Making the short drive through the village to the elementary school, Rowan drinks in the winter sun splashing through a canopy of bare branches against an ice blue sky and revisits her gratitude for the return of precious normalcy—-marital, maternal, domestic.
Last night Jake opted for a nice cozy dinner in the kitchen with her over Monday Night Football. They made holiday plans, agreeing to stay home and invite Jake’s aunt, uncle, and cousins who still live in the area, to come for Christmas dinner. The only vaguely unpleasant moment—-for her, anyway—-was when Jake suggested that they include Noreen and her family.
“I doubt they’ll come, but I’ll ask,” she said, though she has no intention of doing that. Her sister’s insight might have saved the day yesterday, but Rowan isn’t eager to face her lone confidante in the near future.
Anyway, it’s a moot point: Noreen would never spend Christmas in Mundy’s Landing.
Rowan recalls the day she called her sister to tell her that she and Jake were moving back here.
“I have big news,” she said.
Noreen laughed. “Are you serious? We’re doing it again?”
“We’re doing what again?”
“Being pregnant together!”
The sisters had been simultaneously pregnant with Braden and Sean and then again with Mick and Shannon. So when Rowan called with “big news,” Noreen, who had just confirmed her fourth pregnancy the day before, was certain she was also having “an oops baby.”
“You’re pregnant? Congratulations!” Rowan said.
“You’re not?”
“Are you kidding? No way. Three kids is enough for us. My news is that we’re moving back to Mundy’s Landing.”
Silence, and then: “Why would you want to go back up there?”
“Because it’s more affordable than Westchester, for one thing.”
“A lot of places are more affordable. You don’t have to—-”
“It’s not a terrorist target, either.” The September 11 attacks were recent enough for most -people to consider that a valid argument. But not Noreen.
“Come on, Rowan, you know the chances of—-”
“Jake flies constantly on business. He won’t have to do that if he gets one of the sales jobs he’s interviewed for up there.”
Noreen said nothing.
“For me, Mundy’s Landing still feels like home,” Rowan said simply. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, okay?”
“I just feel that you, of all -people, should move on and never look back.”
“Why me ‘of all -people’?”
“Because you had a lot of problems when you were in Mundy’s Landing.”
“I was a kid. Every kid has problems.”
“Not like that. I didn’t. My kids won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can be pretty sure of it. And at least they’re not living in a tiny, run--down village in the middle of nowhere.” Talking over Rowan’s immediate protest, she added, “I’m sorry. But you must know that I have your best interests in mind.”
“Really? Because I—-”
“Come on, you have to admit that there are better places to choose to live.”
“I can’t think of any.”
“Whatever. Go ahead, move back there if you want to.”
“We do want to, and we will, and gee, thanks for giving us permission.”
They were snippy little girls again: one bossy, the other defiant.
It wasn’t until a year later that Rowan confessed—-in a misguided attempt to clear the air—-the real reason she’d pushed for the move.
She regretted telling her sister the moment it was out there and she saw the condemnation in her sister’s eyes. She should have known better, but . . .
-People can change. I changed. She didn’t.
At school, she stops in the main office to pick up her mail and spends a few minutes chatting with the secretary, who found a large pink poinsettia on her desk this morning, courtesy of her Secret Santa.
“Your Santa must be the custodian or a cafeteria worker if he managed to get into the building before you,” Rowan says, flipping through her mail.
“No, there was a choral concert here last night, remember? The music and band teachers were here. One of them must have left it before they went home.”