Title: Yuletide Reflections
Author: Kameka
Rating: G
Notes/Disclaimers: Lifetime owns 'em and makes all the money, not me. I just like to play. "'Twas the Night Before Christmas: A Visit from St. Nicholas" was written by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863). Many thanks to Nat, who read through it looking for errors.
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Zoe is spending some time thinking about her family.
* * *
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Zoe Busiek's clear voice ended ''Twas the Night Before Christmas' on a quiet but cheerful note, St. Nicholas' message coming through bright and clear to the young people she was reading to. She closed the leather-bound book gently, not wanting to inadvertently rip any of the gilt-edged pages. It was a slim volume with the binding only containing a couple of dozen pieces of the thick archival paper that had been written on in beautiful Calligraphy, the ornate text joined by old-fashioned pictures depicting the scenes that the famous poem spoke of. A present to one of the Busiek women, a great-great-grandmother of Zoe's to be exact, the book had been passed down from mother to daughter as each daughter became a mother and the tradition of reading from it on Christmas Eve had been passed with it.
Zoe had hazy memories of her grandmother reading from it on Christmas Eves long past, the warm air rich with the scent of wood from the fire and the spices used in baking. A wise, wrinkled face wreathed in wistful smiles as her quiet voice told the story that seemed imprinted on every child's heart, her small, worn hands gently tracing the odd letter or the silent grace of the pictures drawn. Easier to reach were memories of her mother sitting by this very fireplace, her lap covered by a handmade quilt of festive afghan and her sweet voice strong as she read through the poem for her two daughters. If Zoe squinted just a little, she could easily imagine that she and Sue were sprawled on the living room floor, a comforter cushioning their bodies from the residual chill of the wood. Sue would be in her standard Christmas Eve wardrobe of a white skirt or pair of clacks with a cheerful green sweater, the red being reserved for Christmas Day, a personal tradition she had started for reasons unknown to anyone else.
Sue. Zoe looked around the quiet living room, her sad eyes taking in the giant tree that claimed one corner, its' Evergreen needles sweet smelling and adding a crispness to the air that was sorely missed during the rest of the year and its' branches covered in a variety of bright lights, ornaments that had been passed down or made by hand, and shiny silver and gold tinsel. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace, the red-gold flames dancing with the air currents as they cast shadows across the room. The children were all present, Taylor for once not complaining family bonding time. It appeared that Christmas did live in the hearts of everyone, a magical time that turned even the most grown-up adult or rebellious teenager into a child. She was curled up in a chair with a length of colorful fleece wrapped around her for added warmth, both hands holding onto a mug that had held hot cocoa. Cliff had a similar mug; it sat on the floor next to him with a small plate that had been holding cookies, the rule about eating sweets so late disregarded just this once, as he sat leaning up against the chair that held his older sister. Hannah, for her part, was on the sofa with Zoe. A warm body curled up against her own, soft, even breathing testament to the little girl being asleep.
It was an idyllic scene: a Norman Rockwell painting that was only missing an adult masculine presence to show the perfect family to an outsider. Those within the scene, however, knew that there were many more things missing. Grandparents with rosy cheeks and arms laden with packages as they see their family for the first time in months, a proud father who had plans to make a sooty boot print later on in the night, before he climbed upon the room and made noises to be attributed to Santa, a loving mother who looked upon her sleepy or sleeping children with a maternal smile.
Zoe's own parents, the children's grandparents, had been dead for years. Her father when Zoe was fifteen, her mother a few years later. It had been hard, but she and Sue had gotten used to not seeing them, not spending holidays with them, Zoe planning her trips around the world as an escape route and Sue being caught up in her own growing family. But Sue should still be here with her children.
It should be Sue who had just finished reading ''Twas the Night Before Christmas' to Taylor, Cliff, and Hannah. Sue who had spent the past few weeks waiting for a few frantic minutes when all of the children were out of the house and busy elsewhere so that she could wrap presents, who had spent evenings baking cookies with the help of Hannah, even as they did a craft project together. Sue who should have the warm body of her youngest child snuggled up against her as dreams floated through her head.
