma—she helped with the posters.”

  “With that kind of introduction, you don’t need a publicist.” Stephen grinned, shaking hands with Fletcher and Emma. “Please come inside. I turned the heat on and rustled up some hot cocoa and cookies.”

  The playhouse lobby was simple: wood floors, a concession stand, and a few benches with striped cushions. But then Stephen led them into the theater, and Fletcher was mesmerized. There was thick red carpet and velvet seats and a stage outfitted with a gold curtain. Spotlights hung from the ceiling, and the walls were papered in silver wallpaper.

  “This is fantastic,” Fletcher said, admiring the art deco lighting fixtures.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Stephen beamed. He was tall, dressed in a flannel shirt and corduroys. “When I bought this place, the wood floor was so rotted, the actors could have fallen through it. And the insulation was terrible; I couldn’t pay workers enough in winter to make the renovations.

  “But I could have sunk my savings into the stock market and spent my retirement fretting whenever the Dow went down. Or I could put the money into something I love and be happy every day.” He looked at Fletcher. “It’s an honor to meet you. I saw your production of King Lear in London.”

  “Jude Law was an amazing King Lear,” Fletcher agreed. “But how did you recognize me? No one notices the director.”

  “I’m a bit of a Shakespeare groupie,” Stephen admitted. “I’ve seen Hamlet performed in Sydney, and a production of Romeo and Juliet in Thailand.” He chuckled. “I didn’t understand a word, but the costumes were breathtaking.”

  “When I was seven I was a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Lola piped up. “I got to wear a fairy costume with silver wings and sparkly tights.”

  “Then you have to come back to Snowberry next summer. I’m planning on doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” He turned to Fletcher. “In fact, you could be the guest director. With Fletcher Conway in charge, ticket sales would go through the roof.”

  “That’s very flattering,” Fletcher said modestly. “But I’m new to Broadway; no one knows who I am.”

  “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. And you might enjoy it,” Stephen insisted. “Actors come from Boston and New York, and the audience is very enthusiastic. Your daughter would love Snowberry in the summer: there’s fishing, and a stable where you can ride horses.”

  “Please, can we?” Lola jumped up and down. “Betty said that on the fourth of July there’s a parade. Everyone gets their face painted and eats red-white-and-blue popsicles.”

  “It’s a wonderful invitation, but I’m getting married this summer,” Fletcher explained.

  Stephen turned to Emma and smiled. “My apologies; I should have consulted the bride. You could get married in Snowberry. There’s a lovely church, and my friend Ernie is the minister.”

  “Emma isn’t the bride, she’s a friend,” Lola announced before Emma could answer. “The bride’s name is Megan. She wants to have the wedding at the Plaza Hotel in New York.”

  “Why don’t we talk about summer later?” Fletcher interjected. “We have a talent show to plan, and apparently Lola has volunteered me to help with the sets.”

  * * *

  “I apologize if Lola embarrassed you,” Fletcher said to Emma after they left the playhouse. Lola had run ahead to the Main Street Confectionary, and Fletcher and Emma strolled along the sidewalk.

  “You mean with Stephen trying to marry us off?” Emma laughed.

  “Why aren’t you married?” Fletcher asked, and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”

  “My friend Bronwyn asks the same thing every year.” Emma stopped in front of the shop window. “I have a habit of breaking up with guys just when they’re about to propose. I’m supposed to be on a beach in Maui with my boyfriend, but I canceled and he went by himself.”

  “You have a boyfriend in Hawaii?” Fletcher wondered.

  “An ex-boyfriend,” Emma corrected. “My relationships run like clockwork: the first eleven months are perfect, and then in the twelfth month I suddenly can’t imagine spending our lives together. I’ve spent the last eleven Christmases alone.”

  “So that’s why you’re in Snowberry at Christmas,” Fletcher mused.

  “Bronwyn thought it would be good for me to get out of New York.” Emma nodded. “I resisted at first, but I’m glad I came.”

  “You are?” Fletcher asked.

