By the time Drake gets home from the hospital that night, Margaret has made two pans of Jiffy Pop, which when combined with two bags of cranberries, yielded thirty feet of garland. She poked herself with the needle innumerable times, but the garland looks just as it is supposed to. Margaret has Johnny Mathis carols playing, and for supper she has made a pot of cheese fondue! Not only did she carefully melt the Gruyère, Emmenthaler, wine, and kirsch, she also cubed and toasted a baguette and sliced up summer sausage for dipping. The recipe for fondue was also on Martha’s website. It suggested drinking a crisp Riesling, as the dryness of the wine offsets the richness of the fondue.
“Look!” Margaret says as she hands Drake a chilled glass of Riesling. “I made garland. And I bought ornaments! We can decorate the tree, then eat.”
“I can’t believe this,” Drake says. “You were so productive today.”
“Wasn’t I?” Margaret says. It’s astonishing how much one can accomplish when one doesn’t have to work. And Margaret didn’t check the news all day, not even once.
Margaret dedicates the next few days to shopping for her kids and grandkids, for Mitzi, for Kelley, and for Drake. In years past Margaret had her assistant, Darcy, pick out everyone’s gifts, but it’s so much more fun to do it herself. She is in the spirit!
On Friday afternoon Margaret goes gown shopping with Ava at Bergdorf’s. Margaret doesn’t say this out loud, but she hopes it’s only a matter of time before they’re shopping for a wedding dress.
Over the weekend Margaret turns her vision outward. Saturday afternoon she sits in a warehouse on the Lower East Side of Manhattan for four hours and wraps presents for Toys for Tots. Margaret herself donated nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of toys, but when she sees the list of children who wouldn’t get anything for Christmas were it not for this worthy program, she nearly cries. There are pages and pages of names.
Ezekiel, age six.
Marco, age nine.
Patrick, age ten. There’s a Patrick, Margaret thinks. And there’s probably also a Kevin and an Ava, children like her own, children who will now find something beautifully wrapped under the tree.
Margaret has never learned how to properly wrap a present, and so she serves as tape maiden to a wrapper named Nell for the first hour. Then Nell takes mercy on Margaret and gives her a quick wrapping tutorial.
Margaret spends Sunday morning telling Drake how wonderful it felt to actually do some good.
“I wasn’t sitting at a ten-thousand-dollar table eating rubber chicken at a charity benefit,” she says. “It was real. I was wrapping presents for Ezekiel and Marco and Patrick. I think I’m going to find a soup kitchen next.”
“Why don’t you come to the hospital and read to the kids?” Drake says. “I’ll let them know tomorrow, and you can plan to come on Tuesday. I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but you have a lovely speaking voice.”
“Yes!” Margaret says. She can’t believe she never thought of this before! She’ll go to Books of Wonder, buy some Christmas storybooks, and read them to the children on the pediatric oncology ward at Sloan Kettering.
Tuesday is one of the most memorable days of Margaret’s life. She brings four picture books to the children’s cancer ward. Two are Toot & Puddle Christmas books by Holly Hobbie. Toot and Puddle are pigs who live in a place called Woodcock Pocket. Toot is an adventurous pig, and Puddle is a homebody. They are best friends, kind of like Ernie and Bert. Margaret has been a fan of these books since Barrett, her oldest grandson, was small. She loves the art, the quaintness of life at Woodcock Pocket, and the inherent kindness and good judgment displayed by Toot and Puddle.
Margaret has also brought Olivia Helps with Christmas—another pig! This one is female and headstrong. The Olivia books were written and illustrated by Ian Falconer, who is also one of Margaret’s favorite cartoonists for the New Yorker. And the last book is ’Twas the Fright Before Christmas, which is a brilliant amalgam of Halloween and Christmas, told in clever rhyme.
Only five children are well enough to come to story time: Hayden, Christopher, Madison, Jayquan, and Gladys.
Gladys? Margaret thinks. Gladys is five years old. Everything old is new again.
The children seem to like the stories—Fright is the big favorite, no surprise there—and Margaret marvels at how kids act like kids no matter how sick they are. Hayden, Madison, and Jayquan have lost their hair, and Gladys is hooked up to an IV. But they laugh and stand up to get a closer look at the pictures. Christo falls asleep, then wakes up with renewed energy.
After the stories Margaret meets the parents. They all want autographs and photos with Margaret. Jayquan’s mother, Aileen, says that she first saw Margaret reporting on September 11. Aileen was fourteen years old, a freshman at Benjamin Cardozo High School. On that day, Aileen says, Margaret became her hero.
Aileen is now Margaret’s hero. To have a child this sick is one of the greatest burdens a parent can bear. How do these parents do it? How do they endure? How do they keep upbeat, optimistic, smiling? How do they keep from breaking?
They do what they have to do, Margaret supposes. Her children were all healthy, but if one of them had been sick, Margaret would have made the necessary sacrifices. She would have done whatever it took to get her child well again. Margaret hugs Aileen extra tight and gives Aileen her personal e-mail address.
Drake meets Margaret just outside the ward. “Let me take you to dinner,” he says.
“No,” Margaret says. “I want to eat here.”
“Here?” Drake says. “At the hospital?”
Margaret isn’t sure how to explain it. She wants to stay at the hospital until she’s sure that her five new friends are asleep. If she could, she would like to tuck them all in. “Please?” she says.
“Okay,” Drake says. He leads Margaret down to the cafeteria. There is one artificial tree decorated with paper snowflakes, and one rather sad-looking menorah. They walk through the food line listening to piped-in Christmas music—Straight No Chaser singing “The Christmas Can-Can,” which Margaret thinks is catchy. Margaret gets a tuna fish sandwich and a bowl of vegetable soup, and Drake gets the chicken pot pie. They sit down at a table, and Margaret studies the other people eating, many of them with slumped shoulders and hollow eyes.
“How do you do it?” she asks Drake. “How do you keep from getting emotionally involved? How do you keep from falling in love with every single child?”
“It’s difficult,” Drake says. “But then I remind myself that they don’t need me to love them. They need me to be their doctor, to operate, to make them better.”
As Margaret processes this, her phone rings. She checks the display.
“It’s Mitzi,” Margaret tells Drake.
“Answer it,” he says.
But Margaret doesn’t want to answer it. There’s only one reason why Mitzi would be calling now, so late at night. It’s after nine.
Maybe Mitzi just wants gift ideas for the kids, Margaret thinks. That’s feasible.
“Answer it,” Drake says again.
“Hello?” Margaret says.
“Margaret,” Mitzi says. “We’re losing him.”
“No,” Margaret says. She closes her eyes. Lou Rawls sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” “No, Mitzi.”
“Dr. Cherith was just here. And Lara, the hospice nurse. They think he only has a couple of days left. He’s not going to make it to Christmas.”