Winter Storms (21 page)

Jennifer receives a text from Margaret. She and Drake have Bart! They're going to meet them at the steamship at two fifteen. Jennifer tells Patrick this in a low voice. He adjusts his sunglasses and, Jennifer sees, wipes away a tear.

“I'm going to see my brother,” Patrick says.

Maybe. Almost immediately, they hit traffic; they slow down, then come to a complete stop.

No!
Jennifer thinks. It's one thirty. They really don't have time for this.

Monsieur Beaulieu, definitely the more loquacious of the two, spews forth a bunch of sentences
en français
. Jennifer has no idea what he's saying and she's too tense to try to figure it out.

Madame says,
“Elle ne comprends pas, mon choux.”

“Désolée,”
Jennifer says. She has a perfectly good
Rosetta Stone French
at home on the library bookshelves, but who has time to relearn a language she was only mediocre at in the first place?

One thirty-five; one forty. Jennifer hates feeling so anxious, but at this point, she's certain they're going to miss the boat. If they do miss it, they'll have to take the eight-fifteen, which doesn't get them to Nantucket until ten thirty. No; unacceptable. And yet, what can Jennifer do? She can't make the hundreds of cars in front of her go any faster.

Or can she? Possibly Jennifer's mental anguish has some real force, because at that second, traffic starts to move and a few moments later, they're flying along.

They cross the Sagamore Bridge at two minutes past two. Margaret texts to say that she and Drake and Bart have just arrived. They're going to park and wait for Paddy and Jennifer outside the terminal.

There's quite a line of cars,
Margaret texts.
Do you have a reservation?

Jennifer had a reservation… on yesterday's boat. With all the excitement, she neglected to call and figure out if her ticket would be valid on this boat; she just assumed it would be. But now she remembers that the steamship has a laundry list of specific rules. Jennifer calls the steamship office in Hyannis. The first time she calls, the line is busy. The second time she calls, she's told her wait time will be fourteen minutes. She groans.

“What's wrong?” Paddy asks. “We're going to make it.”

The steamship parking lot is a mob scene. All of the standby lanes are full. Jennifer's heart sinks. She never considered that anyone else might want to
get
to Nantucket for Christmas. She had thought that the islanders would want to
leave
Nantucket so they could visit family in Vermont or Philadelphia.

Jennifer hops out of the car and hurries into the terminal. She sees Margaret and Drake—and Bart. Her heart lifts like a hot-air balloon and tears come to her eyes unbidden.

“Bart!” she says.

“Jenny!” he says. He comes right over to give her a squeeze and she starts to cry for real. Bart Quinn is the only person other than her long-dead grandfather and, occasionally, Patrick whom she's ever allowed to call her Jenny. It's Bart—he's here; he's safe; he's in uniform; he has a dramatic scar on his face; he looks older, more mature. He looks like a man.

She says, “Paddy and the kids are out in the car. I have to go deal with this.” She waves the ferry ticket.

“Go,” Bart says. “Deal.”

There are four people in front of Jennifer in line. All of them want to get their vehicles on this boat.

“The boat is sold out,” the ticket man says. He has the thickest New England accent Jennifer has ever heard, and that's saying something because she has heard some doozies. “And there's no space on the eight-fifteen. The next boat with space for vehicles is at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.” (
Tamarah mahnin'.
)

Tomorrow morning?
Jennifer thinks.

The woman at the front says, “But I have a ticket from yesterday.”

“You got a ticket, he's got a ticket, everyone's got a ticket. Doesn't matter. We honor”—
awnah
—“the tickets of people originally scheduled on this boat first. That's policy. Then we honor the tickets of canceled boats.”

“Can we go as passengers if there's no room for the cars?” the woman asks.

“Lady, we got half the commonwealth out in that parking lot.”
Pawking lawt.
“This boat is sold out. The eight-fifteen has four passenger tickets left. I can sell you those.”

The woman's shoulders sag in defeat. “Yes, please.”

The man two people in front of Jennifer—bald, with horn-rimmed spectacles—steps out of line and says, “Looks like I'm going to the airport.”

Us too,
Jennifer thinks. But those planes hold only nine people, and altogether they are… ten.
Well, Paddy can stay behind a few flights,
she thinks.

