A/N: More history. Denholm's was real, a Macy's type store that once was the second largest retailer in New England. The building is still there, now just office buildings. Astronomical event timing is also accurate, and visible in Worcester at the dates indicated. Burton Carmichael, the company Jack and Stephen ran, is based on Worcester industry, known for tool manufacture until the 1970s.

BEFORE

We are

Just children understand

We're two in a million

The precious grains of sand

We slip through the fingers

Dancing on the wind

We find each other

"One Love"

Sister Hazel

December 11, 1938

Worcester, Massachusetts

"Come on, come on, I'm double parked!" Casey barked as he leaned from the front seat, towards the open car door to steady the jumble of shopping bags Gertrude pushed into the car from the sidewalk. Chuck reached over the front seat from the back and carefully grabbed all of Gertrude's packages, making room for her to sit in the passenger's seat.

Gertrude stepped from the sidewalk down onto the street, securing her hat with her hand as she ducked into the car. The vehicle shook as she slammed the door. A horn bleated behind them. Another driver on the busy downtown street hit his horn as he tried to move down the blocked lane. Casey tipped his hat with his index finger in the rearview mirror, gritting his teeth, then pulled into traffic.

"Well, did we have success?" Casey asked, glancing first at Gertrude, then in the rearview mirror to catch Chuck's eyes. The question was asked of both of his passengers, but meant specifically for Chuck.

"Yes," Chuck replied, a tiny grin lifting the corners of his lips. He had already arranged the bags neatly beside him, tapping his own shopping bag as it rested close to his leg.

Gertrude had taken Chuck downtown to do Christmas shopping. It was an annual occurrence, though drastically different this year. His guardians had hemmed and hawed about moving forward, what to do–what traditions to keep, what to leave out, what they could initiate, now that the world had changed. Last year, and every year before that Chuck could remember, the second week of December had been the day when his mother and Gertrude took Ellie and him to Denholm's, a department store in downtown Worcester.

In preparation, each January Chuck began saving his money–his allowance and any other money he earned doing odd jobs, like weeding the neighbors gardens or helping Casey clear out the garage in the spring. By December, he would have accumulated just enough to buy a gift each for his sister, his parents, and Gertrude and Casey.

He had already been dreading Christmas at Thanksgiving this year. His Christmas money sat there, in his sock drawer; he saw it every day…and tried to ignore it. Thinking about the holiday without his family threatened to bring on tears. Gertrude had wisely suggested Chuck buy a gift for Sarah, his newfound friend. Chuck had never thought of buying a gift for anyone outside the circle of his family, except for his teacher at school, a pin or a Christmas tree ornament his mother had always chosen for him.

This morning, before they departed, Chuck had counted his money on his bedspread. Chuck's suggestion was that he buy gifts for Gertrude, Casey, and Sarah…and what was left, he would donate to the orphanage.

Gertrude had even let him explore independently in the store, watching from a safe distance, but not involving herself in his choices. He knew how to count money, and he could pay at the register himself, something he had never done before but decided he wanted to do today. In the bag beside him was a scarf for Gertrude, work gloves for Casey, and a plush toy owl, one that resembled the real one Chuck had seen with Sarah in the woods behind her house. The owl was for his new friend.

As winter approached, the days shortened, dusk slowly creeping earlier into the afternoon. The contrast with the darkening sky accentuated the Christmas lights visible up and down the city street as they drove. The sidewalks were full of people, bundled in coats and hats, their hands full of bags and or arms full of boxes. Every lit storefront had a Christmas theme, red and green, silver and gold…everything sparkled. Chuck was aware both adults in the front seat were continuously gazing back at him as he kept his gaze fixed out the window. They were cautious, tentatively hopeful that his smile would not fade, that he might find some joy in the holiday.

Chuck had to control his mind and had practiced the control all day as they'd wandered through the department store. If he left his mind unfocused or scattered, thoughts would cycle back to normalcy, familiarity, the Christmas he had expected to have before the tragedy, and the stark new reality of things would jar him, shake him, rattle his being to the core. This was a new world, a new existence, one he was discovering mostly on his own; no one else could do it for him. But in his mind, Sarah was a beacon, a lighthouse, she guided him as he bounced on the uncertain sea. He thought of her–and instantly everything was better. He could move forward.

As he peered through the windshield, he watched the clear night sky as it slowly darkened from twilight. A thrill of excitement, a flash of hope so foreign to him he almost didn't recognize it, darted through him. He anticipated another tradition that was being modified, but with Sarah as a new part.

