Winter Storms

KEVIN

Later, he will not be able to say how the Siasconset Union Chapel was decorated. (There was an evergreen wreath with a red velvet bow hanging from the end of each pew and, on the altar, two majestic arrangements of red roses, greens, and holly.) He will not remember what music was played. (The church organ was accompanied by cello and trumpet. The Quinns’ new friend Gordon Russell sang “O Holy Night” after the vows.) He will not remember what the bridesmaids wore (long red velvet sheaths, slit to the knee) or whether the bow ties were straight or cockeyed on his brothers’ tuxedos (Patrick’s tie was straight, Bart’s cockeyed).

All Kevin will remember is the moment the guests rose and he saw Isabelle Beaulieu standing at the other end of the aisle on the arm of her father, the rather dashing Arnaud Beaulieu. As recently as yesterday, Kevin might have said a wedding was superfluous. He and Isabelle already knew everything about each other; what did a piece of paper matter?

But as she processed toward him wearing a strapless column dress of the whitest silk with a long lace veil, her hair a crown of blond braids, her eyes dewy, her smile shy, it was as though he were seeing her for the first time. He got a lump in his throat.

What in his life had he done to deserve such an enchanting creature? How did he, Kevin Quinn, the middle brother, without the ambition of the older or the bravery of the younger, get so lucky? He had no idea, but he was grateful.

AVA

The wedding is storybook perfect. Sure, the chapel is chilly, but as soon as it fills with people, it warms up. Nathaniel, Ava notices as she starts down the aisle, must have been the last to arrive, or maybe he intentionally chose the back pew so that he would be the first person Ava saw when she processed in. She focuses on her three handsome brothers standing at the altar.

Bart is the tallest of the three, thanks to the genes from Mitzi’s father, Joe, who was six foot five. Seeing the three of them standing together registers as completely natural, but it’s also surreal. Bart is here. He’s right here.

Sitting three rows from the front are Potter and Gibby. Ava saves her best smile for them.

When the ceremony is over and all of the pictures have been taken, Kevin and Isabelle climb into the fire truck with George-who has done a quick change from his coat and tie into his Santa suit-and all the guests cheer and wave. George honks the horn and off they go, husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Quinn.

Meanwhile, the inn has been transformed. All of the furniture was moved from the living room to create an open space for mingling that will later serve as a dance floor. Mitzi hired the Four Easy Payments to play, but right now, there is Christmas music piped in. The playlist is a variety of carols rather than just “Joy to the World.”

The caterers have laid out a serious spread of cheese and crackers, crudités and dip, sausages and pâtés. Mitzi asked them to make her infamous sugared dates stuffed with peanut butter and, yes, the salted almond pinecone.

Ava and Bart meet in front of the pinecone. Bart scoops up an obscene amount of soft cheese and nuts on a cracker. It’s fine, Ava thinks. He needs to fatten up.

She wants to have a real conversation with him. She wants to ask him what happened, what it was like, how he felt, how he survived. But this isn’t the time or the place. This is the time to take a flute of champagne from the server’s tray and sing along to “Mistletoe and Holly” with Frank Sinatra.

And apparently, it’s also the time to set the record straight once and for all. Because when Ava turns around looking for where Potter has gotten to, she sees Nathaniel headed toward her with some kind of cranberry martini in his hand. He has someone trailing him. It’s Scott, who is wearing red corduroy pants embroidered with Santa faces, a white shirt, a black wool blazer, and a red-and-green-tartan bow tie.

“I’ve brought reinforcements,” Nathaniel says. He kisses Ava on the cheek. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Stunning,” Scott says.

Ava glares at Scott. “Where’s Mz. Ohhhhhh?”

“She’s moving to Newport Beach,” he says. “California.”

“We came to tell you we don’t want you to move to New York,” Nathaniel says. “Stay here on Nantucket or come to Block Island. Choose one of us.”

Ava feels a hand slip around her waist and she knows it’s Potter. She has called in her own reinforcements.

“It’s probably good the three of you are here,” Ava says. “So all three of you can hear me say this. I am moving to New York to run the music department at the Copper Hill School. That is my reason for moving. But as far as my love life is concerned…” Here, she pauses. Nathaniel and Scott have been so dear to her. She has loved them both for different reasons: Nathaniel is fun-loving and laid-back; Scott is solid and kind with a streak of mischief that appears every once in a while. But neither of them was able to capture Ava’s entire heart as Potter has managed to do.

“As far as my love life is concerned, there is only one man I want and that is this man right here, Potter Lyons. So I hope I can keep the two of you as friends and see you when I come home for the summer, but I will never date either of you again and I’m asking you both to respect that.”

