Christmas Day
Sarah woke on a dream of song, and sat on the edge of the bed to gather herself. After a few moments she stood, stretched a little and tucked her feet into her slippers. She glanced at her husband before she put on her bathrobe and went to the fireplace, to shake down embers and lay another log on the fire. Once the blaze had caught she went out into the chilly darkness.
Of all the rituals Christmas morning brought, this was her favorite: to walk through the house she had claimed as her home, to bring light and the tokens of rebirth and renewal into every corner. She renewed the fire in the main room to lay a good bed of embers; this year they would have a Yule log.
Next came the bread baked at her hearth—two batches of cinnamon rolls. She had just put the pans into the oven to rise when Roz came in on a yawn. She went to Sarah and gave her a gentle hug. "Good morning, Merry Christmas. Could you use some help?" she asked softly. Sarah smiled at her.
"I'd love some help," she said. "Good morning, and Merry Christmas."
They took the stockings out of their secret place in the mudroom and hung them from the hooks on the mantel, then stacked the boxes of tree decorations ready for use later. Roz put an arm around Sarah's shoulders for a moment. "Want to try your hand?" she asked. Sarah took a deep breath. With hands that shook only a little she opened the first box and took out a small sphere covered with crystals. She fastened a hook in the loop on the top, then hung it on a branch. Roz patted her back.
"It'll be all right. You'll see," she said. Sarah nodded, and watched as Roz knelt to open another box. She sifted through the contents to bring out a little circle of silk holly leaves wrapped in red ribbon.
"My grandmother made this for me for a school play," she said, and put it on Sarah's head, adjusted it carefully. "You should wear it. It matches your robe." She stepped back and smiled in approval. "Very festive."
Sarah looked down at her old red chenille bathrobe, shabby and faded. "If you say so."
"I do," Roz said. "What next?"
They set out tableware, mugs and plates ready for the buffet breakfast to come, prepared ingredients ahead of time and lit candles.
"I'm off to take a shower and put on something nice," Roz said. "we'll probably have some time before anyone else wakes up." She hesitated, then took a small box out of her bathrobe pocket and held it out to Sarah with a shy smile. Sarah accepted the gift, removed the paper and opened the box. Inside lay a necklace—a tiny real shell held in a gold framework as a pendant on a thin gold chain.
"Oh," she said, delighted. "Roz, it's beautiful! Thank you!" She gave the younger woman a hug.
"I'm so glad you like it." Roz beamed at her. "See you back here in just a little while." She departed, a bouncy spring in her step. Sarah watched her go and looked down at the necklace curled in her palm. After a moment she put it on, and went upstairs to get dressed.
When she returned to the bedroom it was to find Gene awake. Sarah came into the room, a bit surprised to see him up so early. As she approached she noticed something draped across the foot of the bed. "Merry Christmas," Gene said. "You look very festive." He gestured at the object. "That's for you."
Sarah lifted it up with both hands. It was a robe of deep forest green silk. The fabric gave off a rich gleam in the faint light. She looked down at it, at a complete loss for words.
"Try it on," Gene said. Sarah glanced at him. With some hesitancy she shucked off her old robe and put on the new one. It was like a cloud, light and soft; it enveloped her in warmth. She smoothed a hand over it, shocked at the pure beauty. "Wear it today," he said. "Green's your color."
She did a slow turn and the silk billowed gently, then settled against her. Sarah laughed, enchanted. "Thank you," she said, and climbed onto the bed to kiss her husband, the most pleasant task of the morning.
[H]
The first thing Greg registers is the absence of Roz. The sheets are cool, so she's been up for a while. Then he smells cinnamon rolls and the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee, and a smile tugs at his lips. It's Christmas morning, and he will spend it with his—well, might as well say it—his family, his people. For once the thought does not strike him cold with fear and apprehension, though he still feels anxious. That might never go away, but for him it's just background noise he's learned to ignore to some extent.
After a while he gets up and heads off to the bathroom for a shower. On the way he sees the stockings are indeed hung by the chimney with care, and they're all crammed so full they threaten to burst at the seams. The tree is piled with gifts as well; everyone will be here all day just to get the damn things opened.
On the way back from his cleanup he meets Sarah. She is clad in a magnificent deep green silk robe with a crown of holly and red ribbon on her head, her curls in a carroty cascade over her shoulders. A delicate chain with a shell limned in gold hangs about her neck; happiness shines from her sea-green eyes.
"Merry Christmas," she says softly. "May I touch you?"
"You don't have to ask," he says—his first gift to her. She looks surprised, and then pleased.
"Thank you," she says, and comes forward to give him a gentle hug. He feels her warmth through the lustrous softness of the robe before she steps back. "First breakfast is ready when you want it."
He flicks the crown of holly on her head with the tip of his finger. "Very pagan."
She grins. "They were here first," she says. "And I am Irish."
"Tree trimming later on," he says, to see what she'll do. She nods.
"I'm ready." She is, too. There's still fear there, but she knows it. "Will you help?"
He looks off into the distance. "Maybe."
