Winter Storms (10 page)

“I want to know what's going on in your lives,” Margaret says. “Little stuff, big stuff.”

“Let's start with the overlooked, underappreciated middle child,” Kevin says. “Isabelle and I have set a date for our wedding.”

“Hold on,” Ava says. “I thought you were going to wait until Bart got home.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “You should wait, man.”

“I can't wait,” Kevin says. “It's not fair to Isabelle. Or to Genevieve.”

“But…” Ava says.

“Ava,” Kevin says. “We don't know when Bart is coming home.” He stares at his turkey sandwich. “We don't know
if
Bart is coming home.”

They all sit in silence with that for a second and Margaret thinks about how incredibly gracious it was for Kelley and Mitzi to host her and Drake's wedding when their son is still missing. Back in December, with the news that William Burke was still alive, the family's optimism peaked, but Burke still isn't far enough along in his recovery to shed any light on the location of the other soldiers.

“When is the date?” Margaret asks, laying a hand on Kevin's arm.

“Christmas Eve,” Kevin says. “Isabelle's parents will fly in from France.”

“A Christmas wedding,” Margaret says. “It's a beautiful idea. Have you told your father?”

“Not yet,” Kevin says.

“He's not going to like it,” Ava says. “He'll probably think you're giving up on Bart. Mitzi most definitely will.”

“I'm sorry, Ava,” Kevin says. “I mean no disrespect to Bart, but I have to consider the women in my life.”

“Drake and I will plan to come for Christmas, then,” Margaret says. She takes a bite of her sandwich, then wipes her mouth and says, “And who knows? Bart might be home before that.”

Ava looks like she's teetering on the knife-edge of tears. “Another wedding,” she says.

Margaret says, “Potter certainly was a lot of fun.”

Ava shrugs.

Kevin nudges her. “Yeah, maybe Potter's the one.”

“I'm taking some time alone,” Ava says. “No Nathaniel, no Scott, no Potter. No wedding on the horizon for me. Everyone is just going to have to love me for who I am.”

“Oh, honey,” Margaret says. “We do love you for who you are. We always have and we always will.”

“Speaking of Scott,” Patrick says, “Jenny said he tried to talk to you at the Bar the other night.”

“Yeah,” Ava says.

“Scott was at the Bar?” Margaret says. “Was he with Roxanne? Was she drinking? That seems pretty risky for a pregnant woman.”

“He was alone,” Ava says. “I refused to talk to him. But Shelby called me this morning to tell me that Roxanne miscarried.”

“Oh no!” Margaret says. “I'm so sorry for her.”

“Are
you
sorry for her?” Kevin asks Ava.

“Of course I'm sorry for her!” Ava says. “I'm sure Scott is crushed. He was put on this earth to be a father. And now he and Roxanne have broken things off.”

Margaret takes a bite of her sandwich. She wonders if that means Ava and Scott will start seeing each other again, but she knows better than to ask. In the former matchup between Nathaniel and Scott, Margaret was on Team Scott. Scott is responsible, solid, steady, and clearly besotted with Ava, whereas Nathaniel seems a little more like Peter Pan and a little more cavalier with Ava's affections. Margaret had frankly been shocked when Scott started dating the hot-to-trot English teacher.

Patrick says, “Well, I have some news, but it's not very good.”

Kevin says, “Paddy, man, this is neither the time nor the place.”

Patrick shrugs. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head so Margaret can see his whole face. There are crow's-feet around his eyes; he looks old. And if her child looks old, what does that mean for Margaret? Nothing good, she's sure.

“What is it, honey?” she says.

“Jennifer is addicted to pills,” Patrick says. “Oxy and Ativan.”

“Oh, Paddy,” Margaret says. Immediately, Margaret
flashes back to this past December, Stroll weekend, the lunch at the Sea Grille after Genevieve's baptism. Jennifer had become completely unhinged, and Margaret had thought—hadn't she?—that Jennifer seemed like she was on something. Her behavior had reminded Margaret of Kelley back in the late eighties when he was snorting cocaine night and day.

“You're kidding!” Ava says. “Jennifer? I always thought Jennifer was… I don't know… perfect.”

