It was already late Saturday afternoon when C.C. strode down the stairs. Those muscle relaxants she'd been given for her neck really knocked her out; she normally never slept during the day. As she stepped off the bottom stair, her nose was greeted with the smell of evergreen. Gripping the railing, she looked up towards the living room and saw the unadorned Christmas tree in its stand. C.C. paused for a moment to take in the scenario, and then slowly realized it was Christmas Eve.
"Well, good afternoon, sleepyhead," Fran greeted her.
C.C. walked over to the sofa and eased herself down. "Sorry...guessed I dozed off."
Niles entered the room carrying a silver tray with mugs of Irish coffee. C.C. looked at the cups overflowing with whipped cream and murmured, "Mmmm, those look good." It had been what, two weeks, since she'd had a drink and she really hadn't missed it until now.
Fran and Max took their cups from the tray.
"Miss Margaret?" Niles said, bowing slightly. The oldest one took a mug and squealed slightly because it was hot.
"Those look good," C.C. said louder this time.
"Just a moment, and I'll get you a refreshment," Niles said, casting her a sidelong glance. He returned in a few moments with a cup of hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream.
C.C. took a sip, hoping at least for a hint of Kahlua. She crinkled her nose and observed "it's just hot chocolate."
"Miss Babcock," Niles admonished her, "you know that your medications contraindicate alcohol."
C.C. shot him a poisonous look and slumped back into the couch cushions.
"Damn him," she thought to herself. "That's what I get for allowing him to come to my doctor appointments." She paused in her thought process for a moment and took another sip. "Allow, hell. I had no choice, no one asked my opinion."
She bitterly recalled her first visit to the neurologist, Jung Shin, that had been recommended to her. Niles, Maxwell and Fran had all accompanied her. "What is this?" she'd asked petulantly at the time, "a gang appointment?"
In any case, the doctor had run what seemed like a zillion tests, and one of the results was he would not allow her to drive for the next six months, "just in case."
"Just in case what?" she asked with annoyance.
"Just in case there is seizure activity within the brain. With an injury such as yours, some symptoms do not present themselves immediately. It's just a basic precaution that we restrict your driving until we get at least six months' worth of normal EEGs."
"Oh, for crying out loud..." C.C. moaned. She thought she was on the road to recovery. How much of her life was this incident going to take away?
After Dr. Shin's initial report, Niles had appointed himself unofficial chaperone. He had accompanied her to her two subsequent appointments, and was aware of Dr. Shin's recommendations.
"After the holidays, we'll want to evaluate you for adjustment difficulties. We'll run some routine tests for cognitive responses..."
C.C.'s mind wandered as the doctor kept talking. "Must he go on?" she thought. "I'm here, I'm alive, get over it. Can't I just get on with my life?"
Niles, on the other hand, was paying rapt attention and asking questions. Previous tests at Walter Reed had indicated some problems with cognitive delay, her sense of balance was somewhat affected, and there was the possibility of seizures. A lot of the diagnosis was simply "wait and see." There was also the physical therapy for her neck, which had been injured in the fall. Not to mention the constant intrusion of the press at her every turn, asking for an interview, every one of which she steadfastly declined. In the meantime, Miss Babcock was on a regimen of medications, a schedule of which Niles kept closely at hand.
And so, based on the laundry list of pills she was taking, Niles had taken it upon himself to restrict her alcohol. "He should only know what it feels like to have a hole in your head," C.C. thought bitterly, as she watched the others revel in their spiked coffees.
The urgent ringing of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
"I'll get it!" the youngest one shouted.
When Grace opened the door, she was greeted with a Federal Express driver and a two-wheeled dolly loaded with boxes.
"Sign here," he said in a bored monotone as he thrust the automated clipboard into her hands.
"I didn't order anything, who ordered something?" Fran asked as she walked to the front door. She looked at the manifest. "These packages are from London....." She looked up questioningly at C.C.
C.C. squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa. "Um...those are Christmas presents. I shipped them from England." Pause. "Well, I wasn't about to schlep them across the Continent," she quickly justified herself, feeling the eyes of everyone upon her.
Fran signed for the packages and the driver left.
"Cripes, I didn't expect overnight delivery considering the holidays and all, but to take this long...." C.C. griped.
"I'm sure Customs and heightened security had something to do with the delay," Niles interjected.
"Whatever," C.C. shrugged. "I'm sorry they're not gift-wrapped, but due to airline regulations....anyway, just put them under the tree."
C.C. was not used to holiday merriment and felt uncomfortable with all the attention directed towards her. She felt the need to explain.
"I finished business at the Hammersmith Odeon in London early. I stopped at Harrods to kill time until my flight."
What C.C. didn't mention was how embarrassed she'd been last Christmas, when she'd been invited in the last hours of the season to spend the holiday at the Sheffield home. She'd managed to buy gift certificates for most everyone, except for Nanny Fine's mother, who had arrived unexpectedly. C.C. cringed inwardly when she remembered writing a last-minute check as a gift for Sylvia. She had resolved at that time to never be caught short again.