It should be Sue. And Zoe? She knew that she would be there, with her sister and her family, the only blood family that she had left in the world. She'd be sitting on the floor, a bit apart from the others, perhaps, or curled up in a chair much like Taylor, equal parts comfort and unease filling her. Being in the house she had grown up in and called home for so many years but intellectually knowing that it wasn't her home any longer, knowing that it belonged to Sue, Taylor, Cliff, and Hannah, the next generation of the Busieks had always made her feel adrift in a way that her multiple dwellings and traveling had never done. But at the same time there was the unmistakable sense of homecoming she experienced each time she visited, the warm fuzzy feelings that she could feel wrapping themselves around her heart.
Instead their places were reversed. Sue was the silent presence that preyed on the minds of the occupants of this Chicago home, gone but not forgotten. A specter that had just begun to loosen its' stranglehold on the living when the holiday season rushed upon them, the family togetherness in commercials and books and their own memories ripping the band-aids of wounds that had just begun to scab over. Zoe was in her place, the mother figure that helped with homework, and the responsible adult that laid down the rules. It was definitely a switch, one that few of her friends from times past would understand. Zoe had never dreamt about being a wife or a mother; that had been Sue's dream, the future she had laid out for herself and excelled in. Instead, even as a young child, Zoe had craved excitement and adventure beyond the bounds of her family and hometown.
How ironic that she felt more grounded, more stable, here in Chicago than she ever had anywhere else.
That feeling of being home had washed over her the moment she had stepped inside the door, as always, and it had been accompanied by the same feeling of uneasiness that she had grown to tolerate. As the minutes, hours, and days had passed, that warmth had grown, thawing the discomfort out of her. She still mourned her sister's death - how could she not? But she had still felt like this was the place she should be, that this was where she belonged at this point in her life. What had begun as simply an effort to do her best for her sister's memory and children, to perhaps reconnect some with the remaining members of her family, had grown into so much more. While she had always loved her nieces and nephew, it was an emotion dulled by distance. Once she had moved back, and ceased to feel guilty over how right being in the house once again and being guardian felt, it had blossomed into so much more.
Taylor, who Sue had always told Zoe was so much like her, had been a handful. Still was, truth be told. But then, Sue had mentioned that her eldest daughter was. A teenager's self-assurance wrapped up in rebellion had greeted Zoe and catapulted her back through time, making the older woman cringe when she thought of her own parents and how she now knew they must have felt. Her long brown hair had since been shorn, giving an edgier look to the child-woman as she fought to find her own footing and figure out who she was in these times of growing up. Her mother's death had forced Taylor into a more adult role and she helped care for her siblings and matured from the girl she had been scant months ago. Once Zoe had arrived and begun to find her own footing in the maternal guardian role she'd been asked to fulfill, Taylor had begun to go all out in her efforts to be what she considered a 'normal teenager.'
Next came Cliff, the middle child and the only boy, the somewhat shy pseudo- jock who teased and argued with his sisters constantly but still stepped up to the plate when they needed him. He was the quietest of the bunch, often lost in his own world of fantasies and daydreams, comics and science fiction and music that set the tone to his life. He'd been forced to grow up by circumstances as well, believing that he had caused his mother's death, that he was the reason they were now orphaned. The guilt and blame had settled themselves firmly on his thin shoulders, isolating him from his siblings when they needed each other the most. The original belief that the accident had been Sue's fault hadn't helped, as she'd been out because Cliff needed something, but the truth had come out, thanks to investigating Zoe had done. Finally, the boy had begun to heal.
Hannah was last, the youngest of the bunch, the second girl. If Taylor was looking back through a mirror to the girl who Zoe was when she was younger, then Hannah was the modern reflection of her mother. A bundle of energy that refused to rest until everything was completed just the way she wanted it. Someone who would do her best if there were people who needed help of some sort or there was a worthwhile project going, and made sure that others were involved. Definitely Sue in miniature. It was heartbreaking to see sometimes: Hannah was one of the more tangible reminders of her mother, surpassing even the older kids because of her likeness to her mother.
And now, even though she felt guilty because of it at times, Zoe Busiek couldn't imagine her life any other way. She still dreamt of the City That Never Sleeps, of fireworks and neon lights and bustling crowds of gamblers. Of having the freedom to get tired of a place or bored and pack up her bags and move, following her whims wherever they took her, be it on a plane or a bus, in a truck or on a boat. Instead she was tied to one place by strengthening bonds of family and she had a respectable job where she was employed for at least another year. And, for once, she was completely content with the life she had.
Not what she had expected, all those years ago, when she had embarked on her journey across America and, to a lesser extent, the world.
