Showing up matters. So does what you do when you cannot. After the vows, while guests moved toward the church basement for champagne and coffee, Rebecca cornered Claire beside the coat rack. “Did you kiss him?”
Claire looked scandalized. “You just got married.” “That is not an answer.” “Yes.”
Rebecca grinned. “Christmas miracle.” “Do not call it that.” “Did he kiss well?”
Claire walked away. Jack reached Pittsburgh at 2:45 that afternoon. His mother, Evelyn Mercer, was waiting at the arrival curb wearing a red coat and the expression of a woman already in possession of gossip. She hugged him, slapped his shoulder for being late, and immediately asked, “Where is Claire?”
“Different family.” “Temporarily.” “Mother.” Daniel Mercer stood several feet behind her with his hands in his coat pockets.
Jack and his father looked at one another. Seven months of silence is long enough to turn familiarity into uncertainty. Daniel stepped forward first. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
Jack swallowed. “Merry Christmas.” Then he took the brass house keychain from his pocket and held it out. Daniel looked at it.
“That’s ugly,” he said. “It was all they had.” Daniel closed his hand around it. “Looks like the porch roof on Hawthorne Street.”