saw her bedroom through the open door. It looked like a summer garden, and he was startled.
“You changed our bedroom?” He said it like a child who discovered his parents had sold the house and didn’t tell him.
“Yes, I did. It was looking tired,” she said by way of excuse but didn’t need one. He knew why she had done it. They both did. It cut through him like a knife, and reminded him of how deeply he had hurt her. She couldn’t even live with their furniture after what he’d done.
“It looks very fancy.” He could see into the room and that there was a canopied bed, pretty fabrics, and entirely different furniture. “Very girly,” he commented, and she laughed. “What did you do with the old stuff? I liked it.”
“I got rid of it. It’s nice having a fresh look. I have a desk in my room now, so I can work and the kids don’t have to be quiet in the living room. And I had built-ins put in the closet.” She was proud of what she’d done. She’d used a closet expert, and consulted a mother from school who was a decorator. She had helped her get the fabrics at a discount. She’d done the rest herself.
“It’s nice,” he said, not knowing what else to say. It had dragged his transgression right up into their faces on Christmas morning. He wondered if she had just sent all their old furniture to the city dump. She had wanted to, and him along with it.
They went to find the children then, they had finished breakfast and were talking quietly, wondering what their parents were saying, and careful not to interrupt them.
“Mom got you a present,” Billy announced when they walked in.
“I know, it’s a gorgeous sweater. I can wear it in Tahoe.” He smiled at her and she looked relaxed. It was easier having Peter in the house than she’d expected. It felt almost normal.
“That was nice of her,” Billy added.
“Yes, it was,” Peter agreed, and both children stood up. “We’d better be going.” They went to get their backpacks, and he got their suitcases and carried them to the car. He noticed that their bedrooms hadn’t changed, only their mother’s.
They put on their jackets and she hugged them, and then Peter and Caroline looked at each other, and didn’t know what to say.
“Merry Christmas,” she said again, sounding cheerful.
“Thank you for the sweater,” he said, and kissed her cheek again, and then they walked out to his car, got in and she waved as they drove away. Caroline stood in the doorway with a lump in her throat, smiling and trying not to cry. She closed the door behind her, and felt as if someone had sucked the air out of the house. The life went out of it the minute they left. It was going to be a lonely Christmas Day without the children, but this was what they had agreed to. She went out to the kitchen and rinsed their dishes, and then she went to her desk in her new bedroom, pulled out her manuscript, and sat down to work, trying to see the words through her tears. It wasn’t a very merry Christmas. Suddenly all she could think of were the happy times she and Peter had shared for so many years, and for the first time in six months, she really missed him.
* * *
—
On Christmas Day, the cast and crew had been in Africa for ten days. They’d started shooting a week earlier, and agreed to take two days off for Christmas. They’d had a nice dinner the night before, and sang Christmas carols, and some of them had lovely voices. They admitted the next day that they’d had way too much to drink. Gemma tried to call Caroline and Kate on Skype, but couldn’t get through. The connection was terrible where they were. There had been years when she hadn’t bothered to call them on Christmas, but this year was different. There had been losses, and gains, and changes in their lives, and she felt a need to reach out to them and hear their voices. And she wanted to tell them about the wonders she’d seen since she’d been there. The animals were as amazing as Rufus had promised.
They all spent a lazy day, somewhat hung over, and that night, they all agreed to dress for dinner. They put on the best things they had brought,