At the moment, she is decorating a townhome for a couple in the South End who are throwing a huge party in a few hours. This project has turned out to be more fun than Jennifer anticipated. The couple favor a mid-twentieth-century style, and too much is not enough for Peter and Ken, so out come the white Christmas trees decorated with psychedelic glass balls and on the wall hangs a display of holiday-themed Jell-O molds.
Brenda Lee plays on the blue Bakelite turntable—“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”—while Ken shakes up some martinis and Peter prepares the ham, decorating it with pineapple rings and maraschino cherries.
“I wish you could stay,” Peter says.
“Me too,” Jennifer says. She loves this couple, loves the vibe of their home and all of the authentic details. The presents under the tree are sleek and color-coordinated. There’s a pile of royal-blue presents, a pile of hot-pink presents, a pile of amethyst-purple presents.
Christmas comes in all shapes and sizes, Jennifer thinks. All colors, all eras. She would love to don a shimmery minidress, put on chunky heels and shimmery earrings, and drink martinis and eat deviled eggs and chicken livers wrapped in bacon.
Eartha Kitt sings “Santa Baby.”
But tonight, Jennifer and Patrick are going out alone. They both miss the lavish holiday party that Everlast Investments throws at the Four Seasons, so they have decided to throw a “company party” of their own. They’re going for drinks at Sonsie and then having dinner at No. 9 Park.
As Jennifer is putting the finishing touches on Peter and Ken’s vintage-Christmas-card collage, her phone pings.
She checks it eagerly, half hoping it’s Paddy telling her he’s running behind with work so that she can stay for a few more minutes and enjoy a martini or two. But no. It’s Norah.
The text says: Are you by any chance coming to Nantucket for Stroll? I really need to talk to you.
Stroll, Jennifer thinks. That’s right. Tonight is the Friday of Stroll weekend on Nantucket.
Burl Ives sings “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas.”
“I just love the way records sound on this turntable,” Peter says.
Jennifer gives him a blank look, then she stares at the message on her phone. Stroll weekend last year was when all of Jennifer’s troubles began. She wanted oxy and Ativan, and who, of all people, supplied her habit? Argh! Jennifer wants to go back in time to Stroll weekend of last year and do everything differently.
“Are you okay?” Ken asks. He hands her a martini.
Jennifer slips her phone into her pocket and fakes a smile. “Yes!” she says.
“She wants to leave so she can go on a date with her hubby,” Peter says. “Let her go already.”
What does Norah want to talk to her about? Should Jennifer respond or just ignore this text as she did the last one?
“You can go,” Ken says. “But this martini is a work of art. Take it home and enjoy it as you get dressed. I’ll get you a cup.”
“And take a deviled egg!” Peter calls out from the kitchen.
Andy Williams sings “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”
The third text from Norah comes as Jennifer is wrapping the boys’ gifts on her bed and bingeing on Bloodline. Bloodline comes at the recommendation of Sable; former addicts know all the best shows, Sable insisted, and Jennifer laughed, thinking this was probably true. It’s eleven o’clock at night a week before Christmas, and Paddy is still in the home office, working. Jennifer brought him a glass of scotch and a piece of gingerbread with lemon sauce an hour earlier while he pored over the day’s market activity. He has raised thirty-two million for his hedge fund so far. This is going to happen, he assures Jennifer. This is going to be a success.
When Jennifer’s phone pings so late, she assumes it’s her mother in California, who is infamous for disregarding the time difference.
When Jennifer sees that it’s Norah, she gasps, as she might have at a stranger’s face appearing in her dark bedroom window.
The text says, simply, Jennifer.
“What?” Jennifer whispers. “What do you want?”
A second text follows: I’ll be in Boston the next few days. Call me, please.
Jennifer nearly screams. Norah is coming to Boston. Norah is going to… what? Stalk Jennifer? Knock on the front door or sit in her menacing black truck, engine idling, out on Beacon Street? Will she trail Jennifer as she takes the kids to school? Will she harass Jennifer in front of the other parents? Will Jennifer’s dirty little secret get out? Will Norah harm Jennifer or threaten the children?
This has to stop, Jennifer thinks. She holds her phone gingerly, like it’s a ticking time bomb. She types in: Leave me alone. Please. But that makes her sound like she’s a victim, pleading, groveling. She doesn’t send it.
Jennifer deletes the texts, just as she deleted the other two texts; she can just pretend they never existed. She can block Norah’s number on her phone. She should have done this back in August!
What does Norah want? She knows Jennifer got caught by Kevin and Paddy and she surely must guess that Jennifer has been through counseling. Norah should count herself lucky that Jennifer didn’t go to the police!
She should go to the police now, Jennifer thinks. To Paddy first, then the police. She should have kept the texts to turn over as evidence!
But another, calmer part of Jennifer’s psyche encourages her not to overreact. Norah is, no doubt, just after some money. Jennifer should continue to ignore her. Eventually, she’ll go away.
Jennifer wraps the last present—a black leather belt with a silver buckle, for Bart. Mitzi has said he’s lost weight and none of his clothes will fit. An American hero needs to keep his pants up, Jennifer thinks. Then she laughs. Thoughts of Norah fade away.
KELLEY
His radiation oncologist has granted him a week’s reprieve over Christmas. He doesn’t have to report for his final treatments until December 27.
He may skip those anyway. The radiation isn’t working. He has inhabited this body for more than sixty years and he holds the ultimate authority over it—not his doctors. He knows the cancer is growing, sinking its tentacles deeper and deeper into his brain. He’s dizzy all the time and needs to hold on to the rail as he descends the stairs. He can barely hear out of his left ear, a development he’s trying to conceal by cocking his head when someone is speaking to him. And the headaches are… stupendous. They are impossible to endure without medication, but the pain medication makes him loopy and, of course, he doesn’t want to become addicted, like Jennifer.
Although, he reasons, what does it matter if he becomes addicted now? The end is coming. He can feel it.
He doesn’t share this knowledge with anyone. Nobody wants to hear it! Everyone expects Kelley to battle, to wield his mighty sword and fight off the failure of his body. Plus, everyone is distracted. It’s Christmastime! Kevin and Isabelle are getting married! Bart is coming home! Ava is moving to the city to embark on her new career! Patrick is starting his act two, a hedge fund where he will be his own boss!
Kelley is so fortunate to have stood at the head of such an incredible family. When he passes, he can do so knowing everyone is safe.
But enough maudlin thoughts.
The house is decorated from the floorboards to the rafters. Kelley can’t enter or leave a room without hearing a merry jingle (Mitzi has hung sleigh bells from every doorknob throughout the inn). He smells the pot of beef bourguignon on the stove, ideal for this chilly night. (Because Mitzi was a non-red-meat-eater for so long, every time they eat beef, it feels like a Christmas miracle.) Bart is supposed to fly from Germany to Washington on the twenty-second and from there to Boston on the twenty-third. He will be on Nantucket Friday night, which is cutting it a little close for Mitzi’s taste, but what can they do? The mere thought of seeing his son, hugging him, holding him makes Kelley almost weep. Bart has a wound on his face in the exact spot that Kelley dreamed he had a tattoo of a star. This is uncanny, so eerie that Kelley is certain that no one will understand or appreciate his prescience, so he keeps it to himself. He wonders if the cancer in his brain is, somehow, giving him a sixth sense.
The closer Bart gets to home, the more impatient to see him Kelley grows. He has waited twenty-three months, but these last three days are torture.