Winter Solstice Read online

  “Come in?” Ava says.

  Margaret pokes her head in. “Ava, sweetie?”

  Ava starts to cry. Kelley must be awake, and they’ve agreed they will go see him in reverse order of birth. Bart first, then Ava, then Kevin, then Patrick. See him, however, is merely a euphemism for say good-bye, and Ava can’t say good-bye to her father.

  She just can’t.

  “Mommy?” Ava says. Margaret is a competent, strong woman; she is a fixer. She needs to fix this. Let’s go back, Ava thinks. Back to Ava’s first memory of Kelley, of her parents together. She was three or four years old. Kelley came home from work and Margaret embraced him. They were kissing, and Ava made a tunnel of their legs and crawled through.

  “There’s someone here for you,” Margaret says. “Can you come out, please?”

  Someone here for her? Scott! Ugh! Margaret wasn’t in the kitchen when Ava said she didn’t want to be disturbed, and for whatever reason, Margaret has always been a fan of Scott.

  “I don’t want to,” Ava grumbles.

  “Oh, I think you do,” Margaret says.

  Dutifully, Ava gets to her feet and follows Margaret down the hall.

  The living room is empty. Everyone is in the kitchen; from the sound of things, Ava’s nephew Barrett is going bankrupt.

  And then Ava sees Potter, standing over by the Christmas tree. He gets down on one knee and holds out a velvet box, in which is nestled a diamond ring.

  “Ava Quinn,” he says. “Will you marry me?”

  When the time comes, an hour later, for Ava to go in and see her father, she does so alone, with the ring on her left hand.

  She sits in the chair next to Kelley’s bed. Kelley’s eyes are open, but Ava knows he can’t see anymore. Mitzi is on the other side of the bed, holding Kelley’s hand.

  “It’s Ava, honey,” Mitzi says. “Ava is here. She has something to tell you.”

  “I’m getting married, Daddy,” Ava says. “Potter asked me to marry him, and I said yes.” Ava holds Kelley’s other hand and tries not to think about walking down the aisle without this man at her side. She gets to have this moment with him; she gets to tell him the news. She is grateful for this, so grateful.

  Kelley makes a sound. Maybe it’s a breath or a sigh, Ava thinks, but maybe he’s trying to speak.

  I’m so happy for you, Ava. My little girl.

  “I love you, Daddy,” Ava says.

  She squeezes his hand, and a trace of a smile crosses Kelley’s lips.

  MARGARET

  Time remains a mystery to Margaret. A game of Monopoly can consume an afternoon, and an hour on the treadmill seems like forever. But a lifetime passes in an instant.

  On Thursday evening Lara, the hospice nurse, comes into the kitchen.

  “It won’t be long now,” she says.

  Margaret stands in the hallway outside of Kelley’s room as first Bart, then Ava, then Kevin, and finally Patrick go in to say good-bye to their father. Margaret has witnessed all kinds of difficult things in her life, but nothing quite as difficult as seeing her grown children crying when they emerge from the room.

  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 A
rthur, 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.

  I will confide here that my favorite character has always been Margaret Quinn and that my inspiration for her is/was the guilt that I myself feel because my career requires me to spend so much time away from my children. I, like Margaret, have two boys and a girl. It is the plight of working mothers everywhere, I suppose, to try and do two jobs at once. I decided that one way to make myself feel better was to make Margaret a hero; in the first novel, Winter Street, she saves the day. Hopefully, I have also conveyed her humanity so that every working mother can see a bit of herself in Margaret.

  As always, I want to thank my family and my friends-who-are-like-family: you know who you are (after so many books, everyone else knows who you are, too!). Of special note is my darling pal Elizabeth Almodobar, who shared the Nantucket real estate stories that got my imagination fired up.

  I wrote two thirds of this novel on the island of St. John USVI, a second island which has become not only home to me but also a sanctuary. For those of you who are lamenting the end of the Winter Street series, I have (possibly) happy news. I will write a new trilogy set on the island of St. John coming to you in the fall/winter of 2018. I only hope I can do justice to that breathtaking island and all of the fascinating people who live there.

  Thank you to all of my fans and devoted readers who have followed along with the Quinns the past few years. Some of you have said you love these novels best of all my work, and in some sense, I do as well. The Quinns will always be dear to me, and they will live on in my mind and in my heart.

  In closing, I would like to thank my children: Maxwell, Dawson, and Shelby. The older you get, the more you amaze me with your talents, your gifts, and your innate kindness. How did I get so lucky? Being your mother is an honor. You make every day feel like Christmas. (Okay, nearly every day.) I love you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Elin Hilderbrand, the mother of three 3-sport athletes, is an aspiring fashionista, a dedicated jogger, a world explorer, an enthusiastic foodie, and a grateful three-year breast cancer survivor. She has called Nantucket Island her home since 1994. Winter Solstice is her twentieth novel.

  elinhilderbrand.net

  mamastrong.net

  @ElinHilderbrand

  ElinHilderbrand

  ALSO BY ELIN HILDERBRAND

  The Beach Club

  Nantucket Nights

  Summer People

  The Blue Bistro

  The Love Season

  Barefoot

  A Summer Affair

  The Castaways

  The Island

  Silver Girl

  Summerland

  Beautiful Day

  The Matchmaker

  Winter Street

  The Rumor

  Winter Stroll

  Here’s to Us

  Winter Storms

  The Identicals

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