CLAIRE AND HANK

TWO NIGHTS EARLIER, Claire had done the hardest, most awful thing she’d ever had to do: She told Hank to get out of the house. She shook as she said it, but she said it. And Hank got out. He saw the tears in Claire’s eyes, but he also saw the anger and the resolve, and maybe even the hurt he’d caused.

“She’ll get over it, Dad. She always does,” Gus said as he helped Hank put a duffel bag and a six-pack of Heineken in the car.

“Yeah,” Hank said. “I’ll sweet-talk my way back before Christmas. You stand strong, now. You’re the man while I’m gone.”

“I know that, Dad. I’m the man.”

Then Hank made a foolish error: He went back inside the house to try to kiss Claire. She turned away and walked quickly out of the kitchen.

But she did hear him shout, “Just remember, you’re the bitch who threw me out of here. You’re the bitch who ruined our family’s Christmas.”

The twins, Toby and Gabrielle, were frightened by Hank’s leaving. Gus seemed amused. And Claire hadn’t yet told anyone else—not even Gaby—about it.

That night, when she lay alone and upset in bed, she wondered if she were the bitch who had ruined Christmas. Couldn’t she have waited until the new year? Or given Hank another chance? Should she have found some sort of marriage counselor? And where would Hank go? She almost didn’t want to think about that one.

But she didn’t have to wait long to find out. The next evening, as she and the children were quietly eating baked macaroni, Hank walked in.

“Look, it’s Daddy,” Toby yelled, and he and Gabrielle rushed to embrace their father.

“Man, you wasted no time,” Gus said, and Hank tousled the boy’s hair.

Angry as she was, Claire had to admit that Hank was looking good for a change. Good as in “good and handsome,” good as in “good and sexy.”

His blond hair was washed and combed into perfect place. He had shaved, and he smelled of a cologne that was his favorite, though not actually hers. White shirt, blue blazer, khaki slacks. The hayseed preppy, she used to call him, and that’s exactly what he looked like now.

“May I pull up a chair?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for Claire to reply. He simply sat in his usual place and scooped out a portion of baked macaroni—with his hand. But only enough so that it wasn’t too gross. Just the kind of slapstick that worked every time with the kids.

Hank was all charm, but Claire was not about to fall for it, not the way she had so many times before. She knew the routine by heart. Hank cleaned himself up, transformed himself into the perfect gentleman, looked as young as one of the surfers over at the Grand Strand Beach.

“Get a plate, Daddy,” said Gabrielle, laughing at Hank’s sloppiness.

Then Claire finally spoke: “You’re going to have to leave, Hank.”

“Aw, c’mon, Claire. It’s Christmas,” he said.

Then Hank managed to transport the entire portion of baked macaroni from his hand to his mouth.

“No, Hank. This is it.”

He swallowed the huge mouthful before he spoke again. The pause was effective, and excruciating for her.

“Claire. I got the message. I got the news. I’ve been a total jerk, but it’s going to be different from now on. Okay? I got it.”

She knew this conversation should not be taking place in front of the children, but she also knew she could not back down now.

“No, it’s not okay,” she said.

“Mom, give the dude a break,” Gus said.

“Yeah, Claire. Give this dude a friggin’ break,” Hank said.

“Get out, Hank. Get out now. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

Hank stood up and wiped his hand on Toby’s napkin. For a moment Claire thought that he might come at her with a fist or a fork or a knife. Instead he walked to the door.

“Good night, guys,” he said. “Merry Christmas to one and all.”

All three children said “Merry Christmas” in voices soft and nervous. And all Claire could think was I hope I have the brains to give myself a great Christmas gift. I hope I have the strength not to let him back. But as she looked at Toby’s and Gabrielle’s gloomy faces, as she watched the quiver of their lips as they held back tears, Claire wasn’t sure she would have the guts to see this through to the end.

But she had to—she had to have the guts.