Nathaniel looks angry; Scott looks morose. Potter lifts Ava’s face and-adding insult to injury for the two men-gives Ava the loveliest kiss, possibly of her life. She feels clean and free and honest and empowered. She has come to a decision that makes her feel, well-Ava’s eyes linger on the word hanging over the mantel-joy.

The Four Easy Payments have set up over by the Christmas tree and now they launch into “Little Saint Nick,” by the Beach Boys. Nathaniel is the first to reach over and shake Potter’s hand. Scott follows suit and says, “Take good care of her, man.”

“She can take care of herself,” Potter says. “I’m just going to love her.”

Nathaniel looks at Scott. “Drink?” he says.

“Heck, yeah,” Scott says, and the two head to the bar.

Potter turns to Ava. “Dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says.

KELLEY

He should have been the happiest man alive, but he simply doesn’t feel well. His head aches, there’s a loud buzzing in his left ear, and splotches are appearing in front of him-there are amorphous blue blobs in the upper right corner of his vision. He can see the party is a raging success. Ava and Potter are dancing; so is Isabelle and her father, Kevin and Margaret, Patrick and Madame Beaulieu, Jennifer and Drake, and George and Mary Rose-who, Kelley has just found out, have gotten engaged. Bart is busy charming Mrs. Gabler, his old kindergarten teacher, who must think better of him now that he is a war hero. Kelley watches as Mitzi saves him, pulling Bart onto the dance floor. Kelley has always been mesmerized by Mitzi’s beauty-quirky though it is-but he can honestly say that he has never seen Mitzi look as luminous as she does tonight. She has her son back. Kelley is sure nothing else will ever matter as much.

They aren’t following any kind of usual wedding protocol, although when this song ends, Kelley will saber the champagne as he does every year on Christmas Eve, and then Kevin and Isabelle will dance to “The Christmas Song.”

Kelley gets ready. He pulls the magnum of Taittinger out of the ice and finds his saber. Then he signals the bandleader, who ends the song and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, our gracious host, Kelley Quinn, will now saber the champagne.”

The crowd cheers, Monsieur Beaulieu is especially enthusiastic-probably because he’s French. Kelley worries he’ll fumble the ball somehow; there are a million ways to screw up a sabering even under the best of circumstances, never mind when one is afflicted with brain cancer.

Kelley opens the front door of the inn. Out on Winter Street, the scene is tranquil: snow, streetlights, the neighbors’ antique homes buttoned up and quiet. Kelley finds the spot on the neck of the bottle that he must hit just so, and he drags the back of the saber against it.

Kelley turns to the crowd. He focuses on Mitzi’s face, a beacon. She winks at him. The wink is like magic; immediately, Kelley feels thirty-nine again. He is dating the roller-disco queen of King of Prussia, Pennsylvania. He is virile, strong, confident. He can do this.

In one fluid motion, Kelley slices off the top of the bottle. The crowd cheers. A server hands Kelley a flute that Kelley fills and then raises to the crowd.

“To Kevin and Isabelle. May they carry the love and the joy of this evening in their hearts for all the days of their marriage. God bless us, every one.”

The bandleader sings, “‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,’” and the guests form a ring around the floor while Kevin and Isabelle have their first dance. The first of many, many dances, Kelley hopes.

His work is done, he thinks. And now, he must lie down.

He can hear the party continuing on the other side of his closed bedroom door, but within minutes of lying down in the dark, Kelley is transported elsewhere.

The year is 1958. Kelley is six years old. He lives with his parents in Perrysburg, Ohio. His father works for Owens Corning; they have had a good year. Kelley and his brother, Avery, tiptoe down the stairs on Christmas morning to find that Santa has left them bicycles-a red two-wheeler with training wheels for Kelley and a blue tricycle for Avery. Kelley had sat on Santa’s lap at Lasalle and Koch in Toledo the week before, but he had been too shy to ask for a bike and so he’d said he wanted candy and the board game Monopoly.

In his stocking, Kelley finds candy canes, chocolates wrapped in foil, ribbon candy, sugared orange slices, licorice sticks, jelly beans, caramels, root beer barrels, butterscotch drops, Mary Janes, and Necco wafers. And under the tree is a long, flat box that turns out to be… Monopoly.

Santa is real!

It’s 1963. The president has been dead for two weeks. Kelley’s mother, Frances Quinn, is in mourning and says she doesn’t want to celebrate Christmas. Kelley can’t stand to think of his little brother, Avery, going without Christmas, so he takes over Matt Zacchio’s paper route for two weeks. Perrysburg is experiencing subfreezing temperatures and Matt is eager to hand the route over temporarily. Kelley makes thirty dollars and buys Avery what looks like a briefcase, but when the case is opened, it reveals art supplies: colored pencils, crayons, markers, pastels, and paints with different-size horsehair brushes. For the first time, Kelley understands what is meant by the saying “It is better to give than to receive.”

