The Gift of a Charm Page 28

  Greg tried to put himself in Karen’s shoes and think of how he would feel if she had suddenly changed careers, suddenly announced she wanted to join the Peace Corps or something. Unlikely, he thought, smiling. Even so, he knew for sure he’d have supported her, had always supported her in anything she’d done.

  Is this what he had to be on the look-out for now? he wondered. Women who were only interested in him for his money? Although, he reminded himself, there wasn’t much of that any more.

  Another fresh start, he thought ruefully, as he closed his front door behind him and took the bike out onto the street. Sometimes you needed to be careful what you wished for.

  He arrived quickly, and said hello to the building’s doorman, Conor, a veritable fixture of the building itself. Going up in the elevator, he let himself in to the penthouse and found his father in the kitchen with Maria.

  ‘Good morning, guys.’

  ‘Oh, Greg, I’m just so sorry to hear about…’ Maria said, approaching him and giving him a hug. He accepted the embrace, somewhat uncomfortably. Even though he knew her well, it was still slightly embarrassing having other people know that you had been dumped. Especially after such a dramatic and public proposal.

  ‘It’s OK, Maria, thanks. I’ll be fine.’

  She looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I could arrange to have her taken care of? Us Puerto Ricans, we don’t mess around, and I have a cousin who—’

  Greg laughed for the first time since Christmas Day. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think that will be necessary.’

  ‘Well, don’t say I never offered to do anything for you.’

  Greg turned his attention to his father. ‘I thought I’d come over – Karen’s coming round for some of her things later and I didn’t want to be there.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘And I brought Nonna’s ring back,’ he said sadly. ‘I guess I’ll put it back in Mom’s jewellery box.’

  ‘For a while at least – until you need it again,’ his father added kindly, but Greg figured it would be some time before he’d be looking to use the ring again, if ever.

  ‘Has the charm bracelet turned up yet?’ he asked, the mention of the jewellery box reminding him about it.

  ‘No, we’ve searched high and low for it by now, haven’t we, Maria?’ Jeff replied.

  ‘Well, I might as well take a look around myself while I’m in there.’

  His mother’s plush walk-in closet was one of those places that lived in the dreams of most women, but for his lucky mother, was a reality.

  Reaching out to touch the delicate fabrics, Greg couldn’t help but reflect on the memories associated with each piece of clothing.

  The pretty floral dress she had worn at his college graduation, and the deep red silk two-piece she’d had on that night at Gennaro’s gallery when his photograph of the Flatiron had been on display. Or the time she had sat reading a book out on the private terrace in this pale violet cardigan. Greg felt in its pocket and pulled out some crinkled-up Kleenex, seemingly nothing but a scrap of trash, but he knew that his mother had probably used it to dry her eyes after reading a particularly heart-wrenching passage in a novel. He held the crumpled tissue in his hand and felt a lump form in his throat.

  Placing the cardigan back on the hanger, he threw the tissue away in a nearby wastepaper basket.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I know you didn’t lose it, Mom. I know you wouldn’t lose it. This bracelet was your whole life – hell, it had your whole life on it. So what on earth did you do with it?’

  He thought back to the last time he’d seen her wear it. Karen mentioned that it had been at the hospital benefit on New Year’s Eve last year and that was true, but …

  Then, looking again at her closet, he remembered something.

  The red suit … Greg got up and crossed to the wardrobe, holding the delicate silk jacket up in front of him. His eyes moved to the sleeves. Yes, it had been June and warm outside when his mother had worn this at the gallery.

  That was the last time he’d given her a charm, the horseshoe charm to commemorate the occasion. So she’d definitely been wearing the bracelet that night.

  He reached into the pockets of the jacket, wondering if maybe she’d taken it off for some reason and left it in there.

  And as he did, a sudden thought struck him – a new and much more recent memory concerning Gennaro’s gallery came to mind. It was last week, when he’d called in to the gallery and collided with that woman on her way out.

