"Why so glum?" Doug asked Jo. It was Christmas Eve, and Jo had just gotten off the telephone with her mother.

"I just can't get Christmas in New York City off my mind!" she exclaimed. "All the lights in Times Square, the Rockefeller Christmas tree...I just miss it all so much!" Doug saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"Aw, hon!" He went to his wife and embraced her. She rested her head on his shoulder as he rubbed her back. "Say, there's somethin' I was meanin' to give you tomorrow morning, but I might as well give it to you now." He went to the dresser and brought back a small box, which he handed to Jo. "Merry Christmas, darlin'."

Jo opened the box to find a tiny gold angel ornament. "It's lovely!" she exclaimed.

"Read the inscription," Doug told her.

The letters across the bottom were very small. 'From Doug with love to Jo, Christmas 2010," they said.

"Aw, thank you!" Jo said as she hugged his neck, then went to the closet and retrieved a wrapped present. "Here's yours," she said.

Doug unwrapped the present to find his favorite cologne and aftershave. "Aw, thanks, hon!" he said, kissing her lips.

Just then Bethany started crying, and Jo nursed her. She got the baby settled and then joined Doug in bed. She wasn't supposed to make love until six weeks after giving birth, so they cuddled all night with Doug's arms around Jo and her head resting on his shoulder.

The following morning Jo made pancakes for everyone for breakfast, and then the family members opened their presents from each other. Jo had had no idea what to get Clay, so she gave him a twenty dollar gift certificate from the CD store in the mall. Doug gave Jamie a beautiful pair of earrings with a matching necklace.

"Wow, thanks...can I call you 'Dad'?" she asked Doug.

"I'd be honored, sweetheart," he said gruffly, embracing her. Clay glared disapprovingly.

"Is there a problem, Clay?" Doug asked sharply.

"No," Clay said quickly, shaking his head vigorously.

For dinner, they went to the home of Doug's former mother-in-law, Betty Hanadarko. All four of Betty's surviving children were there with their families, so it was quite a crowd. Jo had met most of them at Bethany's christening. They all wanted to hold the baby, of course, and Jo let them, even though she was afraid of germs.

Over dinner, the conversation turned to Christmases past. Jo regaled her new family with tales of her adventures at the Eastland School For Girls as a teenager. She also met Betty's father, whom everyone called Geepaw. He was a full-blooded Choctaw Indian.

"I've never met a full-blooded Indian before," Jo told Doug.

"My grandmother was full-blooded Seminole," he said.

"Really?" asked Jo. "That must be why you have such high cheekbones and your hair and eyes are so dark."

"My Mom always told me I favored my grandmother very strongly," he replied. "Much more so than my younger brother did."

"You never talk about him very much," said Jo.

"We're not that close," Doug told her. "He moved to Los Angeles to work as a paramedic more than thirty years ago."

"What's his name?"

"Randy."

"Well, is he married? Does he have any kids?"

"No and no." Doug grinned.

"So Clay and Bethany are your parents' only grandchildren."

"That's right."

"You never told me what happened to them."

"They were killed in a car crash almost twenty years ago."

"That's terrible! I'm so sorry!" Jo shook her head. "Gosh, to lose them like that, and then to lose Mary Frances the way you did..."

"It was a terrible shock," Doug agreed. "But I just look at it this way. At least they didn't suffer for a long time beforehand like they would have if it had been cancer or somethin' like that."

"Yeah," said Jo. "My Dad died of a heart attack when I was thirty-six."

"That must have come as quite a shock to you, too."

"Yeah, it did. Jamie and I made it to the hospital about five minutes after he died."

"Oh, hon, I'm so sorry." Doug embraced his wife. After dinner, he told her that he and Clay were going to the cemetery to put flowers on the graves of Mary Frances and his parents. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to," he told her. "I can understand if you feel awkward about it."

"Oh, no! I don't mind at all," Jo replied. "I'm sure she was a wonderful woman. I wish I could have known her."

"I wish you could have too," Doug said softly.

As they were standing at the grave site, Jo stared down at the simple white marker. 'Mary Frances Hanadarko Norman, March 9, 1958-April 19, 1995, beloved daughter, sister, wife, and mother' it said. As they stood together quietly, Jo noticed a man approaching them. As he drew closer, she saw that he was Earl. He joined them silently, putting an arm around Clay as he did so.