The Party
The day of the Stroll, darkness fell at four o’clock.
Many strollers had reservations for dinner or spent the evening with friends and family.
The shops still glittered and glowed with marvelous gifts, and lights up and down all the wharves shone golden.
The wind was bouncy and easy, making the Christmas wreaths sway against the doors and the dozens of small Christmas trees along the town’s sidewalks shiver.
Brick Three and Jane had started their Stroll party fifteen years ago.
They had three young children, and they couldn’t afford to give each other serious presents because they were overwhelmed with bills—mortgage, heat, light—electricity did not come cheap on the island thirty miles at sea.
They decided to give themselves the present of a party.
The Stroll was becoming more popular every year.
Many of their friends lived year-round on the island but many came over from the Cape or down from Boston, and it just seemed like the right thing to do.
It was the right thing. It was the brilliant, sparkling, heartwarming thing to do.
They had started off small, with gingerbread cookies and candied walnuts made by Jane, and Jane’s family’s recipe for punch in an earthenware mixing bowl, the biggest bowl they had.
Jane had to keep bringing in pitchers of the punch to pour into the bowl.
After ten years, they were able to purchase a large glittering crystal punch bowl, complete with twenty-four matching cups.
Now Lydia and Florie opened the bureau in the hall that held tablecloths, candles, candleholders, and silver platters.
They put leaves in the dining room table and flared the snow-white tablecloth over it.
They took over the kitchen to polish the silver platters and fancy cake knife, and to clean and dry the punch bowl until it sparkled.
They scurried up to the attic to find various overlooked Christmas collectibles, and back down to the living room, family room, dining room, and kitchen to put them around the house.
Their favorite was a toy dog with a Christmas scarf around his neck who looked adorable and innocent but had some kind of electronic sensing gadget inside so that whenever someone came near him, he unexpectedly burst into a raucous holiday song.
They worked together wrapping the stair banister with fresh laurel while Lucas stuck fresh mistletoe in doorways.
Brick Three and Lucas carried in a silver ice bucket, dumped a bag of ice cubes in, and plunged in a bottle of alcohol-free wine.
They put out sparkling clean glasses, and as four o’clock drew near, bottles of lemonade and cranberry juice and soda water for those who didn’t want Jane’s Christmas punch.
But everybody wanted Jane’s Christmas punch.
The night before the Stroll, Jane settled two bags of frozen peaches in a large glass container and poured a cup or two of Courvoisier over them.
The afternoon of the Stroll, Jane poured the peaches through a colander to remove the excess liquid, carefully ladled the delicate, delicious peaches into the punch bowl, and poured three bottles of champagne and three bottles of liebfraumilch over the peaches.
The brandy-soaked peaches provided a real punch.
The first time Jane had tried the recipe, she ladled the punch into small juice glasses.
The guests drank the mixing-bowl dry and exclaimed that this was the best Christmas party ever in the history of the world.
Next year, Jane and Brick Three brought out their exquisite crystal cups to set around for guests to help themselves.
They also set out beautiful pitchers of sparkling water and encouraged their guests to enjoy some between cups of punch.
Now, at three o’clock, the Parsonses’ house was hopping. After so many years of hosting a Stroll party, the family knew their duties.
The first knock on the door sounded at exactly four o’clock, and an entire flock of people, all of them talking at once, came streaming through the door.
Lucas took their coats and hung some in the closet, but by the fourth arrival, everyone simply dropped their coat on a chair or tossed it over the banister.
These were people the Parsonses had known for a long time.
They hugged the nearest member of the Parsons family and hurried into the dining room to secure a cup of punch.
These were mostly what Lucas, Florie, and Lydia considered the “oldies.” They were friends of their parents, or parents of the kids’ high school friends.
Several of them squealed when they saw Lucas, as if he’d shot up a foot overnight, and actually he had gained several inches since he last saw them.
No sooner had the first group hurried into the dining room, the next group arrived.
Old school friends of the Parsons kids, now grown up, some married, some with babies, some with babies on the way.
This crowd was noisy and pushy and huggy.
