After finishing their pancakes, Rowan unpacks the decorations Jake carried down, and he dispatches Mick to get the other box of Christmas lights from the attic, which—-predictably—-results in a flash--fire argument.
As she unwraps the snow globe the kids chipped in and bought her years ago at Vernon’s Apothecary, she can hear Mick stomping around the attic and Jake stomping around the kitchen. She winds the key in the bottom of the snow globe to hear its tinkling rendition of “Winter Wonderland.”
Jake sticks his head in. “I’m going to walk Doofus. Tell Mick not to disappear. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
“Why don’t you tell him?”
“Because every time I tell him anything he gives me an argument.”
When Mick comes down carrying more boxes, she relays the message, and adds, “Can you please try to get along with your dad? For me?”
“I try, but he always yells at me.”
“He says the same thing about you. Try harder.”
She heads into the living room to hang five stockings by the fireplace and arrange the porcelain crèche on the mantel, shoving aside a bunch of framed family photos to make room. She should probably put them away until January, but she likes to look at them.
A few minutes later, she hears Mick and Jake laughing good--naturedly about something as they head outside together.
Leaving the rest of the decorations in the hall, she goes straight to her study, closes the door, and dials her sister’s cell phone number.
Now, as before, it rings a few times and goes into voice mail.
“Hey, it’s me again. I hope everything is okay there. Listen, I need you to call me back, okay? It’s kind of important. Call my cell.”
She dials Noreen’s home phone and is relieved when someone picks it up on the first ring. It’s her niece, Sabrina.
“Oh, hi, Aunt Ro.”
“How are you, kiddo?”
“Good, but I thought you might be my friend’s mom calling. She’s supposed to pick me up for tennis and we’re late.”
“Tennis? In December?”
“I play at the club.”
Club—-as in the North Shore country club Noreen and Kevin joined years ago, which didn’t thrill Dad when he found out.
He’d long disapproved of Hudson Chase, the local country club, which for years wouldn’t consider Irish Catholics, among others, for membership. “You can bet your sweet keister that changed when JFK got into the White House,” Dad used to say. “And do you think I joined that country club after I was allowed to?”
“No way!” Rowan would shout on cue as a child, as Noreen just rolled her eyes.
“My ride is here,” Sabrina blurts into the phone. “I’ve gotta go!”
“Wait! Is your mom home?”
“She went to church but it must be over by now. Call her cell.”
“I tried. She didn’t—-”
“I have to go. See you, Aunt Ro.”
“Bye, sweetie,” Rowan says to the dial tone.
She can see Jake and Mick through the window. They appear to be arguing again, both gesturing wildly at a tangled light string on the ground.
She sighs, wishing Braden were here. Her even--tempered firstborn has always been the buffer between frustrated Jake and hotheaded Mick.
Aware that either her husband or son might come stomping into the house any second, Rowan quickly dials Noreen’s cell again.
The phone rings several times and then goes into voice mail.
Maybe she put it on silent mode during Mass and forgot to turn on the volume afterward. But even if she did that, she’d probably have it on vibration mode.
Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you.
But why wouldn’t she?
She doesn’t know why I’m calling.
Or does she?
Frustrated, Rowan hangs up without leaving yet another message. She doesn’t want to text or e--mail her. Putting it into writing would mean risking that somebody else might see it and ask questions.
The house is quiet, other than the occasional jingle from Doofus’s dog tags as he changes nap positions in the next room. Outside, the rain has stopped, though the wind continues to blow.