Finally the nurses and orderlies leave us alone. I turn all the lights off, sit in my chair next to Elaine's bed and just stare at the lights on the tree and the tiny points of light they cast all through the room. I feel like singing, but that would probably put Elaine into a deeper coma rather than help her come out of it, so I quickly put that thought aside. And then it happens again, a stream of words enters my mind as though I'm hearing it from somewhere else. I take Elaine's hand and the words just start coming out of my mouth.

"The first Christmas after we met, remember that, Elaine? I do. I remember it because the six of us did a Secret Santa. Hell, we were only in seventh grade. Konner thought it was stupid, but we finally convinced him to go in on it, remember? You drew my name and you gave me my gift. Do you remember what the gift was?" I ask as I squeeze her hand. "It was a snowflake made all out of glass. You said I could use it for an ornament on our Christmas tree. I never really understood you giving me a glass snowflake ornament, I mean, come on, that's not usually something you'd give a guy for Christmas."

I stop and smile as I remember the funny look I had on my face when I opened her gift. Of course, at that point, I didn't know it was from her. It was only later that we all confessed who our Secret Santas were.

"I kid you not, that thing still goes on our tree, year after year. No matter how fancy we decorate it, no matter what color scheme we use, that snowflake is always hung somewhere on the tree. I'm actually surprised it's lasted as long as it has after all this time." And suddenly something occurs to me. "I honestly don't know why I've kept it." My heart starts to pound, my mind is swimming. "I mean, it was just a silly gift when we were kids, why I've—"

A lump forms in my throat as a thought not only occurs to me, but takes a firm hold on me. Why had I kept that damnable thing? Every year we'd put it on the tree from that first Christmas after she'd given it to me right up until this year. And each year I'd hung it up myself. It was always packed away with the rest of the ornaments from the year before, and even if we weren't using any of them the next year, I dug in the boxes until I found the glass snowflake.

What does it mean? It doesn't mean anything. It's nice, it's a tradition, so I just keep doing it. Right? I mean, why else would put the thing up every single Christmas since seventh grade? It's crazy. I ought to put it away for good. Maybe even throw it away, there's no point in putting it up year after year. I don't even realize that I've started to think aloud now.

"I don't know why I've always put that snowflake on the tree. It doesn't really make any sense, I mean, take this year for example. We did a red and silver color scheme. Everything was either red or silver, and that was it. Except for the snowflake. I went through the boxes from last year and dug it out. Every year I expect it to be broken, but every year it's not, and I'm somehow...what...? Relieved by that? It's intact and I bring it out as the others are putting up the red and silver balls, the garland, the tinsel, the lights...I bring it out and I hang it in a spot that looks a little bare. But..." I falter. My voice breaks off. "I don't know why I keep hanging it on the damn tree," I whisper.

"Maybe it's because it reminds you of me."

The voice scares the living shit out of me and I jump about a mile out of my chair. In an instant I'm on my feet, moving to switch on a light.

"No, please..." The voice is hoarse. "Leave the lights off. The tree is so beautiful."

I stare open-mouthed at the figure on the bed. Red, yellow, blue and green lights dot her from head to toe as the little Christmas tree shines brightly. "My God. Elaine?"

"Gordon. I never thought I'd..." She stops and I know instantly what she needs. I grab the ugly pink pitcher of water and pour some into the ugly matching pink cup. I bring the straw to her lips and she drinks greedily before backing away from the straw and continuing. "I never thought I'd see you again."

I'm a bit embarrassed at having been caught thinking aloud, but I'm so goddamn happy she's awake! This must have been how my Dad felt when I woke up. I take her hand again and say, "I know. Dredging up the past." I find I'm having trouble figuring out what to say and that fact dumbfounds me. I'm the laid back one. Why should I be having butterflies.

"Gordon? What happened?" I take a deep breath and tell her what I know from the newspaper reports and from what the nurses and doctors have told me. And then she asks me the question I wish she hadn't. "What about Boxy?" I leave my face blank, praying she'll drop it. "My dog, Boxy. Where is he?"

I look away for a moment, then back at her face. "They told me he didn't make it, Elaine." I see the tears fill her eyes and spill over, running down her cheeks onto the sheets below. She closes her eyes and silently cries and I just don't know what to do.

"He..." She stops and then starts again. "He was all I had, Gordon. Boxy was everything to me." And she continues crying.

God, if there's anything that pulls me out of being laid back, it's women crying. Quite justified in this case, I'll give her that, but I just don't know what to do. I can't make this better, I can't bring her dog back to life, I can't take back what happened. Then she cries out in earnest, a loud cry that I recognize immediately. Pain. Without a second thought I hit the call button on her remote.

"Oh, God, Gordon, why do I hurt so much? Gordon, my back!" she wails, squeezing my hand so tight I'm thinking I might get bruises out of it. "Help me!"

"I am," I say, trying my best to sound calm. "The nurse will give you something to make you more comfortable, okay?"

"But why does it hurt?" By now she's sobbing. Shit, I can identify. I don't remember a lot of my first couple of weeks, but I do remember the unstoppable bouts of crying that made me feel like such a baby at the time. She's entitled. I know it hurts like hell and so I let her cry.

Faustino comes in. "She needs meds," I say. "She's awake and she's in pain." He nods and scurries out of the room. I just sit there and hold both of Elaine's hands as she moans and cries. She tries to speak, but the pain is too much. That's how it is. I remember not being able to get a single word out of my mouth because the pain was so unbearable. I close my eyes as two nurses and a doctor rush into the room. I'm pushed aside and I just stand at the window looking out of it as her cries fill the room.

