Just an added epilogue...

18 years later...

Jeff took one look around the living area of the villa. All but one of his sons were lounging around engrossed in their own gifts that Christmas that they hadn't noticed Gordon slip off. The patriarch sighed and moved to the sliding doors to look out over the pool area and down to the Pacific Ocean. He'd bought the island not long after Lucy had died and it had been a year later that he and his sons moved to live there. Little Alan (who wasn't so little anymore) didn't really remember much different than the island being home. Jeff's youngest had only been five and a half when they arrived on the island to live. Lucy had died not long after the boy's fourth birthday.

It wasn't long before Jeff spotted Gordon on the balcony, looking out to the west. Jeff decided to join his second youngest on the balcony.

"Hello, son," the father said in way of greeting and he joined the copper-head in leaning on the railing. Gordon turned slightly to take in his father.

"Dad, do you still have that Santa outfit?"

Jeff chuckled slightly. "I haven't worn that thing in a long time. A long time." The 24-year-old looked pensive and the father frowned. "What brought this on?"

"Every year, it's the same blimmin thing. 'Gordon, could you sing us that song?' Or, 'Did you really see Mommy kissing Santa Claus?' " He looked down at his hands. "I realise now that it was you in the suit so I can see why it's funny but the joke's getting old." The boy - for in Jeff's mind all his sons were still his boys - looked at him with a haunted expression. "Don't they realise how much I hate Christmas?"

That was the first time Jeff had heard his son admit that. Sure, he had gotten the impression that his second youngest didn't like the Christmas period, but to hear the boy admit it was another thing. It wasn't like Gordon to admit he hated anything. And he'd stopped his feelings from affecting everyone else.

"Why?" Jeff asked softly.

"Because Santa never gave me my wish."

Jeff realised then that Lucy's death still affected Gordon's ability to enjoy family time. Although he was one to talk. Yet, he couldn't go so far as saying he hated Christmas because he could cling to the fact he still had his sons. The father sighed. "Maybe he didn't in the way you wanted." He thought back over the time he had had with Lucy and gave a short laugh. "Did you know that every year, on Christmas Eve, your mother would go out and get some mistletoe? She'd hang it up after you boys were asleep. Then, on Christmas, she'd corner me under it. Sometimes, it was in the most obvious places, like in the doorway of our bedroom, or the doorway to the lounge."

Gordon frowned and turned fully to face his father. He was looking at the older man in profile. "Then what happened?"

"We'd laugh and I'd kiss her. That year you caught us was the first year we'd been under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. Both of us thought you were asleep. When she pointed out the mistletoe, I couldn't break tradition, albeit one we made special to us." Jeff reached up and wiped his eyes. "I miss her."

Gordon cleared his throat and turned back out to sea. "Thanks Dad." Maybe he didn't need to hate Christmas so much anymore. Maybe, if he opened up to his father a bit more, it could help. Besides, who else would understand? Gordon smiled. Maybe his Christmas wish from all those years before wasn't wasted. Maybe his dad was correct. His mother was gone but still lived on in their memories. "Mom said she'd explain why she was kissing Santa when I was older. Maybe she just did?"

Jeff looked at his son with raised eyebrows. His lips twitched upward. "Perhaps she did."

The two of them looked at each other and began to laugh, drawing the attention of the other four boys.

"What's happening?" Virgil asked.

"I know why Mom kissed Santa now."

Scott and John shared a look and the oldest son asked, "You just figure that out now, copper top?"

"And I'm not telling you the full reason."

"You mean like, it wasn't Santa but Dad in the suit?" John teased. Gordon glared at the 28-year-old. Alan, at 20, laughed at Gordon's mock glare.

"Yes, it was Dad. In the beard. Under the mistletoe. With Mom. On Christmas Eve." Gordon smirked at the puzzled looks being sent his way by his brothers. They were trying to work out what the 24-year-old meant. Jeff watched his second youngest walked back inside. He gave a hearty laugh and joined his son inside while his other four sons looked speechless outside. None of them could remember either Jeff or Gordon enjoying Christmas so much before since Lucy had died.

"What just happened?" Virgil, at 26, asked. He got shrugs in response.