Page 95 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

An hour later, they emerged from her room one at a time. Henry went first to his room, and Veronica showered, dressed, and carried two small gifts out with her.

Mariah had emerged, hair wet from a shower. Her color was better, but she still had circles under her eyes. She wore yoga pants and a T-shirt for the Beijing Olympics Veronica had seen her wear several times. They all needed to do laundry. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning.” Veronica set down a gold-wrapped package on the table. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Aw. You didn’t have to.” But she picked it up with excitement. “When did you have time?”

“I’ve been shopping at least three times when you were ill or indisposed in some way. How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Okay.” She plucked the wrapping carefully, completely opposite to what Veronica would have expected. “I’m weak, but the poison is finished with me. I ordered some oatmeal and bananas for breakfast.”

“I’m glad you’re better.”

“You never get used to that kind of slam. It’s awful. I don’t know what I ate that you guys didn’t, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“No.” Still starving, Veronica filled her small plate to the brim. “Did you ask for a big pot of coffee?”

“I did.” An eyebrow rose. “Although I see both of you have had some coffee already.”

Veronica met her eyes. It would be undignified to lie to an adult. “Yeah, about that—”

She waved a hand. “I’m not blind. You’ve been all thirsty for each other since the first day.” She looked at the package, removed one more small piece of tape. “I’d rather you keep it off-screen, for, you know, reasons.” When she looked up, a welter of tears hung in her eyes. “It makes me think of my mom.”

Impulsively, Veronica moved to sit beside her, wrapping her arms around her. “I know,” she said, feeling tears in her own eyes. “It’s a lot. Everything that you’re going through is a lot. I’m so sorry.”

Mariah leaned into her, heavily, as if she’d just been waiting for arms. “I miss her so much. I hate that it’s Christmas and she’s not here, that I’ll never spend Christmas with her ever again.”

Veronica let her weep, rocking her ever so slightly. “Of course you miss her.” She felt weepy herself, a thousand new emotions crowding her heart, her throat. She was lonely without her kids and the family traditions, but it was also good without them, to not have to be responsible for everyone else, and to be able to do something she liked instead of sitting in a ski lodge by herself all day. “I used to say I was glad of the time alone on Christmas while my family skied,” she said, “but I kind of hated that they always wanted to do that, when I didn’t like to ski at all. I’m glad to be here today.”

“They sound like jerks,” Mariah said, straightening.

“Not really. I just didn’t stand up for myself that well.”

“Are you getting better?”

“Maybe. A little.”

Mariah opened the box and pulled out an antique locket Veronica found the day she wandered around London. It was tarnished, carved, and had been inexpensive, but she’d gone to a print shop and got a photo of Mariah and a photo of Rachel to put in it. “They’re just photocopies, but you get the idea.”

“This is so thoughtful!” Mariah hugged her. “Thank you. I feel like a shit now because I didn’t get anything for you guys.”

“Don’t. I just happened to see it.”

Henry emerged, carrying a bag of laundry. “They’re coming to collect my laundry. Anyone else?”

“Definitely.” Both women dashed into their rooms. Veronica shoved everything into a plastic bag she’d carried for dirty clothes, and Mariah had one for hers, too. A young man came to pick them up and promised they’d be back by evening.

“We have a plane to catch tonight,” Mariah said.

“No problem, mademoiselle.”

Another man arrived on his heels, carrying a tray heavy with food and drink. There was a pitcher of red juice, bowls of melon and dates, oatmeal and a pot of tea, breads and pastries and nuts. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “I hope you will enjoy.”

“Henry!” Mariah said, admiring the table. “This is beautiful! Thank you.”

They gathered around the small table near the fountain. The weather was cool but not unpleasant, and as they feasted, they chatted about what to do for the day. Veronica gave Henry a package, which contained a properly aged–looking memento mori coin, and she could tell he was pleased. He had gifts for each of them, too, a book on Ayurvedic medicine for Mariah, and a small brass rendering of a cat for Veronica.

“I’m so touched,” Veronica said, smiling.