Winter Street (14 page)

A
s far as Christmases go, it isn’t too bad. Her father has bought her cashmere sweaters from J.Crew in three colors, and her mother has gotten her a diamond circle necklace that is, without a doubt, the best gift of Christmas, and, furthermore, it is now the most beautiful and glamorous thing Ava owns. She wonders where she will ever wear it. It’s too fancy to wear to work at Nantucket Elementary School, and when
she and Nathaniel go out, they go to places like the Bar and the Faregrounds, neither of which is an appropriate place for a diamond circle necklace. If Nathaniel ever takes her back to the Wauwinet, she supposes she can wear it. And when she goes to visit Margaret in Manhattan.

Ava gently removes the necklace from the box and tries it on, looking in the hallway mirror.

She starts to cry.

Her mother is standing behind her in the mirror, and Ava can see how strongly they resemble each other, but even that doesn’t cheer her.

Margaret says, “You don’t like it?”

“I love it,” Ava says, but her tears keep falling. What girl doesn’t love diamonds? And yet it isn’t the kind of diamond she wanted this Christmas. She wanted to be Isabelle—a girl whose boyfriend loves her so much, he surprised her with an engagement ring. The only person she identifies with is Patrick—his facial expression closely resembles her own. He has good reason: he has been abandoned by his wife and children. Ava’s boyfriend has gone home for the holidays, which doesn’t mean a thing—nobody has even asked where Nathaniel is—except to Ava. To Ava, it means she is unloved, unlovable, unwanted, undesirable.

Then she thinks about Scott Skyler, and her face grows warm. If Scott were here right now, she might let him kiss her again, maybe in her bedroom, lying on her bed with Scott on top of her.

Margaret says, “Now, there’s a smile. That’s what I like to see.”

Ava waits until noon before she checks her phone. She only has a few moments, because her father wants her to play carols—(“I will in a little while,” Ava says, “but no ‘Frosty,’ no ‘Silver Bells’… and absolutely no ‘Jingle Bells.’ ”)—and then she and Margaret must start making dinner.

She closes her bedroom door and takes a sustaining breath.

Nothing from Nathaniel. No missed calls, no texts. She even checks her e-mail, in case he lost his phone or dropped it in his wassail.

She plops down on the bed. She hates herself, hates the weak, groveling, infatuated-beyond-all-reason center of her being. Her core is made of Nathaniel jelly. She is 100 percent sure that if she asks Margaret, Margaret will say she has never been this far gone over a man before—not over Kelley, certainly. And any other boyfriend Margaret has ever had is eating his heart out right now.

She calls Nathaniel because she can’t
not
call Nathaniel. He answers on the first ring. His voice is chipper, as if he has been awake for hours.

“Hey there,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you,” she says. She tries to match his jovial tone; he sounds like he’s wishing the mailman a Merry Christmas. “Whatcha up to?”

“We’re still opening presents, believe it or not,” he says. “At least, I am. I just got home a little while ago.”

“Home?” Ava says. “From where?”

“From the Cabots’,” he says.

Cardiac arrest. Ava is going to die.

“You
slept
there?” she says.

“I passed out in the den,” Nathaniel says. “Nobody even knew I was there until I popped up in the middle of their Christmas morning.”

“Oh,” Ava says. She has a hundred questions, among them: how did he end up in the den downstairs? He was down there drinking with Kirsten, it was safe to assume. “What, were you down there drinking with Kirsten until late?”

“It must have been late,” Nathaniel says. “I’m not sure what time I zonked.” He has a casual and open tone in delivering this news, as if nothing about it should give Ava pause.

“I called you at eleven o’clock,” Ava says. “Your phone was off.”

“Huh,” he says. “That’s weird. I mean, it wasn’t
off,
but there’s no reception in anyone’s basement around here, so my phone probably just acted like it was off.”

“Ah,” Ava says. “Well, you said you’d call at nine, and you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I ended up hanging out.”

Ava is silent, and so is Nathaniel. In the background, Ava can hear the high-pitched, happy screams of Nathaniel’s nieces and nephews.

Finally, Nathaniel says, “Hey, so, how’s Hawaii?”

“I didn’t go,” Ava says. “There’s… a lot of stuff going on around here. So my mom just flew here instead.”

“That’s cool,” Nathaniel says. “Your mom’s there? Staying at the inn? How’s Mitzi handling that?”

“Mitzi ran off,” Ava says. “With George the Santa Claus.”

Nathaniel laughs, not because he finds what she just said
completely absurd,
but, Ava thinks, because he suffers from selective listening and he’s laughing in an attempt to humor her so he can get off the phone and enjoy his family.

“Wow,” he says, confirming her suspicions. “Funny.”