“The airport is closed until tomorrow,” the ticket man says. He delivers this news with a certain relish, as though he's
enjoying
quashing people's hopes and telling them their holiday plans are ruined. A streak of sadism must be a necessary quality for steamship employees. A nice, kind person with feelings couldn't do this job with any efficacy.

The other two people in front of Jennifer, an older woman and a female college student, leave the line. Jennifer steps boldly up and gives the ticket man her most winning smile. “I have a reservation on yesterday's two-forty-five boat, which was canceled,” she says. “I think I heard you say that there's no way I can get on this boat.”

“You heard correct,” the man says. He's overweight with thinning blond hair and florid skin. His name tag says
Walter.

Waltah,
Jennifer thinks.

“So there's nothing I can do?” Jennifer asks. She leans on the desk and smiles wider, thinking she would do anything shy of seducing Walter to get on this boat. “I have my whole family with me because, you see, my brother-in-law Kevin Quinn is getting married. We're a local Nantucket family.”

“Mazel tov,” Walter says.

“My other brother-in-law, Bart Quinn? He just got back from Afghanistan. He was one of the missing Marines.”

“God bless America,” Walter says. “Wish I could help you.”

“And my mother-in-law? Is Margaret Quinn.” Jennifer hates herself for disclosing this piece of information and trading on Margaret's fame, but she is capital-
D
Desperate.

“I don't know any Margaret Quinn,” Walter says. He puts a finger to his chin. “Actually, I do know her. I watch Channel Four nights I'm off.”

“Great!” Jennifer says, thinking that, once again, Margaret will be their golden ticket.

“But me knowing who Margaret Quinn is doesn't make any more space on this boat. You get me, sweetheart?” He leans his head closer to her as though he's going to impart a secret, maybe another ferry line servicing Nantucket that nobody else knows about or the name of a guy who sells car spaces on the black market. “Your only chance is finding somebody who already has a ticket on this boat and getting that person to switch with you. Maybe you offer a few hundred bucks? Or, since you're local, maybe someone owes you a favor?”

“Right,” Jennifer says. “Thank you.” She tries to imagine Paddy and Bart and Margaret wandering through the vehicles, offering bribes.

“Seriously, sweetheart, I seen it happen,” Walter says. “And it's the holidays. People are always nicer.”

Jennifer buys a ticket for tomorrow's nine o'clock boat and decides to go outside and talk to Paddy. From here, the situation looks dire, and Jennifer feels responsible. She should have dealt with the ticket change right away. She's an idiot!

Jennifer pushes out the door of the terminal just as a woman is pushing another door to come in. Jennifer looks up.

It's Norah.

“Norah!” Jennifer says. She feels caught.

“I've been trying to reach you,” Norah says. “Are you going to Nantucket?”

“No,” Jennifer says. “It doesn't look like it. My ticket is for yesterday's canceled boat, and this boat is sold out, and the eight-fifteen is sold out. And I have the boys and Margaret and her husband and Bart.”

“Bart?” Norah says. “He's home?”

“Just got home,” Jennifer says. She throws her hands up and starts to cry. “Or not quite home, I guess.” She wipes at her eyes. “Kevin is getting married tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Norah says. “Really?”

“Really,” Jennifer says. She has now spilled the beans to the only person who shouldn't know. Great. Norah will probably show up and disrupt the proceedings at the moment when people are invited to speak out or forever hold their peace—but Jennifer won't be there to see it because she will still be here in Hyannis. She will be watching the boys ride the carousel at the mall; their Christmas Eve dinner will be at Pizzeria Uno. “I need to get my car on this boat.”

“Take my spot,” Norah says. “I insist.”

“What?” Jennifer says. “You have a spot on this boat?”

“Yes,” Norah says. “For my truck. I've been in Boston. I tried to reach you…”

I deleted all your messages,
Jennifer thinks.

“If we could take your spot…” Jennifer says.

“It's happening,” Norah says. “Let's go switch right now with my buddy Walter.”

“Your buddy Walter,” Jennifer says.

Walter switches the tickets in a matter of seconds. Jennifer is now on the boat that's about to depart and Norah, using Jennifer's ticket, will be on the nine o'clock the next morning.

Walter says, “Told you, sweetheart. Things like this usually work out. Have a merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Walter,” Jennifer says. She turns to Norah. “I don't know how to thank you for this. You are… saving the day. And I mean
really
saving it. Not just for me—for the whole family.”

