All right, my darlings, time to buckle up for the stuff we've all been waiting for!

I truly hope y'all enjoy these last few chapters as much as I enjoyed writing them. After seeing Adam and Lacey both face so much adversity, it was fun to turn the page.

You'll notice I reintroduced a "beloved" character from the early days, and at the very end, a canon one.
MAN I wish I'd gotten around to posting this chapter back when it was still Christmastime! Here's hoping we all catch the vibe anyway!

/

Song: I have no freaking clue. But I have some good ones for later!
Fall/Christmas 2015

Max's laugh was unchanged from when they were young–except perhaps for his missing and decayed teeth. But this time, that laugh caused Lacey to smile.

"Look, Guys!" Max waved around the piece of paper he'd been studying. "It's a giraffe! Prettiest giraffe I ever seen!"

As he turned away from the speaker, Lacey was barely able to hear him for a few seconds as he bragged to his fellow inmates about the simple crayon drawing he'd just received from his young son.

"How can I ever thank you, Lacey? Gah, this is so great!" Max did a hearty fistpump on his side of the fiberglass. "Ashley said she wasn't gonna let me have contact with him. So how'd you manage this?"

"Just a good old-fashioned talk," Lacey chuckled. "People can be persuaded by such things. I told her some of what you've said to me and I think it convinced her you've done some changing. So she was willing to let Kasen send you this beautiful giraffe."

"Oh this'll go up on my cell wall today, make no mistake about it. If I can get some tape from the guards," Max grinned.

Lacey returned his smile, so grateful for this redemptive moment. She'd encountered Max Shipley after making visits to the corrections center as part of her church's prison ministry, and had been surprised–yet not-to find out he was incarcerated there for the rest of his natural life for shooting a man while stealing his car.

"Made some big mistakes, and I'm talking some big ones, Lacey. That man didn't do anything to me. I see him every night in my sleep, you know," Max had confided, wiping away tears. "Now I'm gonna pay for it forever. And I think I can stand it if I can just keep talking to Kasen. He's just a kid, you know? It's gotta be hard for him to understand a thing like this."

And so, she had done what she could to locate Kasen's mother and find out if she'd be open to some very basic communication between her son and Max. It had taken some convincing, but finally the woman relented, and Max had something to wake up every day for.

He'd been quick, upon their first encounter, to apologize to Lacey for all that had transpired the last time they'd interacted with one another. It shocked her to learn that he'd remembered so many details. He told her, "Pass on my apology to that guy I hurt, too. You know what's funny? I barely remember his name now. Crazy what we waste our time doing to people we don't even know. I'm sure he was a fine guy."

Apparently Max had blocked out thoughts of Adam, maybe because it caused too much hurt to remember the first person he'd physically assaulted. Lacey, of course, didn't bother to tell Max she didn't have access to Adam anymore, simply nodding. "I'll pass it along if I see him."

Now, she regarded her old boyfriend with compassion. "By the way, we brought more books for you guys. I passed them off to the warden. Anything else you can think of that you need?"

"Nah, not really," Max replied. "They have to be so careful anyway about the stuff that comes through here. They're getting more and more strict."

"Probably because people take advantage, huh?" Lacey sighed. Prison life was not for the faint of heart, and frankly, she was surprised Max had managed to do it all these years with such a positive attitude.

"Well, guess that's my time to go," he clucked his tongue as a buzzer rang on the wall behind him. Other inmates began standing up in their own cubicles, saying goodbye to loved ones, chairs scraping against linoleum.

"Bye, Lacey. Thanks. I'll be here when you get back!" he gave a fond wink.

Lacey smiled and raised a hand in goodbye.

She stood, trying to push back the wave of sadness in her heart, and wrapped her coat around her. Wasn't it a shame people ended up doing things so terrible they had to pay for life? Not that it wasn't fair. It was just sad to see so much wasted potential. But then, as Pastor Pete had reminded the prison team many times, that was their purpose: to show forgiveness and love to a population most people in society hated. Lacey enjoyed doing it, but it hurt her heart at the same time.

As she stepped into the fresh autumn air, she took a deep, reviving breath. It was crisp and cool, the sky deep blue and cloudless. More and more she was glad she lived exactly where she did. Sure, San Francisco dreams still came calling sometimes, but for the most part, Lacey loved Minnesota. She could stay here the rest of her life.

On the way home, she phoned Halen. "What should we eat? I don't feel like cooking."

"You don't have to, I've already got soup on. But hey guess what?! There's an official–as in "good" official–letter here waiting for you! It looks like some sort of invitation, but you'll be proud of me, I haven't touched it."

"Well you'd better not," Lacey laughed. "It'll be the first thing I open when I get home."

When Lacey did make it home, the smell from the moment she opened the front door enveloped her in bliss. Halen made the best soup of anyone she knew.

"Moroccan Red Lentil!" her sister called from the kitchen.

"I'm going to slap you one day," she came into the kitchen and hung up her keys on the key hook. "Simply for always being a better cook than me, and I'm the big sister."

Halen giggled. "But you're not the BIG sister." She shook her butt, sassy as ever, as she stirred the soup pot.

