Chapter One
Havenport, Rhode Island
September 2019
The dull thud of earth hitting the casket again and again tore at Addy’s heart. Generations of Foxes filled the small family cemetery. Some died well into their old age while others died much before they ever lived, the youngest only nineteen days. Addison Moore looked out over the low wall surrounding the family graves, past the cliff, to the ocean beyond. The beauty of the day and the sailboats gliding across the water was lost on her. Addy gaped at the shovel in her hand then the half-covered casket. A movement to her right made her turn. She faced a lone man standing across the grave, bowed in reverence. She didn’t want to interrupt but couldn’t pull her gaze away. He straightened, raised his head, and she stared into the most compelling gray eyes she’d ever seen. The mingled expression of eagerness and tenderness momentarily blurred her pain, but nothing could ease her grief. Her chest tightened. She struggled for breath against lungs unwilling to operate. Beads of sweat dampened her forehead. Her pounding heart echoed in her ears. Again, she tried to take a breath. Nothing.
“Stay calm. Open your mouth,” the man demanded.
But nothing went in or came out. Breathe, damn it! The silent scream echoed in her head. Her lungs burned for air.
Her eyes flew open. Her breath stuttered. One gasp followed another. Addy gaped at the book in her hand, not quite comprehending what she held. A quick glance at the room and the cobwebs cleared. She was alone. Her body sank deeper into the overstuffed chair. Her tension eased. She took a calming breath and let the life-giving air fill her lungs. Home. Her panic subsided and details of the library came into view. The safety of her family’s old Victorian house, Fox Hole Manor, held her close.
The memory faded until it became a lost dream. Only fragments of the disconnected emotional panic permeated her psyche. She rose and put the psychology book, The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg, in one of the many boxes scattered around the room. The bookcase with several empty shelves stared back at her like a boxer’s smile with several missing teeth. She made progress, slow, but progress nonetheless.
The hint of ginger floating on the dusty air made her turn toward the hall. A smile spread across her face. Her grandmother. Many people would expect a robust woman with gray hair, and perhaps an apron and the aroma of freshly baked apple pie coming from the kitchen. Not Addy’s grandmother, who stood tall, sleek, a well-dressed woman with short light auburn hair streaked with silver, and sporting only a touch of make-up.
“Make sure the shelves are dusted and the floor swept. I don’t want the historical society to think I didn’t keep a clean house. Besides, you never know when company may arrive.”
Everything had a place in Cookie’s house, including the twist ties lined up in the kitchen drawer. The woman kept every book, note, piece of paper, everything. Cookie considered herself organized, not compulsive. More often than not, their ongoing discussion, with examples, brought them both to tears.
Fox Hole Manor was one of the oldest homes on Manor Road, an area where the old guard lived in their grand mansions, an extension of the magnificent estates across the causeway in Newport. The children of each generation found a closeness and a tie that lasted a lifetime. They were civic-minded and politically active, with Havenport at the heart and soul of it all.
All those years ago, Edythe Emerson, of the annual Halloween Masquerade Ball fame, and Cookie rallied the other residents on Manor Road and established the Manor Road Christmas Cookie Exchange. One hundred percent of the proceeds went to the Havenport Historical Society.
Nothing was done small on Manor Road, not even the annual Christmas Cookie Exchange. Cookie and Edythe decided on the themes for their houses and each year added touches and refined the décor. The Emersons decided on an elegant Victorian Christmas. Her grandmother branded her event Cups and Cookies at Cookie’s, which brought peals of laughter from everyone. Her grandmother put her heart and soul into decorating the house and handled this event with the same attention. Each meticulously decorated room on the tour represented a different faith’s winter celebration.
Hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon and pungent ginger cookies greeted each visitor entering the Garden Room. The cups and cookies were always arranged on the table with precision. Yes. Everything had its place. No one would ever accuse her grandmother of a messy house.
The outside of the house, with its welcoming front porch and strategically placed flower pots in place of railings, was just as important to Cookie as the inside and made Fox Hole Manor at Christmas a mecca for tourists. A must-see stop during the holidays. People came to watch the live deer that magically stayed on the lawn, the 1936 red Cadillac convertible filled with wrapped gifts parked outside the front door in the circular drive, and hear holiday music playing from strategically hidden speakers.
