Elin Hilderbrand - Winter Street

Kelley hadn’t wanted to give Bart the Jeep, but Mitzi insisted. She believed that if Bart was given something he really loved and treasured, he would take care of it, thereby learning an important lesson about responsibility.

Bart drove the Jeep into Miacomet Pond in June, and the water was brackish enough that the engine block seized.

Totaled.

Then, five months later, he did the number on Kelley and Mitzi’s LR3, busting a hole in the airport fence and breaking his best friend’s leg.

No wonder Kelley is going broke.

How can Mitzi possibly argue that Bart did not need the Marines?

The Christmas of the Jeep-two years earlier-Patrick, Kevin, and Ava gave Kelley and Mitzi the silent treatment all throughout Christmas dinner, leaving poor Jennifer to make chitchat with Mitzi, Kelley, and Bart. Oh, and George, Kelley remembers now; of course George was there. They all ate the goose Mitzi had prepared, which had been unusually stringy that year.

Kelley doesn’t want to dwell on the less-than-stellar Christmases of the past; nor does he want to beat himself up for his parenting mistakes. What parent doesn’t screw up every once in a while?

Patrick gets a tie and a biography of Alexander Hamilton.

Kevin gets a series of boxes within boxes that ends in an envelope of cash-five hundred dollars (in years past it has been a thousand dollars, but Kelley can only do what he can do)-and everyone laughs because this trick, presents nested like Russian dolls, is tradition. It’s followed by the requisite remembering of the year Kevin gave Patrick a box of extra-large condoms and Ava, only eleven years old at the time, didn’t know what they were.

Then it’s Kelley’s turn to open his gift from Margaret. It’s a small box; he knows what it is, as she gets him the same thing every year. In previous years, he’s opened his gift from Margaret privately, all by himself in the quiet of his bedroom, while Mitzi was busy with other things (busy with George, Kelley now realizes), because Mitzi does not appreciate that Margaret still sends him a gift.

“What can it be?” Kelley asks, and Margaret gives her low, throaty chuckle, known to all her faithful viewers.

It’s a beautifully tied fly, even more gorgeous than the ones from the past. Margaret once interviewed the foremost saltwater fly fisherman in the world; he lives in Islamorada, and now this guy makes one fly a year for Kelley. The fly is to go with the fly-fishing rod that Margaret bought for Kelley the last Christmas they were still together, back when they vowed to spend less time at work and more time having fun. Kelley had gotten Margaret a mask, fins, and snorkel, which he is certain she has never used, just as he has never used his fly-fishing rod.

But wait.

Not true.

He actually did use the rod once, on a warm, still day in September sixteen or seventeen years earlier, but he caught such hell from Mitzi about taking an entire afternoon to himself when they had a three-year-old and an inn under construction that Kelley never went fly-fishing again. Blissfully unaware of this, Margaret keeps giving him a fly every Christmas; he has a box of them in the back of his sock drawer. When viewed together, they are as colorful and exquisite as the crown jewels.

“Thank you,” Kelley says, and he leans over to kiss Margaret chastely, as everyone is watching.

Maybe in his retirement: fly-fishing.

Ava gets a sweater.

Patrick gets another tie.

Kevin gets new running shoes.

Kelley gets a whisk and a new potato peeler of good, sturdy Danish design.

Margaret has an envelope to open that is from “the kids” (meaning Ava procured it, Patrick paid for it, and Kevin signed his name to the card). It’s two tickets to see The Book of Mormon, tenth-row orchestra seats. Margaret claps her hands with delight and kisses each of the kids, and Isabelle too, and thanks them a dozen times.

“You do know you’re impossible to buy for,” Ava says.

Margaret beams. “This is just the perfect gift. And Saturday night- primo marveloso! ” She really does look as happy-well, as happy as a kid on Christmas, even though she can go to any Broadway show on opening night and sit in the front row center.

“Who will you take with you?” Kelley asks.

Margaret shrugs. “Probably Drake, if he’s still speaking to me.”

“Drake?” Kelley says. He feels a pinch of jealousy. “Who’s Drake?”

“Friend of mine,” she says. “Pediatric brain surgeon at Sloan Kettering.”

“Slacker,” Kelley says.

Ava opens a sweater.

Kevin opens a subscription to Sports Illustrated.

Patrick opens another tie.

By the end of the morning, the pitcher of Golden Dreams is gone and the plate of muffins has been devoured. Ava plays some good, old-fashioned religious carols on the piano, and they all sing “O Holy Night,” “We Three Kings,” “The First Noel,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Margaret has a rich alto that blends beautifully with Isabelle’s clear soprano. Patrick is the strongest of the men. Together they sound pretty good, Kelley thinks. Or maybe he’s just had one too many Golden Dreams.

“Play ‘Silent Night,’ ” Kelley says.

“I will later,” Ava says. “Right now, Mommy and I have to cook.”

Margaret and Ava go back to the kitchen to prepare the standing rib roast, and Isabelle and Kevin snuggle up on the sofa. Patrick is subdued; he plops into the big armchair and starts reading the biography of Alexander Hamilton that Kelley got him. Patrick checks his phone every time he turns the page. Kelley is sure he’s waiting for Jen to call. It’s Christmas-she will call, right? No matter what Patty has done, a man deserves to talk to his children on Christmas.

This gets Kelley thinking about Bart, which threatens his good mood. He sits in front of the fire. Bart has only been out of communication for six days, and what else would Kelley expect? He’s fighting a war in Afghanistan . Still, Kelley worries. Bart is nineteen, a child still; he’s only been shaving for four years and driving for two. He has done drugs and deflowered virgins and seen the band Kings of Leon something like fifteen times, but he is by no means worldly.

Where are you, Bart? Kelley wonders. What are you doing?

Thinking about Bart leads Kelley to thinking about Mitzi. What is she doing this Christmas? Does she miss Kelley? Miss the other kids? Miss the inn? Miss her nutcrackers? Miss her carolers? There are at least half a dozen presents for her under the tree from Kelley: the Eileen Fisher sweater she asked for, a platter shaped like a scallop shell, a pair of Alexis Bittar earrings, a gift certificate for a manicure and pedicure, and this year’s ornament-a silver ring containing a needlepoint replica of the Winter Street Inn, exact down to the flower boxes and pineapple door knocker. None of the gifts are extravagant-he doesn’t really have the money anymore to be extravagant-but they’re thoughtful. He knows that all Mitzi really wants for Christmas is for Bart to be safe.

He decides, for several reasons, to call her-the most convincing reason is that it feels like the right thing to do. It’s Christmas, and she’s his wife.

My love feeds on your love, beloved.

He will never stop loving her. He thinks of Mitzi wearing a peach dress at his brother’s funeral, Mitzi lying in the bath with her hair piled on top of her head, curled tendrils framing her face.

He dials her cell phone, figuring he’ll end up leaving a message-she’s terrible when it comes to answering her cell phone-but she picks up on the first ring.

“Kelley?”