The December shopping day always coincided with the Geminid meteor shower, an event Stephen and Chuck had always observed together. Chuck's father was an amateur astronomer, sharing the locations and names of the constellations and stars as they appeared. The clear sky was perfect for such an endeavor this evening.

While Chuck and Gertrude shopped, Casey had been meeting, again, with Jack Burton about the custody dispute. Gertrude's usual tightly wound tension had not been present this time, and Casey was calm. Whatever it was that Casey was doing there today, he was far less troubled about it than the last two times he met with Jack. Innocently, Chuck had asked Casey whether, if Jack allowed it, could Sarah watch the meteor shower with him. Chuck had never asked something like that, not even of his parents, but it seemed appropriate to him, right. He wanted her to see it, wanted to share it with her. He had been imagining about her eyes, how the fiery streaks in the dark sky would reflect in them. Casey had allowed it, if Jack would.

"Casey, did Mr. Burton say it was ok?" Chuck asked expectantly, leaning toward the front seat and looking into the mirror.

Casey smiled, a genuine grin reflected in the rearview mirror at him. "Sarah overheard me ask him, and wouldn't let him give no for an answer," Casey chuckled. "She's a regular spy, that little girl. I don't think Mr. Burton even knew she was there." Chuck heard Gertrude sigh, with what sounded like relief. "Only, he suggested she stay the night at our house, considering the late hour." Casey looked at Gertrude. "I hope you don't mind, Gert, but I told him that was fine. We can drop her off in the morning on the way to mass."

Chuck watched as a succession of emotions showed on Gertrude's face, not all of which he understood. He saw first her happiness, but also her surprise. And then…was she worried? Maybe anxious? He continued to study her face, but couldn't comprehend the rest of what she was feeling but not saying. After a few more moments, he forgot about what he had been trying to divine from her expression. All that mattered–Sarah was coming to his house, and would stay until the morning.

His heart was buoyant, bouncing, before it settled gently. The Christmas lights he passed were suddenly more beautiful, radiant, not a painful reminder of anything he had lost, but tiny colored beacons of hope, little lighthouses, that stayed lit behind his closed eyelids.

Chuck helped Gertrude carry the packages to the house, smiling as Gertrude swatted playfully at Casey as he pretended to peek into the bags. The good mood was contagious, a balm for the perpetual sadness.

Inside the house, Gertrude secured all the bags, then circled back to make sure Chuck had stowed his winter gear in the closet and not tracked snow into the kitchen. She left Chuck and Casey in the kitchen to put everything away.

"Chuck," Casey called. "I want to talk to you, Kid," Casey added seriously. He gestured towards the table, silently requesting Chuck sit. Casey sat down across from him.

Chuck's heart started to race, the serious tone disquieting him. The last time Casey had looked like this was when he had to tell Chuck that his parents and sister weren't coming home from Rhode Island, that they had been killed in the hurricane. The edges of his vision started to darken in frightened anticipation. Somehow, Chuck found calm, an eye of the storm, inside himself. He focused, intently. Casey wasn't sad. This was serious, but not sad, no tragedy.

"Mr. Burton and I came to an agreement today," Casey said. "You're going to stay with us, permanently. You don't have to worry about that any more."

Chuck felt relief rush over him. Casey was still serious, obviously with more to say. It was important, so Chuck forced himself to pay attention, despite his lightheartedness.

Casey took a deep, pondering breath, as if he were trying to decide the best way to explain what else he was going to say. "Chuck, you know, you inherited…everything that your parents owned…this house, and everything in it, even your father's half of the business. But you're only ten. So those legal documents that Mr. Montgomery has…Those basically mean that I, as your legal guardian, inherited all of that in your name, until you're of legal age, which is 18. Mr. Burton owns the other half of the business. He could have bought your share from you, or from me, but he chose not to. Instead, he agreed, when you're old enough, you should take your father's place, to run the company with him. Your dad wanted you to follow in his footsteps, I know that. But your dad also wanted you to do what you wanted to do, which may or may not be running his company."

"Ok, so what does that mean, Casey?" Chuck asked, fidgeting in his seat impatiently.

"Your father was an engineer, Chuck. Almost every machine the workers use in the factories to make the tools Burton Carmichael manufactures was designed by your father. Your role, as an adult, would be to oversee that side of the business. It takes a special kind of intelligence to be an engineer. And it's a lot to ask of a ten year old, to know exactly what you want to do when you grow up," Casey offered.

