December, 31st
Margaret:
I can't wait for this year to be over, done, finished. It saw so much pain and tears that it was worth for, I don't know, a decade or so.
I'm at Edith's end of the year party with my aunt, brother, sister in law, niece, nephew, and a handful other people. We've eaten and we're ready for the countdown, the last few seconds of the year.
Dolores brought canned seedless, skinless grapes and we're eating one during the last twelve second of the year, and then we'll toast. Dolores insists we put some golden item on the glass "so the new year brings you fortune" and I put my mother's wedding ring in my champagne glass, from which, everyone knows, I'll only sip enough to wet my lips.
-"Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, ONE!"
My heart delivers a toast of its own:
January, 1st
John:
"Happy new year, my love. Wherever you are, whomever you're with, I hope this year brings you nothing but joy and happiness. You deserve it more than anyone else."
My sister's pregnancy is making her even more prickly and difficult than ever, and Robert is raising to the challenge. My brother in law is worth his weight in gold. My mother relishes the prospect of becoming a grandmother, but for now she just wants to go to bed.
I disguise a sigh. I hope nobody was looking when I thought of Margaret. I wish I knew she's well, but I can only hope.
Another year gone by and who knows what the next may bring. The past year was unspeakably precious to me, if only because Margaret was here in Milton, sparring with me after classes, protecting me from muggers, lying for her parents' sake, helping my employees to have better lives.
Milton has never been greyer and sadder than it's been since the day she left. I can only hope she's happy and well, my wonderful, valiant, beautiful swan.
Happy new year, my love.