Winter Street by Elin Hilderbrand Read Free Book Online Page B

jail.
    The man keeps knocking. He has no intention of going away; Patrick can’t escape his fate. Patrick descends the stairs and says, “Who is it?”
    “Blahblahblah office,” the man says.
    Patrick cracks the door, aware that he is still wearing his suit from the day before—minus his tie, his jacket, and his shoes.
    “Can I help you?” he asks.
    “Patrick Quinn?”
    Patrick nods. The man is about fifty-five, plump, and silver haired. Patrick can take him in a fight, he thinks.
    The man starts handing Patrick boxes. Patrick is confused. The man is wearing a uniform, vaguely militaristic, but the packages he’s giving Patrick seem like regular packages. Patrick tries to focus on the labels—he really needs his glasses, he’s so dreadfully hungover—but he makes out
CBS Studios,
and the relief he feels nearly causes him to levitate.
    United States Postal Service.
These are Christmas gifts, sent to the kids from Margaret. Every year Margaret has her assistant, Darcy, order gifts using some incredible service that always selects the perfect gift for each boy.
    “And this,” the postal worker says, “requires a signature.” He hands Patrick a small cube of a box with luxurious weight. It’s caviar from Petrossian, his mother’s gift each year to him and Jen. Normally, they eat it on New Year’s Eve.
    Patrick scribbles his name on the clipboard. He wants to kiss the mailman.
    “Thank you!” he shouts. His voice is so loud that the mailman’s head snaps back. His voice is so loud, it echoes across the Common.
    The mailman retreats down the steps, and Patrick moves all the packages inside and carries the box with the caviar up to the kitchen. He hopes they have eggs. He is going to scramble them all and dump the caviar on top. It will be his breakfast, and Jen’s punishment for leaving.
    His cell phone rings, but Patrick ignores it.
That
will be Jen, he is certain. But she’s the one who left with his kids two days before Christmas, so let her wonder.
    Then the house phone rings. Definitely Jen. Patrick finds eight eggs in the fridge and cracks them all in a stainless steel bowl, trying not to dwell on how the sound of the eggs cracking mimics the pain in his head. He adds cream, and salt and pepper; he butters a frying pan. How many times this year has he actually
cooked
in this kitchen? He can’t remember any. Jen does the cooking, and she does it perfectly. Everything she makes is fresh and seasonal. She practically reads his mind. On nights he wants roast chicken with her buttery mashed potatoes, there’s roast chicken. On nights he wants Cobb salad with grilled lobster, there it is. They have cheese fondue on Valentine’s Day, beef and broccoli stir-fry for the Chinese New Year. He misses Jen! He wonders if something bad will happen if he eats the caviar on the wrong day. Well, something bad has
already
happened, which is why he’s doing this.
    The eggs sizzle. Patrick grabs a wooden spoon. The eggs have to be soft and creamy; otherwise they will not be suitable for this quality of caviar.
    Ava and Kevin think he and Jen are food snobs. Kevin’s favorite food is the ACK Mack pizza from Sophie T’s—located across the street from the Bar—and if it’s a day old, so much the better.
    The house phone rings again. Jen is desperate. Patricklikes that at first—he likes the idea of his wife regretting her decision to leave and calling to beg his forgiveness. He moves the eggs around in the pan like an artist dabbing paint on a canvas. He will tell Jen he is about to eat the caviar.
    “Hello?” he says.
    “Patrick?” a voice says. It’s Gary Grimstead. “Man, I need you to sit down.”

KELLEY
    A fter the news that Mitzi is leaving him and that he will be getting divorced
again
sinks in, Kelley does the only thing he can do: he drives to Hatch’s and buys a bottle of Wild Turkey and a pack of Camels. Then, once back at the inn, he grabs a couple of Cokes from the complimentary guest fridge and