December 25th

Sarah eased out of bed and put on her good bathrobe. She treasured the feel of the soft, heavy silk against her skin as she slid her feet into her slippers and crept out of the bedroom. The hall was cooler and she shivered, glad for the warm robe and her thermals.

The living room was quiet. They'd left the tree lights on after the fire was banked for the night; they twinkled and gleamed as she put a couple of small logs on the embers and coaxed the flames into life. She cleaned up the hearth, replaced the screen and stood there for a moment, hands stretched out to the warmth as she contemplated the tree. It was a charming sight, at least in her eyes; she liked the way the ornaments and garland filled up some of the gaps. That reminded her, she had a last chore in that regard. Quietly she went to the office and retrieved a bagful of small gifts from the closet.

She'd just put the first of them in the branches when Jason said behind her, "What are you doing?" Sarah turned. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom and scowled at her, his dark hair rumpled and his feet bare.

"Good morning," she said softly, "Merry Christmas. I'm just finishing up some last-minute chores." She hesitated. "If you'd like to help . . . it's up to you."

He said nothing, just retreated into his room. Sarah watched him. She turned back to her task with a soft sigh. So, no détente on Christmas. She reached into the bag and took out another box, this one labeled for Greg. He had a stocking waiting for him too, as did Roz.

"What do you want me to do?" Jason spoke quietly beside her. He'd put on his bathrobe in a haphazard fashion and he didn't look at her directly, but he was still there to help. Sarah dared to smile at him.

"If you would put some of these in the higher branches I'd really appreciate it," she said. Without further comment he began to do as she asked. She took a few of the boxes and checked through them, found one with his name on it and tucked it in her pocket.

They worked together for a little while in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. At last the bag was empty. Jason turned toward his room, but Sarah put a gentle hand on his arm. "Wait," she said softly, and offered him the box. He looked at it, then at her. "Go on," she said. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

He took the box and removed the wrapping, opened it. Inside was a pen and pencil set. Their black barrels gleamed in the soft light. The fittings were plain brushed silver. There was a card tucked under the set. "For refills," Sarah said as he examined them.

"Why did you get me this?" He held the pencil in his hand.

"A serious student deserves a serious writing tool."

He looked at her then, and Sarah saw tears in his dark eyes. Without another word she gathered him in. He resisted at first, and then he relaxed into her embrace. "Thanks, Mom," he said after a while. Sarah kissed the side of his head and rested her cheek there.

"You're more than welcome," she said softly. "How about a little breakfast before breakfast?"

They had the first of the cinnamon rolls and hot cocoa, shared at the counter. "I'm sorry I've been a jerk," Jason said as she settled in beside him.

"It's okay, love." Sarah stirred a little coffee into her cup with the cocoa. "You're as entitled to be as cranky and confused as anyone else. It happens to your father and me all the time. Just come and talk to us about it, okay? That's the important thing." She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Mom," he groaned, but he moved a little closer. She put her arm around him and stole a piece of his cinnamon roll. "Hey!"

"So this lady you helped," he said a bit later, as she poured a second round of cocoa. "She's coming here today with her kids?"

"Yes," Sarah said. "I think you might like her, but I'll leave that up to you." She finished off the last of her roll. "When we went to her place she had no heat except for the oven in the kitchen."

Jason looked down at his plate. "You can't help everyone," he said quietly. "There are too many people like her, Mom."

"A wise woman once said that if you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one." Sarah smoothed a lock of Jason's hair, tucked it behind his ear. "Your father and I can help Clare. It means we have to give up some extras, like going to Florida. But we don't mind. It's more important that a young mother has what she needs to get back on her feet and make a good life for her two babies." She smiled at him. "Think about what the world would be like if everyone helped just one person in some way."

"It won't ever be like that," Jason said.

"But if we can imagine it and then do it, maybe someday it will be." Sarah put her hand over his for a moment. "This means a great deal to your father and me. Whatever your personal beliefs are, we ask only that you respect ours. You don't have to join us, but please don't make us wrong for caring about others."

"It's not that . . ." He fidgeted. "I don't want to be just another person you helped."

Sarah's breath caught in her throat at the forlorn note in his voice. "You're not," she said after a moment. "I meant what I said yesterday. Your father and I wished for you with everything in us, and here you are. You've already given us far more than any small thing we've done for you."

"I wished for you and Dad too," Jason said with clear reluctance, but it was also plain he meant what he said. He got to his feet; his cheeks were red. "I'll do the dishes."

"Go back to bed for a while," Sarah said when everything was tidied away. "Presents later."

"Okay." Jason hesitated. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, m'chridhe." She watched him head off and hoped he would like the new bathrobe she'd bought for him; his old one came nearly to mid-calf now, and his shoulders were about to burst from the arm seams. Growing up, she thought as she always did, but suddenly the knowledge struck her with a force she'd never felt before.