"But you own it, right Casey?" Chuck asked, testing his understanding. "Mr. Burton could buy your share, couldn't he?"

"He… could…but I don't think that he will," Casey explained, the creases beside his eyes deepening as some dark thought passed over him. "I have an eighth grade education, Chuck. I don't know the first thing about your dad's business. I can't fill his shoes. But you, you're as smart as the day is long. I know you can do anything you set your mind to, when you get older.

"The money, not the property, but the actual money that belonged to your parents, belongs to you. Your parents set everything aside the right way. I have control over that, but only in order to take care of you. Food, clothing, the roof over your head. It's called a trust. Gertrude and I are paid out of your trust, the same way your parents paid us. The money is yours, what your parents wanted you to have. In effect, you'll be paying us. It might not mean anything to you, now, at your age, but I'll say it just the same: I promise you, Gert and I won't take one nickel that doesn't belong to us," Casey finished, his tone solemn, a vow.

"I know, Casey," Chuck said, the thought that Casey would ever do something like that so foreign it was almost absurd to him. Casey's honesty was as natural and as constant as the sky's color, no one needed to tell Chuck that. It was simply part of his world.

Casey wore a ghost of a smile, heartened by the pure trust on display. "I just wanted you to know what happened. It was your whole life, on the table in front of us, like we were playing cards or something. Didn't think it was right for me to play your hand without explaining to you what I did, even if you are only ten. It's only right."

Chuck sat quietly for a while. "Ok," he said, slowly. "But…I can stay here, with you and Gertrude, right?" Casey looked at him, seeing the eager expectation on his face.

Choking back an unexpected burst of emotion, Casey said, hushed, "Sure. You're stuck with us, Kid, I promise."

Casey saw a blur of movement, and then Chuck was on his feet, his arms around Casey's neck, hugging tightly. "Thank you," Chuck whispered. Chuck felt the hand, hesitant, then firm, on his back, patting softly for comfort. Casey huffed and cleared his throat loudly, washing away the warmth and sentiment.

"Go wash up," Casey commanded. "Dinner's heating in the oven. We've got to eat in a hurry. Sarah will be here soon."

Like another blur, Chuck zipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, heading to the bathroom to wash up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"What makes the stars fall out of the sky?" Sarah asked Chuck, as she faced the velvet black of the night sky. The two children sat on the back porch, huddled together under a blanket as they sat on the porch swing seat. They had a perfect view of the sky and the myriad stars that twinkled overhead, distant diamonds.

He followed her gaze, lifting his face. "People call them falling stars, but they're really meteors," Chuck said.

"What's a meteor?" she asked him.

"Pieces of rock that float around in space. Every once in a while, one enters the earth's atmosphere and it looks like a star is falling as it burns up," Chuck explained. "This one, it's called the Geminid," he pronounced it carefully for her, "because you can see them in the Gemini constellation."

"What's a constellation?" she asked, carefully echoing him, as the word was foreign to her.

He answered quickly, his attention focused as his interest piqued. "A group of stars that looks like something…like a picture or whatever." He searched for a moment, then pointed toward the sky. "You see those there, like a ladle with a handle? That's the Big Dipper." He searched briefly again. "Or those stars there, in a row like that, are Andromeda. And then there's Orion, the hunter."

She observed what he explained, what he showed her, following his finger as he pointed skyward. He watched her stare, unblinking, as she absorbed it. "You know about stars like I know about owls," she said, the deeper meaning not lost on him, where the knowledge of each had originated.

"My father and I used to sit out here and he would tell me all that stuff. We used to…watch this every year. Geminid is in December and Perseid is in August."

From the front porch of the beach house…that was now a pile of broken timber in a landfill.

Flashes like that were fewer and farther between, but they still could happen. He closed his eyes tight, shaking his head, forcing the crushing thoughts away.

He felt her snuggle closer to him under the blanket, leaning against him ever so slightly, as if she had sensed his internal shuddering. The chill he had felt disappeared.

"Look!" she gasped, tilting her head back. An arc of glittering sparkles streaked across the sky, then vanished. He watched until the last glimmer of light faded out.

When he turned his head toward her, he saw her eyes shut, squeezed tightly.

"What are you doing?" Chuck asked.

"Making a wish," she said softly. "You can wish on a shooting star, you know."

