Winter Street (9 page)

“I do, indeed,” George says.

Kelley had asked Mitzi about her connection to Nantucket.
He was interested, he said, because he and his ex-wife had taken their kids to the island for a string of summers, and he really loved it.

Mitzi told Kelley that she had been to Nantucket once for a wedding, and now she went for a week every summer and stayed at the Winter Street Inn.

Kelley said he knew of the Winter Street Inn. He had passed it many times on his amblings through town.

They shared their Nantucket favorites—Kelley’s favorite beach was Cisco; Mitzi’s, Steps; Kelley’s favorite bar, 21 Federal; Mitzi’s, the Gazebo.

“The Gazebo?” Kelley said. “That’s a bar for kids in their twenties.”

Mitzi had smiled at Kelley, and he realized that Mitzi was in her twenties, which meant she was ten or fifteen years younger than he. Which meant he had a choice: he could walk away, or he could ask Mitzi out and become a clichéd divorced guy on the brink of forty asking out a twenty-something-year-old.

He walked away. His brother was expecting him upstairs, anyway.

“But then,” Kelley says, “a miraculous thing happened.”

“You bumped into her again?” George guesses.

“Yes,” Kelley says. “At the moment I least expected.”

Avery, Kelley’s brother, died of pneumonia in September of 1992. Mitzi showed up at Avery’s funeral.

“You’re kidding,” George says.

“I wouldn’t kid about something like that,” Kelley says.

“Of course not,” George says. “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother.”

“He was a fine, fine human being,” Kelley says. “One of the finest.” He takes a deep breath, remembering the funeral at Grace Church. The sanctuary had been packed with men—young and old, healthy and sick. It was the early nineties in Greenwich Village; everyone was going through the same thing.

Margaret hadn’t been able to attend the funeral because it was only two months before the election, and she was on the road, following the Clinton campaign.

Kelley remembers seeing Mitzi sitting in the second pew, wearing peach instead of black, which was a welcome respite for the eyes. He knew he’d seen her before, but he couldn’t place where.

“It was she who approached me at the reception,” Kelley says. “She came up to me and said, ‘I met you outside the brownstone. We talked about Nantucket. You like Cisco Beach. I’m Mitzi Kelleher.’ ”

“Wow,” George says. “Lucky you!”

“Turned out she was a childhood friend of Avery’s partner, Marcus. And when I saw her the first time, she had just come from their apartment. She had taken the train up from Philadelphia to lend Marcus moral support.”

“Unbelievable,” George says.

“She was only twenty-four, though,” Kelley says. “But by
that point, standing in my brother’s funeral reception when my brother had been only thirty-six himself, I realized life is too short to worry about being thought a cliché. So I asked her out.”

“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.

C
hristmas 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.

She
is
badly needed here.

It’s showtime.

With everything that’s happened, Ava expects the party to be a disaster—but it’s as much fun as ever, if not more. Would it be awful for Ava to say that’s because Mitzi and George aren’t attending? Is it possible that their absence, instead of ruining the party, has made it better? Because Mitzi is gone, Ava is the hostess. The black velvet dress looks even nicer on her tonight than it did in the dressing room at Hepburn. Ava’s skin glows pearlescent, and her dark-red hair and green eyes pop. She probably looks this good once every five years. When Scott sees her in the dress, his eyes get very big and round, and he lets a whistle escape. Ava twirls. She feels pretty, she feels sexy—and stupid, stinky Nathaniel is missing it!

Scott says, “Ava, you look enchanting.” He’s speaking in a British accent; “enchanting” is
“enchohnting.”
The British accent is probably also the result of the tequila, but people love it. Mrs. Gabler takes one look at Scott and says, “Oh, thank heavens, a younger Santa!” Scott then tells Mrs. Gabler how captivating she looks. His accent is thick and plummy, perfectly executed, and Ava sees Scott in a slightly different light. He has a new energy; he’s dynamic and charming and extroverted and very un-Scott-like. He calls
himself Father Christmas, delighting the children and the ladies. Kevin is plying Scott with tequila shots, which he does discreetly in the alcove under the stairs, but Ava has seen Scott drunk many times before, and she knows his new confidence isn’t solely due to the alcohol.

