Elin Hilderbrand - Winter Street

Her phone rings. It’s Ned. Bad news, she thinks. It’s a five-hour drive to Hyannis (does she even remember how to drive?). She will get to the DoubleTree at two a.m. If she’s lucky.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Ned says. “The secretary of state is flying in at midnight tonight from Israel, so Nantucket airspace is open until then!” He sounds truly joyous, as if nothing makes him happier than delivering Margaret this Christmas miracle. “When can you get here?”

Margaret feels the car surge forward. The traffic has just cleared, and Raoul steps on it.

“Half an hour,” she says. “I’m on my way.”

George was the one who always wore the red suit, but Kelley is the real Santa Claus at the Quinn household.

Despite everything that’s happened, Kelley stuffs the stockings-he even stuffs stockings for Patrick’s three boys, as if by some reverse Christmas magic, the presents will make them appear. He puts gifts for everyone under the tree.

He checks his phone, but there is no word from Bart.

It is Christmas morning in Afghanistan.

Kelley goes to bed.

She wakes up with her daughter snuggled at her side. Margaret is filled with such joy, she nearly cries. Her career has come at an enormous cost, and the person who has suffered the most, she knows, is Ava. Ava was only six years old when Margaret and Kelley split and ten when Kelley moved to Nantucket. Margaret had considered keeping Ava with her in Manhattan-even at six, she demonstrated an exceptional musical talent, and the best place to develop that was in the city. But Ava would have been raised by housekeepers and nannies, whereas Kelley had given up everything to be a hands-on parent, and Margaret had reluctantly agreed that Ava would be better off with him. Still, six years old is a tender age for a girl to be separated from her mother. Margaret always told herself she was leading by example, building a legendary career. She had thought Ava would be a concert pianist or perhaps a rock star. But Ava likes teaching music on Nantucket, and Margaret is happy she is happy. Now she hopes that Ava will find true love, get married, have children, and be the mother that Margaret never was.

Ava opens her eyes, blinking rapidly in the way she used to when she was young, except now her eyes are smudged with makeup and she’s wearing a black velvet cocktail dress. The party the night before must have been a humdinger.

Margaret thinks about the captured convoy, and Bart. She has found herself in many delicate situations before, but nothing has quite prepared her for what to do here. She doesn’t know for sure that Bart was on the convoy; it’s just a gut feeling. However, her gut is nearly always right. Should she share her knowledge with Ava? With Kevin? With Kelley? If she’s wrong this time, she’ll never forgive herself. But if she’s right, everyone will hate her, despite the fact that she is merely the messenger.

She decides to say nothing. Once there is definitive news, military officials will contact Kelley.

“Mommy?” Ava says. “Are you real?”

“I’m real,” Margaret says.

She and Ava cling to each other and Margaret cries a little and Ava cries a little and Margaret can’t decide whether to feel heroic for being here or guilty for all the days she wasn’t here.

“I decided, since I couldn’t get you to Hawaii, that I would come here instead,” Margaret says. “I wanted to be with you.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Ava says.

“And look!” Margaret says. She points to the nightstand. “I brought your paper angel.”

“Let’s hope she really is magic,” Ava says.

“How are things with Nathaniel?” Margaret asks.

“He doesn’t love me,” Ava says.

Deep breath. This happens, Margaret knows. You can give birth to a beautiful, perfect human being, but requited love isn’t guaranteed for her-or for any of us.

Margaret wonders for a second if Drake is feeling anything this morning. Did she hurt him by canceling? Is he heartsick?

Margaret kisses the tip of Ava’s nose. “Should we go make coffee?” Margaret wants to see Kevin, and Kelley. “Your father doesn’t know I’m here. Nobody does. I’m basically a stowaway.”

Ava clings tighter. “Don’t get up yet. Stay just mine for now, please?”

Margaret relaxes, then nearly falls asleep. She is exhausted in every way, just as she is every Christmas-physically, mentally, emotionally. For the first time in 360 days, her laptop is uncharged in the front pocket of her carry-on. When she stepped off the plane the night before, she found the secretary of state and his wife waiting for her. Margaret felt flattered by this-not only because it was the secretary of state, but because John and Teresa are friends from way back. Margaret interviewed him during his first run for senator, in 1984, when she was a graduate student in communications at NYU.

The secretary said, “Where are you headed?”

She said, “The Winter Street Inn. My ex-husband, Kelley, owns it.”

He said, “That’s right, that’s right. My driver will take you.”

“Wonderful,” she said.

Margaret has nothing packed that is even remotely appropriate for Nantucket in December, and so she borrows a T-shirt and sweatpants from Ava and pulls on her own pink Chanel cardigan.

Ava says, “I’m going to sleep a little while longer. The kids aren’t here, so it doesn’t matter.”

“What happened with Patty?” Margaret asks.

Ava gives Margaret a look. “He got himself in trouble, I guess.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He’ll tell you himself,” Ava says. “He’s here.”

“He is? ” Margaret says, and before Ava even makes a face, Margaret knows she sounds like a starstruck teenager. It is a long-held family complaint that both Margaret and Kelley favor Patrick. Margaret vehemently denies this, although there is something special about Patrick. He was the first, obviously, and his whole life has been a clinic in How to Excel.

He got himself in trouble . What could this mean?

Margaret bends down and kisses her sleepy daughter’s forehead; then she heads out into the hallway to find the rest of her family.

She walks toward the kitchen and the smell of coffee. She’s nervous, almost like she’s doing something illegal. Every other time she’s been at the inn, she’s had to deal with Mitzi’s wrath.

But Mitzi isn’t here, Margaret reminds herself. If Mitzi were here, Margaret would be in Hawaii. Margaret wonders if any of the guests will pop their heads out of their rooms to find Margaret Quinn roaming the hallway. Her photo is bound to end up on Twitter.

In the great room, Margaret is greeted by the tree, under which lie mounds and mounds of presents. The battalion of Mitzi’s nutcrackers lines the mantel; Margaret has only been to the inn at Christmas once before, a dozen years earlier, but she remembers the nutcrackers well. Her favorite is the gardener nutcracker, with his rake, watering can, and green overalls. Margaret runs her hand over the slanted top of Ava’s grand piano, and then, unable to help herself, she lifts the lid off of a glass apothecary jar and pulls out a piece of green, white, and hot-pink striped ribbon candy and takes a lick.

When Margaret enters the kitchen, Kelley is by himself, drinking coffee at the counter. Margaret feels a rush of what must be love-the kind of love one feels for a brother, perhaps, or a long-lost best friend. She knows the man so well, better than she knows anyone else on earth, including her own children, and yet she hasn’t lived with him in more than two decades and has only seen him fleetingly when she’s come to visit Nantucket in August, and every one of those interactions was supervised by Mitzi.