He did know that, or at least he used to. Dropping pennies in wells or even seeing shooting stars didn't trigger that reaction anymore, that previous desire to believe in magic. He was still a child but–the inner child in him had been crushed, all the magic in him exposed as false. But as he looked at her, he closed his eyes and wished all the same. His wish was practical, as he could only manage a half-belief in magic now.

He wished for… Sarah to be with him on Christmas. He didn't know how to make it happen, or even if it could, but he wanted it. As sad as he was, she made it better, made him feel like he could smile without his face shattering like thin ice.

"What did you wish for?" Chuck asked her, curious.

"I can't tell you. It won't come true," she whispered innocently, all belief, blinking rapidly as more meteors lit up the inky blackness of the sky. She stayed silent, not asking him, fortifying her belief.

They sat in silence, Chuck watching as the tendrils of her breath danced before them in the cold air. After a time, she asked, "Where does the blue go, at night time?"

In your eyes, he thought, but did not say, afraid she would misunderstand. He wasn't sure he understood what he meant. But he explained what she asked, not what he thought. "The sun is on the other side of the world. The blue is where the sun is, black is where the moon is."

"Do you think the sky is blue or black, in heaven?" she asked him, so casually, so trusting, never even thinking to doubt that there was an answer, that it was one or the other.

"Blue," he said wistfully, not even sure where the word had come from. But there was no doubt in him either, when he spoke. A blue like a sapphire sea, dappled with golden sun.

She turned to look at him, a soft smile lighting her face, electrifying the blue in her eyes. Because he had answered, she believed him to know the truth, that was now a secret she shared with him.

"Time for some hot chocolate," Gertrude called from the glass doorway behind them, as she leaned outside.

The children scrambled off the porch swing, Chuck pulling the blanket up into a ball and following Sarah inside. There were two mugs on the table, side by side, fine trails of steam rising from the pale brown surface of the liquid, dotted with little clouds of marshmallow. They sat at the table together while Gertrude washed the pans and spoons she had used to make their sweet beverages.

In the warm glow of the light hanging over the table, Chuck could see Sarah's sleepiness. Her eyelids drooped, the time probably later than she normally stayed up. Mesmerized, he watched her delicately sip her cocoa, sweet little slurps as she sought to capture a marshmallow before it melted. They finished their cups together.

"It's late, time for bed, you two," Gertrude told them.

Chuck got ready while Gertrude tended to Sarah. Chuck saw the confused face Sarah had displayed, as she comprehended the assistance she was offered for changing her clothes, brushing her teeth and hair. Because no one else ever helped her do any of that in her house, probably not since her mother. Her gentle smile as she walked by him warmed his heart.

Sarah was sleeping in Ellie's room. Ellie's old room. Chuck thought perhaps some of that inscrutable expression on Gertrude's face in the car was because of this…using Ellie's room. It was the first time it had been used. All of his sister's possessions had been cleared out–donated, discarded, or a very few sentimental things packed away for Chuck to keep. Not all of her could be removed, however. The wallpaper, the bedspread, even the few knick knacks on the dresser…all of that was still Ellie to him. Chuck hadn't set foot in her room since the hurricane and he did not now. He said goodnight to Sarah from the hallway.

The late hour was enough to send him to sleep almost before his head hit the pillow. He slept for a time but then woke up. What woke him was Casey and Gertrude, whispering in the hallway. Through one thin sliver of an open eyelid, he saw them in his doorway, their shadows backlit by the faint hallway nightlight.

"They're just children. There's no harm in it."

"She's the only thing that's made him smile in almost three months."

"Burton said the same thing about her, that Chuck was the first to make her smile in over a year. That was why he let her come, you know."

"I was so worried…the holidays would set him back. When she's there, he doesn't think of it. It's like a miracle."

"He spent over an hour in that store, looking for just the right thing to buy her. It was so sweet."

"How is she comfortable like that?"

The last bit, in Casey's voice, made him wonder. When their shadows disappeared from his doorway, he shifted to look, his suspicion confirmed. Sarah had changed places and was in his room, beside his bed. She had her bed pillow, her blanket, and Bunny, and was sound asleep on the floor, hugging the dog. It was hard to make out colors in the dark, but he was sure it was the same pink blanket from her room at home, folded and packed to travel, now dragged with her into his bedroom, to sleep on his floor.

He slept, like he was floating on a cloud, the sky above him bedazzled with stars falling from heaven, brilliant against the deep azure blue.

A/N: As always, thanks to Zettel for pre-reading. This is as far into left field as I have ever gone with writing so far. Would love to hear from you, your thoughts, as I wonder just how many people followed me out into the field. :)