The Night Before Read Free

old woman to her talk show.
    Once they were safe, Malikah rounded the kitchen table to the window and stood looking at the falling snow.
    Nicole said, “That’s pretty, isn’t it?”
    The child was quiet for a few seconds. Then she glanced over her shoulder and said, “It gonna be all right, mama?”
    â€œDon’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” Nicole said. She waited for Malikah to turn back to the window to let her smile fade.
    Mariel had another drink, though she filled the cup only halfway, a prudent choice. She had much to do.
    She called up to the kids to finish dressing, then went about preparing an antipasto the way Joe’s Italian mother had instructed her. It never failed if you lined up the right ingredients - the imported deli meats and cheeses, olives, artichokes, and so on - and then laid them down in a precise order. With a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar and olive oil as a last touch, the dish was always a hit at their parties.
    Once she finished and covered the platter with plastic wrap, she moved on to the gifts. The two for Joe first, before he got back from wherever he had wandered. She had no idea. He had been acting extra odd over the last two weeks, secretive and silly, like a kid hiding something. Not that she paid that much attention to him. Or he to her, for that matter. These days, they spent a lot of time passing each other by.
    Joe walked back to the car in a state of full marvel. First at the old man’s memory; Brosman had drawn from a dusty corner of his mind the recollection of the couple who had wandered in from a snowy evening long ago and how the pretty woman had been mesmerized by the Epiphany Star. Then, like a wizard performing a special magic, he puttered and muttered for an absent minute before producing the zebrawood box from the secret place it had rested for all that time. He opened it with fingers that trembled with age.
    The pendant was as Joe remembered it, untarnished by the years. “I can’t believe it’s still here,” he murmured.
    â€œMaybe it’s been waiting for you,” the old man said. “I guess it’s your lucky night.”
    The price on the item was the same and to their mutual delight, Joe counted the twelve hundred-dollar bills into the storekeeper’s palm. Except for the surprise part, he wished Mariel had been there to see.
    Mr. Brosman walked him to the door and they spent a moment looking out at the snow.
    â€œReminds me of when I was a boy,” the old man said. “Every Christmas should be like this. But then it wouldn’t be so special, would it?” He patted Joe’s shoulder, wished him a happy holiday, and then locked the door behind him. By the time Joe got into his car and started the wipers, the lights in the store had gone off, as if it hadn’t been open at all. In a moment of panic,
    he went digging into his coat pocket. The zebrawood box felt warm to his touch.
    The kids tried to dash out the door, but Mariel snapped them back and made them stand for inspection. She didn’t have to worry about Christian. He had spent his upstairs time finding something nice to wear, then combing his hair and brushing his teeth. Hannah was the one who required checking. She was her father’s daughter and would leave the house wearing a patchwork of whatever she first laid hands on or struck her odd fancy. Sometimes the ensemble worked and sometimes she looked ridiculous.
    Tonight she had chosen well and came up with something like a Dickens character, with a blouse, vest, pedal-pushers, knee socks, saddle shoes, and a cute hat.
    They were jumping up and down, eager to leave. Betsy had come up with the idea of starting the kids’ party early and letting them burn off their energies and wind down to TV and games in the basement in time for the parents to arrive for the grown-up fun.
    Mariel let them bolt, then watched as they skittered down the walk and into the