The women went first to the Christmas tree and excitedly proclaimed it the best tree they’d ever seen.
Lucas couldn’t imagine what they would have been like if they’d had a cup of his mother’s punch, but since most of them were pregnant or had small babies strapped in packs on their backs, the women ignored the delicious drink.
The men went straight to the punch bowl. Lucas stayed by the front door while a few more batches of friends arrived, and then he went into the living room to talk to people. He knew from experience that anyone who came later than four-fifteen knew to come right in the house without knocking.
He told Alexa to play some Christmas songs, added another log to the fireplace, and lit the candles on the mantel. Sheila had promised to come, but she wasn’t there yet, so Lucas wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything he could do.
“Ice,” his mother said the moment she saw him. “We didn’t get enough ice today. Would you please empty the ice trays into the bucket and refill them? We should be able to make it through.”
Lucas took the first tray out, cracked it, dumped the cubes in the bucket, and filled the tray.
By five o’clock, the Parsons house was packed with people who all seemed to be telling hilarious jokes because it sounded like everyone was laughing.
Lydia went around the rooms, removing empty platters, putting out fresh munchies.
A sudden whoosh of cold air notified her that more guests had arrived, and she squeezed her way through the crowd to greet them.
One person stood in the front hall. A young woman, maybe not even thirty, with glossy red hair and the face of an angel and a camel’s hair coat that had to have cost a bomb.
Lydia held out her hand. “Hi! I’m Lydia, Brick Three’s daughter. Let me take your coat.”
“Oh, Lydia, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you! I’m Samantha Morgan, your father’s assistant.”
Lydia went into total social mode. “Samantha! How lovely! Come in. I’ll introduce you around.”
Samantha glanced at the swarm in the living room. “What a mob. Don’t worry, I know everyone. Your parents are so popular, and this Stroll party is famous, or should I say infamous?” Without taking a breath, she said, “Don’t bother about my coat. I’ll just toss it over the banister with the others.”
She’s taking charge, Lydia realized. In my house, she’s taking charge.
A sudden chill passed through her. This isn’t my house. It’s my parents’ house.
“Well, then,” Lydia said smoothly, “come with me and meet my boyfriend. He’s Finnish. His father owns G-bots.”
“Oooh, so you’ll be moving to Finland?” Samantha slithered behind Lydia through the crowd.
Lydia was almost in the dining room when she realized she’d lost Samantha. Looking back, she saw the redhead surrounded by people, women and men, some of them kissing her on her cheek.
Jane approached Lydia as she stood frozen in the doorway.
“Oh, good,” Jane said. “Samantha’s here. Have you met her yet? She’s the nicest woman and so helpful to your father I can’t even begin to tell you. Since she’s arrived, Brick Three has been able to come home in time for dinner and take a few weekends off. Here, I brought you some punch.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Lydia tossed back the entire cup.
“Darling, be careful with that,” Jane warned.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m always careful.” Jane went off to talk to a friend. Lydia wove her way through the throng into the kitchen and out the door to the backyard.
She wished she smoked.
She leaned against the house, thankful for the bracing cold air.
Just for a moment, she needed to let her thoughts settle.
Always before, the Stroll party had been so much fun, full of laughter and gasps and hugs, a real celebration of the season and of their love for the community and for the family bond.
One year a woman had gone into labor at the party.
Another year, two guys from the basketball team announced they were gay and in love.
One year, Aggie Newsome drank too much and started to take off her clothes while dancing to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and her friends had to take her home.
Another time, old Mr. Pidgeon got drunk and tried to seduce Jane.
After every party, the family gathered in the living room, ignoring the messy plates and cups.
They dissected every moment of the party, laughing until their stomachs ached.
They had always been such a family, the Parsonses.
Her mother warned her to be careful.
She had been very careful not to fall in love, but when she did fall in love, it had been so reckless, so ridiculous. She was madly in love with this odd, silent, aloof, uncommunicative Finn whose father owned an enormous company making machinery with no feelings at all.
What had she done? What was she going to do? How had she gotten here, miserable and confused and angry and lost?