“I’ll make sure everything is neat and clean,” Addy said. “Is there anything else?”
“Concerning yesterday,” Cookie said.
She gave her grandmother a withering glance.
“There’s a finality in shoveling dirt onto the casket. The task takes a lot of love. I’m proud of you. All-in-all, the funeral was well-attended.”
Addy shuddered and searched for her cup of tea without success. “Please find another topic. This one creeps me out.”
Cookie raised a finely shaped eyebrow. “Should we discuss you finding a husband?”
Addy’s eyes welled up.
“So you made a bad choice. Live and learn. I think you should have waited. Neither of you knew each other very long.”
“We lived together for two years. I thought we knew each other very well.”
Another of Cookie’s stares meant to intimidate almost comforted her.
“You came to your senses before the wedding.”
Addie came to her senses a year ago. Her grandmother had it right, as usual. Don’t settle. Wait for the right man.
“It’s time for you to move on. Find your destiny.” Cookie leaned against the door frame. “What’s-his-name was an okay guy. I even liked him until you rushed here and cried in my arms. Afterwards, I pretty much hated him. Has he stopped calling you?”
“Yes,” Addy lied.
Cookie gave her a stink eye.
“Why the evil eye?” she asked, sounding like a high school teenager.
“You are aware Kenneth doesn’t believe the two of you are over. He doesn’t think sleeping with his secretary for the last year of your relationship has anything to do with you. The very obtuse boy thinks you have cold feet, not a cold heart, and doesn’t believe you’ll ever find a better man than him.” Her grandmother’s voice was quiet, but deadly. “I’m holding you to your promise. You’ll wait for the right man. Are you listening to me? Not just any man, not an okay man. The right man. Your destiny.”
Addy nodded. The words were etched in her brain, Cookie said them so often, even well before Kenneth Kendall made it into her diary.
“Was Grandpa Sky the right man?” She could play the deflect game, too.
Cookie smiled one of those wistful smiles loaded with silent meaning, said nothing and headed down the hall.
Addy followed, intent on getting an answer. She entered the kitchen. Empty. Her heart sank. Last Friday’s paper sat on the table next to her cold half-empty cup of tea.
“This is the story of Dr. Jessica Fox Jordan. Jessica was a wonderful woman who was loved, is missed, and will always be cherished. Called “Cookie,” by her only granddaughter, Addison Moore and a privileged few close friends, “Honey,” by her husband Skylar, and Jessie to everyone else, was an amazing wife, mother, grandmother, psychiatrist, and baker of the most amazing cookies. No one could bake a better ginger cookie than Jessica. Attendance at Fox Hole Manor for the Manor Road Christmas Cookie Exchange proves my point. Jessica Fox Jordan was the only child of Madison and Mildred Fox. Madison Fox was the colorful and flamboyant founder of the privately-owned Fox Brewery. Jessica is predeceased by her husband, Skylar; her daughter, Agatha Jordan Moore; and son-in-law, Phillip Moore. She is survived by her granddaughter, Addison Moore.”
The sense of loss hit her hard all over again.
“I miss you, Cookie.” A nervous laugh sounding more like a croak escaped her lips. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
Gordon Lightfoot’s If You Could Read My Mind sounded from her pocket. Her text and to-do list reminder alarm, not to be confused with Willie Nelson’s Always On My Mind, her incoming ring tone.
Addy pulled out her cell phone. “Call Ryan.”
Friends since high school, Ryan Livingston-Kanter and Addy did everything together. As teens, they sat on the stone wall at the end of Fox Hole Manor by the family cemetery, stared at the ocean, imagined their destinies, and made plans for their future. Ryan loved research, but understood her father expected her to study law and follow him and her older brother’s footsteps into the family business.
The two close friends cheered on the basketball and football teams. The coaches anticipated them coming to practice and games not only for their enthusiasm, but for the cases of free Fox vitamin-enriched water—an outgrowth of the 2001 market when Fox diversified into selling the vitamin water—they brought to the games.
Yesterday, her closest friend gave her strength at Cookie’s funeral, held her hand, and consoled her. Afterward, she took Ryan to her favorite Japanese restaurant in Newport and celebrated a life well lived over a bottle of sake.