"Miss Babcock," Fran enthused as she placed the packages under the tree, "you did something nice, no need to apologize."
"I plead temporary insanity," C.C. lamely tried to defend herself.
Early in the evening, Brighton and Maggie returned from wherever they'd been, and the official decorating of the Christmas tree began in earnest.
C.C. was in the office, sorting through a stack of scripts. Maxwell had admonished her earlier that business was pretty much on hold until after the New Year, and that she should take it easy, but she didn't have anything else to do. She was tired of watching TV, and sick of people treating her like an invalid. Niles in particular had been hovering over her, acting as though she were made of eggshells. Truth be told, she appreciated his attention, and looked forward to his fussing over her, but on the other hand, the logical side of her brain (what was left of it) nagged that he was only being nice because he pitied her.
"He was never this attentive to me before," she thought to herself. "Does he think he's scoring points in Heaven or something by being kind to me?"
Her mind tired by her conflicting thoughts, C.C. left the office and walked into the living room with the intent of going upstairs. Her attention, however, was distracted by a shout from the littlest one.
"Miss Babcock," Grace called, "are you going to help us decorate the tree?"
"Umm..." C.C. hesitated, looking at the expectant faces. "Sure, I guess, for a little while."
She settled herself on the sofa once again, and soon found herself in the middle of a serious lighting argument. Brighton had installed himself at the controls and had the tree lights blinking, then twinkling, then racing, then strobing. He cackled with glee at the multi-colored changing patterns.
"B!" Nanny Fine interjected. "This is a Christmas tree, not an Iron Butterfly concert. Enough with the psychedelic effects."
C.C. stifled the comment that immediately sprung to her lips about what would a Jewish woman know about Christmas tree decorations...instead, she accepted a box of ornaments from the little one....Gretel?...and proceeded to install tiny metal hooks into the top of each one. She handed them off to a succession of outstretched hands until the tree was completely decked out in its holiday finery.
Two hours later, Maxwell dimmed the house lights while Niles and the boy plugged in the Christmas tree lights. The effect was dazzling. C.C. looked around the room and decided that she'd never seen so many holiday ornaments and decorations outside of Macy's. Niles had prepared eggnog for everyone and was in the midst of serving when C.C.'s attention wandered. She got up from the sofa and wandered to the Nativity scene that was set up on the sideboard. She stood there silently for several moments before Niles approached and asked if she was OK.
"Yes," C.C. replied, without turning around. The wooden stable had stirred up some long-forgotten memory in the back of her mind...."I was just thinking about..." her voice drifted off...
"About...?" Niles asked softly, aware of the far-off look in her eyes.
"My Nanny Bobo. She had a crèche set up in her room every year....I used to go there when no one was around. I made up little plays with the statues - the donkeys and the ..." she paused for a moment while she struggled for the right word. She finally sighed in frustration and held up a figurine. "What's this called? The animal with the hump?"
"Camel," Niles prompted softly. His heart ached for her. He could only imagine how frustrating it was for C.C., easily tossing out a word like "crèche", but not remembering something simple like what a camel was. Dr. Shin had told him that these lapses were typical for her type of injury, but that didn't make it any easier for Niles to witness.
"Camel, right. That's what I was going to say." She stopped speaking and gazed at the Nativity scene, smiling. Normally, picturing Miss Babcock playing with tiny horsies would have been the perfect opening for a cutting remark from Niles, but he sensed her sincerity and remained silent, standing protectively behind her.
"Nanny Bobo's figures were very old, and hand-painted," C.C. recalled, gently picking up the baby Jesus. "Joseph looked worried and not a little bit proud..." She seemed to be speaking to herself.
Niles put his hands on C.C.'s shoulders and glanced at the side of her head. He'd never seen her so vulnerable, so soft, so emotional before. He was reluctant to speak; he didn't want to disturb her reverie.
C.C. stood silent for a moment and then visibly shook herself back to reality. "What time is it?" she asked, placing the statue back in the manger. "Get me my pills, would you; I'm calling it a night.," she said dismissively, heading upstairs.
C.C. awakened early the next day, showered and dressed and headed downstairs. She was a bit surprised to see everyone else already seated at the breakfast table. Although, she sniffed to herself, Nanny Fine and the children were still in pajamas.
"The hired help doesn't get Christmas off?" she asked Niles as he brought in another platter of waffles.
"Of course," he smiled. "Today's breakfast was a cooperative effort between Miss Fine, Miss Margaret, and me. It's up to you to decide who prepared what."
"Russian roulette for breakfast," C.C. grumbled.
Once everyone had had their fill of scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages and Belgian waffles, they adjourned to the living room. Maxwell and the boy designated themselves "Santas" and distributed the gifts one at a time. C.C. surreptitiously kept an eye out for when the Fed Ex boxes were opened. After all, she'd actually gone to some thought and trouble to choose those gifts.