  When Greg had enquired if the woman was an interested buyer, Gennaro had told him something about her trying to find out something about a bracelet, because one of the charms had led her to his gallery.

  Greg felt his spirits lift. Somehow his mother must have lost the bracelet and this woman, whoever she was, had found it and was trying to give it back.

  But then why didn’t Gennaro recognise it as Cristina’s – especially with the corno – made by his very own father – attached?

  Then Greg thought back to that night, when his mother had attempted to show Gennaro the Italian corno she’d bought in Florence all those years ago, but he’d been interrupted by Sofia. So Gennaro wouldn’t have recognised the bracelet, because Cristina never got the chance to show it to him.

  Thinking back to that day at the gallery, and the woman with the striking auburn hair, pretty face and bright green eyes, Greg knew he was on to something. But if she did happen to be in possession of his mother’s bracelet, how on earth was he supposed to track her down now?

  He tried again to think back to what little his friend had said about her. Didn’t Gennaro mention something about asking her out? In which case he must have a phone number for her.

  Greg felt heartened. For once his friend’s Romeo tendencies would come in handy.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mom,’ he said with conviction. ‘I’ll get it back…’

  He put his mother’s silk jacket back where he’d found it and went outside. Then he quickly grabbed his coat and put it on.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ Jeff asked in confusion.

  Greg quickly explained his train of thought. ‘I think that somehow Mom lost the bracelet a while back, and that someone has found it and is searching for us, just like we’ve been searching for the bracelet. And I think I met that very same person the other day. At Gennaro’s gallery.’

  Jeff’s face lit up. ‘Problem solved, fantastic.’

  ‘It’s not that simple unfortunately.’ Greg shook his head. ‘I don’t know her name, but I am going to find out.’

  ‘But, Greg, I don’t understand. How would Cristina’s charm bracelet end up with some random stranger? How would it even get outside the house?’ Maria asked in confusion.

  ‘That I don’t know, Maria, but if I happened to bump into this woman at the gallery, I wonder how she came to end up there?’

  ‘She must have tracked down the origin of the Italian corno and somehow traced it back to Gennaro via his father’s place in Florence,’ Jeff stated simply. ‘What are the chances? I always said that bracelet was like the story of this family’s life, laid out for all to see.’

  Greg nodded. ‘Well, Gennaro will know who this mystery woman is and he’ll be able to tell me where to find her. And with luck we’ll have Mom’s bracelet back in no time.’

  Chapter 33

  Holly was taking the decorations down off the Christmas tree. It was just too darned big to remain in their apartment (and for she and Danny to live comfortably alongside it) any longer.

  She wrapped the various angels and bells in tissue paper while Danny half-heartedly unwound tinsel from the branches. In order for the tree to be picked up kerbside, it had to be completely bare, otherwise City Sanitation wouldn’t take it.

  ‘Mom, my arm hurts,’ he complained, not nearly as interested in the tree as when they were dressing it before Christmas.

  ‘Oh, poor baby … funny how it doesn’t hurt so much when you’re p
laying Nintendo,’ Holly teased. ‘Go on then,’ she told him, ruffling his hair as he bounded off.

  Dry needles became entangled in her clothes as she struggled to remove the now bare tree from its stand.

  After some exertion, it finally came loose, and as it did something shot out from the branches and nearly hit Holly in the eye. She shrieked and stood back, thinking for a moment it was a mouse or some other creature that had taken up residence in the tree.

  But very quickly she realised that it wasn’t an animal but a package.

  A tiny box wrapped in lilac paper with a little purple bow on it.

  Picking it up, she studied the gift and found a little tag with her name written on it.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor, wondering how long it had been there. Since Christmas Day obviously.

  Smiling at the familiar lilac packaging, she carefully untied the bow and opened the box, an action that was by now almost ritualistic.

