They all climb onto the benches on either side of Henry’s table, and the children argue only briefly about the seating. Kate’s had her kids make name tags for everybody—palm-sized Christmas trees and elves—and Martin rearranges one and then another until they’re all happy with the person that they’re seated with. Kate lists in her brain as she scans the table and the food all the ways her meal is less than what her mother’s would have been. The sweet potatoes look sadder than her mother’s, not as well whipped. The spinach casserole looks sunken in the middle, wet with grease; the eggs have not quite set. She knows the replacement pie is being hidden from her. And then she realizes everyone else is sitting and trying not to stare at her.

Tess grabs Kate and pulls her into her chair. “Sit,” she says. “It’s perfect. Sit.”

Kate can’t quite believe this happens, but: Tess squeezes her hand.

Henry cuts the meat, and Alice watches. This important job has been his since their father died. His dexterity, Helen used to say, was always something. It’s a sort of art, Helen would say, and then Alice would watch Henry’s spine rise up as if he wanted to respond, but then she’d watch him settle back as he remembered this was just Helen. It’s an offering, she said, which is what art is.

Alice watches Colin stuff cranberry sauce into his roll and eat it. She watches as the sauce lumps onto his shirt and he lifts his shirt into his mouth and licks it off. Maddie is right next to him, but Alice can’t yet watch her. She’s hardly looked at her since she was found. But she has been close enough to sense her, caught glimpses of her, small and safe and warm. She keeps thinking, safe, and then, for a second, she can’t breathe.

“Can I have another roll?” her nephew asks.

Alice smiles at him, the skin around his lips bright red. “Sure, kid,” she says, and lifts a warm roll from the basket, puts it in Colin’s hand.

“So,” Josh says, “A toast. To warm, safe, happy kids.”

The adults all raise their glasses, and the kids follow. Colin spills his drink, and Maddie offers him her napkin. “Jesus, Colin,” Martin mutters, and they all watch as the boy starts, his face turns red. Tess takes her napkin off her lap and clinks her glass hard against her husband’s; she gets up to help Colin. “To warm, safe, happy kids,” she says.

Tess hugs Colin, and she feels Madeleine close to them, watching. Madeleine has hardly spoken, and Tess feels Quinn watching too. No one has said much about what happened. Alice looks desperate. Tess watches as she sips slowly from her wine glass, grabs hold of the table, the tips of her fingers changing color, like before. She’s leaning toward her food but she’s not eating.