On Christmas morning, Kelley and Avery tiptoe down the stairs to find a wire crate in front of the fire. In the crate is a black Labrador puppy.

A puppy!

They name him Jack, after the late president, and the whole family is cheered, even Frances.

Santa is real!

It’s 1971. Kelley and Avery are teenagers. On Christmas Eve, they climb out onto the roof under their dormer window and share a joint. Avery sings “Joy to the World”-the Three Dog Night version. Jeremiah was a bullfrog. He is a great singer, and a star athlete as well. His grades put Kelley’s to shame. Kelley should hate him, but he doesn’t. He loves his brother with all his heart.

In the morning, they sleep in. In fact, Frances has to rap on their bedroom door to wake them. Presents have ceased to matter. What Kelley really wants is a bong, but he can hardly ask his parents for that and, as it turns out, Santa isn’t real.

But their mother is real and she has made eggs Benedict and eggnog French toast, she tells them. Because it’s Christmas, she says, she warmed the syrup and doubled up on the hollandaise.

Kelley and Avery race each other down the stairs.

It’s 1977 and Kelley and Margaret have a baby. They dress him up in a tiny Santa suit and stick him in the baby swing while they make Golden Dreams. The Golden Dream is a cocktail recipe Margaret found in Good Housekeeping. She wants to drink them every Christmas, she says. They’re a family now. They need traditions.

It’s 1986 and Kelley and Margaret have two little boys and a brand-new baby girl. Ronald Reagan is Santa Claus. Kelley is making a fortune trading petroleum futures. He and Margaret are able to buy a brownstone on East Eighty-Eighth Street, eighty-four blocks north of the brownstone Avery bought the year before with his partner, Marcus.

On Christmas, Kelley presents Margaret with a Cartier tank watch.

“This is too extravagant,” Margaret says.

“No,” Kelley says. “‘Too extravagant’ are the guys on the trading floor who go to Norma’s for breakfast and order the zillion-dollar omelet.”

“But this house is my present,” Margaret says.

“This house is our shelter,” Kelley says. “The watch is for you. You have put your career on hold in order to give me all of these beautiful, healthy children, including our new princess.”

He fastens the watch onto Margaret’s wrist.

“I’ll never take it off,” she says.

It’s 1987 and the stock market has just crashed. Kelley knows two men who have killed themselves in the past month. Kelley wanted to give Margaret carte blanche to decorate the brownstone with a real interior designer but now he thinks they’d better save their money.

They buy the boys a Nintendo, and Ava gets every shiny, beeping, talking toy that Fisher-Price makes. They decide they won’t buy gifts for each other. But they do have Golden Dreams.

It’s 1993 and Kelley can feel his marriage unraveling. How this happened, he isn’t quite sure. Work is killing him; he has to do twice as much to make the same money. He has to stay awake to watch the overseas market, so he has a coke habit, just like everyone else in his firm.

As the kids get older, there are bills, bills, and more bills: private school for the boys, a piano teacher for Ava. Margaret wants to work full-time but if she does that, who will run the household and care for the children? They are not getting a nanny. Kelley was raised by his mother, and his children will be raised by their mother. When Margaret calls him a chauvinist and a dinosaur, he goes to the office.

To cover for the dismal state of his marriage, Kelley suggests spending Christmas at Round Hill in Jamaica. It turns out to be seven days of heaven. They have a villa with its own pool; they eat jerk chicken and listen to reggae and do the limbo on the beach. Margaret and Kelley substitute rum punch for the Golden Dreams. Traditions are made to be broken, Kelley says.

It’s 2001 and the world has forever changed. The towers have come down; air travel will never feel safe again; Bush has declared war on Afghanistan.

Bart is five years old, a student at the Children’s House of Nantucket, a Montessori program where sharing is not required. If Bart is working on something-everything is called work at Montessori-and he doesn’t want to be interrupted by another child, he has been taught to say “Maybe another day.”

Bart uses this phrase at home any time he wants to be defiant. On Christmas Eve when Kelley and Mitzi dress him up for five o’clock Mass, he says, “Maybe another day.” When they tell him to finish his steamed snow peas, he says, “Maybe another day.” When they try to put him to bed early because Santa is coming, he says, “Maybe another day.”

Ava is sixteen. She doesn’t like Bart to bother her when she’s playing the piano because he bangs the keys. But on Christmas, she lets him lean against her as she plays “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “Silent Night.” He falls asleep in her lap as she plays “Away in a Manger,” and Mitzi carries him to bed.

