Patrick inhales all eight eggs and half the caviar; then he feels queasy. He is now not only a cheat but also a liar. He hurries down the hall to the master bedroom; he’s going to be sick. He stands over the sink and presses his forehead against the bathroom mirror. They won’t catch him; they can’t prove anything. Then he thinks, Of course they’ll catch me. They catch everyone.

The Boston bombers got caught in four days.

Twenty-five point six million. If the drug is approved, this number will hit the stratosphere. Patrick was tripped up by greed. It’s a deadly sin; now he knows why. He sees the bottle of Vicodin—ten pills left. Would ten Vicodin be enough to kill him?

He’s too much of a chicken to kill himself. He loves life, he loves Jen and the kids, he loves this house, the city of Boston, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts; he loves America.

He throws some clothes and his Dopp kit in a duffel bag and goes out to the living room. The tree is a sparkling wonder; the entire month of December, people have been gathering on the sidewalk below to point and gaze. And it smells good—rich and piney. It pains Patrick to turn the lights off, but he has no choice.

He is going to Nantucket.

MARGARET

Ten more soldiers killed in Afghanistan. Margaret is breathless with horror, followed by shame. She has been anchoring the national news for over twenty years, she has reported on thousands of deaths of American soldiers, and yet it is only this week, now that her children’s brother has been deployed, that she truly understands how scary and dangerous it is. The sacrifice these kids make (and they are kids—Bart is only nineteen; the last time Margaret saw him, eighteen months earlier, he was in New York City on his senior class trip) is astonishing—as are the sacrifices the parents make, sending their sons and daughters into battle. The parents. Kelley and Mitzi.

“I’m behind on Afghanistan,” Margaret admits to her assistant, Darcy, who is, on any given day, one of the most informed people at the network. “Why all these deaths all of a sudden? Can you explain it?”

“The U.S. wanted to have the majority of their troops withdrawn by year’s end,” Darcy says. “They’ve been pulling out far more troops than they’re sending in. And insurgent forces know this. With fewer U.S. troops, it’s safer for Afghan nationals who support the Taliban to make their presence known. They’re striking out left and right. Quite frankly, I’d be surprised if they don’t attempt a full-on takeover.” Darcy pushes her glasses higher on her nose. “I’d say Afghanistan is more dangerous now than it ever has been.”

“Well, great,” Margaret says. “Bart Quinn just got shipped over.”

“Yes, you told me,” Darcy says. “He isn’t… on the list, is he?”

Margaret scans the list. “No, thank God.” Not today, she thinks.

“Can you imagine the parents who are getting the news… on Christmas Eve?” Darcy says.

Margaret thinks about those parents, and something unusual happens. She tears up. She hasn’t cried over the news since she famously broke down on the air when the first tower collapsed on September 11. Initially, she received all kinds of criticism for losing her composure. But Margaret thinks—actually, she knows—that it was her coverage on September 11 that caught the attention of the big boss, Lee Kramer, and launched her into the evening anchor spot.

Margaret wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, and Darcy silently retreats.

Margaret’s cell phone rings.

Drake, she thinks, canceling.

But it’s Ava.

“Darling!” Margaret says.

“Mommy,” Ava says.

“Darling, what is it?” Margaret checks her computer: it’s quarter to five. She’s due in Wardrobe in fifteen minutes. Red tonight, for sure, which will make her wish she had a bag over her head; the Nasty Blogger, Queenie229, will have a field day. What would be happening in Ava’s world at quarter to five on Christmas Eve?

“I want to come to Hawaii with you,” Ava says in a small voice. It is a voice from the past, her little-girl voice, and instinctively Margaret fills with guilt. I want to come with you, Mommy. This was Ava, every afternoon when Margaret was getting ready to head to the studio. I want you. I can’t stop wanting you. Ava would cry, and Margaret would have to peel Ava off her, and hand her over to Lotus, the housekeeper-nanny. Oh, the guilt! Ava would be home from school for only five minutes before Margaret had to go to work. In the days when she was at NY1, she saw the kids for an average of two hours during the week, and then she tried to make it all up to them on the weekends—but some weekends she was called in to work, too. It doesn’t really matter that Margaret is now sitting on the golden throne of broadcast journalism; she missed so much of her kids’ lives growing up, it tears her apart.

She missed so much.

“Hawaii?” Margaret says. “Oh, honey.”

“Did you not mean it when you invited me?” Ava says. “I really, really want to get out of here.”

“I’m going to Hawaii with my friend Drake,” Margaret says. “When I asked you, I was serious that I wanted you to come, but I was also kidding because we didn’t arrange it. I would love to take you to Hawaii, sweetheart. We’ll plan it for next year, I promise. Would you like to come with me next year?”

“Next year?” Ava says.

“I never thought you would want to leave the island during the holidays,” Margaret says. “It’s such a big deal for you—the inn, the party; I never thought you would seriously consider coming with me, honey. Otherwise I would have asked you in September, when I booked it.”

“So there’s no way I can go?” Ava asks. “Who’s Drake?”

“You met Drake,” Margaret says. “Once, on Nantucket. He stayed overnight with me at the White Elephant? He’s the pediatric brain surgeon…?” Margaret’s voice falters. She doesn’t want Ava to think that she would rather be with some on-again, off-again boyfriend than her own daughter. But to cancel with Drake at this point would be cruel. “What’s really bothering you, sweetheart? Is it Daddy?”

“Yes, it’s Daddy!” Ava says. “He nearly burned the house down, setting Mitzi’s roller disco outfit on fire!”

Oh my, Margaret thinks.

“He’s smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey and posting toxic things about Mitzi on Facebook. Meanwhile, the party is in two hours and Daddy hasn’t lifted a finger and Kevin is missing and Patrick isn’t coming home, so who gets stuck holding the bag? Me!”