“Yes, absolutely,” said Reuben. “Thank you so much for coming.”
A deep anger darkened Fiona’s face, her eyes moving quickly over both of them. Does anger have a scent, and what would her scent be if she weren’t a Morphenkind? Behind her, the woman named Helena pressed in, and put a hand on Fiona’s shoulder.
“You think you can get away with anything, Felix,” said Fiona, voice uglier than before, a flush beating in her cheeks. “I think you like heartbreak.”
“Good-bye, my dear,” said Felix with the same even courtesy. “Safe journey.” The two women withdrew without another word. Catrin went with them, flashing a smile at both Felix and Reuben.
Yes, Morphenkinder, because some scent of malice would have arisen from all that, but there had been nothing.
Hockan Crost’s eyes lingered on Reuben for a long moment, but Felix at once spoke up in his usual convivial manner, “Always good to see you, Hockan, you know that.”
“Oh, indeed, old friend,” said Hockan in his deep melodious voice. There was something wistful in his expression. “We need to meet, we need to talk,” he said emphasizing the word need both times.
“I’m more than willing,” said Felix earnestly. “When have I ever closed my doors to you? And during Midwinter? Never. I hope we see you soon again.”
“Yes, you will,” said the man. He looked troubled, and there was something immediately appealing about him, in the way he let his feelings come to the fore, in the imploring way in which he spoke. “There are things I have to say, beloved Felix.” He was pleading with dignity. “I want you to hear me out.”
“Indeed, and we will have the chance to talk together, won’t we?” said Felix. To Reuben he said, “This is my old and dear friend, Reuben. Hockan Crost. He should always be welcome day or night here.”
Reuben nodded and murmured his approval.
Then the man, glancing at the guests crowding towards the exit, and sensing that this was not the time and the place for any more talk, moved on.
And they were gone, the mysterious ones, all this confusing and unsettling talk having taken no more than two or three minutes. Felix gave Reuben a pointed and meaningful glance, and then sighed audibly with eloquent relief.
“You recognized your kindred, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Reuben. “Most definitely yes.”
“And for now, forget about them,” said Felix, and he went back to the farewells with renewed spirit.
Susie Blakely gave Reuben a hug as she came to say good-bye. Pastor George whispered, “You can’t imagine the change in her! I can’t tell you. She actually had fun!”
“I saw it. I’m so happy for her. And please, stay in touch with me.”
Off they went.
Of course the family and closest friends remained for a while longer, together with Galton, Mayor Cronin, and Dr. Cutler, and some of Stuart’s old g*y boyfriends. But then even Celeste and Mort said they were tired and had to be going, and Grace, after hugging each of the Distinguished Gentlemen in turn, kissed Reuben good-bye, leaving with Aunt Josie, Cousin Shelby and Clifford, and Uncle Tim and his wife, Helen.
Finally Stuart’s friends wandered out into the night also, one of them singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” at the top of his lungs, the mayor and Galton left arguing with each other over something to do with the village festival, and the giant plastic flaps of the tent doors came down on the damp and gusty darkness. The windows to the main room were being shut up and locked.
Then it was to the kitchen, where Felix wanted to personally thank the maids and the entire catering team. Would Reuben please join him? And he would show Reuben just how he liked to do these things.
Reuben was eager to learn. Tipping people had always made him very nervous.
Lisa appeared right beside them with a large leather purse from which Felix took one white envelope after another to present to each individual cook, server, waiter or waitress, and maid as he gave thanks. Soon he deferred to Reuben and handed the envelopes to him to give to the workers, and Reuben did his level best to assume the same gracious manner, discovering how easily the awkward matter of tipping could be handled if he just looked people right in the eye.
Last, they handed out envelopes to the surprised teenage volunteers who had been the upstairs docents and guides and who had not expected any such special consideration. They were delighted.
The other Distinguished Gentlemen had wandered off. Soon only Lisa and Jean Pierre and Heddy were left putting this or that little thing in order, and Felix had flopped down in the wing chair by the library fire, kicking off his patent-leather dress shoes.
Reuben stood there drinking a cup of hot chocolate and looking down into the flames. He wanted so to tell Felix about having seen Marchent, but he couldn’t bring himself to confide this just yet. It would alter Felix’s mood too dramatically, and perhaps it would alter his own mood as well.
“This is where I secretly and quietly relive every minute of the evening,” said Felix happily, “and ask myself what I might have done better and what I might do next year.”
“You know these people mostly had never seen anything like this,” said Reuben. “I don’t think my parents in all their lives ever contemplated giving a large party let alone something even remotely like this.” He sat down in the club chair and confessed how he himself had only been to the symphony maybe four times in his entire life, and had only heard Handel’s Messiah once, during which he had fallen asleep. The fact was, parties had always been a bore to him, and mostly involved tiny hors d’oeuvres on plastic plates, white wine in plastic glasses that wouldn’t stain anybody’s carpet or linen, and people who couldn’t wait to leave. The last time he’d had this much fun was at a “bring your own bottle” party in Berkeley where the only food had been pizza and there hadn’t been much of that.
Then, quite suddenly with a violent start, he remembered Phil. Was Phil still here? “Good God, where is my dad?”
“Taken care of, dear boy,” said Felix. “He’s in the best room in the middle of the east side. Lisa took him up, saw to it that he had everything he needed. I think he’s here to stay, but he doesn’t want to presume.”
Reuben sat back. “But Felix, what does that mean about our own Yuletide?” he asked. Never mind the sadness he felt that his parents were in fact drifting apart, far apart. That was nothing new, after all.