Isabelle looks
adorable
in Mitzi’s Mrs. Claus dress! Her hair is in long braids, the way Ava likes it best, and she’s wearing black-satin kitten heels instead of the dominatrix boots that Mitzi favored. She looks like a character plucked right from Tolstoy, a Russian princess.

Ava pulls Isabelle over to meet Scott. “Mrs. Claus,” she says, “meet your Mr. Claus, otherwise known as Scott Skyler.”

“Oh!” Isabelle says.
“Bon soir!”
She curtseys and offers Scott her hand.

“Santa, Isabelle will be playing the part of your lovely wife tonight. Isabelle works with us here at the inn.”

“Charmed,” Scott says in his British accent. He kisses Isabelle’s hand.

Excellent!
Ava thinks. Scott and Isabelle gaze at each other for an extended moment, or so it seems to Ava. Her plan is working.

Then—surprise! surprise!—a cheer goes up in the room. Kelley has made an appearance! He’s wearing his red-and-green wool tartan trousers, just as he does every year, and he’s holding aloft a magnum of Perrier-Jouët. He moves through the crowd to place the magnum in the large brass ice bucket near the front door. Later, he will saber the top
off into the front yard, a feat he only performs on even-numbered years.

Ava thought her father might have abandoned the champagne-sabering tradition, given the circumstances, but Kelley looks proud and happy; he transports the champagne like he’s carrying a baby. Then he takes Ava by the arm. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. You remind me so much of your mother.”

Ava’s heart swells. The ultimate compliment. “Thank you, Daddy. What happened to George?”

“He left out the back door,” Kelley says. “But I think he wanted to stay.”

“I’m sure he did,” Ava says. She knows that somewhere on this island, Mitzi is wishing she were here. The party is in full swing: the room is crowded with familiar faces, there is talking and laughing, Kevin is flipping bottles and mixing his drinks from great height. He stops to juggle lemons and limes, and people applaud. Kevin is the King of Fascinating Bar Tricks. Scott takes his seat in the wingback armchair, with Isabelle at his side. She lines up the children—almost all of them students at the elementary school. If they know Father Christmas is Assistant Principal Skyler, no one lets on.

Ava grabs a glass of white wine from Kevin at the bar. “What do you think about Isabelle in Mitzi’s dress?” she asks.

“I was never a particular fan of that dress,” he says. “But she looks fine, I guess.”

“I’m trying to set her up with Scott,” Ava says.

Kevin, who is as nimble a bartender as one will ever meet, nearly drops a highball glass and the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he’s holding.
“What?”
he says.

“I think they’d be cute together, don’t you?”

“No,” Kevin says, with what sounds like genuine anger. “I do not think they would be cute together. What is
wrong
with you, Ava?”

Ava is speechless. Kevin never gets angry with her. Kevin is her prime ally in this family. Ava wanders away, wondering if he’s right to be mad. Maybe it
is
terribly manipulative to try to fix up Scott with someone else just because she doesn’t want him.

Well, her intentions were pure. She won’t let Kevin ruin her good mood or her fun time.

Ava has a few minutes yet before she has to sit down at the piano and start the carols. She hits the food table; she’s been so busy getting ready for the party that she hasn’t had anything to eat all day. She fixes herself a plate of cocktail ribs and Swedish meatballs, which are disappearing fast—there is beef at the Winter Street Inn Christmas Eve party for the first time ever! On top of everything else, Isabelle is a phenomenal cook! Ava must mention this to Scott—who cares what Kevin says! She takes two dates stuffed with peanut butter and some scallop seviche and a mini crab cake. She even drags a cracker through the salted-almond pinecone and eats it right away. Delicious!

She makes a plate for Scott and then a plate for Kevin, as a peace offering—both heavy on the meatballs—adding deviled eggs, spanakopita triangles, and cherry tomatoes stuffed with guacamole. It’s nice to be able to load up her own plate. When Mitzi was in charge, there was strict adherence to Family Hold Back. Mitzi was always worried they were going to run out of food; she once took a celery stick out of Ava’s hand and set it back down on the crudité platter.

This party does not miss Mitzi. Ava does not miss Mitzi.