“Why here? We have an excellent Japanese restaurant in Havenport,” Ryan said.
“I found this on Cookie’s desk when I searched for the funeral director’s information.” Addy took an envelope out of her bag. “She left money with instructions to come here for dinner after the funeral. Cookie didn’t care where we ate, but I did. This is where we had our alone time. Here, no one knew her. No one stopped by the table. No one apologized but still went on talking to her as if they had an appointment. Here, I had her all to myself.”
Later in the evening, they sat in the manor library going over Cookie’s will.
“Fox Beverage is a family-owned company. Jessica left her shares to you. Those, along with those left to you from your parents, secure your majority position. You know all the financial issues. The Board sent a financial statement for you. Fox is one of the top ten craft breweries in the country, with over 1,000 employees and an annual revenue of roughly $163 million.” Ryan, her no-nonsense attorney, put the paper down and clasped her hands.
“Your inheritance is sizeable. Personally, I’m glad you walked away from Kenneth before he found out.”
“You didn’t like him?” Addy raised her right eyebrow, a bit like her grandmother.
“No. You know I didn’t.” Ryan shook her head.
“He’s aware of my connection to Fox Beverage, but he doesn’t know the details.” Addy let out a dry laugh. “He kept pushing me to leave psychiatry and find a better paying job. And here I’m worth almost—”
“Fifty million dollars,” Ryan interrupted. Ryan and her husband, Chief of Police Jim Kanter made their feelings known. They didn’t like Kenneth and kept away the few times he graced Havenport with an appearance.
The dollar amount didn’t surprise her. Her grandmother had prepared her for the responsibility that went along with the funds, the well-being of the company and employees, the community, and herself. Stay grounded and hold to your values.
“Will you be all right? I can stay if you like,” Ryan said, closing the folder.
“I’ll be fine. Go home to your husband.” She would have loved a girl’s night together like the ones they had when they were young, but she needed to be alone.
Ryan took her purse and briefcase.
“Thanks for all your help,” she said, and walked Ryan to the door.
“Get some sleep,” Ryan said. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
They gave each other a peck on the check and Addy watched as Ryan got into her car and drove away.
She locked up for the night and made her way to the library. Addy loved this room more than the others. Bookcases surrounded the fireplace. Across from the hearth, glass double doors led to the patio. Floor to ceiling bookcases lined the remaining two walls. Cookie situated the desk to enjoy the spectacular view of the ocean through the patio doors. Her great-grandfather, Madison Fox, brought the oriental carpet at a Persian market overseas, much to her great-grandmother Violet’s delight. The Fox Brewery seal, which adorned every bottle of beer, water, soda, and containers of ice cream proudly hung over the fireplace rather than a family portrait.
Cookie bequeathed the antique furniture she used expressly for the cookie exchange to the historical society. That activity belonged to Cookie. Besides, no one made ginger cookies like her grandmother, even though her grandmother included the recipe with each package. Everything else now belonged to her to keep or sell.
“I don’t want the house to languish unoccupied and become derelict. Therefore, the deposition of the house must be decided within six months of my death or Addison will not be able to sell the estate during her lifetime,” her grandmother instructed in her will.
“Taking control from beyond the grave? Or, is this your way of encouraging me not to sell the old stones?” Her grandmother knew her well and blamed her procrastination on her father’s genes. Addy loved the manor, but lived in New York City and didn’t need two homes. Fox Hole Manor was not a summer cottage.
The very idea of selling the place made her want to run out of the room. This house had been in the family for generations. “If only the walls could talk,” she murmured, her heart racing. Calm down. No need to make a decision now.
She took deep breaths and glanced around the room at half-empty shelves, partially filled boxes, and stacks of papers destined for the shredder. The house was much more than “things.”
She couldn’t stop the passage of time any more than stop the sun from shining or the sands from shifting. Even though Cookie was gone, her hopes, dreams, and love filled these rooms.
Addy fought to stay calm, but one glance at her doctoral graduation picture and her fragile control wavered. Frozen forever, she grinned, encircled in Cookie’s arms. Rage built in the pit of her stomach and like a lit fuse raced up her spine, until something snapped.
