The Holdens, when they finally do get around to decorating, won’t use the local florist ser-vice to hang their greens and set up their lights, unlike every other house here. They probably won’t dare to set up an enormous blow--up snowman, as some of the neighbors irrationally fear, but there will be a crèche on the lawn and they’ll use strings of bright--colored bulbs, each as much an abomination in this up--market neighborhood as their absence would have been in Noreen’s hometown years ago.
Growing up in her parents’ well--worn Dutch Colonial in a village that had seen better days, she always envisioned a different sort of future for herself, and one very much like the life she now lives: transported to a classy New York City suburb, married with children and a career and enough money that she’s never had to make a week’s worth of groceries last a month the way her mother sometimes did.
Mom never seemed to mind, though. And she gladly went back to work as a teacher at the parochial school when Rowan started first grade, though her paycheck barely covered gas money to get there, Dad often pointed out with a laugh. Mom always responded that she loved being back in a classroom so much she’d do it for free.
Whenever autumn rolled around, Dad supplemented his insurance salesman’s paychecks working weekends at the local hardware store so that Santa Claus could pay his annual visit in December. Christmas gifts were one of the few things that were never in short supply in the Carmichael household.
And love—-there was always plenty of love to go around.
We just didn’t appreciate it then.
Pulling into the large circular driveway in front of her house, Noreen briefly considers leaving the car parked by the door, but quickly decides against it. Having survived the chaotic Carmichael household, she thrives on domestic orderliness: everything in its proper place. Not to mention everyone—-though that particular objective has been elusive of late.
Opting to exercise control wherever she still can, she pulls around into the four--car garage, even though she has to leave again shortly to deliver the kids from their lessons to a sports practice and a birthday party.
Kevin’s work at an understaffed, overburdened inner city hospital keeps him away for days at a time. Their eldest, Sean, is enrolled at Notre Dame University but spending a semester abroad in Paris. High schooler Shannon is away this weekend at a debate team tournament. That leaves just Noreen to shuttle the others, Sabrina and Samantha, from one weekend activity to another.
She’d willingly traded her commute to a large Manhattan law firm specializing in CEO and celebrity divorces for motherhood and a local practice in Garden City. Her work is mostly confined to weekdays so that she can be here whenever her kids are—-which is not as often as it used to be. They’re growing up, busy with their own lives.
She presses the alarm keypad and lets herself into the house. Her heeled boots tap hollowly across the hardwoods, accompanied by the steady hum of the housekeeper, Luz, running the vacuum upstairs.
In the marble--tiled foyer, she takes off her coat and hangs it in the cedar--lined closet. The woodsy fragrance mingles with the scent of furniture polish, this morning’s coffee, and the fresh evergreen garland draped along the curving banister and hall balcony above.
Next weekend, the florist who decorated the house inside and out will bring in a pair of fresh--cut ten--foot balsam firs. They’ll be elegantly trimmed with white lights and Waterford ornaments and velvet bows: one in ice blue to complement the living room decor, the other in maroon to match the great room. Right before Christmas, one more tree will be delivered, this time to the beach house in Southampton where the Chapmans always spend the holiday itself.
This year . . .
This year might be different.
When the time comes, though, she’ll take it in stride just as she has everything else, just as she’s always taught her kids to do. Change is never all bad any more than it’s all good.
She closes the closet door and finds herself looking into the full--length mirror remembering her son’s high school graduation day. As he stood in this spot checking his reflection and adjusting his cap and gown, she stood by with a camera, wondering where the years had gone and wondering where Kevin had gone, wondering why he never seemed to be here when he should have been.