Christmas Eve
Sarah entered the chapel and paused. The place was packed and more people had come in behind her. She looked around for a place to sit and saw an empty spot off to the side near the back. As she started to move toward it, someone came up beside her.
"I'd like to have you sit with me if that's okay," Anne Faust said softly. "Mandy's in the service, it would be nice to have your company."
After a moment Sarah nodded and followed Anne, took a seat next to her in the pew reserved for the participants families. As she removed her coat, her anxiety returned. Memories of long vigils in the cold, forced to endure visions of wrath and retribution at the return of the Christ, pressed her hard. Come on, Corbett, she said to herself. You can do this. That's not what all Christians believe.
("You know the technique, I know you do because I taught you myself and you were my best student. When you remember, set the memories aside and choose to make new ones," Prof said quietly. "To a large extent it's a matter of what you believe you gain from staying stuck in the past. I think you've allowed those old memories to define who you are for too long. Time to discover another identity, one you choose for yourself.")
I'll do my best, she thought, and turned her head to the aisle as the lights dimmed. In the soft gloom Chelsea Butterman's high, clear voice began the hymn 'O Come, O Come Emmanuel'. She entered the chapel with a light in her hands, her heart-shaped face illuminated by the soft glow. Behind her came a dozen girls, all with lights, as they the harmony; Mandy was near the end. Her warm, soft alto touched them as she passed. They progressed up the aisle to the front of the chapel, where they continued to sing until everyone had taken their places.
The service was a simple one: readings from scripture to recount the story of the Nativity, accompanied by carols to illustrate each passage. Sarah found herself caught up despite her best intentions. She was surprised to discover . . . not belief, but respect and a willingness to honor this more compassionate vision of Christ's life and works. Gradually her anxiety receded. She relaxed, became aware of the others around her, the warmth and the goodwill, the way they all made a congregation.
At the end they sang 'Silent Night'. Sarah felt tears gather in her eyes, but didn't bother to wipe them away. It was something of a surprise then when Anne put a tissue in her hand. "Me too," she whispered, and gave Sarah a smile. "Every time."
After the service Pastor Ron and Dorothy stood at the inner door to thank everyone for their attendance and chat just a bit. When Sarah came to them she was enveloped in the warmth of their delighted surprise.
"We're so glad you came," Dorothy said. She took Sarah's hand in hers for a moment. "You're always welcome here, always. You do so much good in the village, you're a part of our community and we're glad to have you with us."
As she walked out into the cold night, Sarah glanced at the stars overhead and then at the twinkling lights on the houses along the street. Anne put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a little hug. "Mandy and I are looking forward to dinner tomorrow," she said. "Thank you for taking such wonderful care of my girl for me. It's a huge load off my mind to know she can stay with you when I'm working long hours."
"It's my pleasure," Sarah said. "Mandy's a delightful girl. Gene and I can't wait to see you both at our table."
"I'll bring my mother's recipe for potato dressing," Anne said with a smile as Mandy joined them. A few flakes began to drift down. "We'd better get going before the snow starts up. See you in the morning. Merry Christmas."
Sarah drove home slowly. She didn't the snowfall for once; she had a lot to think about, much to sort out. As she turned into the lane she saw the lights of her home shine out over the yard, just as they always did. A curious sense of relief descended; nothing had changed here, but then the only change had occurred within her own mind, not her environment.
Gene and Jason were still up. They watched a movie together with Gordon, who was crashed out on the couch behind them. It was some action epic complete with explosions, blood and flying body parts. Sarah perched next to Gordon as he took her hand.
"And?" he said with a smile.
"It was lovely," she said. "It was good. I'm glad I went."
"Excellent. You've earned a mug of hot chocolate. Avail yourself, it's in the kitchen." As she stood he said softly, 'Well done, Sarah Jane."
[H]
"Where the HELL is my bathrobe?"
Roz looked up from her book. She'd known this would happen. Her husband stood in the doorway, the very essence of outraged sensibility. He glared at her, and one hand gripped the doorjamb hard enough to make his knuckles white.
"It's safe," she said in perfect truth.
"Where IS it?!"
She set the book aside and looked at him. "Do you trust me?"
He huffed and folded his arms. "I don't want a new robe, dammit! It's my choice!"
"Do. You. Trust. Me." She dared to press the issue.
"That has nothing—"
"It has everything to do with this," she said quietly. "And you know it, amante."
He fell silent, but his glare intensified. Roz didn't look away. After a few moments of tense silence he came forward, grabbed the extra blanket off the foot of the bed, leaned in and snatched a pillow, then stormed out of the room, to pull the door shut behind him with a bang. Roz relaxed, surprised to find she'd held her breath. "That answers that question," she said aloud, but she knew it wasn't true. He trusted her, but this had also been a battle of wills from the start, she knew that now. He would always attempt to win any such contest between them. But that doesn't mean I have to just give up, she thought. With a quiet sigh she picked up her book. Oh well. Good thing I hid the presents.
Fifteen minutes later the door cracked open. "You traitorous little wench."
"Love you too," she said demurely, and turned a page.
"So let's . . . let's open some of 'em tonight." He was the pure voice of reason now, soft and persuasive. "I do one, you do one. That's fair, isn't it?"
"If you don't behave yourself you'll have to wait for La Befana to give you your presents," she said, and hid a smile. "And she doesn't show up until January fifth. You'd better hope you don't see her or she'll thump you with her broomstick."
"Hah, very clever, attempting to terrorize your significant other." There was a brief silence. "You'd leave me out here on a cold, windy, snowy night with no way to keep warm?"
"You're the one who threw a hissy fit," she pointed out. "You're the one who decided to sleep on the couch. And you took a blanket with you. Plus you have the cat."
"Damn." The door wavered slightly. "Can I look under the bed?"
"Be my guest," she said.
"So they're not there."
"Gregory," she said. "If you stay up all night taking the house apart, you're putting it back together before you get anything tomorrow. That's fine by me. I'll watch the Doctor Who marathon while you clean up."
"Damn." He sighed. "They're not here, are they?"
"Come to bed," she said. "It's late and you might get called out in the night. You need some sleep."
The door opened a few inches. "I hate it when you're reasonable and right at the same time."
Roz patted the empty side of the bed. "Nice and warm," she said in an inviting tone.
"Shut up and turn out the light. I don't want you to see my painful disappointment at your betrayal in case it induces you to hide everything for a week."
She rolled her eyes, slapped the book on the nightstand and clicked off the light. The door pushed open and Greg entered, pillow under one arm, blanket over the other. In the semi-gloom he looked both annoyed and defiant; his eyes glittered as he watched her while he moved to the bed. He stood there and stared down at her. Then he dumped the blanket on the floor, tossed the pillow toward the head, brought his legs up and yanked the covers over himself, his back to her.
"Goodnight, amante. Love you," Roz said. There was no answer, only an angry movement of his shoulders. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him; it would only make matters worse. With a silent sigh she closed her eyes and settled in, and hoped she'd be able to find some sleep herself. Still, she smiled as she drifted off. She had a feeling things would be all right.