And what surprises me most of all is how it makes me feel. It's kind of a combination of remembering being the one in that bed, remembering how it felt, mixed with feeling so shitty that someone as good as Elaine had to now be going through it. Goddammit, she doesn't deserve this. I feel my eyes fill and I fight it, quickly swiping my arm across them. I need to be strong for her, not pity her. Look at how fit and well I am. I need to set an example, not bemoan her circumstances. I have to be strong and have hope, just like my father did for me.

Finally her cries are reduced to whimpers as the painkillers take effect. The nurses leave and the doctor crosses the room to stand next to me. "I can't believe it, you know," he says.

"Believe what?"

"That she lived."

I smile and nod my head. "Yep. First hurdle overcome."

"First hurdle? What other hurdles are you expecting?"

"Well, the healing of back, of course, and then her walking."

The doctor's next words are like déjà vu, and make me want to punch his lights out.

"Walking? I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy, but Miss Pitcher won't ever walk again."

I turn and I'm sure the look on my face rivals the one on my dad's when he gets royally pissed. "Doctor, may I speak with you out in the hall?" Even I know that when I start sounding so formal it means I'm mad as hell. He nods and we step out into the hall. I close the door to Elaine's room and the words are tumbling out before I even register what I'm saying.

"Doctor, I don't ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again."

"What are you talking about?"

"About Elaine never walking again."

"Mr. Tracy, you are not a medical professional. The extent of her injuries are such that her nerves are far too damaged to send the proper signals to her legs. There is no way she's going to be able to walk."

I fold my arms across my chest and look him right in the eye. "Let me tell you a little something about myself," I begin. "Thirteen years ago, I was in a hydrofoil accident that left me with a spinal fracture and a shitload of other injuries."

"A...spinal fracture?" His eyes widen and I know I've got his attention.

"My doctors told my father I wouldn't live more than twelve hours past the six-hour surgery they put me through that first night. He told them to go to hell. I lived." I pause for a moment. I know how to make a dramatic impact. "After I lived, oh, what a miracle that was," I say sarcastically. "Then, of course, the entire team of doctors said I'd never walk again. That I'd be wheelchair-bound for life."

The doctor looks me up and down, as though disbelieving my story. So I hike my shirt up to my shoulders and turn around. "I assume you see the scars along my spine."

"Y-Yes," he whispers.

I lower my shirt and turn back to face him. "Not one more word about her never walking again. Got it?" Speechless, he nods his head. "Thank you. I appreciate it." And with that, I turn and go back into Elaine's room, closing the door behind me. I'm damn sure I made my point. Stupid doctors. I'm not about to let Elaine hear that. It had put me behind in my progress when my doctors had naysayed me walking. If I can't take away what she has to do to recover from this, then at least I can cut out some of the bullshit I'd had to endure.

"Gordon?" she says softly, in that tone of voice you can only get by being drugged to the gills.

"I'm here, Elaine," I say, sitting down in my chair and taking her hands again.

"I'm glad you're here," she drawls lazily.

"Me too," I say. And I know I mean it.

"Did he..." She yawns and her eyes drift shut, then reopen. "Doctor says I can't ever walk again."

Her eyes, the eyes I'd forgotten were the color of orange Labradorite, overflowed with tears again. Suddenly that memory came back to me, how in Geology class she had insisted my eyes were the color of the mandarin ice simulant. It took me days and days to finally find the gem that most closely matched her eyes. It had become a game by that point. A game we'd played teasing each other mercilessly. She kept calling me 'simulant' and I kept calling her a Labrador just to piss her off. I smile at the memory, but my smile fades as I see her eyes close and her tears soaking the bed sheets again.

"I'll never walk again," she whispers, squeezing my hand.

I lean closer to her, and use my thumb to wipe the tears from her face. She opens her eyes to look at me and it's one of those moments, one of those perfect moments where time stops and I find I can hardly breathe. My father's words filter into the moment as though he's standing right there whispering them into my ear.

"You will walk, Elaine." Her tears seem to stop and she sniffles as I use a tissue to dry her face and eyes. "You've lived through something that would kill most people. And you will walk again."

I believe it. And from the small smile that lights her face as she drifts off to sleep, I think she does too. Here I am, getting ready to do for someone else what my father did for me. As I lean back in my chair, I think, isn't it funny how history repeats?

"You will walk, Elaine." I look at the twinkling tree again, then notice the clock says it's 12:01 a.m. "Merry Christmas," I whisper, squeezing her hand. "Merry Christmas."

Three Months Later...

I can't believe it. There she is, sitting in that wheelchair with the walker in front of her. The physical therapist is smiling and nodding. I know this is going to be hard for her. I remember trying to take my first steps. She looks at me and smiles and I nod my encouragement. She places one hand on one grip, the other on the other grip.

And with a great groan of effort, she's up. She's standing there on her own two feet. She cries out in joy, tears streaming down her face. I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief, and that's when I feel it.

It's the velvet box. The one containing the engagement ring I'd never had to use. I completely forgot to return it. Well, maybe after her physical therapy is over I'll make a quick trip into town. Might just as well.

I look up as the therapist wipes the tears off Elaine's face. She looks so happy. I remember that feeling. One foot moves forward and then the other. "Gordon, I'm doing it!" she cries, laughing out loud. "I'm walking!"

It suddenly occurs to me that she's never looked so pretty in all the time I've known her. "Yes," I say, nodding my head and smiling. "You sure are. I knew you would."

I let go of the box, leaving it sitting there snugly in my pocket. Maybe I won't take that ring back just yet.