Kevin and Jerry were the last to arrive. Henry looked relieved to see his old friends. They were active in the community, involved citizens, which was always good for cocktail conversation. And business. They were regulars at community council meetings and always up with what was happening at the Wheeler Opera House or Theatre Aspen. Plus occasionally they could be helpful, providing inside information about permits and zoning. Kevin worked for the tourism board and had close ties to the Planning and Zoning Commission, and Jerry tended the gardens at the John Denver Sanctuary. They were excited to see Henry, giving him giant hugs, until Kevin pulled back, worried.

“Ah, we should be more delicate,” Kevin said. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Such a scare.”

“Sorry we were almost late, Claudine,” Jerry said, handing her a garish poinsettia. “The car got stuck in our driveway.”

“This is beautiful,” she said, handing the plant off to a nearby Jules and whispering, “Get rid of it.” Jules also took their two Secret Santa gifts and left, arms full, to place them on the table.

“The car got stuck,” said Kevin. They were always repeating each other. “Shovels, Triple A, the whole thing.”

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it’s coming down outside. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re so sorry. Shovels and everything. Did Zara get in okay? Is she still coming?”

“Yes,” Claudine said. “She should be here any minute.”

Then she addressed the entire room. “Excuse me, everyone, please join me in the living room. There are a few things I’d like to go over before our guest of honor arrives.”

They followed one by one to the living room, the exact location where the Secret Santa exchange would be held. Claudine had to admit it, Jules had done a great job arranging the gifts on the table. There was a perfect distribution of shapes and sizes, a yogi’s sense of proportion. The ideal balance of wrapping paper pattern and color. In the first year or two of the Secret Santa, she had had to chastise her employees for imperfectly folded corners and excessive Scotch tape, but no longer. They took much more care with the presentation—or, more likely, paid a professional to do it. Each gift had been wrapped with great extravagance, gold and silver, red and green—the shiny, shimmering wrapping paper reflecting the soft glow of candlelight that took ten years off everyone’s faces. Twenty off Mrs. Tiggleman’s because of all the work she had done.