“How could you leave me? Haven’t I lost enough?” she said through locked teeth. Her arms hung at her sides. Her fists shook from holding them tightly closed.
Hot tears threatened to get loose. No soothing words. No warm hugs to shut out the pain. Nothing. She grabbed the picture and curled into the over-sized armchair and rocked back and forth until there were no tears left.
“Feeling sorry for yourself won’t make you feel better.” Through teary eyes, she gazed at the doorway and scooted to the edge of the chair. For a split second, every nerve in her body tingled with anticipation, only to spend itself out in a flash. No one stood there. Her own voice spoke the truth. Yes, her grandmother was gone, but not by choice. Slowly, the anger subsided.
Always On My Mind announced a call. Private number. It might be one of Cookie’s patients. She should change the message on Cookie’s voicemail and direct patients to Dr. Engle’s number rather than her own. No need to keep her name listed.
“Addison Moore.”
“Addy.” The background rumble of people talking and clinking glasses made it difficult to hear, but she recognized the voice. Kenneth? He hadn’t called in weeks and she thought he had finally gotten the message. They were over.
“Things are going great for me. I brought on five new clients in the last two months. The boss calls me into most of the high-profile meetings. I’m sure he’s grooming me for a top sales spot. There’s talk of a partnership.”
She let him go on. No sense trying to get a word in any way.
“I can go on and on about work. How are you doing? I hope you’ve been able to put things in perspective. Are you still talking to your grandmother? It must be difficult, but you know she’s gone.”
Why had she called him? Why had she left him a message? She should never have mentioned speaking to Cookie. A moment of weakness. A moment she wanted some… Cookie used to say you can’t get blood from a stone. The adage applied to Kenneth where compassion was concerned.
“No one has seen you at Riley’s lately. It’s not much fun going there after work without you.”
She wanted him to hurt as much as he hurt her, but Kenneth had to feel before he could hurt. Cookie had that right.
“Harold, my boss, saw you on one of the Sunday morning programs a few weeks ago. You didn’t mention getting an award. You should have said something. Harold had to tell me you got some award for experimental psychology dealing with anxiety.”
“The Toland Award is for the understanding of human skill learning and performance breakdowns in high-pressure and anxiety-provoking situations.” Addy rolled her eyes. Did the man ever listen? She called him the afternoon the committee notified her and told him she won the award.
“His brother is a bigwig in the American Psychological Association. I had to dance around his questions. Harold is having a party. A small gathering, and he specifically asked me to come and bring my fiancée.”
“Oh. Who are you bringing? Did your secretary say yes?”
“Come on. You know you’re my girl and will always be my girl. It’s time you stopped sulking. I’ve been punished enough.”
Enough. Really?
“I gave you back your ring and told you I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to meet your boss, and I don’t want to go to his party. The time has come for us both to move on.”
“Don’t decide now. I’ll give you a call when you’re less emotional.” The line went dead.
No good night. Oh, how she wished for an old handset phone to slam onto the cradle. Emotional? She didn’t get emotional over his cheating. She was relieved she found out before they married. But the death of her beloved Cookie? Damn straight, she was emotional.
She turned off the light and wished Kenneth could be turned off as easily.
* * * * *
The following morning, sunlight flooded her room. For a moment, she struggled with her surroundings. Her eyes may have been open, but obviously they weren’t clear.
The confusion died and her bones eased as she sank back into the eiderdown mattress cover and Egyptian sheets. She was not in her apartment, but in her bedroom in Havenport. Staying in bed all day would be yummy, but things needed to be done.
Addy got out of bed, showered, and dressed for the day.
While going through the library yesterday, she found some photographs. Cookie kept only a few in this room. Pictures, boxes and boxes of them, each with notations on the back with the date, place, and people. Images depicting every aspect of the family’s life were stored in the old staff room on the third floor. She’d tackle that area of the house after she finished here.
With coffee in hand, she walked into the library. She’d made some progress while Cookie convalesced at Encore, a senior care and assisted living facility. She would have preferred taking care of Cookie herself, but her stubborn grandmother would have none of that. She let out a deep sigh. At least Aunt Pearl, who now resided at Encore, kept Cookie company, although her grandmother thought it the other way around. Pearl wasn’t her real aunt, but her grandmother’s friend since grammar school. She moved to Encore after her husband, Steve died from a mild stroke. A former nurse, she kept Cookie company, which gave Addy a chance to start weeding out the books and papers.