“Tell Kevin I said congratulations,” Norah says. “Sincerely. I want him to be happy.”

“I'll do that,” Jennifer says.

“And that thing I wanted to talk to you about?” Norah says.

“Yes?” Jennifer says. Her stomach tenses as if a punch is coming.

“I'm applying to business schools,” Norah says. “I want to go legit, start something real. But I'd like to get an MBA. I was hoping you would write me a letter of recommendation.”

Jennifer laughs. A letter of recommendation?
That
is what Norah wanted this whole time? A letter of recommendation for business school?

“I understand if you don't want to…” Norah says.

“Of course I want to!” Jennifer says. “I'd be happy to. I just… well, I thought you wanted to talk about… I don't know… the stuff we were into before.”

“I'm finished with all that,” Norah says. “Moving onward and upward. But the letter is due January first, so I'll need it next week.”

“Consider it done,” Jennifer says. She hugs Norah and kisses her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Norah, and thank you.”

She hurries out the door with her new ticket and waves at her family. They have a boat to catch.

L
ater, he will not be able to say how the Siasconset Union Chapel was decorated. (There was an evergreen wreath with a red velvet bow hanging from the end of each pew and, on the altar, two majestic arrangements of red roses, greens, and holly.) He will not remember what music was played. (The church organ was accompanied by cello and trumpet. The Quinns' new friend Gordon Russell sang “O Holy Night” after the vows.) He will not remember what the bridesmaids wore (long red velvet sheaths, slit to the knee) or whether the bow ties were straight or cockeyed on his brothers' tuxedos (Patrick's tie was straight, Bart's cockeyed).

All Kevin will remember is the moment the guests rose and he saw Isabelle Beaulieu standing at the other end of the aisle on the arm of her father, the rather dashing Arnaud Beaulieu. As recently as yesterday, Kevin might have said a wedding was superfluous. He and Isabelle already knew everything about each other; what did a piece of paper matter?

But as she processed toward him wearing a strapless column dress of the whitest silk with a long lace veil, her hair a crown of blond braids, her eyes dewy, her smile shy, it was as though he were seeing her for the first time. He got a lump in his throat.

What in his life had he done to deserve such an enchanting creature? How did he, Kevin Quinn, the middle brother, without the ambition of the older or the bravery of the
younger, get so lucky? He had no idea, but he was
grateful.

 

T
he wedding is storybook perfect. Sure, the chapel is chilly, but as soon as it fills with people, it warms up. Nathaniel, Ava notices as she starts down the aisle, must have been the last to arrive, or maybe he intentionally chose the back pew so that he would be the first person Ava saw when she processed in. She focuses on her three handsome brothers standing at the altar.

Bart is the tallest of the three, thanks to the genes from Mitzi's father, Joe, who was six foot five. Seeing the three of them standing together registers as completely natural, but it's also surreal. Bart is here. He's right here.

Sitting three rows from the front are Potter and Gibby. Ava saves her best smile for them.

When the ceremony is over and all of the pictures have been taken, Kevin and Isabelle climb into the fire truck with George—who has done a quick change from his coat and tie into his Santa suit—and all the guests cheer and wave. George honks the horn and off they go, husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Quinn.

Meanwhile, the inn has been transformed. All of the furniture was moved from the living room to create an open space for mingling that will later serve as a dance floor. Mitzi hired the Four Easy Payments to play, but right now, there is Christmas music piped in. The playlist is a variety of carols rather than just “Joy to the World.”

The caterers have laid out a serious spread of cheese and crackers, crudités and dip, sausages and pâtés. Mitzi asked them to make her infamous sugared dates stuffed with peanut butter and, yes, the salted almond pinecone.

Ava and Bart meet in front of the pinecone. Bart scoops up an obscene amount of soft cheese and nuts on a cracker.
It's fine,
Ava thinks.
He needs to fatten up.

She wants to have a real conversation with him. She wants to ask him what happened, what it was like, how he felt, how he survived. But this isn't the time or the place. This is the time to take a flute of champagne from the server's tray and sing along to “Mistletoe and Holly” with Frank Sinatra.