  “Betty is wonderful and Snowberry is charming and I met Lola.” She nodded.

  “Lola,” Fletcher repeated, and wondered why he felt deflated.

  “Dad!” Lola dashed out of the confectioner’s holding a gold box. “Look what the owner gave me: handmade chocolate fudge dipped in maple syrup.”

  “But the Sweet Shop already donated Vermonsters—what will we do with more chocolate?” Fletcher asked.

  “These aren’t for the talent show.” Lola popped one in her mouth and smiled her impish smile. “She gave them to me because I’m hungry.”

  * * *

  Fletcher opened the door of his room and took off his jacket. Emma and Lola were in the kitchen telling Betty the good news, but Fletcher had wanted to go upstairs before Megan returned from the hair salon.

  It had been an enjoyable afternoon; he hadn’t seen Lola so animated since they’d arrived in Snowberry. And Emma was such a good sport, standing on the pavement in the frigid air while Lola charmed the shopkeepers.

  He tried to analyze how it felt to spend time with Emma. At first it had been uncomfortable, but Emma was easy to talk to. And it had been perfectly innocent. He was madly in love with Megan, and even Megan thought it was good for Lola to have a friend.

  The door opened and Megan entered the guestroom. Her blond hair fell down her back, and she was wearing a scoop-neck dress and knee-high boots.

  “You’re back.” He kissed her. “You look gorgeous—and is that a new dress?”

  “Thank you. I was worried about trusting my hair color to a salon in Vermont.” Megan checked her reflection in the mirror. “But there won’t be time to get it done in New York before the party. I saw the dress in a boutique window; I hoped you’d like it.”

  “I love the hair and the dress,” Fletcher agreed. “But I’m afraid we’re not going to Jordan’s New Year’s Eve party.”

  “What do you mean, we’re not going?” Megan asked. “I already RSVP’d.”

  “You’ll have to RSVP again,” Fletcher said. “Betty is in financial trouble, and Lola suggested we have a talent show on New Year’s Eve to raise money. We spent the afternoon putting posters up around Snowberry.”

  “Lola decided to have a talent show,” Megan repeated incredulously.

  “Ever since Lola was a child, I taught her that helping each other is one of the most important aspects about being part of the theater.”

  “You do realize Lola is still a child. I love you, and I know it’s difficult building our relationship and keeping Lola happy at the same time,” Megan pleaded. “But don’t you see what’s happening? A nine-year-old is dictating our New Year’s Eve plans.”

  “This has nothing to do with what Lola wants. It was my decision. I made a promise to Lola and Betty,” Fletcher returned. “And what would we do with Lola if we went back to New York? It’s too late to get a babysitter, and we couldn’t leave her alone.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose you’re right,” Megan agreed. “I love you, and I’m only thinking about your career. Meeting the right people is
important.”

  Fletcher was suddenly flustered. He had promised he would help with the talent show; he couldn’t back out now. “I love you too, and I know you want what’s best for us. We got an invitation to another party in January; the guest list includes Dustin Hoffman.”

  “Then we’ll attend that instead,” Megan said brightly. “Why don’t we go somewhere special for dinner tonight? There’s a dinner theater just outside town. They’re performing A Christmas Carol, and the milk-fed lamb is supposed to be superb.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable leaving Lola,” Fletcher said, his resolve wavering.

  “Lola should come with us, of course. She’d love the play. I’ll see if they have a table for three.” Megan unzipped her dress. “Let’s take a Jacuzzi until dinnertime. I’ll change out of this dress and we can go downstairs.”

  Fletcher grabbed a robe from the closet. He had been worrying about Megan’s reaction for nothing. She understood how important Lola was to him.

  A light snow was falling, and it looked so romantic. He was going to sit in a hot tub with his fiancée, and then he and Megan and Lola were going to have a festive dinner. He was doing exactly what Graham suggested, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of being happy.

