“Good man,” George says.

Kelley takes a minute to reflect on just how profoundly meeting Mitzi had changed his life. She had saved him from his misery and his self-destructive ways. It had been nothing short of amazing.

But over the years, of course, Kelley’s feelings of ecstasy settled and matured in correspondence with life’s circumstances. He and Mitzi got married and had a child. They bought the inn and started the business of running it. Meanwhile, in New York, Margaret grew more and more famous, and Kelley’s respect for her career increased. There she was, in 2000, standing in front of the Florida State House. There she was, interviewing Al Gore! But it was 9/11 that really changed things. Margaret was new to CBS, working as a “special correspondent,” which meant they were throwing her into every possible situation, night and day, and seeing how she fared. On that particular Tuesday, they were short staffed, and Margaret lived only a few blocks from the studio in Midtown and could be there in minutes. Kelley can still remember turning on the TV to see what was happening—because who, initially, understood?—and there, on his screen, was Margaret. She was at the epicenter of one of the most important news stories the world would ever know. The north tower tumbled to the ground behind her like something in a big-budget action movie, and Margaret turned around, incredulous; you could see it in her eyes. She started to weep. So many American lives have been lost, she said. Wow, she said. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Kelley wanted to reach into his television set and hold her, comfort her. Margaret Quinn was strong, but she wasn’t invincible. Their city, the city where they had raised a family and made a mess of everything, was under attack. Kelley had confided these feelings to Mitzi later that night. I wanted to offer Margaret some comfort. I tried to call her but couldn’t get through. Mitzi had stiffened in his embrace. Maybe she had thought, He still loves her. Maybe she had thought, What about me? What about our son?

Kelley is wise enough to realize that his marriage to Mitzi isn’t ending because of George. That is facile thinking. There have been fault lines ever since 9/11.

And then, the following year, when Kelley turned fifty, he agreed to let Margaret come for Christmas, and a snowstorm hit, and Kelley and Margaret ended up stuck at the Bar with the olders. The roads had been impassable, and it became clear they would be stuck at the Bar for the night. Kevin fetched pillows and blankets from the band house, and Margaret and Ava curled up on the pool tables while Kelley and Patrick and Kevin drank the night away, listening to vintage Led Zeppelin.

Kelley remembers the contentedness of that night, a feeling, as he looked at the reclining figure of Margaret, that something had been set right and the mistakes they’d made when the kids were young had been corrected—or, if not corrected, then forgiven.

He hadn’t missed Mitzi or wished she was there. He doesn’t remember thinking about Mitzi at all.

And now this.

Kelley takes a slug from George’s monogrammed flask. In the rest of the house, he hears… footsteps, voices, a new carol playing on the inn’s sound system. “Silent Night,” his all-time favorite. Ava and Kevin and Isabelle will be getting ready for the party. Kelley had expected to sit out the party in the dark, quiet, acrid-smelling cocoon of his bedroom, but now he finds he wants to be among people who believe in him. This is his family tradition: the Christmas Eve party at the Winter Street Inn.

AVA

Christmas on Nantucket, Ava has learned, is like summertime on Nantucket in miniature. There is an enormous amount of build-up and preparation (Get ready! Get ready!), then it happens (Enjoy every second!), then it’s over (Too quickly!). And once it’s over, a certain melancholy encroaches. What is the saddest day of the year—Labor Day or December 26?

With this in mind, Ava tells herself to be present and celebrate the holiday instead of wishing it over. After all, one is given only a certain number of Christmases in one’s life.

At ten minutes to seven, she checks her cell phone: no messages from Nathaniel. She isn’t surprised by this—he said he would call after the Cabots’ party—but some unpleasant scenarios take up space in Ava’s mind. She imagines the Cabots’ house as large and gracious and impeccably decorated with family heirlooms and greens cut from their rolling acreage. She imagines bottles of vintage Dom Pérignon being popped and vodka tumbling over ice. Someone will place the order at Pizza Post for half a dozen cheesesteaks and two large pies with everything, plus extra olives, which is exactly what they’ve ordered for the past twenty-five years. Kirsten’s parents, the elder Cabots, would treat Nathaniel like part of the family. He’d gone to school with Kirsten since kindergarten at Greenwich Country Day, and they’d started dating sophomore year, while they were both at St. George’s, so there were a lot of memories, a lot of stories. Mr. Cabot might invite Nathaniel into his study for a Cuban cigar, where Mr. Cabot would confide that he’s glad Kirsten is done with that Bimal fellow; Bimal never really fit in. Mr. Cabot won’t say outright that it’s because Bimal isn’t white, but really, what else could he mean?

That scenario is bad, but it’s preferable to Nathaniel and Kirsten deciding to ditch the older adults and grabbing a bottle of the vintage Dom to drink up in Kirsten’s bedroom. Or Nathaniel and Kirsten being dispatched to pick up the pizza and cheesesteaks and, possibly, getting lost accidentally on purpose on the way.

Stop it! Ava tells herself. Her imagination is her own worst enemy. The tequila shot did her no favors.

Maybe Nathaniel is trapped on the Cabots’ dog-hair-covered sofa between his mother and Mrs. Cabot, wishing he were flying with Ava to Hawaii. Maybe when Kirsten asks him if he wants to steal a bottle of Dom from the ice bucket and go up to her room, he will remember that she is a little bit psycho. Maybe he will remember the summer between his junior and senior years in high school, when he road-tripped to a Phish concert in Albany with his best friend, Alex, and Kirsten was so jealous that she called him saying she had viral meningitis and was being admitted to Fairfield Hospital. Nathaniel turned the car around and missed the Phish concert, only to find Kirsten at home on the sofa, with a wet washcloth over her eyes. Not meningitis, just a garden-variety headache, self-inflicted.

At five minutes to seven, the doorbell rings. Mrs. Gabler, on cue. Ava tucks her phone under her pillow and promises herself she won’t check it again until the party is over and she’s finished cleaning up. If she misses Nathaniel’s call, she misses his call. She will remedy her lie by telling him that she decided not to go to Hawaii after all—because she is badly needed here.