Fun, fun, fun, chitchat, happy holidays! Everyone who is anyone is there, and people keep streaming through the door—all five Nantucket selectmen; the police chief, Ed Kapenash, and his wife, Andrea; Gene Mahon, aka “Mahon about Town”; Jordan Randolph, the editor of the paper, and his son, Jake, who is a junior at Penn; the real-estate agent Eddie Pancik and his wife, Grace; and many of Ava’s fellow teachers from school, including her friend Shelby. Shelby grabs Ava by the arm and says, “Is that
Scott
in the Santa suit? Because he looks
good.
He looks, I don’t know, kinda
hot,
don’t you think?”

“Well…?” Ava says. Shelby is of the opinion that Ava should break up with Nathaniel and date Scott. Nathaniel is too much work; Shelby is sick of watching Ava try to persuade Nathaniel to love her. Whereas Scott already loves her. “He’s doing a British-accent thingy.”

“British accent?” Shelby says. “Scott?” She nudges Ava. “That’s hot, too, right? It’s very
Downton Abbey
.”

“It’s weird,” Ava says. “It’s like he’s someone else.”

“And who’s the chick?” Shelby asks.

“Isabelle,” Ava says. “She works for us. She’s French.”

“She’s stunning.”

Ava decides not to tell Shelby that she’s trying to set Scott and Isabelle up; Shelby might not like the idea any better than Kevin did.

Ava and Shelby find themselves moving close enough to Scott that they can eavesdrop. He has Micah Daniels, the terror of the entire kindergarten class, up on his lap, but for once Micah is quiet, awestruck. It’s Father Christmas.

“Hello, young chap,” Scott says. “What is your name?”

“Micah Daniels.”

“Micah Daniels! Capital, capital! And tell me, Micah Daniels, have you been a good boy this year? Have you been polite and respectful to your parents and… your teachers?”

Micah nods solemnly, and Ava rolls her eyes. This is the kid who brought a Chinese star to school and stuck it in another student’s hot dog. This is the kid who called his teacher, Mrs. Peale, an “old fat ass.”

“Are you
sure
about that, Micah Daniels? Because, you know, Father Christmas watches you night and day, at school and at home. I check in with your parents, and also with… Mrs. Peale.”

Micah looks sufficiently intimidated. Ava is waiting for Scott to say that Micah is getting COAL, NOTHING BUT COAL—or at the very least that he is lingering on some
sort of Undecided List, a Santa Claus Limbo. But Scott has mercy.

“And what, Micah Daniels, is your heart’s greatest desire for Christmas morning?”

Shelby mouths,
Xbox.

Micah says, “Xbox.”

Isabelle steps back a few feet to take the picture with the Winter Street Inn digital camera—photos later to be posted on Facebook—but before she snaps it, Scott says, “Ho-ho-ho, Mrs. Claus, why don’t you get in the picture?”

Isabelle lowers the camera.
“Excusez-moi?”

Scott waves her in. “Come, be in the picture. Ava will take it, won’t you, Ava?”

Ava hands her glass of wine off to Shelby. “Certainly, yes, of course.” She accepts the camera from Isabelle, thinking she can’t blame Scott for not wanting his picture taken alone with the nightmare that is Micah Daniels. Isabelle will improve it.
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down…

Isabelle stands next to Scott and slides her arm around his superhero shoulders and tilts her pretty blond head so that it practically rests against Scott’s. When Ava looks through the viewfinder, she is shocked to find that she is bothered by their pose. She is… jealous. Scott, Isabelle, and Micah Daniels look like a family, which of course they’re
not,
although if Scott and Isabelle
do
start dating and get married, they may find themselves in a similar pose in the not-too-distant future.

Ava does not like it.

Wow.

She’s confused.

She grits her teeth and beams at Scott, Isabelle, and Micah. “Smile!” she says. She takes the picture, and the flash goes off.

Scott says, “Take another one!”

She takes another one.

Ava has to go to the ladies’ room, so she heads to the back of the inn. She doesn’t know what just happened with Scott. She thinks of Kevin saying,
What is
wrong
with you, Ava?
There isn’t anything wrong with her. She is setting Scott and Isabelle up so that the two of them can find happiness together. Maybe she’s bothered because Scott has always been hers and hers alone. But Ava doesn’t want Scott, right? She wants the mind, body, and soul of Nathaniel Oscar, maker of fancy and special pantry doors.

The party is fun, and she has a nice glow, although she is far from drunk, which is good, because she still has to play the carols.