Page 29 of Winter Solstice
“I love you, Mitzi,” Ava says. A lump presents in her throat. Has she ever told Mitzi this before? “You’re our… well, you’re not our biological mother, but you’ve been another mother, one we didn’t always appreciate like we should have.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Mitzi says. “I love you and your brothers. I always have. Even when we were battling, I always loved you like you were my own.”
Ava sees headlights coming down New South Road; the taxi is approaching. “So what should I do about PJ?”
“In the words of Bob Dylan,” Mitzi says, “‘Keep on keepin’ on.’ Be yourself. Don’t spoil him or flatter him. Just treat him with love and respect and kindness. Let him feel that he can trust you. Let him understand that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re his ally even when he treats you like an enemy. You have a great advantage.”
“I do?” Ava says.
“Yes,” Mitzi says. “You’re the adult.” She smiles as the taxi pulls up. “And who knows, maybe twenty or twenty-five years from now, PJ will be askingyouradvice.”
“Maybe,” Ava says. The idea of twenty-seven-year-old PJ coming to Ava for advice is preposterous—but not impossible. Mitzi holds the door to the taxi open, and Ava slides in.
She smiles at the taxi driver. She feels much better. Sheisthe adult! She, like Mitzi, will keep on keepin’ on.
“Winter Street, please,” she says.
PART TWO
NOVEMBER
JENNIFER
To meet Norah for coffee, Jennifer had to lie to Patrick. Meaning she has to continue to lie to Patrick.
She said, “I need to go to the Nantucket Sewing Center when it opens tomorrow. They carry a fabric I want to use…” She nearly saidin Grayson Coker’s penthouse,but she stopped short of that treachery. Patrick will assume it’s for the penthouse, however, because what else would it be for?
“Cool,” Patrick said. “What time does it open?”
Jennifer swallowed. “Eight thirty. I should be back in an hour.”
“Great,” Patrick said. “That’ll give me time to visit with Dad before we leave.”
He’s not suspicious at all, Jennifer thinks. Somehow, the fact that he wholeheartedly believes her makes her feel worse. He thinks her addiction is a thing of the past. He believes she’s honest, forthcoming, transparent. His faith in her is almost more than Jennifer can bear.
Norah is at the Hub waiting for Jennifer, which is a relief, but what isnota relief is that Norah isn’t alone. There’s a man with her, a man about Jennifer’s age with tattoos on his neck and his forearms. He has jet-black hair, longish though not unkempt, and he’s wearing jeans, a gray cashmere sweater pushed up on his arms to display the aforementioned tattoos, and a pair of white Converse high-tops. Is he a hipster or a drug lord? Jennifer can’t tell.
Jennifer checks his wrist for a watch. He’s not wearing a watch, but he sports some fairly nice bracelets—John Hardy silver bangles, if Jennifer had to guess, and one black cord bracelet with a silver and rhinestone skull. He looks at Jennifer and smiles. His teeth are straight and white. He looks friendly. There’s something about his face that’s familiar. Does she know this guy?
“Jennifer, hey!” Norah says. Norah, too, looks hip and stylish. She’s in a black turtleneck, skinny jeans, and Black Watch plaid ballet flats, and she’s wearing a fabulous pair of shoulder dusters that are a cascade of intertwining gold circles. Norah’s hair is cut in an asymmetrical bob, and her makeup is subtle. Norah Vale has never looked so good.
“Norah, hi,” Jennifer says. She isn’t sure how to greet her former sister-in-law–slash–drug dealer. A handshake seems too formal, a hug too intimate. Jennifer settles on an air kiss.
“Can I get you a latte?” Norah asks.
“I’m drinking a matcha,” the man with the bracelets says.
Latte? Matcha? Jennifer gets the distinct feeling that this meeting is not what she expected, and she feels a piercing disappointment. Ativan, she needs Ativan!
“Uh… just coffee,” Jennifer says, feeling suddenly middle aged and fuddy-duddy. “Regular American coffee.”
Norah orders while Jennifer sneaks another look at the man who’s with Norah. Maybe this is Norah’s boyfriend?
The man catches Jennifer’s eye and offers his hand. “You might not remember me? I’m Danko Vale, Norah’s brother. We met… oh, I don’t know… at one of the Quinn family functions years ago.”
“Okay, wait,” Jennifer says, because now that she is looking at the guy full-on, she nearly has it, a memory with him attached. Norah’s brother Danko. Norah, Jennifer recalls, grew up in a bizarre family situation. Lots of brothers, only one of them her full biological brother, and not the one everyone expected. Jennifer tugs at the memory like it’s a stubborn knot. Danko Vale. He’s the tattoo artist, the one who talked Norah into the godforsaken python on her neck. Yes! And… he’s the oldest brother, Norah’s full brother, because the mother reunited with Danko’s father after having three boys by other men, and she got pregnant with Norah.
And… wait! Yes! Jenniferhasmet Danko before, but not at a Quinn family function. Jennifer and Patrick were up at Great Point in the Land Rover they owned before they bought the BMW, and Patrick got the Rover stuck in the sand. Danko Vale rolled up in a black Jeep. He was brown from the sun, wearing black swim trunks and a red bandana over his head, and with all the tattoos, he resembled nothing so much as a pirate. Patrick was wary at his approach, butthen Danko introduced himself and there was an aha momentas Patrick realized he was Norah’s brother, the one who had given Norah away when Norah and Kevin got married. It was a tad awkward, since Norah and Kevin were at thatpoint in a period of split-up-but-still-kind-of-together—however, Danko was a perfect gentleman, not to mention a lifesaver, as he produced a towrope and freed the Land Rover from the soft sand. Patrick, Jennifer remembers, offered Danko forty bucks, but Danko waved the money away, saying, “Nah, man, anything for family.”
