"Mother says hi. Precious was very good, weren't you Precious?" Oliver took Emma. "Doesn't it smell good in here!"
"Dinner's all ready."
"Oh, and a fire. How nice to be home. Let's turn that music down a little."
"Da Da."
Oliver pushed Suzanne to the back of his mind, struggling for time to understand or to outlive what was happening. Early the next morning, he cut a Christmas tree in the woods behind the house. He bought lights and a tree stand at K-Mart. By noon, they were hanging tinsel on the tree, and Jennifer was telling him that she could finally get some really nice decorations. Rupert had never wanted to bother with a tree.
At one-thirty, they walked across a graveled driveway in Falmouth and knocked on Bogdolf Eric's door. Oliver was carrying Emma; Jennifer held a canvas bag containing a fat beeswax candle and two bottles of wine, a Chardonnay and a Merlot.
"Ah, Jennifer!"
"Eric," she said, handing him the bag and accepting his hug at the same time.
"And here we have Oliver and Miss Emma," he said, disengaging.
"Merry Christmas, Bogdolf."