Winter Solstice (Winter #4)(75)

When Patrick comes out, he says, “It’s your turn, Mom.”

Margaret didn’t think she would take a turn. It seems selfish and maybe even improper. Mitzi is in the room, at Kelley’s bedside, where she should be. She’s his wife. Margaret is… who is Margaret to Kelley anymore? His former wife? The mother of his three older children?

His best friend, she thinks. She has known him longer than anyone.

Drake appears beside her. The Monopoly game must have finally ended. As if reading the indecision on Margaret’s face, Drake says, “Go in and say good-bye. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Margaret nods. He’s right, of course. She cracks open the door and sees Mitzi standing by the bed, holding Kelley’s hand, staring lovingly at his face.

“Is he awake?” Margaret asks. “Or…?”

Mitzi nods and beckons Margaret forward.

“He asked for you,” Mitzi says.

He did? Margaret thinks. Kelley can no longer speak, so it’s not likely he “asked” for Margaret, but Margaret is grateful for the lie, or the exaggeration, or the intuition. Maybe Mitzi feels that if Kelley could talk, he would ask to see Margaret. In some strange way, this whole story—the inn, the kids, even his marriage to Mitzi—started back in New York City on the day that Kelley and Margaret met.

Margaret leans down so that her voice is in Kelley’s ear.

“Hey there, old friend,” she says. “It’s Maggie. I just want to say…” Here, Margaret chokes up. She takes a moment to compose herself and squeezes Kelley’s hand. “I want to say thank you, Kelley Quinn. For all the years we had. For our three remarkable, miraculous children. And for your love. Because despite everything, there was always love.”

Kelley’s eyelids flutter.

Margaret kisses Kelley’s cheek, then she releases his hand. She backs up a step at a time, and she watches as Mitzi climbs into the hospital bed with Kelley and rests her head on his chest.

She’s going to hold him until he passes, Margaret thinks. It’s beautiful and right—but it’s also really, really sad. Tears flow silently down Margaret’s face.

Drake is standing in the open doorway, waiting for her. He puts an arm around her shoulder, but he knows not to rush her out. She looks into Drake’s eyes.

“I never thought it would end,” she says.

“I know,” Drake says.

But does he know? Margaret turns to take one last look at Kelley, but the person she sees in the bed is herself, in the moments after she gave birth to Patrick. The baby had just been laid on Margaret’s chest, and Kelley was next to her, both beaming and weeping.

“We have a son, Maggie,” he said. “A healthy baby boy.”

Margaret remembers how it felt to hold a newborn, the love expanding inside her until she was sure she would burst. Life seemed like a golden ribbon, unspooling into eternity. They were parents. It was all just beginning.

“Come to bed,” Drake says.

“Yes,” Margaret says. “Okay.” She knows it’s the right thing to do. She follows Drake out into the hallway and closes the door behind her, leaving Kelley and Mitzi in peace.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Here is the true and crazy story of the Winter Street series.

In the summer of 2013, the folks at Little, Brown called to say they had had a book fall off their holiday list and they wondered if I could write a Christmas book in four weeks. At that time, I was in the middle of writing The Matchmaker, which, as some of you know, is an emotionally wrenching novel, and not wanting to get distracted, I said no. I was intrigued, however, by the idea of a Christmas novel, and so I assured them that I would write one the following year. I came up with an idea for a Christmas trilogy, set at an inn, featuring a blended family with a lot of issues. (A lot of issues.) I wanted to title the first book in this trilogy Christmas with the Quinns.

Not only did no one at Little, Brown love my title, they weren’t keen on the idea of a trilogy. I couldn’t blame them: I was an unproven quantity in the holiday market, and they wanted to test the waters to see how a Christmas novel written by the “queen of the summer read” would sell. I handed in a manuscript for Winter Street (which is an actual street on Nantucket, although there is no inn and I’m fairly certain the real residents of the real Winter Street now have people peering in their windows. Sorry!), but I had intentionally given it a cliffhanger ending. And voilà! A contract for two more books appeared.

The ultimate irony took place in the summer of 2016 when my editor, Reagan Arthur, called to ask if I would be willing to write a fourth Winter Street book. A fourth book in the trilogy? I felt I had tied everything up at the end of Winter Storms, but after I gave it some careful consideration, I realized I could write a “double sequel” and include some of the characters from The Rumor and weave their stories together.

And so, we have my editor, Reagan Arthur, to thank for this book, which was, in the end, a pure joy to write. I have dedicated this novel to her not only because she is responsible for its existence but also because she is the secret of my success. This is the fifteenth novel I have done with Reagan as my editor. Her sensibility is the one I hold in the highest regard; her opinion is the one I consider above all others. She is always right, and the past fifteen novels of mine have been made better—so much better!—because of the platinum standard of her editing.