Yes, Margaret thinks. She’ll ask Wendy to stick them in a dark corner where no one will recognize her, and she’ll devour a big bowl of the curried mussels and a big glass of chardonnay. She’s starving.
The front door opens and Jennifer strolls in, holding a paper bag. She looks dazed.
“Jennifer!” Margaret says. “My lovely girl.” Margaret and Jennifer have always had a good relationship, and Margaret has been extra solicitous since Patrick has gone to jail. Margaret sends Jennifer flowers every month, she arranged for the boys to attend a Red Sox game and sit in the owner’s box, and for Christmas, Margaret is flying Jennifer to Canyon Ranch in Arizona for three days while Jennifer’s mother keeps the boys in San Francisco.
Jennifer gives Margaret a squeeze. She says, “I have wine. Would you like a glass?”
“Sure,” Margaret says.
Drake says, “I’m taking Margaret out to dinner.”
“That’s right,” Margaret says. She checks her Cartier tank watch. This is the very same watch that sent Mitzi into an apoplectic fit the Christmas before—because it was a gift to Margaret from Kelley when Ava was born, and Margaret still chooses to wear it on the air. “We should go.”
“Don’t you want to see the baby first, Mom?” Kevin asks.
“Is she awake?” Margaret asks.
“She’s in her crib, kicking around,” Kevin says.
Well, Margaret isn’t going to miss an opportunity to hold her granddaughter. She turns to Jennifer, “Are the boys here?”
“Upstairs, playing PS4 with Grandpa, I’m pretty sure,” Jennifer says. “You can see them in the morning.”
“Grandpa is in the dining room with Mitzi,” Margaret says.
“Mitzi?” Isabelle says.
Margaret smiles diplomatically. “I’m going to give Genevieve one kiss,” she says. “And then we’ll go.”
“I’ll come with you,” Drake says. “I’d like to see Genevieve.”
“Really?” Margaret says. Drake has never shown anything beyond polite interest in Genevieve before. But he dutifully follows Margaret into the back of the inn toward the baby’s nursery.
The nursery is lit by only one scallop shell night-light, which casts a buttery glow over the giraffe-and-umbrella-themed nursery. Isabelle grew up with a special fondness for les girafes et les parapluies. Although Margaret initially found the combination a little random, the nursery has turned out to be quite charming.
She can hear Genevieve cooing, and when Margaret peers into the crib, the baby is smiling up at her.
“Hello, beautiful doll,” Margaret whispers. She reaches in and scoops her up.
Baby baby baby. There is nothing Margaret has experienced in this life that compares to holding her grandchildren, and especially this little girl, who is just a little lighter and a little sweeter than the boys were. She smells like lavender, and as Margaret nuzzles her cheek and her tiny perfect ear, she marvels at how soft her skin is. She kisses and kisses her. She can’t ever remember feeling this enamored with her own kids. With Patrick, she was overwhelmed, the twenty-four-hour-a-day nursing sucked away all her energy, and then she got mastitis in her left breast. Kelley’s mother, Frances, had still been alive and she had come to stay with Kelley and Margaret in their railroad apartment on 121st Street, and offered unsolicited advice on the hour.
Suffice it to say, Margaret’s memories of Patrick were not as delicious as this.
Kevin had been easier because at least with him, Margaret had known what she was doing. But Kevin had suffered from reflux—everything she fed him came back up and the whole apartment smelled like sour milk—plus, she’d had a two-year-old to take care of.
And when Ava was born, Margaret had been working full-time at WCBS in New York and every day at home with Ava was a day that Margaret feared she was going to be replaced.
It is so much better to be a grandparent. Margaret can’t believe how much better it is.
“I want to eat her,” Margaret says to Drake. “I want to gobble her up.”
“May I?” Drake says, and he holds his hands out.
Margaret is surprised; he’s never asked to hold the baby before. But of course he operates on babies this age and younger all the time. He takes the baby and cradles her expertly in his arms, just like he does it every day of his life.
“Does it feel different?” she asks. “Holding a healthy baby?”
Drake smiles down at Genevieve. “No,” he says. “All babies are equally miraculous.”
Margaret loves this answer so much she feels tears prick her eyes. So much for unflappable.
She says, “Let’s give her back to her parents so we can go to dinner.” The most miraculous thing of all about grandchildren: They can be handed back to their parents at any time!
“Okay,” Drake says. Margaret follows him, as he gently bounces Genevieve in his arms, out into the hallway.
“Mommy?”
Margaret turns around. She may be a grandmother, but the sound of her children’s voices calling her Mommy is indelibly printed in her mind. Ava is waiting at the back door. She, too, looks dazed.
“Darling,” Margaret says, and she goes to give her daughter a hug. “How are you?”
Ava looks at Margaret with big eyes—then she notices Drake, and she regains some composure. “Hey, Drake.”
“Hey there, Ava,” Drake says. “Happy holidays.”
“Is everything okay, darling?” Margaret asks. “How was the caroling party?”
“Oh,” Ava says, “long story. Do you have time to talk right now? Or… would you rather wait until morning?”
“Let’s wait until morning,” Margaret says, though she can tell Ava is carrying something she’d like to unload right now. But Margaret is starving and Drake has been patient enough. “Tomorrow morning will be perfect.”
KELLEY
Peace on earth, good will toward men. He has repeated the words so often, he’s starting to feel like Linus van Pelt.
This was an easier tenet to live by before Mitzi showed up unannounced and, in typical Mitzi fashion, tried to throw herself at Dr. Drake Carroll!
When Kelley gets Mitzi into the dining room alone, he says, “What is wrong with you?”
She says, “I had to come. I had to be back in the house where we raised him.”
Kelley wants to yell; he wants to fight. Only now, a year later, can Kelley fully acknowledge how Mitzi broke his heart, how she blindsided him. He had been incredulous at first: An affair with George the Santa Claus for twelve years? It was so absurd that Kelley had a hard time comprehending it; plus, there had been the immediate distraction of Margaret. For a few days, Kelley had thought the world had resynchronized so that he and Margaret could get back together.
But that idea evaporated with the new year. Margaret Quinn was Margaret Quinn—too important, too busy, too citified. She had grown beyond Kelley; she had no interest in running an inn on Nantucket. She had been incredibly kind to float him a seven-figure “loan” he would never have to repay, and to come to the inn so often, bringing sixteen rooms of guests in her wake. Drake is a much better match for Margaret, even if she refuses to acknowledge it.
Most of the reason Kelley is so upset Mitzi is here is because it hurts to see her.
It hurts.
At least she didn’t bring George.
“You can’t just show up here unannounced,” Kelley says.
“I want to see his room,” she says. “I want to look at his things.”
Kelley sighs. “Okay,” he says. “Five minutes, then you have to go.”
Mitzi follows Kelley into the back of the inn—ahead of them, Margaret and Drake are headed to the nursery—but Kelley takes a left down the short hallway that leads to Bart’s room.
Kelley says, “I keep the door open and the light on day and night so it’s ready for him when he gets back.”
“You do?” Mitzi says. She seems touched by this. Her eyes fill with tears. “Because he is coming back, right?”
“Yes, Mitzi,” Kelley says, “he’s coming back.” He gently touches Mitzi’s back, ushering her into the room.