A light snow still fell, but the wind had died down, lending the darkness a soft calming presence, like death at its most gentle and poetic. Perhaps two inches carpeted the ground and cloaked the yew hedges that lined the driveway. Maggie stumbled forward toward the west meadow, which had been set up as a parking lot for the occasion. Two more Yale boys stood there in hooded, insulated jumpsuits—provided by Maggie, of course—slapping their sides, stoically fending off the interminable boredom of their assignment.
“I’ve brought you something warm,” she said gravely, pouring them each a mug of cocoa, and herself some in the thermos cup.
“Why, jeez, thanks, yeah thanks, Ms. Darling,” they said.
“What are your names?”
“I’m Roger and this is Mark.”
“What do you want to do in life, Roger?”
“International law.”
“How about you, Mark?”
“Just regular law. You know, a lawyer.”
“Divorce?”
“Sure, why not?” Mark chortled. “Hey, this hot chocolate’s awesome.”
Through an awkward pause in which the young men couldn’t think what to say to their employer, who was herself apparently lost in thought, a Christmas carol could be heard thrumming inside the house. Janet Higgenbotham’s piercing soprano carried above the other voices. The great arched window of the ballroom glowed like an amber tombstone in the distance.
“Sounds like some party in there,” Roger observed.
“Oh, it’s been a most amusing night,” Maggie said. The leaden irony, which went right over the boys’ heads, choked Maggie like a wad of underchewed beef. The next moment car headlights cut through the gateposts of the fieldstone wall that hid the house from the prying eyes of passing motorists. The car proved to be a familiar black Saab, one that belonged to Kenneth once upon a time. It pulled into the meadow, stopping beside the three standing figures. Maggie’s son Hooper rolled down the window.
“What are you doing out here, Mom?”
“Entertaining the troops.”
“We decided not to go to Belize after all,” Hooper said.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Maggie said, riven by emotion. She reached inside the window and hugged Hooper’s beautiful blond head. Her tears left one whole side of his face damp.
“Gosh, get a hold of yourself, Mom,” he said. Just then, Maggie noticed a girl in the passenger seat. “Oh, this is Alison,” Hooper inserted, offhandedly. “Alison, my famous mom.”
“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” the young woman said with a flip of her hair. It was hard to see her face in the lights of the dashboard. She seemed pretty in an undergraduate way, but Maggie detected the gleam of metal in one nostril and her lower lip.
“Thought we’d camp out in the orchard cottage,” Hooper said, referring to the guest house. Maggie seemed distracted. “That all right, Mom?”
Maggie knew that Hooper had brought girls there before. But in the past he’d always sneaked them in. She didn’t like the idea of giving the two of them explicit permission to sleep together on the premises, but she could not bring herself to object. She had been sleeping with Kenneth in his parents’ pool house when she was younger than Hooper, for goodness sake. To thwart them seemed ethically insupportable and grotesquely prudish. Yet she hated the idea. It tinged all the rue she was feeling with rage.
“You’ll have to make the bed,” she said dryly.
“No problem, Maggie,” Alison said.
“Quit calling me Maggie,” she snapped. “Do you think we’re best friends or something?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Darling.”
“Don’t call me that either,” Maggie retorted, her voice cracking. “Aw, hell.”
Roger and Mark inched away clutching their mugs.
“What should I call you?” Alison asked.
“I don’t know,” Maggie said, dissolving in tears.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“Party’s a disaster,” was all Maggie could say. “Complete fiasco.”
“We’ll just go down to the orchard house, Mom. We won’t even peek into the party.”
“Get some food,” Maggie said between sobs. “Kitchen’s loaded.”
“Okay.”
“And sleep tight,” she said and then reached in and hugged his head again, desperately, saying, “I love you so much.”
“I know, Mom. Hey, parties come and parties go. You know that better than anyone. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
“I’m sorry you’re having such a tough time,” Alison added.
“You’re sweet,” Maggie said, suddenly adoring the girl. “Be good to my boy.”
“Merry Christmas, Mom. We’ll see you in the morning bright.”
The car swerved out of the meadow and down a snow-covered lane behind the enormous house. Maggie stood in the darkness bawling, she knew not how long, but a duration sufficient to clear her mind.