You’re Always On My Mind chimed from her pocket. A glance at the display and she smiled.
“Hi, Ry.”
“I just got off the phone with Ina. I informed her of the bequest from Cookie. She’ll contact you in a few days to discuss when you want the furniture removed. Ina also mentioned the Historical Society approved the plan for the new exhibit. The idea sounds wonderful, the history of early industry in Havenport. She wants to get on your calendar. The committee is adamant the Fox Brewery be the centerpiece of the program. I told her I’d pass the information on to you. The plans sound exciting. The consultant is sure the overall exhibit will be a big tourist attraction and bring in revenue.
“I called for another reason. I need your signature on some papers. I wanted to stop by around three today.”
“I want to check in with Aunt Pearl at two thirty. This week has been difficult for her. Come over but be prepared. The place is not up to Cookie’s standards.”
“Send Aunt Pearl my love. I’ll drop the documents off and can pick them up from you later.”
She could always count on Ryan.
“The key is in the usual place. Let yourself in. I’ll speak to you later.” They said their goodbyes and Addy checked the time, then slipped her phone into her pocket. One o’clock, plenty of time to do a bit more before she left to visit Aunt Pearl.
With any luck, everything would be packed and she would be back in New York City within the next two weeks. Whether she sold or not, she couldn’t leave the house like this.
Always On My Mind played once again. The display showed a local number. “This is Addison Moore.”
“Hello, doctor.”
Addy waited.
“This is Louise Douglas. We met at your grandmother’s funeral. I’m one of her patients.” The hesitation in the woman’s voice shifted her into doctor mode.
“Hello, Louise. I remember you. Thank you for coming.”
A psychiatrist like her grandmother, she’d handled calls from Cookie’s patients since arriving in Havenport. They called to comfort and support her, but the majority called to be consoled. More than once, she was tempted to take on the client, but instead recommended the patients contact Dr. Engle.
“Doctor, I… Oh, I have no idea why I called,” Louise rushed on.
“That’s all right. Is there a problem?” Addy slipped into her soothing calm ‘psychiatrist’ voice, one she spent time cultivating.
“I’m lost without Jessie. I mean Dr. Jordan.” Louise verbalized her state of mind all too well.
“If it helps, at times I am, too.” Addy sensed Louise’s tension subside. She took a cleansing breath.
“You do? Even though you’re a…”
“Yes, even though I’m a psychiatrist. Under the circumstances, what would make you feel better?” She needed to move the conversation along or they would both need help.
“I wish I knew. I’m adrift and so angry with her.” Louise’s voice lost hesitancy. “Do you feel the same way? Angry.”
“Anger at someone dying is natural.”
“I wish she was here. I would tell her how angry I am.”
Addy stared out the window toward the cemetery. “Would telling her you’re angry with her make you feel better?”
“Yes, I think telling her I’m angry would help.” Louise’s voice perked up and brought Addy back to the moment. She turned and sat at the desk.
“Then tell her.”
“What?”
“Sit down and write her a letter. Tell her everything you feel and why.” The conversation paused. She could almost hear Louise’s thoughts. If only Louise knew the liberation of getting her feelings out.
“Jessie used to give me homework assignments all the time.” She laughed. “Your grandmother used to say ‘Louise, observe, feel, name, accept.’”
“Yes. Trust the process.”
“Thank you, Dr. Moore. Thank you. I won’t keep you any longer.”
Addy ended the call and sat back. The whiff of Cookie’s perfume and the imagined warmth of her grandmother’s presence permeated the room.
“You handled Louise nicely,” Cookie said. “You didn’t direct her to Dr. Engle.”
“No, she wanted to talk to someone who knew you more intimately. The talk served both of us.”
“Ah, you needed—”
“To be realistic. Damn, I wish you were really here.”
“I always knew you’d be a wonderful therapist. You didn’t disappoint me. You never disappointed me.”
“Thanks. I just wish you had a better handle on getting rid of things.” She turned toward the door knowing no funny, warm grandmother would be there.
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