  Inside was a silver charm in the shape of a fir tree with a tiny diamond chip in the middle of the star. She turned it over; on the back was inscribed, Holly’s 1st Christmas.

  She felt a tear slide down her cheek, warm and inviting.

  Another little gift of love and hope.

  Wiping her face, Holly unclasped her charm bracelet and attached the tree in the best available space – the hourglass, the first charm she’d received all those years ago, on one side, and on the other, a little charm in the shape of a dove.

  Fitting really, Holly smiled, thinking back to the particular day she’d received that one.

  New York, 11 September 2001

  Holly opened her eyes and yawned widely. Stretching out her arms and legs, she turned and faced the window, where bright sunlight was already peeking through the slats of her blinds.

  She looked at the clock and smiled: seven thirty a.m. Just enough time to get ready for work and grab a green tea at Starbucks on the way to work.

  It was then that Holly realised that someone else was awake too. A determined kick came from inside her ever-growing tummy. There was no denying it, her baby was definitely healthy, but she was worried that with each passing day she resembled an elephant more than a woman. She wondered how big she would be when she reached the full nine months.

  ‘OK, little man, I know you’re awake. Just hold on a minute and let your poor mother get her bearings.’

  She put her feet on the ground and stood up, her protruding abdomen stretching out in front of her. She had to admit, pregnancy had been an experience. Not that anything bad had happened; it was more that she felt constantly in awe of what was taking place in her body, and she couldn’t believe that soon she would have a son to call her own.

  Some of her friends had been perplexed by her decision to find out the baby’s gender beforehand, arguing that it took all the surprise out of the main event. But Holly insisted that, even though she knew that much, she would be surprised just the same. After all, how many times did you get to meet face-to-face a person that you had a hand in creating? The wonder and magic of that thought alone was enough to get Holly through until the day her child was born.

  And she had to admit that she was happy she was having a boy, she thought, going into the bathroom to freshen up. She hadn’t talked to Nick in months; the last time had been when she had officially moved the rest of her things out of his place, and she had no intention of doing so anytime in the future. After all, what was the point? He’d made it clear he wanted no part of this baby. And that was fine by Holly. Her child would be hers alone, and she was dedicated to the idea of making him into a man who was strong, considerate and courageous – instead of a materialistic commitment-phobe who only thought of himself.

  Holly smiled at the notion as she came out of the bathroom and lumbered to her closet to search for something to wear. It was still ridiculously hot in the city and while she appreciated summer stretching into September, she would be happy when she was able to breathe a bit easier when she was walking around on the hot concrete of Manhattan. She hated being covered in sweat by the time she got to work at nine a.m.

  ‘So the sundress it is again,’ Holly said as she stepped into a light summer outfit that had served her well this past season. While she had stocked up on maternity clothes as her bump grew ever bigger, the one indulgence she resisted was buying her beloved vintage. After all, no point in spending all that money on clothes that would definitely not be required for very long. She did have the financial future of a baby and herself to think about, so best to be wise in her decisions.

  She stepped into a pair of sandals and wiggled her toes. Yes, much easier than heels.

  Holly grabbed her handbag and put some earrings on. Her charm bracelet jingled as she did up the clasp and deemed herself ready to go.

  Moments later, she was on the streets of Manhattan.

  Darting into a Starbucks on Church Street, she was happy to find that the line wasn’t that long, allowing her to stay on schedule. She smiled contentedly and took her place at the back.

  Seeing many regulars, several of whom greeted her and asked how she was feeling, she felt peaceful. Anyone who ever said New Yorkers were rude, loud or self-involved had obviously never lived here. Holly believed that many of her neighbours and the people she regularly saw out and about around the neighbourhood were some of the nicest and kindest in the world.

  ‘Here’s your green tea, ma’am,’ the barista smiled. Throwing a dollar in the tip jar, Holly thanked her and waved goodbye.