The chiming of a tall grandfather clock that had been found and restored by Zoe's mother broke into her thoughts and pulled Zoe reluctantly from the past. Hannah's body was still a warm weight against her, Cliff still sprawled on the floor, his pensive gaze taking in the cheerful Christmas tree, Taylor still curled up in her chair, her eyes closed as she drifted along more asleep than awake. As the twelfth chime rung, signaling that it was midnight, Zoe shifted on the sofa, frowning slightly as feeling came back to her limbs in a rush. "Hannah, it's late; you need to wake up so you can go to sleep." She shrugged slightly when Cliff looked over at her voice and smirked at what she had said. Her voice also spurred Taylor into stretching, showing that the teenager hadn't been as sleepy as Zoe had originally thought. When Taylor stood and made to go upstairs, Zoe stopped her. "Wait, don't go to bed yet."
With that, she stood up from the sofa, smiling slightly as Hannah sleepily protested the loss of warmth. She made her way to the fireplace mantle and removed three wrapped gifts, two small and one large, as the children watched eagerly. Zoe had placed the presents up there almost a week before, refusing to put them under the tree with the rest of the assortment that had made the way onto the tree-skirt. Her eyes sad but calm, Zoe approached each of the children and handed them one of the packages. "I know we're not supposed to open presents on Christmas Eve, but I thought we might make an exception this year," she explained when all three of the kids looked at her with questions in their eyes.
Taylor was the first to recover from her shock, all of the world-weary, slightly bored expression that teenagers perfected falling from her face as she tore the silver-and-white paper to reveal the gray velvet snap-lid box. She turned questioning eyes to her aunt, having recognized it as being her mother's, and received a smile of encouragement. Opening it, she found a pair of earrings, gold glowing in the dim light as diamonds twinkled. She gasped, her eyes welling with tears at the unexpected sight. "What? How?"
Zoe moved closer to the teenager, running her fingers through the short brown hair. "I thought you'd like them, a reminder of your mom."
Taylor said nothing, merely reaching out to hug Zoe around the waist before releasing her to finger the earrings gently, tears running down her face the entire time.
Hannah opened her present next, ripping through the paper even faster than Taylor had to reveal a matching gray box. She flashed a smile to Zoe and Taylor, the cheeriness negated by the tears that brightened her eyes and the teeth that worried at her lower lip. Opening the box, she revealed a gold locket with flowers carved on both sides of it. It was a piece of jewelry that she'd begged her mother to let her borrow constantly, always being told no, that it was too valuable. As she touched it, Taylor and Zoe moved from the chair to where she still sat on the sofa, and she immediately burrowed into Taylor's arms, welcoming their presence.
Zoe reached out and removed the locket from the box that held it and opened it so that the little girl could see what was inside it. "See? This is your mom when she was just about your age," she said, gesturing to the picture of a little girl, "and this is her earlier this year."
Hannah looked at the locket silently before launching herself out of her sister's arms and into her aunt's, crying all the way. Zoe had caught the little girl staring intently at photographs of Sue, as if attempting to memorize the woman through the two-dimensional image, and suspected that the little girl was afraid she was forgetting her mother. When she'd found the locket wrapped in a faded pink handkerchief, it had seemed like the perfect present for her to give Hannah to remember her mother by, a tangible reminder that should could hold. It was that which had led her to solidify her thinking that the other children would like similar presents.
She gently closed the gold locket back in the box and closed it, looking over at Cliff as she still held Hannah. "Cliff, why don't you come over here," she urged the almost-teenage boy.
He did slowly, the package held gingerly in his hands as he made his way to the sofa. Hannah climbed the rest of the way onto Zoe's lap and Taylor automatically bridged the gap that Hannah had left while Cliff settled in on Zoe's other side. He bit his lip slightly, unconsciously mirroring his younger sister, as he carefully pulled the wrapping paper apart, a look of total concentration and just a little bit of fear gracing his suddenly young face. The paper soon fell away, in one large chunk instead of the shreds that his sisters had left, to reveal a large picture frame, glass down. He turned it, bracing himself for what it was a picture of, but couldn't help gasping slightly. There were three pictures held within the wooden frame that he could remember his mother buying. All three of them were a shock to him: the middle one was a picture of the family taken scarce weeks before Sue's death, he recognized the clothes; on the right side was a picture of him taken at one of his volleyball games, his school uniform around his body as he leapt in the air to spike a ball; on the left side was a matching picture, only it was older and a girl of about thirteen or fourteen who was spiking the ball.
