Page 89 of The Summer of Christmas

Chapter 27

Nick caught Frannie and J. B. in the middle of doing it, right in front of all the neighbors. He heard them doing it before seeing them. He wished he hadn’t. This image would set him back years. He watched themgrunt,pound,sighwhen they were done sticking—

A FOR SALE sign in the lawn in front of Nick’s childhood home. “Stop! Stop!” he cried. The last few days had been rough, and this was not making it better. “Why are you selling the house?”

“Your mother and I are going to trip the light fantastic in Paris and all over the world.”

“Who are you really, J. B.? Sure, you make good pancakes—”

“Crepes.”

“You give me the crepes, Frenchie. What’s your scam? To steal the house and leave my mother brokenhearted and alone?”

“Stop, Nick,” Frannie snapped.

“You’re selling the house to travel the world with the cook from the movie. I thought you were just going on location with him. You never said anything about moving.”

“It’s time for me to move on with my life, Nick. And J. B. is an excellent chef, not only a cook. He’s got dreams of opening a restaurant one day.”

“He’s got dreams. He should have been dreaming in his twenties. Not at his age. He’s setting you up, Mom, been doing it the whole time. That’s been his plan all along.”

Frannie hadn’t seen Nick this way in a while, not since he had come home from LA after breaking up with Ivy. From that moment, he was quieter, hiding in his work. “You mean to say J. B.’s plan was to get me to sell my house? How does that happen? I guess it starts when Ivy writes a script, they make it into a movie, J. B. gets the movie job, seduces me, and makes me sell my house.”

“You’re right, Mom, if she doesn’t write that script, none of this happens. It is all Ivy’s fault.”

“You’re the one who broke up with her.”

“And now she’s dumped me,” Nick said as he turned and walked into the house.

Frannie sighed. “He is my moody child.”

“He will not visit us much, will he?” J. B. whispered.

“No. Nick hates to fly. His whole world is the winery and this town. Excuse me a minute.” Frannie walked inside the house to find Nick taking photos of every room.

As she followed him, he said, “I’m taking pictures so I always remember what my childhood home looks like.”

“Why are you acting like you are twelve? You’re not moving. I am.”

“You took away my agency.” Nick slumped into his dad’s favorite chair. The fake leather was worn, but the wired remote still worked. It was one of those chairs that could be adjusted to go all the way back and also to go all the way forward. Nick could always talk to his dad about anything. This was the first time he was talking to his mom about something emotionally relevant since his dad passed. He gazed, teary-eyed, at a framed photo of a young Nick and his dad in their beloved New York Mets hats.

“Why didn’t you ask me, Mom? Why didn’t you give me a choice in this?”

“I didn’t have to. It’s not your house, Nick.”

“All my memories are in this house.”

“All my memories are in my head. And I’m going to take them with me wherever I go.”

“And you’re going to be making new memories with J. B.”

“There is nothing wrong with new memories,” Frannie said. Nick looked away, staring into space. Something else was bothering him, and she knew that something was named Ivy. Frannie knew Nick didn’t love her directness. He was just like his father. “It’s not good to live in the past.”

“Where else can I live?”

Frannie had no idea what he meant by that. Nick got up and started walking around the room, taking in every framed family photograph.

“The lake house you’ve been building.”