Gene found her as she sniveled into her cocoa. "Good lord, woman," he said in quiet exasperation, but he got her to her feet and put his arms around her. "We've got a houseful of people comin' over and here you are, cryin' in your coffee."

"It's c-cocoa," she mumbled, and stuck her face in his chest. Gene sighed and rubbed her back.

"Come on, let's go back to bed. Another hour or two lazing around won't hurt. I know I could sure use it." He guided her toward the door. "Let's get the guitars out and play later. We haven't done that for a while."

"Okay." She wiped her eyes and went up the stairs with him. There would be plenty of opportunity later to talk about the passage of time, and their boy's transition to manhood; for now she kept her thoughts on the jam session, and the chance to spend part of the morning in pursuit of pure laziness.

[H]

Roz woke to the feel of a paw on her face. She blinked, and the paw gave her a double pat. With caution she opened one eye. Hellboy looked down at her, his ears clicked back just a bit to indicate mild annoyance. Breakfast is late, she could almost hear him think.

"Mmmph," she said, and stretched just a little. Beside her Greg snored softly. His hair stuck up in all directions to reveal his bald spot, and his nose was scrunched against the pillow. Roz resisted the urge to kiss him and eased out of bed. She shivered, grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it on as she headed for the kitchen, the cat at her feet.

After she'd presented the Heebster with his food, she set up the coffeemaker and got out a mug. They'd go over to Gene and Sarah's place in a couple of hours, but for now a little caffeine would be welcome. While the coffee brewed she stood at the window and looked out over the fields. It was a grey morning; a fresh blanket of snow had fallen sometime in the night. Here and there the soft, faded yellow of old cornstalks showed, and the rusty leaves of oaks still on the branch, burnished against the deep greeny-black of the jack pines. Across the lane she could see woodsmoke rise from the Goldmans house, and light in the windows. A crow called, and the sound echoed in the stillness.

The fragrance of fresh coffee drew her away. As she filled her mug she heard Greg stir, then stump into the bathroom. A moment later the shower started, and she smiled. Deny it all he wanted to, he was just as excited as any little kid when it came to Christmas morning. She glanced at the tree, just visible through the doorway. Time to get the presents out of the closet.

It took some doing to get the bag to the tree without too much noise. Quickly she began to put the boxes in place, to find one there already with her name on it. Roz bit her lip. She blinked back unexpected tears and finished the job, folded the bag and took it to the kitchen. She'd just tucked it away in the drawer when Greg came in. "Morning," she said. "Merry Christmas."

He grunted at her, grabbed a mug out of the dishrack and went to the coffeemaker. Roz knew better than to try to talk to him; he always needed about a half hour to come to life. She took her coffee with her to the bedroom, intent on a shower and clothes.

When she emerged, it was to find her present on the coffee table. Greg sat with his feet propped up next to it, arms folded and head tipped back. As she came in he opened his eyes. His gaze slid from her to the tree. Roz hid a smile. She paused and picked up two boxes, brought them over to him. He accepted them and set them to one side. "Get yours and open it," he said. Roz did as he asked, to find two complete sets of black silk thermals with fingerless gloves and heated socks. "Don't want you freezing solid," he said. For answer Roz kissed him, moved by the concern hidden in the flippant words.

"Thank you," she said softly. He fished around inside one of the shirts and found a small envelope, gave it to her. Roz opened it with care and discovered a clinic appointment card inside, dated for the fifth of January, with Rob Chase's name on it. "What's this?"

"I sat down with Chase last week and set up everything for a vasectomy," he said quietly. "I'm leaving it up to you. If you want me cut, then I'll get it done."

Roz looked at the card, then at Greg. He watched her carefully, his vivid blue eyes full of tenderness and anxiety and apprehension, all mixed together. She honestly didn't know what to say. Only he would think this was a gift, and something to give on Christmas too. "Um," she began, "let me . . . let me think about it. I'll give you an answer by the end of the day."

"'kay." Greg swallowed and looked down. Roz took his hand in hers.

"Thank you," she said, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Then she reached over and picked up a present, put it on his lap. "Merry Christmas."

"You are not gonna say that all day long," he grumbled, but to her surprise he actually opened it, making quick work of the wrappings to find a tee shirt folded neatly. He shook it open to reveal a map of New Jersey with 'Restore the Shore' written into the logo. "Great, now I'm a billboard for downashore."

"Better than a sweater," she said with a slight smile. Greg gave her a quick look but said nothing. "Open another one."

"Later. We should get going before my analyst comes over here and nags us all the way to her place." To Roz's surprise he kissed her, a swift, tender touch of his lips to hers.

Ten minutes later, bundled in coats, scarves and mittens, burdened with bags of presents, they set off down the lane, Hellboy curled in Roz's arms.