“What isn’t?” he says. “Are you mad because I came home?”

“This relationship,” Ava says. “You and me, me and you, us together—it isn’t making me happy.”

“Because I came home. Because you think I came back to see Kirsten, which I did not. I mean, she’s an old friend, and she’s at a low point, but I can’t help her, and I’m certainly not going to rekindle any kind of romance with her. That was over long ago, and over is over, especially in this case.”

Ava’s heart relaxes at those words, and she nearly abandons ship. Nathaniel hasn’t talked this frankly to her about his emotional state, ever. But Ava is on a mission here, and once she’s on a mission, she won’t be derailed.

“This isn’t about you and Kirsten,” Ava says. “This is about you and me. I need more—more love, more affection, more intimacy, more of a sense that we have a future.”

“What do you mean by ‘future’?” Nathaniel asks. “Do you mean you want to get married?”

He makes it sound preposterous, as though marriage were the equivalent of running the Boston Marathon backward or enrolling in clown school.

“That’s how the human race has made it this far,” Ava says. “They marry and they procreate.”

Silence on Nathaniel’s end. She has scared him to death. She is right to proceed. Instead of feeling like all her blood is pooling at her feet, she feels empowered. She’s wasted nearly two years of her precious twenties swimming in a pool of unrequited love.

She says, “Scott Skyler has been around a lot the past couple days. Last night he wore the Santa suit, since George stole Mitzi away from my dad.”

“So… what?” Nathaniel says. “This isn’t about Kirsten, after all? This is about Scott? I’m well aware, Ava, that Scott is crazy about you. But I thought you were immune to that.”

Ava considers telling Nathaniel about kissing Scott, but that seems cruel. She says, “I want to be treated like someone precious. I want to be someone’s beloved. I never feel that way with you, and it dawned on me at some point today that I’m never going to feel that way with you, ever.”

“Ava,” Nathaniel says, and it sounds like he’s pleading. She figures this is a good way to leave it.

“Good-bye, Nathaniel,” she says, and she hangs up.

MARGARET

She bumps into Kelley in the hallway of the back house. It’s still very strange, wandering around the inn—and especially the owners’ quarters—like this, since it has always been verboten by Mitzi.

“I should probably shower before we eat dinner,” she says. “Which bathroom should I use?”

“Use mine,” he says.

Margaret thinks he might proposition her again—and she would be a willing accomplice—but Kelley looks morose.

“What’s wrong?” she says. “Are the Golden Dreams wearing off?”

“I just e-mailed Bart,” Kelley says. “Wished him a Merry Christmas. He hasn’t answered my last two e-mails or the past three texts. Do you have any idea how unnerving that is?”

“No,” she says. “I have no idea. None of our children went to war. I’m sure it’s perfectly awful.”

“Awful,” Kelley says. “There have been double-digit deaths over there this week. I purposely haven’t checked the news today because it’s Christmas, and I just… can’t.”

Margaret gnaws on her lower lip. If ever there were a time to tell Kelley about the missing convoy, it’s now. But the number-one ironclad rule of broadcast journalism is to make sure your news is true. She’s fairly certain a convoy holding forty-five soldiers has been overtaken by insurgent nationals, but whether or not Bartholomew Quinn was on that convoy, she can’t possibly say. Giving partial information to Kelley at this point will cause him anxiety of unknown proportions and will ruin his Christmas.

And yet, Margaret feels like she’s lying.

“We have a saying at CBS,” she says. “No news is bad news—but that’s strictly a network perspective. In your case, no news is good news.”

“I worry,” Kelley says. “These god-awful scenarios go through my head.”

“You’re his father,” Margaret says.

“He’s so young,” Kelley says.

“I’m praying for him,” Margaret says. “And I will continue to pray for him until he’s safely home.”

“Thank you,” Kelley says. “I’m happy to hear that Margaret Quinn still prays.”

“All the time,” Margaret says. She reaches out and squeezes his arm. “Well, I’m off for the shower.”

“Is it wildly inappropriate to admit that I’d really like to join you?” Kelley says.

“Borderline inappropriate,” she confirms. But she’s not surprised. The opposite of death, she supposes, is sex.

“So is that a no?” Kelley asks.

“Bring your own towel,” Margaret says. “I still don’t like to share.”

PATRICK

Kevin says, “Have you seen Mom and Dad?”

“No,” Patrick says. He’s pretending to read, but really he’s staring at the face of his phone, trying to send one of the most difficult texts of his life.

“It’s so weird to even say their names together like that,” Kevin says. “And I know this is going to sound nuts, but I think there’s something going on between them.”

“Confirmed,” Patrick says. “I saw the two of them sneaking out of Dad’s bedroom. They had definitely been going at it.”

Ava plops down on the sofa next to Kevin and Isabelle. “How are we supposed to feel about that? Our divorced parents are having a fling. Does anyone have the manual for How to Deal with Completely Screwed-Up Family Situations?”

“I would choose to be happy for them,” Isabelle says.

“I’m happy for them,” Kevin says.

Ava sighs. “I broke up with Nathaniel.”

“You did not,” Kevin says.

“I did,” she says. “Just now, over the phone.”

“Was it the boots?” Kevin asks. “Because I’m clueless, but even I know that boots are a sucky present.”