“I can’t wait to see it,” Potter says. “I could use a little holiday cheer.”
“Next week!” Ava says. She knows Potter’s December has been anything but joyful. He’s dealing with final exams, and his son, PJ, is spending the holiday with his mother and the British teaching assistant. They are traveling to Stratford-upon-Avon to celebrate a Shakespearean Christmas.
“In front of the Yule log?” Ava asks. “Why did Shakespeare never write a Christmas play?”
“He did. Twelfth Night,” Potter says glumly.
Ava loves Potter’s erudition!
“I’m sorry I’m in such a funk,” Potter says. “I’ll feel better the second I can hold you.”
When he says things like this, Ava melts. The first night she spent with Potter—back in New York over Thanksgiving—she confessed that she thought he was too good-looking for her. Oh, how he had laughed! He’d wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and said, “There isn’t a man alive who is too good-looking for you, Ava. Not Clooney. Not Tatum Channing.”
Ava had grinned. “Channing Tatum.”
“Him either.” Potter had taken Ava’s face in his hands and said, “I think you are the most beautiful, most captivating creature I have ever laid eyes on and I’ve thought that since I passed you running in Anguilla.”
“Stop,” she said.
He had kissed her deeply, then carried her off to bed.
She is taking things slowly with Potter. This is her new, adult self in action; she doesn’t fall all the way in love immediately, as she’s done in the past. She preserves her privacy, her personhood. But there’s no denying she’s besotted, and his feelings seem to match or exceed her own.
A week before Christmas, Ava admits to Shelby that she’s officially seeing Potter. He’s going to be her date for Kevin and Isabelle’s wedding and not just because he has a talent for making Quinn family nuptials fun. He’s staying through Christmas. At first, Potter felt bad about leaving Gibby alone but then Ava suggested Potter bring him up to Nantucket as well. The more the merrier, Ava said. And when you get here, you’ll see I mean that. Potter agreed this was the ideal solution and he booked Gibby a room at the Castle, which is where George and Mary Rose are staying. And surprise, surprise! George is bringing over his 1931 Model A fire engine for the first time in three years, and this will be the vehicle that transports Kevin and Isabelle from the Siasconset Union Chapel to the inn, with George dressed as Santa Claus behind the wheel.
“It’s a little scary,” Shelby says. “Your family’s devotion to Christmas.”
“Tell me about it,” Ava says. “Anyway, I owe you dinner at the Club Car.”
“With caviar,” Shelby says.
They get dressed up and go the following night. Ava wears a green velvet Betsey Johnson dress that she’s owned for years but only recently has been able to fit into—talk about Christmas joy!—and Shelby wears red. The Club Car is all decked out for Christmas and it smells of garlic and rosemary. The piano is stationed in the back, as ever, the pianist piecing together a medley of carols.
“Anything but ‘Joy to the World,’” Ava says. “I’ll even take ‘Jingle Bells.’”
“Wow, that is not like you,” Shelby says.
The maître d’ seats them in the front window. “You two are the prettiest window dressing I could ask for,” he says.
“But more important, we’re smart,” Shelby says.
Ava smiles down at the table. Being a mother has not softened Shelby in the slightest.
They order champagne, naturally, and then two ounces of osetra caviar, which comes with all of the usual accoutrements—buckwheat blini, chopped onion, capers, egg whites, egg yolks, and crème fraîche—as well as a bottle of vodka, nestled in a block of ice, from which the waiter pours them each a shot. And then, maybe because they are pretty or maybe because they are smart, he pours them each another shot, on the house.
Ho-ho-ho! Ava’s head is instantly spinning, so much so that she thinks she sees Scott and Roxanne by the maître d’s stand. She blinks and chases the vodka taste out of her mouth with a sip of crisp, cold champagne.
It is Scott and Roxanne. Roxanne is wearing a black dress. Ava heard that she has worn black every day since losing the baby. And she’s wearing black stiletto heels. Some people, it seems, never learn.
Scott waves. Ava waves. Shelby glances over her shoulder and groans.
“It’s not a problem,” Ava says. “He doesn’t faze me anymore. And neither does she.”
“Really?” Shelby says. She builds herself a loaded caviar bite, and her eyelids flutter closed in ecstasy as she eats it. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”
“I’m over Scott,” Ava says. It’s true; she sees him and feels nothing. This past Friday afternoon he dressed up as Santa Claus for the final assembly before break and he handed out candy canes and chocolate coins, and Ava gazed upon him and felt… nothing. A couple days before that, he had come to school wearing his ugly Christmas sweater, the one with the light-up tulle Christmas tree on the front that he had bought solely to please Ava. The one he had worn to her Ugly Christmas Sweater Caroling party. The one he had worn when he accompanied Roxanne to Nantucket Cottage Hospital and then Mass General after she gruesomely broke her ankle while crossing Federal Street. That sweater had so many memories attached to it—both good and bad—and yet when Ava saw Scott wearing it, she had felt… nothing.
“I hope he and Roxanne are happy together,” Ava says. “I hope they try to have a baby again.”
“Not likely,” Shelby says. “I heard she’s moving to California soon, before the end of the school year.”
“Is she?” Ava says. Not even this juicy tidbit piques her interest. If Roxanne moves to California, Scott will be single once again. All Ava feels is a twinge of sympathy for Scott—but honestly, not much. He’s a good guy. He’ll find someone else soon enough.
Scott and Roxanne are seated at a table somewhere behind them, but Ava doesn’t even bother to sneak a peek. She doesn’t scrutinize the expression on Scott’s face or analyze his demeanor or wonder what he orders to drink. Maybe Roxanne is moving to California and this is a farewell dinner, or maybe they’re just out celebrating the holiday. Ava doesn’t care!
She studies the menu. “I’m going to get the beef Wellington,” she says. “And then, let’s go sing.”
JENNIFER
The texts from Norah Vale pop up on Jennifer’s phone at the worst possible moments. The first was on Thanksgiving, but it was instantly eclipsed by the phone call from Kevin with the double-whammy news of Kelley’s collapse and another soldier from Bart’s platoon found.
A week later, they know that Kelley’s cancer has metastasized to his brain and that Bart is alive. A mixed bag of news if ever there was one. Patrick has chosen to focus only on the positive: Bart is alive and coming home in time for Kevin and Isabelle’s wedding and Christmas. And Kelley will battle his cancer just the way he’s battled all the other hardships of the past few years.
“My father is a warrior,” Patrick says.
Jennifer hears the respect in Patrick’s voice, which serves to mask his fear. Kelley is only in his early sixties, but he’s mortal just like everyone else.
For the kids’ sake, Jennifer adopts Patrick’s mind-set. They don’t tell the boys about Kelley’s cancer. All they announce is that Uncle Bart has been found and is on his way home. “Uncle Bart is a hero, a real-life hero who experienced unknown horrors while defending our country,” they say. Patrick and Jennifer hammer this home; their kids need something to honor other than their video games.
Norah’s second text comes while Jennifer is decorating a client’s house for Christmas. She had such success putting her own home on the Beacon Hill Holiday House Tour that decorating for Christmas has become a cottage industry within Jennifer’s already-booming interior design business. She has twelve clients across Boston and the suburbs who want her to deck their halls. Jennifer isn’t in a position to turn away any business. She is grateful for all the clients who stuck with her through Patrick’s incarceration, and she still lives in fear that rumors of her pharmaceutical addiction might get out.