It’s 2010, the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and Kelley has accompanied some guests of the inn to the red-ticket drawing in town. It’s a Nantucket tradition, but Mitzi has just announced that she hates it. She finds it mercenary, a huge crowd gathering on Main Street… why? To see if they’ve won money. She’s going to stay home instead and have a cup of tea with George the Santa Claus, she says.

Kelley points out that it’s a Chamber of Commerce function and they are members, so he’s going to represent. He also has four pockets filled with red tickets and he’s not going to lie-he would love to be the five-thousand-dollar winner. The inn is losing money every minute. Even a thousand dollars would help. If they call his name, he vows he will donate 10 percent to the Nantucket Food Pantry.

He doesn’t win but nevertheless, the gathering is festive, primarily because he bumps into Fast Eddie Pancik on the street, and he lets Kelley nip from his flask.

When Kelley gets home, warmed by the whiskey and the holiday cheer, he can’t find Mitzi. She’s not in the kitchen preparing for their now-annual Christmas Eve soiree, and she’s not in the bedroom getting ready. He calls out for her. Nothing. Her car is still in the driveway. She’s in the inn somewhere.

He finds her rushing down the back stairway in her Mrs. Claus dress and high black suede boots. She looks flushed.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

“Me?” she says. “Nowhere.”

Kelley wakes up with a start.

He’s still alive-good. There was something life-passing-before-his-eyes about the dreams he was just having. He should never have invoked A Christmas Carol during his toast. He must have awoken the Ghost of Christmas Past.

The bedroom is dark; the house quiet. Is the party over? Yes, Mitzi is asleep next to him, her breathing steady and deep.

Kelley needs his pain meds and a large glass of ice water. Gingerly, he gets to his feet. He’s still in his tuxedo, minus his shoes, jacket, and tie.

He tiptoes out into the hallway, remembering himself and Avery so many years ago.

The party has been cleaned up, the furniture returned to its usual spots. That must have taken a lot of people a bunch of time, and Kelley feels guilty for not helping. He’ll make it up to everyone in the morning by cooking a big breakfast: a cheese strata, bacon and sausage; blueberry cornmeal pancakes; eggnog French toast; fresh-squeezed juice; and, of course, Golden Dreams.

“Dad?”

Kelley jumps. Bart is sitting by himself on the sofa with Mitzi’s military-man nutcracker on the coffee table in front of him. There is still a log burning in the fireplace, but the only other light comes from the twinkling tree and the letters J-O-Y glowing over the mantel.

Kelley sits down on the sofa, then realizes that Bart is crying.

“Dad,” Bart says again, but his voice breaks.

“I know you’re a big man now,” Kelley says. “But I hope you’re not too old to let your dad hold you.” He opens his arms and Bart crawls into them, just as he used to when he was a little boy, ruined by Montessori. He cries against Kelley’s chest and Kelley rubs his son’s back. God only knows what he’s been through, what he’s seen; brothers in arms killed, for certain, and maybe worse. It’ll all come out-but not right now. Now, Bart needs good old-fashioned comfort. Eventually, his cries subside; he wipes his face on the bottom of Kelley’s tuxedo shirt.

“What’s going on out here?”

Kelley half turns his head and beckons with his free arm for Mitzi to join them. She settles on the other side of Bart and the three of them grasp one another.

Kelley remembers a crèche that his mother used to have, with painted figurines and a manger with a thatched roof. Kelley and Avery used to set it up each year: shepherds, wise men, cows, sheep, goats, the Holy Family, and the angel, who hung on a hook at the peak of the roof.

As he and Mitzi cradle Bart, Kelley thinks about how Joseph and Mary must have felt on the original Christmas night. The word illuminated in front of Kelley is joy, but what Kelley feels is something more profound. It is, perhaps, the oldest and purest of all Christmas emotions.

Wonder.

January 1, 2017

Dear Family and Friends,

I apologize for the tardiness of this holiday letter. As you will soon understand, the past year has been chock-full of news, so many dramatic developments that instead of a letter, I should be writing a novel.

Kelley stops typing and stares at the screen. He should write a novel. Is that the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst? He can’t tell. It’s January first; people all across America are making resolutions: lose weight, spend less time on the phone and more time with the kids, make one new dish per week, enhance vocabulary, volunteer, clean and organize the garage, lose weight, investigate the family’s genealogy, go green, save money, lose weight.

Kelley makes a resolution. He is going to write a novel.

And forget the Christmas letter! He’s going to start right now, this instant.

He doesn’t have any time to waste.