Heiligenhafen
Greta and Lucy are standing together under a string of twinkle lights in the open doorway of the cottage, watching snow fall in the driveway. The wind whips off the sea, making their eyes water.
Lucy is shivering, and she wraps her pashmina over her shoulders.
“I warned you,” says Greta. “It gets bitter cold here.”
“It might be cold,” says Lucy, “but it’s perfect.”
Alice comes up behind them, her ankle-length dress rustling as she walks. “Why are you guys letting all the cold air in? It’s fricking freezing in here.”
“Sorry,” Lucy says, closing the door.
“ Meine Güte ,” Greta says to Alice, “are you even taller than me now?”
“No, I’m cheating,” says Alice, and shows off her high heels.
Behind her, a Christmas tree is tucked into the curve of the staircase, lit with real candles. Bunches of holly boughs are wrapped around the banister leading up to the second floor.
Zoe, whose hair has fallen out of whatever updo she had an hour ago, rushes over and grabs Lucy’s hand. “Can I have a glass of champagne? Please?”
“Maybe later,” says Lucy.
“Bad idea,” says Alice, and then she turns around as a young boy races past, dragging a long garland made of green and red construction paper. “Safe,” he yells, grabbing onto Zoe’s leg.
“Did you finish, Peter?” Alice says.
“ Ich bin fertig ,” Peter says, and holds up the garland to show her.
“Awesome,” Zoe says, high-fiving him like she does every time Peter performs some trick in the swimming pool during his summer visits. She takes one end of the garland and Alice takes the other, and they try to decide where to hang it.
Adam walks in from the kitchen with a mug of Glühwein in his hand and offers Greta a sip. “Lillian says to tell you that she hates the Baltic in winter and the canapés are getting cold.”
“She’s only pretending to be grumpy,” Greta says. “She’s thrilled we’re here.”
She kneels and looks at her son’s hands, sticky with glue. “Let’s get you washed up,” she says, “before you ruin your fancy clothes.”
“I’ve got it,” Adam says. He hands her the mug, and he and Peter go off to the kitchen together.
The front door opens, and Mason, wearing a parka and carrying a massive stack of wood, stomps in, accompanied by Bettina’s dog, Til, and a flurry of snow.
“My hero,” Lucy says. She closes the door, unwinds the scarf from his neck, and kisses him.
“Gross,” says Zoe.
“So embarrassing,” Alice says, and the twins take Peter’s garland and go look for a special place to hang it.
“There’s a lot more in the woodshed,” Mason says, “so we’ll be fine for the night.”
“The grandparents will be glad to hear it,” Lucy says.
“Especially the Texans,” says Greta. “Should I bring them some throw blankets?”
“I’ll ask,” Mason says, taking the split logs to the living room and crossing paths with Sylvie, who is wearing an embroidered dirndl.
“Gooten abben, y’all,” she says. “Itch moose… Darn it! Otto wants me to practice my German the whole time I’m here, but it sure is hard.”
“It is hard,” says Lucy.
“Very tricky,” says Greta, “but you’re doing great.”
“Really?” says Sylvie. She takes a breath and says, “Itch moose Toilettey?”
“ Natürlich ,” says Greta. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”
“Donkey shun, Greta,” Sylvie says with renewed confidence.
“ Bitte .”
Sylvie goes off to find the bathroom just as Zoe and Alice cross back through the entry, this time with Bj?rn and Astrid’s daughters; they stop to take a group selfie in front of the Christmas tree for Instagram.
There’s a raucous burst of laughter from a bedroom upstairs. And then a gust of wind rattles the house, and everything goes dark. There’s a collective groan.
“It’s all right, everyone stay calm,” Tobias calls out. “We’re prepared for this.” He and Harper walk around the living room, passing out flashlights, lanterns, and emergency candles.
“Tobias is so good in a crisis,” Lillian tells anyone who will listen. “What would I do without him?”
Harper casts a glance around the room for Bettina, hoping she can share a smirk.
Lucy and Greta are still in the entry, waiting, their faces lit, first by the candles on the tree, and then by a beam of light that shines through the windows.
Til starts barking as a car pulls into the drive.
“Finally,” says Greta, and she clasps Lucy’s hands.
“In our wildest dreams,” Lucy whispers, “could we ever have imagined—”
“No,” Greta says, “which makes all of this even better.”
Lucy nods. “They’re here!” she shouts, her voice carrying through the darkened house.
The dear friends and family come together from every corner.
Bj?rn and Astrid follow Otto, who is guiding Irene and Rex through the living room, in hopes of avoiding any trips, falls, or sprained ankles.
The twenty-somethings—from Dallas, Berlin, and beyond—feel their way down the stairs, gripping the banister.
Bettina slips in through the French doors, having shared a cigarette with the cellist, who quickly rejoins his string quartet, warms his hands, and opens up his score.
Out in the courtyard, the old VW Beetle comes to a stop.
“Why’s it so dark?” Jack says as he turns off the car.
“The power always goes out in a storm,” Emmi says. “But it’ll be okay.” She leans over and kisses him. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he says, touching his forehead to hers.
They step out of the car. Emmi holds the skirt of her wedding dress up to keep the hem out of the snow, and Jack checks his suit pocket for the rings before taking her hand.
They steady each other and make their way to the candlelit cottage.
The door swings open, voices fill the air, and the music begins to play.