"Okay." She puts a hand on his arm. "Merry Christmas, Greg." With that she gives him a pat, then goes to the CD player to put on some music, while she hums 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen'.
[H]
Gene watched Sarah place the final ornament on the tree. She hung it with care, her touch confident and steady. When she moved back Gene put his arms around her and kissed her cheek.
"I'm so proud of you," he whispered. She put her hands over his and sighed softly.
"Thank you," she said, and settled into his embrace as she looked at the tree. It's just a tree, she thought. Just a nice tree with ornaments on it, and no one will do anything to it. Just a tree.
[H]
"Will you open this one before you go to work?"
Roz sits at Greg's feet. She hands him a package wrapped in bright paper. He accepts it with reluctance. So far he's managed to avoid opening most of his gifts in front of the others, but this one he knows he can't avoid. So he tears open the paper and takes the top off the box, and finds a sweater inside. Not your run of the mill sweater though; this one is deep blue with little flecks of yellow, green and red in the yarn here and there. It's a simple crewneck, plain and soft. His girl has good taste, for which he's really glad, because she'll expect him to put it on and go to work in it, he knows how this plays out.
"You like it?" she asks, and looks anxious. He nods.
"Thanks."
"Look inside," she says, and smiles a little. Greg gives her a hard stare, but she just tilts her head. "Go on."
So he picks up the sweater. Something falls out—a piece of butterscotch. On closer inspection it turns out to be a tumbled and polished chunk of calcite. He rubs his thumb over it, pleased at the smooth feel.
"It's a worry stone," Roz says softly. "Just hold it in your hand when you're feeling sad or lonely, and think of me."
Greg puts the stone in his pocket as Roz leans up and kisses him, a lengthy salute that makes him tingle in all the right places. They made love this morning when he came back to his room and found her there in nothing but a Santa hat; he'd like to take her again, but he'll have to bide his time and look forward to later this evening, when everyone else will have gone to bed and the house is quiet.
Now she looks hopeful, so he grabs some present with her name on it and hands it over. She brightens up until she sees it's from Sarah. A little of her light fades, but she opens it anyway and laughs when she finds a pair of stuffed antlers on a headband inside. She puts them on, pushes her thick dark hair aside to reveal a pair of tiny silver Christmas bells dangling from her lobes. He knows when she goes out to her truck later she'll find a box perched on the passenger side seat with a pair of diamond stud earrings inside—good stones, no carbon flaws or inclusions, in gold settings. He smiles a little at the thought and gets a kiss.
"What was that for?" he asks, intrigued. "I didn't give you that monstrosity."
"I know." Roz says it softly. "I just felt like it." I love you, is what she really said, and he knows it.
"I think I left something out in the truck," he says. She pulls back to give him a look. Without another word she gets up and goes outside. Two minutes later she comes back and resumes her seat. The diamonds glitter in her ears, her hair tucked behind her ears to show them off. Her hand finds his and gives it a squeeze. It isn't often she has no words, but he's managed it. When he goes to work, he has on the new sweater and something like a look of smug satisfaction.
[H]
Wilson stretched out on the bed and pulled the thick quilt over him, tired but unable to sleep. Questions swirled in his mind like snowflakes. He'd watched the day's events from his perch on the couch, the stranger at the family gathering. Oh, he'd been included in every event—breakfast, the decoration of the tree, and the gift exchange; he'd even received a sizable pile of goodies, and nothing generic or cliché either. And yet he still felt an emptiness that it seemed nothing could fill.
To make things worse, it looked like House had found everything Wilson had worked so hard to get for himself. He had a home, a place that was more than four walls and a bed to sleep in. He had a family in Gene and Sarah, who treated him like a son of the house, and good friends in the local community. And most mysterious of all, he'd apparently found a woman who believed she loved him. Wilson had watched the two of them dance together the night before, and while House had been embarrassed as hell—any red-blooded male would be, forced to dance to the Carpenters outside of anything except a wedding reception—he'd held Roz like she was the most precious thing in the world. And she had looked at House as if he was the only man on the planet. She had to know by now what an unredeemable jerk he was, and yet there she was in his arms . . . Wilson sighed and turned on his side. It was nothing less than a massive case of willful blindness on the part of everyone here, a pattern he'd seen before when it came to House. What drove him crazy was why. Why? What was so special about him?
He lay in the darkness of an early winter evening and tried without success to puzzle it out, until Gordon Wyatt came to knock on his door.
"Supper's imminent," he said cheerfully. "As soon as Doctor House arrives we'll dig in."
As they descended the stairs together Wilson found the courage to ask "What's your take on all this?"
Wyatt gave him a thoughtful look. "I believe what you're really asking me is how Doctor House has managed to find a full and satisfying life here."
"I—well, I-yes," Wilson said, feeling defeated.
"There are several ways to answer that question, and I must say first that I am not Doctor House's analyst, nor have I consulted with the person who is. But based on my own somewhat limited observations, I would say that he's found what he's looking for because he's learned the difference between seeking perfection, and seeking wholeness." Wyatt patted him on the back. "I believe we're having london broil as the main course, and that's something I've never had in London, strangely enough."