Five Ways Cindy Never Spent Christmas Eve
I.
They had decorated the tree with lights and ornaments down to the branches two feet above the floor. On the lower branches they'd hung only a durable silver sleigh bell that jingled merrily when their baby daughter got a hold of it. She did now, her eyes sparkling as she grinned at her parents, amused by her own cleverness.
Jeff and Mary Lou smiled back, still shaken from the morning's accident. Only the car was damaged, but it scared them to imagine what would have happened to them, or to Cindy without her parents, if they hadn't worn their seatbelts.
II.
It was a quiet evening in the pediatric intensive care unit. Every effort had been made to get as many patients as possible home for the holiday and only one was left, a five year old with severe head trauma and no family beside her bed.
"What's her story?" the incoming night nurse asked her day counterpart.
"Sad. Her foster parents beat her half to death. She made it through surgery, but her neurologist doesn't know if she'll ever wake up."
"Poor baby."
The night nurse checked the girl's vitals and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "Merry Christmas, Cynthia."
III.
The ringing phone pulled Cindy from a pleasantly odd dreamworld and thrust her into feverish, aching reality. She coughed painfully and stumbled out of bed, dragging herself downstairs cloaked in blankets.
She stopped short when she saw Vic hanging up the phone in the kitchen, reminded by his unexpected presence that her parents and Samantha had hurried to the hospital earlier.
"How are they?" she croaked, startling him. His expression scared her and she felt a dizziness that had nothing to do with the flu.
"The baby's fine. It's a girl. Christina."
"Ashleigh?"
Vic shook his head, unable to speak.
IV.
She was dying, or at least she hoped she was. She'd finally gotten her eyes open, but now the room was spinning and she decided that was a mistake. Even worse was ever moving in with Max, whose shower singing was cringe-inducing on a good day, and now drilled agonizingly through her skull.
She oozed to the floor and crawled to the bathroom just as Max stepped out of the shower.
"Good afternoon, Cindy. Remember we're going to your parents' in three hours."
Cindy groaned and retched into the toilet. If she survived the evening she would never drink again.
V.
Cindy snuggled under the blanket, warmed by the cheery fire dancing in the fireplace and the hot cider in her mug, and soothed by the drumming rain against the windows.
"Does it always pour like this?"
"Just in winter. Plus we usually have the sense not to keep riding when it starts."
Cindy grinned and lobbed a cushion at her sister. She sighed contentedly and relaxed into the couch, surveying the festive decorations of holly and ivy. "Everything's so perfect."
"It is now that the whole family is here."
"I guess Bing Crosby was right."
"About what?"
"Christmas in Killarney."