Patrick, Jennifer, and the boys put the BMW on the ferry Thursday morning. The boys go up to the top deck with money for hot dogs and chowder, and Patrick pulls a bottle of Schramsberg sparkling wine and a half gallon of fresh-squeezed juice from the cooler in the back of the car.

“Surprise,” he says.

Jennifer beams. He must have sneaked the champagne and juice in alongside the salad fixings. He’s the sweetest, most thoughtful man alive; Jennifer loves mimosas on Thanksgiving morning.

“This’ll keep us from engaging in family squabbles,” Jennifer says as she and Patrick do a cheers with their plastic cups.

“Either that,” Patrick says, “or it will make us engage in family squabbles.”

Jennifer laughs. It’s anyone’s guess.

She senses something off as soon as she walks into the inn—but maybe she’s imagining it. She had three mimosas on the ferry; she’s a little bit buzzed. That must be it. The house is already filled with people, the parade is on TV, and there’s the rich, savory aroma of turkey coming from the kitchen. Mitzi doesn’t start decorating until midnight, but there’s a fifteen-foot Douglas fir in its usual place in the corner of the room next to the fireplace, so there are added scents of woodsmoke and pine.

Jennifer doles out kisses:

Margaret (“I can’t tell you how happy I am not to be at that parade!”).

Drake (“When you and Paddy go to Barbados, you have to stay at Cobblers Cove. It’s like something straight out of 1957”).

Ava (“I made Potter go to Palo Alto. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later”).

Mitzi (“Did you bring two salads? I hope you brought two salads”).

Bart (“This is my girlfriend, Allegra. We used the gift certificate to Fifty-Six Union, so thank you again”).

Allegra (“Yes, thank you so much. You’re married to Patrick, right? And you have three boys—Barrett, Pierce, and Jaime. Bart made me memorize the family tree”).

Kevin (“Hi, Sis. Can I get you a glass of wine?”).

“Yes, please,” Jennifer says. She can’t figure out what it is, but something doesn’t feel right. It’s as though she’s standing in a pocket of cold air. Maybe it’s Kelley. His light is fading. Everyone must feel it. “Where’s your father?” Jennifer asks Patrick. The boys have vanished upstairs to their room, which has a TV and a PS4. They’ll play Minecraft until the first football game comes on, then it’ll be all about their fantasy teams. Jennifer won’t hear from them again until dinner.

“He’s sleeping,” Patrick says. “He normally wakes up between four and five, Mitzi says. Dinner is at five thirty.”

Kevin returns, holding Jennifer’s wine. “For you,” he says. He raises his bottle of beer. “I would make a toast about this being the last Thanksgiving at the inn, the last Quinn family Thanksgiving…”

“But nothing maudlin,” Jennifer says. She notices Kevin’s eyes shining. She tries to change the subject. “Where’s Isabelle?”

“Kitchen,” Kevin says.

As soon as Jennifer walks into the kitchen, she understands what’s off. Isabelle is standing at the stove, basting the turkey. It’s a light golden brown with a puff of savory stuffing at the cavity. Jennifer likes to put everything but the kitchen sink in her stuffing—sausage, pine nuts, dried cherries—but Isabelle is a stuffing purist. She uses only onion, celery, thyme, and sage. She also puts white wine in her gravy—lots and lots of wine.

“Hey, you,” Jennifer says. She lays a hand on Isabelle’s back and kisses her cheek. “Everything smells très bon.”

She feels the muscles of Isabelle’s back tense under her silk blouse, and although Jennifer knows it’s crazy, as they’re standing directly in front of the oven, a chill comes off Isabelle. It’s the icy pocket that Jennifer felt earlier.

Isabelle turns around and seems to address Ava, Mitzi, and Margaret—but not Jennifer—in French. Something about “le bébé.” She returns the turkey to the oven and dashes up the back stairs.

Jennifer feels stung. She hesitates before turning to face the rest of the women in Patrick’s family, but when she does, no one seems to notice anything amiss. Ava is opening a bag of marshmallows; she has been put in charge of the sweet potatoes. Margaret is pouring a glass of wine; she has been assigned appetizers, which Jennifer is sure she brought up from Dean & DeLuca. And Mitzi is perusing her spice rack.

“Where are my cloves?” she says.

Ava throws Jennifer a quick look. “You could try making the cider without cloves this year, Mitzi.”

Jennifer nearly asks if Isabelle seems okay. Maybe she has postpartum depression. Maybe she is annoyed that while everyone else in the family has been given cushy assignments—salads, cheese and crackers, a vegetable or two—she has been left with the heavy lifting, the turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and three kinds of pie. As though she’s still the help!

But Jennifer knows what’s really wrong. It’s Norah Vale. Isabelle saw Jennifer talking to and hugging Norah Vale.

Kelley makes an entrance fifteen minutes before dinner is served. When his hospice nurse Lara pushes Kelley into the room in his wheelchair, everyone cheers. Patrick takes over for Lara and encourages her to help herself to the artichoke dip, the smoked oysters, and the tapenade. To Lara’s credit, she digs in and asks the score of the Cowboys game.

Hospice nurses are people too! Jennifer thinks.

She is on her third glass of wine.

The last time Jennifer went into the kitchen for a refill, Isabelle was at the stove making gravy, and Mitzi was out on the side porch smoking a cigarette.

“Do you need any help, Isabelle?” Jennifer asked.

“Non,” Isabelle said.

Kelley can still talk—slowly—and he can eat a few bites of food. He asks for a smoked oyster. Genevieve is awake from her nap, and when she sees Grandpa eating a smoked oyster, she asks for one as well.

Jennifer turns to Patrick and says, “I have ten bucks that says she spits it out.”

There’s an angry whisper in Jennifer’s ear. “Ma fille est Française.”

It’s Isabelle, who is standing next to Jennifer while Genevieve pops the oyster into her mouth, swallows it happily, and asks for another.

Isabelle picks up people’s empty glasses, crumpled napkins, and the cheese platter, which has been all but demolished.

Jennifer says, “You shouldn’t have to do that, Isabelle. You’re doing too much as it is. Let me help you.”

“Non,” Isabelle says. Her voice is like a warning shot, but no one else in the family notices. They are too busy celebrating the two oyster eaters. And that, Jennifer supposes, is as it should be.

Jennifer goes up to lasso the boys, and when they come down, everyone is moving toward the table. The TV has been turned off and replaced with Vivaldi. The table sparkles with fine china, crystal, and candlelight. In the center of the table is a horn of plenty, spilling forth gourds and tiny pumpkins, lady apples, pecans and walnuts in the shell. Jennifer snaps a quick picture with her phone as she wonders who arranged it. She couldn’t have done it better herself.

Kelley is seated at the head of the table as always. Jennifer finds herself between Allegra and Drake—or In-Law Alley, as she likes to think of it. Isabelle is all the way across the table in the seat closest to the kitchen.

Isabelle glowers at Jennifer, then disappears into the kitchen. She reappears with the turkey, which she sets in front of Kevin. They have agreed that Kevin will carve and Patrick will say the blessing.

Patrick stands and raises his glass. “Our family has so much to be grateful for that it’s difficult to know where to start. This time last year I was in San Francisco with Jennifer and the boys, and my baby brother was still missing in Afghanistan. Bart has now been returned to us safely, and I know we are all grateful for that. Kevin and Isabelle have grown not only their business but also their family. Ava has moved to New York and has started a new job. My mother capped off sixteen years as the voice of this great nation and now, I know, hopes to put her considerable talents to even more noble pursuits. I believe I speak for all of us, Mom, when I say how proud we are of you.”