A/N: So sorry for the delay! I hope everyone had a fabulous Christmas and a very happy New Year's celebration! This chapter is a bit short, but I promise the next one will be back to normal length.

Abby let out a breath and watched as it steamed up the window in the car as Brody pulled the car off of the highway and the small suburban town came into view. The ride had been almost completely silent and Abby had spent most of it staring out the window at the passing scenery.

She watched as Brody expertly navigated the town, making no less than a dozen turns as they made their way almost to the edge of town. Brody had said he'd made the drive before, and now she had no doubt - she'd spent her entire life in Chicago, but take her more than five or ten miles outside the city and she'd be completely lost.

She looked up as Brody finally pulled the car into a small lot and cut the engine. Abby looked out through the window and frowned when she saw the wrought iron gates in front of them.

"Brody, this is a cemetery."

Brody nodded. "I know," he said solemnly, opening his car door and stepping out. "Don't forget your gloves, the wind's usually pretty bad out here."

Abby stared at him for a moment before nodding, grabbing her gloves from the center console and stepping out of the car. Slipping her arm through Brody's, she silently bit her tongue and resisted the urge to ask him to explain their little trip. Deep down, she wasn't even sure she wanted him to explain - she couldn't think of a single happy reason that someone who hated Christmas would bring her to a cemetery on Christmas Eve to explain himself.

Slowly, they made their way down the freshly plowed path that cut the cemetery in half. Abby held on tightly when they finally stepped off the path and into the loosely packed snow. It was only about a half a foot deep, so she figured at least there wasn't much danger of them tripping over a hidden headstone as they walked.

Finally, they stopped in front of a small marble headstone. Abby glanced nervously over at Brody, who was nearly as pale as the snow on the ground, before taking a deep breath and looking down. The snow around the stone had been freshly cleared and two small wreaths were sitting at the base of the stone, but she barely noticed them as she read the words engraved on the stone.

Caroline Elizabeth Brody
May 2, 1946 - December 25, 1986

Joseph Michael Brody
December 25, 1986 - December 26, 1986

Abby felt as though she'd been punched in the gut as she stared at the dates, squeezing Brody's hand gently as they stood there in complete silence. Even without knowing the rest of the story, as her gaze drifted from the stone to Brody's tear-stained face, Abby finally understood where his anger came from - if anyone had a reason to hate Christmas, it was John Brody.