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Charlotte’s heart thudded. Had it really been that long?
“I think I was twelve,” Van went on. “Collin was ten or so. It was summer, and we spent two weeks at the Cherry Inn. Great-Grandpa taught us to play Rummy and let us roam downtown by ourselves. Coming from the city, it felt crazy to be without an adult. I remember thinking it was the most magical place in the world. Collin and I daydreamed about moving there.”
“Did you?”
Van nodded and furrowed her brow. “Don’t get me wrong, Mom. We loved being city kids. We had our finger on the pulse of everything. We were happy. It’s just that White Plains felt like freedom to us. I’m sure it didn’t feel the same for you. Especially with Grandma around the corner.”
Charlotte tried to visualize her children at twelve and ten— and herself at thirty-two. By that time, she’d been a single mother for several years, making her life up as she went along. She was pretty sure she’d gotten almost everything wrong.
Had her children been able to sense Charlotte’s resentment toward her own mother over the years? How often did she talk about it? Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.
After the argument with Louise that had changed everything, Charlotte wanted to take herself out of the equation. She’d kept a wide berth, coming to White Plains only in the summertime and then not at all. She’d been so stubborn.
The drive from the city to White Plains took approximately two hours. Throughout, Ethan slept wonderfully, his little hand curled around the strap of his car seat. Van turned around quickly every few minutes to check on him, craning her neck.
“I can’t believe how perfect he is,” Van whispered several times. “Even just a few months ago, I was freaking out about how I was going to manage motherhood.”
“But it came naturally to you,” Charlotte offered gently. “Didn’t it?”
“Not everything,” Van admitted, settling back in the passenger seat and crossing her arms. “But I’m starting to understand the concept of ‘mother’s intuition.’ It’s sort of magical, isn’t it?”
Charlotte nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. She remembered that feeling more than anything, the sudden realization that everything she’d once understood about the world was incorrect or didn’t matter anymore.
The sign for White Plains appeared on the righthand side of the highway. Van clapped her hands quietly and said, “Here we are! Our Christmas home!” They hadn’t yet discussed what they would do after Christmas was over. Charlotte decided they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
The Cherry Inn was located on Main Street. Built in 1843, it featured Victorian architecture, adorable lace-like eaves, slanted rooftops, ornate window shutters, big porches in the back and front, and ten suites, complete with bathrooms. Back in the nineties, it had been the subject of several travel television shows, in which travel writers stayed over and spoke about the beautiful architecture of the house and the coziness of White Plains.
Charlotte parked the car out front and cut the engine. Just as always, the Cherry Inn towered over them, shrouded with oaks and maples, their limbs twisting toward a sky heavy with gray clouds. As they gazed at the old inn, the clouds burst open, and soft fluffs of snow began to fall to the brown grass below.
“It looks different than I remember,” Van offered tentatively.
Charlotte’s throat felt tight, and she rubbed it, peering closer at the house. It was true that it needed more than a coat of paint. Several of the shutters had fallen off, and the swing on the front porch was unattached and rotting on the porch floor. A window upstairs was cracked, and all the flower beds in the front looked as though they’d been dug up years ago.
“Your grandma said the suites aren’t ready for guests,” Charlotte offered. “But we’re staying in the back apartment with your great-grandfather.”
Van’s chin quivered. “Why do you think it got so bad?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte tugged her hair nervously. “Your great-grandfather is eighty-eight.”
“And Great-Grandma has been gone a long time,” Van said quietly.
In the back seat, Ethan gurgled and then let out a loud cry. Van hopped to it, shoving herself into the passenger door and hurrying to get Ethan out of his car seat. “I need to feed him,” she announced. “You ready to go in?”
Because Ethan needed to be fed immediately, Charlotte and Van left the bags in the car and walked up the porch steps. Just like always, there was a key under the welcome mat for the front door, and Charlotte opened it and led Van through the shadows of the old place. It looked as though nobody had walked through the foyer in many years. The front desk, mahogany and once ornate and glowing, was heavy with dust. Most of the furniture had been covered with white sheets, and the fireplace was filled with a pile of ash. The walls were badly in need of paint or fresh wallpaper.
It was hard to believe this was where the Summers family had had their joyous Christmas parties— that here, the Summers cousins had gathered around Grandpa Hank, begging him for his Christmas Eve story. If Charlotte closed her eyes for a split-second and forced herself deep into her memories, she could just-barely imagine the smell of baking Christmas cookies, the laughter of her grandmother, and her grandfather’s voice, imparting the magical story of his life. Very early on in her life, she’d understood that Grandpa Hank had chosen to tell that story every year to prove to his wife just how much he loved and still loved her. It was far more romantic than anything Charlotte’s ex-husband had ever done for her.
“Let’s just go through the kitchen,” Charlotte said to Van, guiding her through the dust-filled kitchen, where another series of doors led her to the entrance of the apartment. It was here that Grandpa Hank and Grandma Dee had raised their children, never far from the demands of the inn.
Charlotte knocked on the apartment door, suddenly petrified. It felt as though she’d entered a haunted house. Although her mother had said the apartment was ready for them, Charlotte was terrified that the door would open to reveal a dusty apartment with busted cupboards and cracked windows. Perhaps everything she’d left behind in White Plains was broken.
But a moment later, the door opened. Grandpa Hank stood before them, still just under six feet tall despite his age, wearing a navy blue knitted sweater and a pair of slacks. Sleepily, he rubbed his eyes, and his face broke into an enormous smile.
“My darling girls!” he called. “You made it!” Charlotte had never heard a more nourishing sound than his voice. Grandpa Hank gathered them in his arms, careful not to fuss the baby. “And this must be my newest great-great grandchild?” He bent to touch Ethan’s hand tenderly with the tip of his finger. His eyes glinted with tears. “You’ve been on the planet just a few days, little pal. Stick with me. I’ll show you the ropes.”
Van laughed. “It’s so good to see you, Great-Grandpa.”
“And you, beautiful Van! You’re a new mother! What a wonderful thing!”
