minutes of her Christmas morning drinking tea in her bathrobe and talking to her mother. Only it’s mostly listening, as Charlotte Gibney goes through her usual litany of passive-aggressive complaints (Christmas alone, achy knees, bad back, etc., etc.), punctuated by long-suffering sighs. Finally Holly feels able, in good conscience, to end the call by telling Charlotte she will be there in a few days, and they’ll go see Uncle Henry together. She tells her mother that she loves her.
“I love you, too, Holly.” After another sigh that indicates such loving is hard, hard, she wishes her daughter a merry Christmas, and that part of the day is over.
The rest is more cheerful. She spends it with the Robinson family, happy to fall in with their traditions. There’s a light brunch at ten, followed by the exchange of gifts. Holly gives Mr. and Mrs. Robinson certificates for wine and books. For their children, she was happy to splurge a little more: a spa day (mani-pedi included) for Barbara, and wireless earbuds for Jerome.
She, in turn, is given not only a $300 gift card for the AMC 12 cinemas close to her, but a year’s subscription to Netflix. Like many deeply committed cineastes, Holly is conflicted about Netflix and has so far resisted it. (She loves her DVDs but firmly believes movies should first be seen on the big screen.) Still, she has to admit she’s been sorely tempted by Netflix and all the other streaming platforms. So many new things, and all the time!
The Robinson household is normally gender-neutral and everyone-is-equal, but on Christmas afternoon there’s a reversion (perhaps out of nostalgia) to the sexual roles of the previous century. Which is to say, the women cook while the men watch basketball (with occasional trips to the kitchen for tastes of this and that). As they sit down to an equally traditional holiday dinner—turkey with all the trimmings and two kinds of pie for dessert—it begins to snow.
“Could we join hands?” Mr. Robinson asks.
They do.
“Lord, bless the food we are about to receive from your bounty. Thank you for this time together. Thank you for family and friends. Amen.”
“Wait,” Tanya Robinson says. “That’s not enough. Lord, thank you so much that neither of my beautiful children was badly hurt by the man who attacked them. It would break my heart if they weren’t at this table with us. Amen.”
Holly feels Barbara’s hand tighten on hers, and hears a faint sound from the girl’s throat. Something that might have been a cry, had it been set free.
“Now everyone has to tell one thing they’re grateful for,” Mr. Robinson says.
They go around the table. When it’s Holly’s turn, she says she’s grateful to be with the Robinsons.
2
Barbara and Holly try to help with the washing-up, but Tanya shoos them out of the kitchen, telling them to “do something Christmassy.”
Holly suggests a walk. Maybe to the bottom of the hill, maybe all the way around the block. “It will be pretty in the snow,” she says.
Barbara’s up for it. Mrs. Robinson tells them to get back by seven, because they’re going to watch A Christmas Carol. Holly hopes it will be the one with Alastair Sim, which in her opinion is the only one worth watching.
It’s not just pretty outside; it’s beautiful. They are the only ones on the sidewalk, their boots crunching in two inches of new-fallen powder. Streetlights and Christmas lights are surrounded by swirling halos. Holly sticks out her tongue to catch some flakes, and Barbara does the same. It makes them both laugh, but when they reach the bottom of the hill and Barbara turns to her, she’s solemn.
“All right,” she says. “It’s just the two of us. Why are we out here, Hols? What did you want to ask?”
“Just how you’re doing with it,” Holly says. “Jerome I don’t worry about. He got clobbered, but he didn’t see what you did.”
Barbara takes a shuddering breath. Because of the snow melting on her cheeks, Holly can’t tell if she’s crying. Crying might be good. Tears can be healing.
“It’s not that so much,” she says at last. “The way he changed, I mean. The way his head seemed to turn to jelly. It was horrible, sure, and it opens the gates . . . you know . . .” She puts her mittened hands to her temples. “The gates in here?”
Holly nods.
“You realize anything could be out there.”
“See ye devils, then shall ye not see angels?” Holly says.