Page 118 of At Midnight Comes the Cry

“It is. So what do you want to do?”

He drove in silence for a while. “You preached an Easter Eve sermon once.”

“Holy Saturday.”

“This was that time—the first time I told you I love you.”

“Oh, I remember that.”

“You said, ‘I want to walk the road with you, so new and so unexplored, and see what miracles unfold before us.’”

“Yes.” Her voice was husky. She coughed.

“That’s what I want right now. To walk beside you—you and Ethan—and see what unfolds before us. Open and without expectation.” He tilted a smile toward her. “I know it’s a different holiday, but Christmas seems like a great time to start.”

She sat in the warmth and the music and his smile. “I think you’re right, love. I think Christmas is a good time to start.”

EPILOGUE

THE SATURDAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING

E than, hurry up! We need to be at Ms. Adams’s house before the street parking closes.” Clare’s kindergartner was not great at what his pediatrician called “executive function” at the best of times, and when he was excited—for instance, at the prospect of the Greenwich Lighted Tractor Parade—he tended to bounce back and forth, dropping one task because he was distracted by another.

She locked the slow cooker’s lid in place over the BBQ meatballs, their contribution to PJ’s party. She scooped a generous helping of Oscar’s kibble and poured it into his bowl. “Sorry, boy. You’re staying home tonight.”

Russ poked his head through the kitchen’s swinging doors. “What can I do?”

“Get Ethan out the door. I’m going to collect Rose.” Clare thrust her feet into her boots and shrugged on her parka. She could make the trip without them—Rose and her mother lived three yards away, in the cozy apartment Russ had built out of their old ramshackle carriage house.

The door opened before she had the chance to knock. Christine waved her in. “Clare! She’s all ready for you.”

Unlike her own son, whose clothing was always mysteriously dirty, torn, or on backward, Rose March looked like a child model, the embroidery on her tidy parka perfectly matching the embroidery on her snow boots. Clare bent down. “Are you excited, Rose?”

“Yes!” She jumped like a cheerleader. “I love the parade!”

Clare stood. “Are you sure you don’t want to come, too?”

Christine pointed to her kitchen table, where a stack of textbooks jostled an open laptop and a miniature tinsel tree. “Finals are coming, and microbiology is killing me. I need the study time.”

“I get that. I think the Crockets will be at PJ’s party; what do I say if they ask me about day care again?”

Christine shook her head. “I’m maxed out at six kids, unless I hire an aide, and the math doesn’t work for that. Tell them I’m sorry.”

“Will do.” Clare gave her friend a quick hug. “I promise we’ll bring her home stuffed with sweets and bouncing off the walls.”

Christine was laughing as she shut the door. Russ was already at the car, buckling Ethan into his seat. Rose ran to join him. “Hey, there, Rosie Girl! Ready to see Santa? He’ll be at the end of the parade, you know.” He buckled her in next to Ethan, and the two children immediately began poking at each other, laughing and shouting, “Santa!”

“You really had to go there.” Clare shook her head as she headed back into the kitchen to collect her slow cooker and gloves. Back at the car, she settled the meatballs between her feet and slidHoliday Kidsongsinto the music player.

Russ groaned as he backed out of the drive. “Please, not—”

“All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth!” Ethan and Rose bellowed from the backseat.

“It’ll be such a shame when that album gets tragically run over,” Russ observed.

“Don’t you dare.” One snowflake fell onto their windshield, then another and another. “Oh, Russ, it’ssnowing.It’s perfect.” The song switched to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” and the kids quieted down. They drove on through the gentle snowfall. Clare smiled. “You know what? I think it’s going to be a perfect holiday.”