“That's the problem,” Patrick says. “Everyone always thought both of us were perfect. Then I proved I wasn't, and Jennifer—well, she's human too. She needed something to help her cope. Her friend Megan, the one who had breast cancer, gave her a couple of Ativan to take the edge off, then a couple of oxy to pep her up. And when those were gone, Jennifer found a dealer.”

“A dealer?” Ava says. “I can't believe you just used the words
Jennifer
and
dealer
in the same sentence.”

Margaret noticed Kevin bow his head.

“It gets worse,” Patrick says.

Margaret finishes the first half of her sandwich. She's not sure she wants to hear about worse.

“Her dealer is Norah.”

“Norah?” Ava says. “Norah
Vale?
”

Good God,
Margaret thinks. She closes her eyes and wishes she were back on the porch of her and Drake's romantic, rose-covered cottage in Sconset, enjoying blissful ignorance.

C
olumbus Day marks the end of the busy season and Kelley plans a leaf-peeping trip for Mitzi to take her mind off the fact that ten months have passed and not only has there been no new information about Bart but the doctors at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center are reporting that Private William Burke is suffering from memory loss. Kelley would like to quiz the doctors himself. How much memory loss? Can he answer the most basic of questions:
Are the other soldiers alive?
Will his memory ever come back? Has he handed over
any
intelligence about where he was being held? Hasn't modern medicine advanced enough that the doctors can tease information from Private Burke's mind? Isn't there some kind of sophisticated, secret mind-reading software?

Bart!

Kelley and Mitzi read the news about Private Burke's amnesia together, Kelley scanning Mitzi's expression, searching for a clue to her reaction.

She is quiet for a while, then says, in a matter-of-fact tone that shocks Kelley, “It might have been so awful he blocked it.”

Together, they sigh.

Mitzi's general demeanor has improved by leaps and bounds since she moved back in. The time in Lenox with George proved to her how much she loved Kelley. When Kelley was given a clean bill of health, Mitzi began living in a state of sustained gratitude. She now practices yoga daily, engages with the guests, and is willing to leave the inn to go on dates and outings with Kelley. They have hiked Sanford Farm; they have slurped oysters at Cru; they have gone swimming at Steps Beach; and Mitzi has even relaxed her no-red-meat rule and enjoyed a couple of Kelley's expertly grilled burgers.

But will Mitzi be okay with leaving the island for a vacation?

Kelley gives the planning everything he's got, both strategically and financially. He rents a Jaguar, the height of luxury (and fast, Kelley thinks). They will drive to Boston, have dinner at Alden and Harlow in Cambridge, and stay at the Langham, Mitzi's favorite hotel—then in the morning, after breakfast in bed, they'll drive to Deerfield, Massachusetts, and meander through the three-hundred-year-old vil
lage. From Deerfield, they'll head to Hanover, New Hampshire,
to have lunch at Dartmouth (Mitzi's father, Joe, played basketball for Dartmouth in 1953 and Mitzi has always felt an affinity for the place), and then they'll drive to Stowe, Vermont, and stay at the Topnotch, a resort.

From Stowe, it's up to Vermont's Northeast Kingdom to spend the night in St. Johnsbury. From there, they'll go to Franconia Notch State Park, where they'll ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway for the ultimate in foliage viewing. They'll end with a night in charming Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a town Kelley thinks is possibly the best-kept secret in America. He has arranged for a couple's massage in front of the fire, for them to go apple-picking, on a hayride, out to dinners at fine country inns where bottles of champagne will be chilled and waiting on the tables, and for a personal yoga instructor in Stowe and then again in Portsmouth. He has made a mix of Mitzi's favorite songs to play on the drive, and he's packing up pumpkin muffins and his famous snack mix (secret ingredient: Bugles!) in case they get hungry on the road.

He prints out their itinerary on creamy paper and presents it to Mitzi one night before bed.

“Don't say anything until you've read it through,” Kelley says. He fears Mitzi's knee-jerk reaction will be to say no, they can't go, what if they miss news about Bart, what if Bart comes home and neither of them is there? Irrational arguments born out of her very real pain.