Secured to one side of the frame, though it appeared easy to detach, was a medal hanging from a slightly faded ribbon in the school colors of maroon and white. He turned the medal slightly to see the name that was carved onto it. Susan Elizabeth Busiek, State Championship, 1981. It was his mother's first volleyball medal.
Without a word, not trusting his voice, he turned and wrapped his arms around his aunt and younger sister, tears falling unashamedly from his eyes as he felt the solid warmth against him. He could feel as Taylor's arms joined the puzzle of body parts, hear her sniffling as she tried to hold back tears. Hannah was crying noisily, her face buried in Zoe's throat. Even Zoe was crying, mourning the loss of her sister, the girl she had grown up with, the woman she had known. It was cathartic, a release of tension and sadness that had been building since mid-November, when the family had begun making plans for Thanksgiving dinner and they had all realized that this was it: the first holiday season without Sue, mother and sister, the first holiday season spent as a fractured family.
After some time, Zoe sniffed and cleared her throat to get the attention of the others, one hand moving gently through Cliff's soft hair as she quietly hummed in an effort to calm down Hannah. "It's getting late, guys. We should all head to bed. Especially since someone," she said dryly as she gave Hannah a little jostle and receiving a watery giggle in return, "will no doubt be waking us up at dawn."
They slowly extricated themselves from each other, all of them giving kisses or hugs and a quiet 'Merry Christmas' before making their way up the stairs to their cold beds, their opened gifts clutched in their hands in an effort to make sure they were real. Finally, Zoe stood alone in the living room as she had so many nights before she made her way to Sue's room, the bedroom that had become hers by default. She wandered over to look at the collection of photographs on the fireplace mantle: her grandparents were there, her parents, and one of the last taken of Sue.
She reached out to gently touch the cold glass of each one, her eyes closing as she imagined warm flesh under her fingertips instead, life- loving laughter gracing her ears instead of almost painful silence. With a wistful smile, she made her way to the stairs and turned off the lights, leaving the cheerful tree lit, a colorful beacon in the dark house, as she followed the children upstairs and to bed. The people they had loved and lost may no longer be there in person, but they always would in spirit.
* End *
Reviews are welcome!
Author: Kameka
Rating: G
Notes/Disclaimers: Lifetime owns 'em and makes all the money, not me. I just like to play. "'Twas the Night Before Christmas: A Visit from St. Nicholas" was written by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863). Many thanks to Nat, who read through it looking for errors.
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Zoe is spending some time thinking about her family.
* * *
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Zoe Busiek's clear voice ended ''Twas the Night Before Christmas' on a quiet but cheerful note, St. Nicholas' message coming through bright and clear to the young people she was reading to. She closed the leather-bound book gently, not wanting to inadvertently rip any of the gilt-edged pages. It was a slim volume with the binding only containing a couple of dozen pieces of the thick archival paper that had been written on in beautiful Calligraphy, the ornate text joined by old-fashioned pictures depicting the scenes that the famous poem spoke of. A present to one of the Busiek women, a great-great-grandmother of Zoe's to be exact, the book had been passed down from mother to daughter as each daughter became a mother and the tradition of reading from it on Christmas Eve had been passed with it.
Zoe had hazy memories of her grandmother reading from it on Christmas Eves long past, the warm air rich with the scent of wood from the fire and the spices used in baking. A wise, wrinkled face wreathed in wistful smiles as her quiet voice told the story that seemed imprinted on every child's heart, her small, worn hands gently tracing the odd letter or the silent grace of the pictures drawn. Easier to reach were memories of her mother sitting by this very fireplace, her lap covered by a handmade quilt of festive afghan and her sweet voice strong as she read through the poem for her two daughters. If Zoe squinted just a little, she could easily imagine that she and Sue were sprawled on the living room floor, a comforter cushioning their bodies from the residual chill of the wood. Sue would be in her standard Christmas Eve wardrobe of a white skirt or pair of clacks with a cheerful green sweater, the red being reserved for Christmas Day, a personal tradition she had started for reasons unknown to anyone else.