She says, “Well, I’ll let you go.”

“Hey!” he says, suddenly finding new energy. “Since you’re home, you can open my present.”

“Your present?” Ava says. Her heart resuscitates. “What present?”

“I dropped it off at the inn before I left on Tuesday,” he says. “I gave it to Isabelle.”

“You did?” Ava says. “That was thoughtful.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I wanted you to be able to open it.”

“Thank you,” Ava says.

“All right,” he says. “Well, text me and let me know how you like it.”

“I will,” she says.

“I should go,” he says. “Do you have plans for the rest of the day?”

“Dinner at five,” Ava says. “Mom and I are cooking a standing rib roast.”

“I can’t believe your mom is there,” Nathaniel says. “It probably seems normal to you because she’s your mom, but to me it just seems really… I don’t know… cool.”

Ava crosses her eyes. She doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she says.

“Oh, okay,” Nathaniel says.

She pauses, waiting for him to say it first, but he never says it first.

“I love you,” she says.

“Yep. Love you, too,” he says, and they hang up.

Phone call: unsatisfactory,
Ava thinks. If she lets herself dwell on what happened late last night in the “den,” then it’s
really
unsatisfactory. But her pain and angst are ameliorated by the anticipation of Nathaniel’s present.

Ava marches out to the main room. Kevin and Isabelle are lounging on the sofa; Isabelle’s eyes are closed. Kevin is stroking her hair.

“Is she asleep?” Ava whispers.

Kevin nods.

Crap.
Ava sits on the ottoman, waiting for Isabelle to wake up so Ava can ask her where the present from Nathaniel is. There is nothing wrapped left under the tree except the gifts for Jennifer and Patty’s kids. Ava tries not to feel
peeved that Isabelle never told her such a present existed; possibly Nathaniel asked Isabelle to keep it a secret.

What would a desirable present from Nathaniel be? Since he’s not here to give it himself, Ava knows it’s not a diamond ring. Any other jewelry would be good, especially earrings made by Jessica Hicks, who is Ava’s favorite. Something Nathaniel made himself would be wonderful—a finely crafted wooden box with secret drawers where he might, someday soon, hide her diamond ring. Or a custom frame that holds a picture of the two of them—maybe the photo they took on her birthday that night at the Wauwinet. Ava has never looked happier in her life, she doesn’t think, than on that night. Also acceptable would be concert tickets for a date in the spring or summer, something they could look forward to together; double points if it is Yo-Yo Ma or Charlotte Church or Beyoncé, all of whom are favorites of Ava’s.

Isabelle’s eyelids flutter open, and Ava pounces like a starving animal.

“Isabelle,” she says. “Did Nathaniel drop off a present for me? Do you know where it is?”

Isabelle’s eyes are unfocused. She blinks, rubs a hand across her lower abdomen, and Kevin tightens his grip. The sight of them
together
like
this
is still hard to process. For the past six months, Isabelle has been working at the inn like a French Cinderella. Ava has seen her cleaning rooms at seven in the morning and preparing for breakfast at nine at night. Ava did once happen across Kevin and Isabelle
eating bowls of chocolate ice cream together in the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon, before Kevin left for his shift at the Bar, but Ava thought nothing of it.

Isabelle’s voice is scratchy. “Yes,” she says, and she smiles. “It is in the front closet. Nathaniel say surprise you.”

The front closet!
Ava thinks. She hops to her feet.

The front closet is used only for guests of the inn. It holds five matching umbrellas from the Nantucket Golf Club, a black coat someone must have left last night (or, possibly, the year before—Ava never opens the front closet, and she doubts anyone else does either), and Ava’s present, wrapped in shiny red paper!

It’s bigger than a bread box. Ava’s heart thuds with worry; she remembers that good things come in small packages. She picks it up, a rectangular package, about two feet long and a foot wide. She shakes it; there is movement. She heads through the main room, toward the back of the house.

“Carols, Ava, please!” Kelley says. “We’re all ready.”

“In a minute,” she says.

In the box from Nathaniel is a pair of dark-green Hunter rain boots with matching fleece socks. Ava holds a boot in her hand. Rubber rain boots. This is her Christmas gift.

“Ava!” her father calls.

Ava throws one boot across the room, then goes out to play the carols.

O
ne thirty, eastern standard time, ten thirty on the West Coast. Jen and the kids will be finished opening presents but not yet headed to the Park Tavern. He should call, despite his shame. She must be thinking he isn’t at all the man she married.

Just then, a call comes in from the disposable cell phone of Bucky Larimer. Patrick wants to throw his phone into the fire, but instead he stands, opens the front door, and steps out into the cold day to take the call.

“What?” he says.