Mitzi does as he asks and reads the itinerary. When she looks up at him, her eyes are shining with tears.

“You went through all this trouble for me?” she says.

“For us,” he says.

“It looks wonderful,” she says. “I can't wait.”

 

S
he goes to outpatient drug treatment at Patrick's insistence
and although Jennifer protests initially, she also feels relieved—
when caught red-handed by Patrick and Kevin in Norah's driveway, she had worried that Patrick would ship her off to Hazelden or Betty Ford. Jennifer had also been concerned about Norah. Were Patrick and Kevin going to call the police? Patrick told her not to worry about Norah, to worry only about herself and getting out of the grip of drugs.

Yes, okay. Jennifer has excelled at everything her entire life and she decides she's going to excel at rehab. She goes through the lectures and the therapy, but it's harder than anyone can imagine. Jennifer feels like her body hates her. She can't keep food down; she can't sleep; she can't wake up. She shakes, she sweats, she feels ugh, she feels ick.

Patrick is a champion at the beginning. He is the person Jennifer was when Patrick first went to prison—steadfast, supportive, kind. He checks in with her every few hours; he picks up the slack with the kids. But after a few weeks, he seems to believe the problem is solved, the war won. Jennifer is off drugs; her therapy decreases from every day to twice a week to once a week. She pees in a cup; she is pronounced clean.

Patrick is busy trying to get his hedge fund up and running. He has sixteen million dollars from investors, all of them people he has worked with in the past who continue to believe him capable of big things. He would like to double or triple that amount. It's not easy convincing new investors that he's legit, but he's persistent in presenting his business plan and a list of personal references. He's working out of his and Jennifer's home office, and he requires absolute silence; he seems resentful that Jennifer is also running a business out of that office—a successful business, she might add—and that she has fabric samples and Pantones lying around everywhere. Jennifer is basically forced to move her operation to the formal dining room—they never use it anyway, but she resents being ousted. Patrick yells at the chil
dren when they get home from school. He bans the PlayStation
4. Barrett and Pierce both complain to Jennifer. They start spending the afternoons at their friends' houses.

Jennifer says to Patrick, “You're alienating your own children.”

Patrick gives her an incredulous look. “Do you or do you not want money? I have to start from scratch here. I'd like to build something quality, and that takes both time and concentration. I can't focus when the boys are stealing cars and killing zombies a floor above me, I'm sorry.”

Jennifer's drug counselor, Sable, a lovely, refined woman in her midfifties, strongly encourages Jennifer to give up all mind-altering substances, including alcohol. But Jennifer can't, she simply
can't
give up her wine. “I'm not an alcoholic,” she tells Sable.

Sable gives her a steady look. Sable has shared bits and pieces of her own history. When she was a slender young woman in her twenties, she worked for a drug dealer on the Canadian border. She kept guns under her bed and had a refrigerator full of money.

“They told me I would be okay as long as I didn't start using,” Sable said. “And they were right. Once I started using, I sank like a stone.”

Now, Sable says, “Alcohol impairs our judgment. My main fear is you drink, you get hooked back on pills.”

“That won't happen,” Jennifer assures her.

But one Friday night after a particularly trying week, Jennifer pours herself a second glass of wine, then a third, then a fourth. The boys are out at sleepovers and Jennifer has made veal chops with blue cheese mashed potatoes and a lavish spinach salad for herself and Patrick—but at eight o'clock, Patrick is still locked in “their” office, working.

After her fifth glass of wine, Jennifer pounds on the office door. Patrick opens it. He's on the phone but she doesn't care.

“Hang up!” she screams. “Hang! Up!”

What follows is the worst fight of their sixteen-year union.
Everything
comes out. Jennifer
hates
what Patrick did, hates the besmirching of their family name, hates that all the parents at the kids' schools look at her and the kids askance. People say they don't judge, but of course they
do
judge. They think Patrick is a cheater and a fraud and that Jennifer is guilty by association. Then it's Patrick's turn to retaliate: He can't believe Jennifer let herself fall prey to the allure of pharmaceuticals.
It's so predictable!
he says. He doesn't understand how she could lose control that way when she was
in charge of their children!