Sue. Zoe looked around the quiet living room, her sad eyes taking in the giant tree that claimed one corner, its' Evergreen needles sweet smelling and adding a crispness to the air that was sorely missed during the rest of the year and its' branches covered in a variety of bright lights, ornaments that had been passed down or made by hand, and shiny silver and gold tinsel. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace, the red-gold flames dancing with the air currents as they cast shadows across the room. The children were all present, Taylor for once not complaining family bonding time. It appeared that Christmas did live in the hearts of everyone, a magical time that turned even the most grown-up adult or rebellious teenager into a child. She was curled up in a chair with a length of colorful fleece wrapped around her for added warmth, both hands holding onto a mug that had held hot cocoa. Cliff had a similar mug; it sat on the floor next to him with a small plate that had been holding cookies, the rule about eating sweets so late disregarded just this once, as he sat leaning up against the chair that held his older sister. Hannah, for her part, was on the sofa with Zoe. A warm body curled up against her own, soft, even breathing testament to the little girl being asleep.
It was an idyllic scene: a Norman Rockwell painting that was only missing an adult masculine presence to show the perfect family to an outsider. Those within the scene, however, knew that there were many more things missing. Grandparents with rosy cheeks and arms laden with packages as they see their family for the first time in months, a proud father who had plans to make a sooty boot print later on in the night, before he climbed upon the room and made noises to be attributed to Santa, a loving mother who looked upon her sleepy or sleeping children with a maternal smile.
Zoe's own parents, the children's grandparents, had been dead for years. Her father when Zoe was fifteen, her mother a few years later. It had been hard, but she and Sue had gotten used to not seeing them, not spending holidays with them, Zoe planning her trips around the world as an escape route and Sue being caught up in her own growing family. But Sue should still be here with her children.
It should be Sue who had just finished reading ''Twas the Night Before Christmas' to Taylor, Cliff, and Hannah. Sue who had spent the past few weeks waiting for a few frantic minutes when all of the children were out of the house and busy elsewhere so that she could wrap presents, who had spent evenings baking cookies with the help of Hannah, even as they did a craft project together. Sue who should have the warm body of her youngest child snuggled up against her as dreams floated through her head.
It should be Sue. And Zoe? She knew that she would be there, with her sister and her family, the only blood family that she had left in the world. She'd be sitting on the floor, a bit apart from the others, perhaps, or curled up in a chair much like Taylor, equal parts comfort and unease filling her. Being in the house she had grown up in and called home for so many years but intellectually knowing that it wasn't her home any longer, knowing that it belonged to Sue, Taylor, Cliff, and Hannah, the next generation of the Busieks had always made her feel adrift in a way that her multiple dwellings and traveling had never done. But at the same time there was the unmistakable sense of homecoming she experienced each time she visited, the warm fuzzy feelings that she could feel wrapping themselves around her heart.
Instead their places were reversed. Sue was the silent presence that preyed on the minds of the occupants of this Chicago home, gone but not forgotten. A specter that had just begun to loosen its' stranglehold on the living when the holiday season rushed upon them, the family togetherness in commercials and books and their own memories ripping the band-aids of wounds that had just begun to scab over. Zoe was in her place, the mother figure that helped with homework, and the responsible adult that laid down the rules. It was definitely a switch, one that few of her friends from times past would understand. Zoe had never dreamt about being a wife or a mother; that had been Sue's dream, the future she had laid out for herself and excelled in. Instead, even as a young child, Zoe had craved excitement and adventure beyond the bounds of her family and hometown.
How ironic that she felt more grounded, more stable, here in Chicago than she ever had anywhere else.
That feeling of being home had washed over her the moment she had stepped inside the door, as always, and it had been accompanied by the same feeling of uneasiness that she had grown to tolerate. As the minutes, hours, and days had passed, that warmth had grown, thawing the discomfort out of her. She still mourned her sister's death - how could she not? But she had still felt like this was the place she should be, that this was where she belonged at this point in her life. What had begun as simply an effort to do her best for her sister's memory and children, to perhaps reconnect some with the remaining members of her family, had grown into so much more. While she had always loved her nieces and nephew, it was an emotion dulled by distance. Once she had moved back, and ceased to feel guilty over how right being in the house once again and being guardian felt, it had blossomed into so much more.
Taylor, who Sue had always told Zoe was so much like her, had been a handful. Still was, truth be told. But then, Sue had mentioned that her eldest daughter was. A teenager's self-assurance wrapped up in rebellion had greeted Zoe and catapulted her back through time, making the older woman cringe when she thought of her own parents and how she now knew they must have felt. Her long brown hair had since been shorn, giving an edgier look to the child-woman as she fought to find her own footing and figure out who she was in these times of growing up. Her mother's death had forced Taylor into a more adult role and she helped care for her siblings and matured from the girl she had been scant months ago. Once Zoe had arrived and begun to find her own footing in the maternal guardian role she'd been asked to fulfill, Taylor had begun to go all out in her efforts to be what she considered a 'normal teenager.'
