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After they left, Evie kept on saying, “But why can’t they come here for Christmas?” And Artie kept answering, “Evie, let them be.”

—

But here was something strange: All evening Artie had a feeling, and what was it about? It was about the safety—the future—of Rob and Francesca. But he could not figure out exactly where this feeling came from, and he did not mention it to Evie. In the middle of the night Artie woke suddenly. He had had a dream that he could not remember, but he had a clear understanding: Rob and Francesca needed to leave the country for good.

—

He called Rob the next morning when Evie was upstairs and he said, “I had a dream I can’t remember. But I think you two should leave this country. Get out before it’s too late.”

Rob said, “Oh Dad. We’re staying right here. Don’t worry about it.” It was clear that his son had not taken him seriously, and so Artie said, “Okay then,” and they hung up.

—

(In fact, three months later, Rob would be without a job, his contracts with the federal government canceled, and Rob telephoned his father with this news, and said that he would be able to get work anywhere and that he and Francesca were going to move to Brussels, which they did early that summer. They were gone, their apartment cleared out, only dust bunnies on the floor when Artie went over to say his final goodbye to them. Evie wept for days. And so there was no sailing with Rob, except for one day when he came back for a visit.)

The Christmas party at the home of Endicott and Ashley Peabody was an event that had begun when Endicott’s parents and Evie’s parents had lived in the same houses where Artie and Evie and Endicott and Ashley now lived. That was how long the tradition had been going on. (Ashley was Endicott’s second wife, and she was half his age.)

It was cold as Artie and Evie walked over to the Peabodys’ home. A wind was coming off the water, and Artie bent his head against the gusts coming toward him. Evie held on to the top of her black coat, clutching it against herself, and then she stopped walking and said, “Artie! You wore your white socks!” Artie stopped walking as well. “Oh, come on,” she said.

Artie glanced down at his black old man sneakers and saw a tiny strip of white—his socks—coming from above them. “Too bad,” he said. “I’m not going back.”

“Oh Artie. Good God.”

In the past Artie had (sort of) enjoyed these Christmas parties, the whole neighborhood was there, he would see people he hadn’t seen all year, and he would talk and joke with them. (Even though he had never liked Endicott Peabody himself.) As they stepped through the front door of the home now, he felt a sense come to him of…What? Dread? No. More like indifference? Yes, that. But Ashley was saying, “Oh, hello! Come in, come in!” Her hair fell past her shoulders, dark and curly, and her makeup was perfect. She wore a red dress that fit her tininess, she was extremely thin, and she stepped back as they walked in.

Ashley took their coats, and a man in a black-and-white tuxedo almost immediately offered them a glass of champagne from a tray. And then Artie remembered this: The very first time he had come to this party, Evie’s parents were still alive and Endicott was still married to his first wife, Evelyn. When Artie and Evie had knocked on the door, it had been opened by a man wearing a tuxedo identical to that of this champagne-offering man, and Artie had stuck out his hand and said, “Hi there, I’m Artie Dam.” And the man had simply stepped back from the door, not smiling, and it was not for quite a while afterward that Artie figured out that the man who had opened the door was a waiter hired for the party.

They moved now into the living room, it was a huge room, windows on three sides, and it looked out at the water. It was midafternoon and the sun shone coldly and meekly through a thin sheet of clouds. Off to one side of the room was a large Christmas tree, decorated with only red and gold balls and small twinkling white lights. Beneath the tree were many well-wrapped presents. On the mantel over the fireplace (in which a fire was roaring) was a green bough trimmed with a few gold and red Christmas ornaments. And on the walls were paintings; Artie knew that one of them was a Picasso, although he could never remember which one that was.

People milled about; a few said, “Hello, Artie.” Everyone was very well dressed, this occurred to him. The men all looked like his father-in-law had, and many of the women had gray hair nicely cut, a few were dark-haired or blond. (One woman wore a red wig, and that was sad because it was not a good wig, and also she had no eyelashes or eyebrows, and Artie understood that she was sick, but he did not know who she was, and when he said “Hello there,” she smiled just slightly and turned away.)

Endicott finally came over from where he had been standing with a group of men and said, “Hello, Artie, nice to see you. Hello, Evie.” He was wearing a red bow tie against a pale blue shirt. “My son’s here, you remember Davis?” Endicott held up one hand and waved it and a young man walked over, he had on a red sweater and gray slacks, and he had a thick head of brown hair.

Davis was teaching English at Phillips Academy Andover prep school; Endicott announced this to Evie and Artie, and Artie said, “Hey, that’s great.”

Davis said, with a laugh, “It’s exhausting is what it is.”

After a few minutes Evie saw a woman she exclaimed over, and she and Endicott walked off and Davis and Artie were alone.

“Say, how’s your mother doing these days?” Artie asked. No one had mentioned Evelyn (that Artie could remember) since the divorce at least five years ago.

Davis seemed slightly taken aback. “Good, she’s—Yeah, she’s doing well.”

“Where is she living?” Artie asked, and the young man seemed almost confused, but he said, “Ah, Florida. She’s got a really nice place in Florida. Plays a lot of tennis, you know.”

—

Artie ended up sitting in a big overstuffed chair in the corner. He saw that there were other chairs that had been set out just for the party, he understood this, because they had coverings of beige sailcloth (not unlike what people wrapped their bushes in, he thought), and he remembered dinner parties in the dining room, when these same chairs had been placed around the long table. But Artie sat down in this big overstuffed chair, and he leaned back into it, crossing his legs. His old man black sneakers and his white socks were on display for anyone who cared to see them.

No one came over to speak to him, although a few people passing by would say, “Hi, Artie.” He just raised a hand.

—

As they left the Peabodys’ house and made their way around the parked cars in the driveway, Evie said, without looking at him, “Don’t say anything yet.”

“What?” Artie looked over at her.

“I said, hold on.”