“Don't you dare,” Jennifer says. “Don't you dare imply that my parenting was in any way compromised.”

“Wasn't it?” Patrick asks. “Be truthful with me. Be truthful with yourself. Did you ever drive the children while you were high?”

Jennifer fish-mouths. She wants to be indignant, wants to say she would never, ever have done such a thing—but she can't lie. There
were
some moments when she parented while high. She got lost driving home from one of Pierce's away lacrosse games and ended up in Revere. Revere, of all places! While on oxy, she lost her temper with Barrett, used some atrocious language, had an accident in the kitchen. While on Ativan, she fell asleep reading to Jaime more times than she could count, sometimes not even making it through a single page.

She starts to cry. “I failed you,” she says.

“No,” Patrick says. “I failed you. Your addiction to oxy and Ativan is my fault.”

As much as Jennifer would like to hand Patrick the blame, she won't. “I'm an adult,” she says. “Taking the pills was my decision. Seeking out more—from Norah—was my decision. A decision I made again and again.”

They are no longer angry. Now, they are sad. Patrick opens his arms; Jennifer crawls into them. They make love, possibly the fiercest, most passionate love of their marriage, and Jennifer thinks that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be all right.

Later, they eat the blue cheese mashed potatoes out of the pot while standing in front of the stove. Patrick gnaws on a veal chop while Jennifer attacks the spinach salad.

He says, “I don't want to ruin our beautiful détente, but we have to talk about my mother.”

Jennifer closes her eyes. Margaret Quinn is now Jennifer's least favorite subject. Jennifer has over a dozen voice-mail messages from Margaret, but she hasn't been able to listen to a single one.

“You can't avoid her forever,” Patrick says. “She's my mother. She's the boys' grandmother.”

“I know,” Jennifer whispers.

“She doesn't think any less of you,” Patrick says. “She isn't like that.”

Jennifer spears a cherry tomato, then a slice of white button mushroom. There's no way to make Patrick understand how mortified Jennifer is that Margaret knows about her addiction. Telling her own mother and Mitzi and Kelley wasn't great, but it was better than admitting her addiction to Margaret Quinn. The shame of what she's done and how she's done it has frozen the previously wonderful relationship Jennifer had with her mother-in-law. Jennifer can't bring herself to call Margaret back, and texting feels like a cop-out. She has considered writing Margaret a letter but she doesn't know what she would say.

Margaret doesn't think any less of Jennifer—that's a bold-faced lie. Of course Margaret thinks less of her! Jennifer has striven for perfection in every aspect and especially in every aspect Margaret can see. Jennifer has never valued anyone's opinion or sought anyone's approval as much as Margaret's. But now, Jennifer has blown it. She has disgraced herself and proven herself unworthy.

Margaret isn't like that—true, she isn't like that. She was very restrained in expressing her disappointment with Patrick. She couldn't have liked the situation but she remained supportive and nonjudgmental. Jennifer realizes Margaret will probably be understanding—Jennifer was dealing with a lot, her circumstances made her vulnerable—but in her most honest, most secret and forever thoughts, Margaret will see Jennifer as weak.

“I can't call her,” Jennifer says. “I just can't.”

“Every day you wait makes it worse,” Patrick says. “Call her right now. Get it over with.”

“I can't,” Jennifer says. “I've been drinking.”

Patrick nods. “In the morning, then.”

“Okay?” Jennifer says. She sets down her fork. She has lost her appetite.

In the morning, Jennifer and Patrick make love again and Jennifer hopes the act is distracting enough that Patrick will forget about Jennifer calling Margaret. But only seconds before he steps into the shower, he turns to Jennifer, who is at the sink brushing her teeth, and says, “My mother. Do it now. You promised.”

She knows for a fact that she
didn't
promise; she knows she said
Okay?
with a question mark in her voice. She had said
Okay?
only to put the topic to bed. Was he really going to hold her to her
Okay?

She nods, spits, shuts off the water, and leaves the bathroom.

She sits on her bed holding her cell phone. She has never dreaded anything in her life as much as she dreads dialing Margaret's number. But putting it off means having it hang over her head, which is stressful enough to make Jennifer crave an Ativan.