It was Eve's idea to have a Christmas tree and she and Josh and Ann dutifully set it up in the library.
- 'I don't care what's going on in this house. Christmas is still Christmas,' Eve had announced, treating Ann to a long litany of the joys of family Christmases past - ski trips to Aspen, sunny days in the Virgin Islands and Acapulco. When they stayed at home, they would set up a Christmas tree in the library and both sets of grandparents would come down from Boston and there would be a fabulous Christmas dinner and a big eggnog party for all the friends of the Roses', both generations.
Actually, Ann hadn't intended to stay with the Roses over the holidays, but they all seemed so forlorn and depressed that she felt a sense of obligation.
On Christmas Eve both children were invited to parties and Barbara was out, cooking and supervising a large dinner. To keep busy Ann had welcomed the opportunity to assist Barbara in the making of pastry loaves, a new recipe she had concocted, which she was preparing for a Greek Embassy buffet. Barbara had been specific in her instructions, which Ann had written down and followed to the letter. The ingredients were already prepared. All she had to do was mix them. She put beef, onion, salt, and pepper into a large mixing bowl, on the kitchen island, mixed in the bread, then added wine and broth to the batter. When it had been mixed to the right consistency, she made seven rectangles, wrapped them in tinfoil, and put them in the refrigerator, very satisfied with her effort. Barbara had been concerned that making the pastry loaves would interfere with Christmas Day. She was determined, she had told Ann, to spend the day with the kids.
Helping out was the least she could do, Ann thought self-righteously, not in the least perturbed about not spending Christmas with her parents, an exceedingly bleak prospect. Her parents invariably got blind drunk on Christmas Eve, and the day after consisted of nursing bad hangovers and coping with sometimes violent irritability.
When she had washed up, Ann filled a tumbler with wine and walked to the library, where the Christmas tree stood, decorated and sprinkled with tinsel. The gifts lay wrapped and scattered around its base. She noted that, true to form, Barbara and Oliver planned not to exchange gifts. Yet she was pleased to see that both of them had gotten gifts for her. As she contemplated what Oliver had bought her the lights, which switched on and off, suddenly flickered and lost their luster. She was about to pull the plug when she heard Oliver's familiar step in the foyer. She hadn't seen him for a week, although Eve had reported that he would attend the gift-opening on Christmas morning. Both apparently had agreed to be on good behavior for the sake of the children.
'It's a hell of a Christmas Eve,' he said, walking to the armoire and pouring himself a heavy scotch.
'To better Christmases,' he said, raising his glass. She raised her glass in response.
'Everybody's gone,' she said, sensing her own deliberate mischief. He finished off the scotch and poured another.
'I saw two Italian pictures.
'Why aren't you home with your family, Ann?'
It was a question she didn't really want to answer. 'I guess I'm needed here,' she whispered.
'Good for you, Ann. At least you're needed somewhere. I am apparently needed nowhere. Not even as an audience.'
He finished his drink and squatted beside her. She had seated herself Indian style at the edge of the gifts, watching the fading, flickering lights.
‘I’ll fix those tonight. Wires need some soldering, I guess.'
She stole a view of him in profile, then her eyes lingered. She watched his lips move.
'Christmas is only for the kids anyhow,' he said. His lips began to tremble and he could not go on. She put her hand on his arm. Without turning, he put his hand on hers and pressed it.
'What a bore this must be for you, Ann.' He turned to look at her. 'I can't imagine why you put up with it. I don't know why I put up with it. None of it makes any sense, you know. Two jackasses rolling around in the mud.'
'I'm not here to judge.' She reflected suddenly that that was what she had said to Barbara.
'You should have been here last Christmas. It was a real old family time. My father made a toast. 'You're a lucky man,' he said. 'A truly lucky man.' He doesn't understand what's happened. He thinks I've got a mistress and Barbara's going through change of life. I tell him it's neither, but he's out of it. How do you explain this to anybody?'
'Don't try. It's nobody's business,' she snapped, surprised at her assertiveness.
'I think it's coping with being alone that bugs me the most. The loss of companionship. I think that's what I miss the most.'
'You'll find somebody,' she said cautiously, her heart pounding. Notice me, she begged him in her heart.
'That's out for now. Goldstein says I should cool it. I never thought my life would one day be controlled by an ex-rabbi with halitosis.' His arm played around to her shoulder.
'Dear Ann,' he said. 'You're like the only anchor in this damned, stormy sea. I don't know how we'd survive this without you being here. And the kids. What a godsend you've been to the kids. I'll bet you never bargained for this when you first came here. It was one of Barbara's better decisions, I guess.'
The house was quiet. To Ann it seemed as if the earth had stopped rotating. She dared not move. His nearness was like an electric current pulsing through her. She felt his breath against her ear.
'I haven't had a single moment of solace,' he said. 'I can't seem to wake up from the nightmare.'
For once she resisted caution, yielding to her body's responses. She turned to face his lips, her eyes probing his. His face moved closer and his lips reached for hers. She felt his tongue move inside her mouth, reach for hers, and, finding it, move and caress it. Her fingers reached for his hair. It had been a particular detail of her fantasy, her
