Eliza pulled at the waistline of her dress and Nick found himself with a handful of silver lace. She didn’t even notice the ripped dress—that alone set off an alarm in his head. He needed to stop this—now.

He stepped on the bottom rung behind her; she kicked backward. “Get away.”

He jumped to the carpet, stood at the bottom of the ladder; she disappeared into the vacant space of the attic.

Alex opened his bedroom door; the rap music’s volume increased. He stuck his head out into the hall. “Hey, Dad.” Alex nodded toward the attic. “What’s up with Mom?”

“I guess she forgot something in the attic.” Nick glanced at his son’s jeans hanging low enough on his hips to show his boxers. “Are you going with us to the Christmas party in that?”

“No way, Dad. I’m not getting dressed up and driving an hour and a half to hang out with Lizzy’s stupid boyfriend, who she’ll chase off in a week or two anyway. Plus, I have a wrestling match in the morning. You’ll be there, right?”

Nick cut a punch to Alex’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You missed one a few Thursdays ago—first time, Dad.”

Nick smiled shakily. The night he drove to the school—to Amy. “Won’t happen again, son.”

Alex shut the door behind him, and the music, improbably, went up a notch.

Nick stared at the scrap of lace in his hand, then up into the black space of the attic. The light flicked on and boxes scraped across the floor, sounding like squirrels had invaded the attic. What could she be looking for? She had already decorated the house for the holidays—this was always done, no matter where they lived, the day after Thanksgiving. It was a routine as dependable as roasted turkey and pecan stuffing—the taking down of the Christmas boxes the morning after Thanksgiving. It wasn’t even discussed anymore, just as January second marked the return of the boxes to the attic.

Eliza spent days on end perfecting the house for the five-week period the decorations would hang. She took pictures of certain arrangements so she would know where to set them the next year. She added to the knickknacks, china and Santa paraphernalia every year. She required Nick to string the multicolored lights and he waited to be told where to hang them.

He couldn’t figure out why her anger sent her to the attic now. He’d retrieved every single box two weeks ago. The only things that remained up there were storage boxes from her youth: old horseback-riding trophies, faded swim-team ribbons and yellowed yearbooks from her privileged childhood.