  She glanced at her watch as she started walking up Church Street and headed towards Greenwich Village. She was ahead of schedule, for once, and she felt quite proud of herself. So many women had told her that they seemed to become flaky and all over the place when they were pregnant. But not Holly – if anything, she had become more organised.

  The baby gave her another sharp kick as she finished this thought and she patted her tummy and took a small sip of tea.

  ‘Yikes!’ It was red-hot, and Holly stopped for a moment and rubbed her lip. ‘Damn, I should remember to ask them to put some ice cubes in next—’

  But she didn’t finish that thought.

  Overhead a deafening roar reverberated off the buildings around her. Holly put a free hand to one of her ears as she looked up and saw a low-flying plane … no, not a plane, a jet, burning a path through the sky above her.

  Mouth agape at how close to the ground it seemed to be flying, she followed its trail as it surged forwards overhead. Holly took a fleeting glance at others on the street who were looking upwards in sync with her, watching the plane as it flew towards Lower Manhattan.

  It was then that her heart started to race. She dropped her tea on the ground and jumped as the hot water splashed her bare legs, but even then she couldn’t take her eyes off what was unfolding in front of her, above her.

  Holly walked a few paces in the opposite direction to where she was supposed to be headed, but she couldn’t help it. There were throngs of people standing around, watching and engaging in speculation about what was going on. While she knew that standing here gawking was akin to chasing ambulances, she couldn’t help it.

  She put her hands over her abdomen as the baby gave what seemed to be a vicious kick and she doubled over.

  The woman next to her took note of Holly, clearly distressed and very pregnant.

  ‘Honey, are you OK? Can I call your husband, or a boyfriend? Can I do anything for you?’

  Holly crumpled to her knees. At the lack of an answer, the woman looked around, seemingly trying to catch the attention of anyone, even though all eyes were turned to the skies.

  ‘Somebody help! I think this woman is in labour!’

  * * *

  Holly hadn’t been in labour. But her heart was broken.

  As the day developed, she saw the world that she had known change drastically. Even after she had convinced the kindly woman on the street that she wasn’t in labour, the woman had understood that she was still in danger, espe
cially as she had stood frozen in place, unable to move.

  It was only when another nameless New Yorker grabbed them both and propelled them away from the oncoming onslaught of dust and debris that Holly had willed her feet to move. They’d rushed to the Starbucks she had been in just minutes before, looking for a sanctuary from the hellish cloud that threatened to consume them.

  And it was in that Starbucks that Holly sat on the floor, her back propped against a wall, studying the faces around her and the TV screen in the corner. It was all so surreal. A frightening realisation struck her as the news bulletins and terrifying headlines flooded in all around them. Her child would never know the safe and secure world that she had grown up in, the one that she had lived in up until this day. That world was in the rear-view mirror and Holly knew that she would never be the same.

  Even when the grey ash on the street outside settled, she felt hesitant to leave. But she also knew that she had to get home, and walking was the only way she was going to get there. Her phone had stopped working hours ago; so right then she was effectively invisible. She needed to call her boss and she needed to call Kate. Justin worked in Cantor Fitzgerald. Please, God, let him have got out before … Holly put a protective hand over her tummy and heard her charm bracelet jingle reassuringly. Moving into the street, she felt particles of dust, the remnants of destruction, falling onto her head and shoulders, and she put her head down to shield her vision. This was not her New York; this was a nightmare. Where had the beauty and wonder gone? And would it ever come back?

  * * *

  Wearily climbing the steps to her apartment, Holly felt as if she had lived four lifetimes since she’d woken up on what had been a cheery, sunshine-filled September morning. She put her key in the door and turned it hesitantly, for a moment wondering if she would find her home suddenly altered from the way she had left it as well.

  But when she opened the door, she found her apartment exactly the same as it had been when she’d left it that morning – although by then it seemed like a lifetime ago. The blue baby clothes that she had been folding on her small coffee table the night before were still in their pile. The plate from her English muffin that morning was still in the sink. Her bed was still unmade.