Next came Cliff, the middle child and the only boy, the somewhat shy pseudo- jock who teased and argued with his sisters constantly but still stepped up to the plate when they needed him. He was the quietest of the bunch, often lost in his own world of fantasies and daydreams, comics and science fiction and music that set the tone to his life. He'd been forced to grow up by circumstances as well, believing that he had caused his mother's death, that he was the reason they were now orphaned. The guilt and blame had settled themselves firmly on his thin shoulders, isolating him from his siblings when they needed each other the most. The original belief that the accident had been Sue's fault hadn't helped, as she'd been out because Cliff needed something, but the truth had come out, thanks to investigating Zoe had done. Finally, the boy had begun to heal.
Hannah was last, the youngest of the bunch, the second girl. If Taylor was looking back through a mirror to the girl who Zoe was when she was younger, then Hannah was the modern reflection of her mother. A bundle of energy that refused to rest until everything was completed just the way she wanted it. Someone who would do her best if there were people who needed help of some sort or there was a worthwhile project going, and made sure that others were involved. Definitely Sue in miniature. It was heartbreaking to see sometimes: Hannah was one of the more tangible reminders of her mother, surpassing even the older kids because of her likeness to her mother.
And now, even though she felt guilty because of it at times, Zoe Busiek couldn't imagine her life any other way. She still dreamt of the City That Never Sleeps, of fireworks and neon lights and bustling crowds of gamblers. Of having the freedom to get tired of a place or bored and pack up her bags and move, following her whims wherever they took her, be it on a plane or a bus, in a truck or on a boat. Instead she was tied to one place by strengthening bonds of family and she had a respectable job where she was employed for at least another year. And, for once, she was completely content with the life she had.
Not what she had expected, all those years ago, when she had embarked on her journey across America and, to a lesser extent, the world.
The chiming of a tall grandfather clock that had been found and restored by Zoe's mother broke into her thoughts and pulled Zoe reluctantly from the past. Hannah's body was still a warm weight against her, Cliff still sprawled on the floor, his pensive gaze taking in the cheerful Christmas tree, Taylor still curled up in her chair, her eyes closed as she drifted along more asleep than awake. As the twelfth chime rung, signaling that it was midnight, Zoe shifted on the sofa, frowning slightly as feeling came back to her limbs in a rush. "Hannah, it's late; you need to wake up so you can go to sleep." She shrugged slightly when Cliff looked over at her voice and smirked at what she had said. Her voice also spurred Taylor into stretching, showing that the teenager hadn't been as sleepy as Zoe had originally thought. When Taylor stood and made to go upstairs, Zoe stopped her. "Wait, don't go to bed yet."
With that, she stood up from the sofa, smiling slightly as Hannah sleepily protested the loss of warmth. She made her way to the fireplace mantle and removed three wrapped gifts, two small and one large, as the children watched eagerly. Zoe had placed the presents up there almost a week before, refusing to put them under the tree with the rest of the assortment that had made the way onto the tree-skirt. Her eyes sad but calm, Zoe approached each of the children and handed them one of the packages. "I know we're not supposed to open presents on Christmas Eve, but I thought we might make an exception this year," she explained when all three of the kids looked at her with questions in their eyes.
Taylor was the first to recover from her shock, all of the world-weary, slightly bored expression that teenagers perfected falling from her face as she tore the silver-and-white paper to reveal the gray velvet snap-lid box. She turned questioning eyes to her aunt, having recognized it as being her mother's, and received a smile of encouragement. Opening it, she found a pair of earrings, gold glowing in the dim light as diamonds twinkled. She gasped, her eyes welling with tears at the unexpected sight. "What? How?"
Zoe moved closer to the teenager, running her fingers through the short brown hair. "I thought you'd like them, a reminder of your mom."
Taylor said nothing, merely reaching out to hug Zoe around the waist before releasing her to finger the earrings gently, tears running down her face the entire time.