  Eleven

  Four Days Before New Year’s Eve

  Snowberry, Vermont

  EMMA SIPPED A CUP OF tea with honey and scrolled through her emails. It was early evening, and she had just returned from handing out flyers with Fletcher and Lola. So many thoughts ran through her head, it was like riding the carousel in Central Park.

  At first when Fletcher had appeared in the mudroom, she’d wanted to run away. How could she act naturally with the only guy she’d ever loved? Could they even have a conversation without rehashing everything that had happened?

  Then Lola had barreled into the mudroom, and it was too late to make up an excuse. Lola kept up a bright level of chatter, and Fletcher was so easy to talk to. By the time they reached Main Street, Emma’s worries had receded and she was relaxed.

  Now that she was alone in her guestroom, the mixed-up feelings returned. What was she doing, getting involved in Fletcher and Lola’s lives? Lola had a mother, and Fletcher was getting married. There was no room for Emma, and she might get hurt.

  The FaceTime icon on her computer blinked, and she pressed ACCEPT.

  Bronwyn appeared on the screen wearing a yellow caftan, her face smothered in some kind of lotion.

  “Why are you wearing a caftan? You aren’t going to Palm Beach until tomorrow,” Emma reminded her. “And what’s on your face? You look like the Bride of Frankenstein.”

  “The girls asked me to model my new bathing suit, and I panicked,” Bronwyn said. “This body hasn’t seen a bikini in two years, and back then I had the excuse that it was still baby weight. I was going to cancel the vacation, but Liv and Sarah have been running around in matching pink bikinis. So I ordered this caftan and it just got delivered.” Bronwyn peered into the camera. “As long as I never leave the lounge chair, no one can tell that my boobs reach my navel.”

  “Those anorexic Palm Beach socialites would kill for your boobs,” Emma scoffed. “What’s on your face?”

  “It’s a rejuvenating lotion from Paris. French women understand that if you have perfect skin, men never look below the neck. By the time Carlton arrives, I’m going to have cheeks as smooth as a newborn baby.” Bronwyn paused. “You don’t look as pale as you did this morning. Did you buy a spray tan? It might look good now, but when you go to bed your pillow will turn orange and tomorrow you’ll have stripes like a tiger.”

  “It must be the hot tea.” Emma held up her cup. “Tea always makes me flushed.”

  “You’re not flushed, you’re glowing,” Bronwyn said suspiciously. “You spent the afternoon with Fletcher! You both realized how much you missed each other, and you can’t wait to pick up where you left off.”

  “You forgot a couple of key factors: Fletcher has a daughter. And he’s engaged to an actress who spent all afternoon at the hair salon just to make sure she’s the most beautiful woman in Vermont,” Emma said with a sigh.

  “You are still in love with him,” Bronwyn insisted. “I can tell by the dreamy look in your eyes, like I get when I’m imagining dinner at The Breakers Restaurant with Carlton. The girls will be in the hotel room with a babysitter, and the only thing that could distract us from eating seared halibut in melted butter will be the sound of the surf crashing against the sand.” She shivered. “I get goose bumps thinking about it.”

  “Fletcher and Lola and I spent the afternoon handing out posters around Snowberry,” Emma admitted. “But it was completely platonic. Fletcher and Megan are getting married at the Plaza in July.”

  “It’s only December,” Bronwyn said, waving her hand. “And you and Fletcher have a history. Megan is like a cup holder that kept Fletcher warm until you arrived.”

  “You haven’t seen her—any man would fall in love with her,” Emma said dismally. “I do feel bad for Lola. She had her father to herself, and now she has to share him with a live Barbie doll who graduated summa cum laude from Yale.”

  “Megan is no competition. Fletcher needs a stepmother for Lola, and children love you.” Bronwyn inspected her fingernails. “Whenever you leave, Sarah and Liv ask why I don’t read them stories for hours. In my next life, I want to be a godmother, and you can do the hard work: combing out Liv’s hair after the bath, and cutting out pictures from magazines for Sarah’s kindergarten collages.”

  “Lola is special,” Emma said slowly. “But she has a mother, and Fletcher is engaged. I shouldn’t get involved; I’m setting myself up for disaster.”