And apparently, it's also the time to set the record straight once and for all. Because when Ava turns around looking for where Potter has gotten to, she sees Nathaniel headed toward her with some kind of cranberry martini in his hand. He has someone trailing him. It's Scott, who is wearing red corduroy pants embroidered with Santa faces, a white shirt, a black wool blazer, and a red-and-green-tartan bow tie.

“I've brought reinforcements,” Nathaniel says. He kisses Ava on the cheek. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Stunning,” Scott says.

Ava glares at Scott. “Where's Mz. Ohhhhhh?”

“She's moving to Newport Beach,” he says.
“California.”

“We came to tell you we don't want you to move to New York,” Nathaniel says. “Stay here on Nantucket or come to Block Island. Choose one of us.”

Ava feels a hand slip around her waist and she knows it's Potter. She has called in her own reinforcements.

“It's probably good the three of you are here,” Ava says. “So all three of you can hear me say this. I am moving to New York to run the music department at the Copper Hill School. That is my reason for moving. But as far as my love life is concerned…” Here, she pauses. Nathaniel and Scott have been so dear to her. She has loved them both for different reasons: Nathaniel is fun-loving and laid-back; Scott is solid and kind with a streak of mischief that appears every once in a while. But neither of them was able to capture Ava's entire heart as Potter has managed to do.

“As far as my love life is concerned, there is only one man I want and that is this man right here, Potter Lyons. So I hope I can keep the two of you as friends and see you when I come home for the summer, but I will never date either of you again and I'm asking you both to respect that.”

Nathaniel looks angry; Scott looks morose. Potter lifts Ava's face and—adding insult to injury for the two men—gives Ava the loveliest kiss, possibly of her life. She feels clean and free and honest and empowered. She has come to a decision that makes her feel, well—Ava's eyes linger on the word hanging over the mantel—
joy.

The Four Easy Payments have set up over by the Christmas tree and now they launch into “Little Saint Nick,” by the Beach Boys. Nathaniel is the first to reach over and shake Potter's hand. Scott follows suit and says, “Take good care of her, man.”

“She can take care of herself,” Potter says. “I'm just going to love her.”

Nathaniel looks at Scott. “Drink?” he says.

“Heck, yeah,” Scott says, and the two head to the bar.

Potter turns to Ava. “Dance?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” she says.

 

H
e should have been the happiest man alive, but he simply doesn't feel well. His head aches, there's a loud buzzing in his left ear, and splotches are appearing in front of him—there are amorphous blue blobs in the upper right corner of his vision. He can see the party is a raging success. Ava and Potter are dancing; so is Isabelle and her father, Kevin and Margaret, Patrick and Madame Beaulieu, Jennifer and Drake, and George and Mary Rose—who, Kelley has just found out, have gotten engaged. Bart is busy charming Mrs. Gabler, his old kindergarten teacher, who must think better of him now that he is a war hero. Kelley watches as Mitzi saves him, pulling Bart onto the dance floor. Kelley has always been mesmerized by Mitzi's beauty—quirky though it is—but he can honestly say that he has never seen Mitzi look as luminous as she does tonight. She has her son back. Kelley is sure nothing else will ever matter as much.

They aren't following any kind of usual wedding protocol, although when this song ends, Kelley will saber the champagne as he does every year on Christmas Eve, and then Kevin and Isabelle will dance to “The Christmas Song.”

Kelley gets ready. He pulls the magnum of Taittinger out of the ice and finds his saber. Then he signals the bandleader, who ends the song and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, our gracious host, Kelley Quinn, will now saber the champagne.”

The crowd cheers, Monsieur Beaulieu is especially enthusiastic—probably because he's French. Kelley worries he'll fumble the ball somehow; there are a million ways to screw up a sabering even under the best of circumstances, never mind when one is afflicted with brain cancer.

Kelley opens the front door of the inn. Out on Winter Street, the scene is tranquil: snow, streetlights, the neighbors' antique homes buttoned up and quiet. Kelley finds the spot on the neck of the bottle that he must hit just so, and he drags the back of the saber against it.

Kelley turns to the crowd. He focuses on Mitzi's face, a beacon. She winks at him. The wink is like magic; immedi
ately, Kelley feels thirty-nine again. He is dating the roller-disco
queen of King of Prussia, Pennsylvania. He is virile, strong, confident. He can do this.