Hannah opened her present next, ripping through the paper even faster than Taylor had to reveal a matching gray box. She flashed a smile to Zoe and Taylor, the cheeriness negated by the tears that brightened her eyes and the teeth that worried at her lower lip. Opening the box, she revealed a gold locket with flowers carved on both sides of it. It was a piece of jewelry that she'd begged her mother to let her borrow constantly, always being told no, that it was too valuable. As she touched it, Taylor and Zoe moved from the chair to where she still sat on the sofa, and she immediately burrowed into Taylor's arms, welcoming their presence.
Zoe reached out and removed the locket from the box that held it and opened it so that the little girl could see what was inside it. "See? This is your mom when she was just about your age," she said, gesturing to the picture of a little girl, "and this is her earlier this year."
Hannah looked at the locket silently before launching herself out of her sister's arms and into her aunt's, crying all the way. Zoe had caught the little girl staring intently at photographs of Sue, as if attempting to memorize the woman through the two-dimensional image, and suspected that the little girl was afraid she was forgetting her mother. When she'd found the locket wrapped in a faded pink handkerchief, it had seemed like the perfect present for her to give Hannah to remember her mother by, a tangible reminder that should could hold. It was that which had led her to solidify her thinking that the other children would like similar presents.
She gently closed the gold locket back in the box and closed it, looking over at Cliff as she still held Hannah. "Cliff, why don't you come over here," she urged the almost-teenage boy.
He did slowly, the package held gingerly in his hands as he made his way to the sofa. Hannah climbed the rest of the way onto Zoe's lap and Taylor automatically bridged the gap that Hannah had left while Cliff settled in on Zoe's other side. He bit his lip slightly, unconsciously mirroring his younger sister, as he carefully pulled the wrapping paper apart, a look of total concentration and just a little bit of fear gracing his suddenly young face. The paper soon fell away, in one large chunk instead of the shreds that his sisters had left, to reveal a large picture frame, glass down. He turned it, bracing himself for what it was a picture of, but couldn't help gasping slightly. There were three pictures held within the wooden frame that he could remember his mother buying. All three of them were a shock to him: the middle one was a picture of the family taken scarce weeks before Sue's death, he recognized the clothes; on the right side was a picture of him taken at one of his volleyball games, his school uniform around his body as he leapt in the air to spike a ball; on the left side was a matching picture, only it was older and a girl of about thirteen or fourteen who was spiking the ball.
Secured to one side of the frame, though it appeared easy to detach, was a medal hanging from a slightly faded ribbon in the school colors of maroon and white. He turned the medal slightly to see the name that was carved onto it. Susan Elizabeth Busiek, State Championship, 1981. It was his mother's first volleyball medal.
Without a word, not trusting his voice, he turned and wrapped his arms around his aunt and younger sister, tears falling unashamedly from his eyes as he felt the solid warmth against him. He could feel as Taylor's arms joined the puzzle of body parts, hear her sniffling as she tried to hold back tears. Hannah was crying noisily, her face buried in Zoe's throat. Even Zoe was crying, mourning the loss of her sister, the girl she had grown up with, the woman she had known. It was cathartic, a release of tension and sadness that had been building since mid-November, when the family had begun making plans for Thanksgiving dinner and they had all realized that this was it: the first holiday season without Sue, mother and sister, the first holiday season spent as a fractured family.
After some time, Zoe sniffed and cleared her throat to get the attention of the others, one hand moving gently through Cliff's soft hair as she quietly hummed in an effort to calm down Hannah. "It's getting late, guys. We should all head to bed. Especially since someone," she said dryly as she gave Hannah a little jostle and receiving a watery giggle in return, "will no doubt be waking us up at dawn."
They slowly extricated themselves from each other, all of them giving kisses or hugs and a quiet 'Merry Christmas' before making their way up the stairs to their cold beds, their opened gifts clutched in their hands in an effort to make sure they were real. Finally, Zoe stood alone in the living room as she had so many nights before she made her way to Sue's room, the bedroom that had become hers by default. She wandered over to look at the collection of photographs on the fireplace mantle: her grandparents were there, her parents, and one of the last taken of Sue.
She reached out to gently touch the cold glass of each one, her eyes closing as she imagined warm flesh under her fingertips instead, life- loving laughter gracing her ears instead of almost painful silence. With a wistful smile, she made her way to the stairs and turned off the lights, leaving the cheerful tree lit, a colorful beacon in the dark house, as she followed the children upstairs and to bed. The people they had loved and lost may no longer be there in person, but they always would in spirit.
* End *
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