  “Let me tell you a story. I have a client who comes to the clinic for Botox in her neck,” Bronwyn began. “In the sixties she ran away to San Francisco. She was seventeen, and fell in love with a hippie with long hair and a guitar. They were going to elope, but her father found out and flew her back to New Jersey. Fast-forward fifty years, and the client is divorced and living in Manhattan. She takes the love of her life, a Yorkie named Pickles, to the doggie beauty parlor every Saturday. Pickles becomes friends with a Cockapoo whose owner is the guy she fell in love with in San Francisco. His hair was short and he didn’t have a guitar, but she recognized him right away. They moved in together, and now they get a two-dog family discount at the doggie beauty parlor. What are the odds that they’d both be living in Manhattan and taking their dogs to the same beauty salon fifty years later? You can’t argue with fate; it works every time.”

  “That’s a lovely story, but I don’t have a dog and Fletcher isn’t single,” Emma reminded her.

  “He has Lola, and Lola likes you more than Megan,” Bronwyn replied. “Keep doing what you’re doing and let synchronicity do the rest. Who knows, this time next year you might be honeymooning at The Breakers in Palm Beach.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Emma signed off. She opened the door and Lola stood in the hallway, wearing a striped sweater over a long skirt and pink clogs.

  “Lola, come in.” Emma ushered her inside. “You look lovely. Are you going downstairs to dinner? Betty is making shepherd’s pie with mashed sweet corn from her garden.”

  “Dad and Megan and I were going to a dinner theater.” Lola perched on the bed. “They’re doing A Christmas Carol, and Santa Claus delivers presents to the tables.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Emma said. “When are you leaving?”

  “Dad and Megan already left.” Lola shrugged. “I decided to stay here.”

  “Why would you miss it?” Emma asked. “A Christmas Carol is one of my favorite Christmas stories.”

  “My dad was really upset that I wouldn’t go. Megan reserved a table for three right next to the stage,” Lola replied. “I told him I had the worst stomachache and finally he let me stay here. He was going to cancel altogether, but Megan really wanted to see it.”

  “But why wouldn’t you want to go? Especially if
Megan went to all that trouble.”

  “It wasn’t about Megan. She was being really nice. She said she wished her hair was thicker like mine. Whenever she tries to curl it, it turns into frizz.” Lola hesitated. “But I found out something and I was afraid I’d start crying at dinner.”

  “I told you not to eavesdrop,” Emma warned. “You’ll hear something you shouldn’t know.”

  “It wasn’t my fault, I was Skyping my mother,” Lola insisted. “She was standing in the kitchen, showing me the blender she got for Christmas. We’ve never had a blender before. There isn’t time to mash up vegetables when you have to be at the theater. I heard Chuck’s voice. He asked about her doctor’s appointment.”

  “Doctor?” Emma repeated, wondering if Cassandra had a disease.

  “Mom looked nervous and said it was fine.” Lola’s mouth curled down at the corners. “Then Chuck asked when they’d find out the sex, and whether it would be corny to buy blue or pink cigars for the guys at the office.”

  “Oh, I see,” Emma breathed.

  “My mom is going to have a baby, and no one told me!” Lola’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Maybe she just found out,” Emma assured her. “You should be excited. There’s nothing more fun than having a little brother or sister.”

  “At first I thought I wouldn’t mind,” Lola said, blinking. “I could dig out my old Beatrix Potter books and give the baby my Paddington Bear. I still have him, even though the toggles on his jacket are gone and he’s missing an ear. But don’t you see? Everyone has someone new, and no one needs me anymore.”

  “Of course your mother needs you. You’re her daughter,” Emma replied.

  “Cammi warned me this would happen. The new baby will get all the attention, because it belongs to both of them,” Lola said. “Cammi goes to her father’s for a few days, and her mother doesn’t even call because she’s busy buying up the baby department at Macy’s. When Cammi is home, all her mom and her new husband talk about is what color to paint the nursery.”