As it turned out, they were all thrilled, or at least gave a credible performance. She'd gotten both Maxwell and Niles dress shirts from Turnbull and Asser; as well as an engraved Sterling silver cigar cutter for Max; a cashmere pashmina for the oldest girl; a leather bomber jacket for the boy; Prada boots for Nanny Fine; a leather-bound copy of Psychology of the Unconscious by Carl Jung for the little one who seemed so bookish and all; an antique silver menorah for Sylvia; and an Oxford University tweed sport coat for Niles. She wondered now if her deliberate purchase of separate gifts for Maxwell and Nanny Fine seemed obvious, as opposed to a single gift to them as a couple, since they were now engaged. She'd been making her own personal statement when she bought them, but now she felt a bit uncomfortable with the gesture.
Niles had slipped on his new sport coat and went to the mirror. He turned and struck a few poses, thinking no one was looking. He paused suddenly and looked back into the room, meeting C.C.'s eyes. She had a hint of a smile on her lips. He walked back into the living room, still wearing the dapper jacket and unconsciously smoothing it down the front. The rich tweed added an incongruous dash of elegance to his flannel shirt and sweat pants.
"Does it fit OK?" she asked, somewhat shyly.
"Perfect," he smiled, still looking down and admiring the fabric. "How ever did you know the correct size?"
Embarrassed, C.C. spoke hastily: "Um, I just told the salesman to picture a cross between Benny Hill and Alfred Hitchcock." She certainly would never admit to him that she'd once seen the tag inside of his suit jacket...that he'd left on the back of the chair in the office...that she'd tried on when he was in another room....just to smell his after-shave.
"Well, however you managed it, thank you very much," he smiled.
"You're welcome," C.C. responded, her heart sinking. He was so damned polite to her these days. It not only emphasized her injury, in her own mind anyway, it also made him seem so...distant. However bizarre it may have been, she realized that she never felt as close to another human as when the two of them were trading insults. In a perverse way, when he zinged her, it at least seem like he cared. This new kinder, gentler Niles was completely unsettling to her.
"Frannie!" Sylvia's shrill voice brought C.C.'s attention back to the festivities at hand. "Save that fancy schmancy box! I can use it to wrap your Aunt Frieda's birthday present in. When she sees 'Harrods', she'll plotz!"
"Thank you all again," C.C. said to the room, holding her gift from the family in her lap and rummaging around inside it. They had given her a beautiful Vaqueta leather briefcase, monogrammed with her initials.
"Is the color OK?" Gracie asked, smiling up at C.C.
"Perfect," C.C. smiled at the little girl. She wasn't real big on kids, but this little one had long ago somehow charmed her way into C.C.'s heart. So earnest and mature beyond her years...she reminded C.C. of herself at that age. "There are compartments inside for my cell phone, my laptop, and my PDA. And this leather....it's like....butter!"
Everyone laughed, and slowly the morning wound down. Grace and Fran began collecting the discarded wrappings, with Sylvia chattering in the background about saving the big pieces, because "they could be used next year." Niles and Maggie adjourned to the kitchen to get the turkey in the oven and start all the various preparations necessary for the lavish dinner that was planned. Max and Brighton were engrossed in some new Playstation game that B had received, and C.C. felt a bit left out. She got up and wandered into the kitchen.
"Miss Babcock, are you lost?" Niles inquired as she entered.
"Very funny, Hazel," she replied. "I just wondered if...um, well, if you needed any help in here."
Margaret and Niles exchanged glances with each other. "Must be a sign of the Apocalypse," Niles muttered.
"Excuse me?" C.C. asked, even though she'd clearly heard him. It had been so long since he'd insulted her, she just wanted to hear it again.
"Never mind," he replied, setting down a large bowl on the table. C.C. sat down, and Niles placed several loaves of bread in front of her.
"You can tear this," he told her.
"Tear? What? The wrappers open?" C.C. was genuinely confused.
"Your domesticity is showing again, Miss Babcock," Niles clucked at her. "No, you open the wrapper, take out the slices of bread, tear them into small pieces, and put them in the bowl."
"Why?" she inquired.
"For the stuffing. Did you think the Stove Top fairy brought stuffing?"
C.C. smiled despite herself. This was a bit of the old Niles.
"Speaking of stuffing, Mr. Clean, why don't you stuff it?"
"Niles," Margaret, drat her, interrupted, "you shouldn't pick on Miss Babcock when she's nice enough to offer to help."
Niles looked at Maggie, who was gesturing with her eyes, as if saying "she's sick, knock it off."
"So, Miss Babcock, I suppose you're excited about tomorrow?" Niles asked, changing the subject.
C.C. sighed and started ripping up slices of bread. "Thrilled," she replied sarcastically. For tomorrow her brother Noel and her sister D.D. were coming to visit. Through no fault of her own, mind you. The butler had been in contact with them. C.C. thought she'd made it more than clear that she was fine, there was no reason for her family to interrupt whatever holiday plans they may have had, but obviously, no one was listening to her. She decided she'd better get to bed early that night so she'd look rested and healthy tomorrow. Then maybe everyone would leave her alone.