“Man, thank
God
you finally answered,” Bucky says.

“What,” Patrick says, “do you want?” There is a way in which he can see this
whole thing
as Bucky’s fault; certainly the plan was created at Bucky’s instigation: he was the one who pulled Patrick aside and said he had a handle on a sure thing and asked if there was any way Patrick could help him capitalize on it. Patrick is guilty of being too weak to resist—and then, of course, of taking the poor decision to the $25-million level.

Bucky says, “I confessed.”

“What?” Patrick says.

“I turned myself in.”

“And you turned me in,” Patrick says.

“Well,” Bucky says, “by default, yes.”

“What exactly did you say?” Patrick asks.

“I told them what happened,” Bucky says.

“Who is ‘they?’ ” Patrick asks.

“The feds.”

“You named me.”

“Man, I had no choice.”

“What
exactly
did you say?”

“That I told you about MDP, told you it was headed for FDA approval, and you asked me if I wanted to invest some money on my behalf in exchange for the information.”

“Whoa!” Patrick says. “Wait a minute! That is NOT how it happened.”

“What isn’t?”

“
You
asked
me
if I would invest for you in exchange for the info.”

“No,” Bucky says. “It was the other way around.”

“It was NOT!” Patrick shouts, and his voice is so loud that every house on Winter Street seems to shimmy on its foundation.

“Anyway,” Bucky says, “I just wanted to let you know what was up.”

“What’s
up,
” Patrick says, “is that I am headed to
jail
because of
you!
And I have a
wife!
And three kids!”

“I know, man,” Bucky says. But Bucky
doesn’t
know. Bucky doesn’t have so much as a steady girlfriend. At the reunion, he was hitting on the hot women from their graduating class, all of whom were married. That alone proves the man has no scruples.

“Answer me this,” Patrick says. He has gone outside without a coat, and he’s freezing.

“What?”

“Are you going to jail? Or are they taking it easy on you because you sold me out?”

“Well,” Bucky says.

That’s all Patrick needs to hear. He hangs up the phone.

He screams an expletive at the quiet Nantucket street. Luckily, he thinks, Winter Street is only three houses long, and the other owners are summer people.

He calls Jen. What does he have to lose now? His life is over. He will lose his job and go to jail, and he will be lucky if he goes to jail for insider trading and not first-degree murder, because he seriously wants to KILL Bucky Larimer.

Please
, he thinks.
Please, Jennifer, answer the phone.

He gets her voice mail almost immediately. He wants to throw his phone down the street, but instead he leaves a message.

“Baby, it’s me.” He swallows. “I’m in big trouble, bigger than maybe we thought on Tuesday. I’m on Nantucket, at the inn; I’m drowning here without you. Call me, please. I need to hear your voice. I need to talk to the boys.” He swallows. “I’ve been having some pretty dark thoughts… anyway, please call me.”

“Patrick?”

Patrick hangs up the phone and turns around. His mother is standing in the doorway.

“Are you okay, honey?” she asks.

Patrick hasn’t talked to his mother about any of this because he didn’t want to ruin her Christmas. He was happy to see her, but having her here also puts a finer point on his shame.

He shakes his head no. She closes the door behind her and comes down the front walk toward him, even though she’s only wearing sweats she borrowed from Ava and a pair of Kelley’s Irish-knit socks.

“I messed up, Mom,” he says.

She puts her arms around him. “Your father told me, sweetheart.”

He starts to cry. He has cried more in the past two days than he has in the rest of his life combined. “I really messed up. And Jen is gone. She won’t answer my calls, and I don’t blame her. It’s going to be in the newspapers. It’s going to publicly humiliate her and the kids… and you.”

“Oh, honey,” Margaret says. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m a grown-up. I can handle it.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Patrick says. “I let you down, I let everybody down. One idiotic decision, and the whole house of cards falls.”

“I’ve seen it again and again and again,” Margaret says. “John Edwards, Tiger Woods, Eliot Spitzer, Lance Armstrong, A-Rod, Mark Sanford, Arnold Schwarzenegger—the list goes on and on. People are fallible, Patrick. People make bad decisions every second of every day. Do you want my advice?”

“Yes,” Patrick says. He expected advice from his father
the night before, but, although his father was empathetic, he offered little in the way of practical help.

“Hold your head up high, admit what you did wrong, apologize, and accept your punishment.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“I have the name of a very good lawyer,” she says. “The best. And he owes me a favor.”

“Okay,” Patrick says.

Margaret hugs him again. “I know it feels pretty awful right now. But your father and I know you’re not a bad person. We love you unconditionally.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Do you know what ‘unconditionally’ means?”

He nods, but he wants to hear it anyway.

Margaret says, “It means
no matter what.
”