In one fluid motion, Kelley slices off the top of the bottle. The crowd cheers. A server hands Kelley a flute that Kelley fills and then raises to the crowd.

“To Kevin and Isabelle. May they carry the love and the joy of this evening in their hearts for all the days of their marriage. God bless us, every one.”

The bandleader sings, “‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,'” and the guests form a ring around the floor while Kevin and Isabelle have their first dance. The first of many, many dances, Kelley hopes.

His work is done, he thinks. And now, he must lie down.

He can hear the party continuing on the other side of his closed bedroom door, but within minutes of lying down in the dark, Kelley is transported elsewhere.

The year is 1958. Kelley is six years old. He lives with his parents in Perrysburg, Ohio. His father works for Owens Corning; they have had a good year. Kelley and his brother, Avery, tiptoe down the stairs on Christmas morning to find that Santa has left them bicycles—a red two-wheeler with training wheels for Kelley and a blue tricycle for Avery. Kelley had sat on Santa's lap at Lasalle and Koch in Toledo the week before, but he had been too shy to ask for a bike and so he'd said he wanted candy and the board game Monopoly.

In his stocking, Kelley finds candy canes, chocolates wrapped in foil, ribbon candy, sugared orange slices, licorice sticks, jelly beans, caramels, root beer barrels, butterscotch drops, Mary Janes, and Necco wafers. And under the tree is a long, flat box that turns out to be… Monopoly.

Santa is real!

It's 1963. The president has been dead for two weeks. Kelley's mother, Frances Quinn, is in mourning and says she doesn't want to celebrate Christmas. Kelley can't stand to think of his little brother, Avery, going without Christmas, so he takes over Matt Zacchio's paper route for two weeks. Perrysburg is experiencing subfreezing temperatures and Matt is eager to hand the route over temporarily. Kelley makes thirty dollars and buys Avery what looks like a briefcase, but when the case is opened, it reveals art supplies: colored pencils, crayons, markers, pastels, and paints with different-size horsehair brushes. For the first time, Kelley understands what is meant by the saying “It is better to give than to receive.”

On Christmas morning, Kelley and Avery tiptoe down the stairs to find a wire crate in front of the fire. In the crate is a black Labrador puppy.

A puppy!

They name him Jack, after the late president, and the whole family is cheered, even Frances.

Santa is real!

It's 1971. Kelley and Avery are teenagers. On Christmas Eve, they climb out onto the roof under their dormer window and share a joint. Avery sings “Joy to the World”—the Three Dog Night version.
Jeremiah was a bullfrog.
He is a great singer, and a star athlete as well. His grades put Kelley's to shame. Kelley should hate him, but he doesn't. He loves his brother with all his heart.

In the morning, they sleep in. In fact, Frances has to rap on their bedroom door to wake them. Presents have ceased to matter. What Kelley really wants is a bong, but he can hardly ask his parents for that and, as it turns out, Santa isn't real.

But their mother is real and she has made eggs Benedict and eggnog French toast, she tells them. Because it's Christmas, she says, she warmed the syrup and doubled up on the hollandaise.

Kelley and Avery race each other down the stairs.

It's 1977 and Kelley and Margaret have a baby. They dress him up in a tiny Santa suit and stick him in the baby swing while they make Golden Dreams. The Golden Dream is a cocktail recipe Margaret found in
Good Housekeeping.
She wants to drink them every Christmas, she says. They're a family now. They need traditions.

It's 1986 and Kelley and Margaret have two little boys and a brand-new baby girl. Ronald Reagan is Santa Claus. Kelley is making a fortune trading petroleum futures. He and Margaret are able to buy a brownstone on East Eighty-Eighth Street, eighty-four blocks north of the brownstone Avery bought the year before with his partner, Marcus.

On Christmas, Kelley presents Margaret with a Cartier tank watch.

“This is too extravagant,” Margaret says.

“No,” Kelley says. “‘Too extravagant' are the guys on the trading floor who go to Norma's for breakfast and order the zillion-dollar omelet.”

“But this house is my present,” Margaret says.

“This house is our shelter,” Kelley says. “The watch is for you. You have put your career on hold in order to give me all of these beautiful, healthy children, including our new princess.”

He fastens the watch onto Margaret's wrist.

“I'll never take it off,” she says.