Lacey smiled. Halen had never lost the weight she had put on during her teen years, and even though she had gone through some major psychological battles surrounding it during those years and into her twenties, she now embraced it as part of who she was, all the while trying to stay as healthy as she could. And Lacey admired her immensely. She admired the people both her sisters had become, even if they were still as different as night and day.

"Okay, show me this letter."

"Oooh!" Halen left off stirring long enough to rush over to the kitchen table, handing it to Lacey. "See the lettering?"

The lettering was fancy enough, but Lacey had also seen the same calligraphy print on letters you opened up just to read one of those "You are cordially invited to pick out a brand new car!" ads that were mailed out.

But this did feel different, so Lacey used the letter opener lying on the desk and sliced the top open, pulling out a letter printed on sturdy, high-quality paper.

Dear Ms. Primmer,

It is with great pleasure that we inform you that you are the 2015 recipient of the Golden Giving award, issued annually by the East Minneapolis & Edina chapter of Community Caring. Your exemplary work as director of the nonprofit Cat's Cradle has not gone unnoticed by the chapter's board, and we collectively feel you are the best choice for this prestigious award.

Please join us at our annual Christmas Gala to be held on December nineteenth, two thousand fifteen at seven o'clock in the evening at Edina Country Club. Please be prepared to be acknowledged publicly, and to be afforded the opportunity to address the room if you so desire.

We sincerely would like the pleasure of your company. If you will be attending, please RSVP to Raven Nunnally at 952-634-9537 by November twentieth.

Again, thank you for your tireless service to our community.

Lacey let the letter fall to the floor, stunned, only for Halen to scoop it up. "November twentieth, Lacey, that's in five days! Jeez, you would have thought they would give you more time, but… you're going. You're definitely going. You know that, right?"

"Oh gosh, Halen, I don't know." Lacey's anxiety mounted. "All those rich people in Edina?"

"And, you don't have to say it," Halen rolled her eyes. "The Bankses are on the board, but you don't have to talk to them. Although would it be so bad if you did? I mean, they had to have been part of you being awarded this…"

"I know, and I'm grateful. It's just…" she paused, then wrinkled her nose. "But no! It's nothing to do with the Bankses. It's that I'm terrible in front of people."

"Bull," Halen replied simply. "You're one of the most outgoing people I know."

"But Halen, this is accepting a prestigious award. Not talking about a mission trip at church."

"Well it sounds like making a speech is only optional," Halen sought to reassure her before rushing back over to stir her soup, neglected during the excitement.

"Yeah, but it's also in the best taste. So I should be ready to say at least something." Lacey sat down, face in her hands.

"Lacey, come on," Halen sighed. "You catastrophize the very best things. I mean, this is a big deal, and it's so awesome! Don't let your nervousness wreck the whole thing."

Lacey sat with her face in her hands a moment more before sitting up abruptly. "You know what? You're right. I do that, don't I?"

"Uh, only all the time," Halen taste-tested her soup over an open hand.

"Well…I'm going. I do deserve this, don't I? I mean I've run this place on the weekends only and managed to keep it afloat and thriving." Lacey thought for a moment. "You know how much I wish I could do it full-time. But I wouldn't make nearly as much as I'm making now."

"Marry a rich man. Then you can do what you want," Halen smirked.

"Ha! No more marriages, Halen. All right, what do you need me to do?" She stood, ready to turn her thoughts to dinner preparation.

/

"No wild parties, Man. I mean it."

Morrigan laughed. "With who? I mean Gonzales and Rollins are as lame as I am. Trust me, we're just going to record a bunch of podcasts to last us through the holidays."

"All right. Long as you clean up all your crap." Adam smirked, holding the phone.

After Thanksgiving–during which he worked harder than he'd worked in awhile, remaining in Albany–Adam found out that the judge responsible for most of his cases was taking an extended vacation, causing most of them to be continued. It was a frustrating moment for Adam, given how hard he'd worked to build them, but it did afford him the chance to take his own extended vacation. He'd done a poor job of going home over the past year, having spent all his energy on working, renovating and moving into Grandpa Greg's house, which he'd learned had been left to him, and blowing off steam by playing hockey for the local league. Now he aimed to go home and stay most of the month of December, taking his case notes with him in order to get some work done. He would miss several hockey games, but spending time with his family was most important to him, specifically Maple. According to Candace, pre-puberty had hit her like a ton of bricks in recent times, and she was moody and sullen almost constantly.

"I think she could use a dose of Uncle Adam," Candace had confided.

He also knew how much his mom had been missing him. It was time for a long vacation.

He'd enlisted Morrigan to house sit for him while he was gone, to take care of Sydney and look after the general upkeep of things. Morrigan busied himself outside of work by running an Alcatraz podcast. It seemed like an incredibly random topic to Adam, but whatever floated his friend's boat. In truth, he felt sorry for the big, affable guy. He was happy-go-lucky and never seemed bothered by much, but Adam was sure it must bother his buddy that he pretty much had no one. His parents had both died years before, and he had no siblings or other family of which to speak. So the holidays for him were just business as usual. That's why Adam had the idea to invite him to spend the holidays at his house, just for a change of scenery. He could tell his friend appreciated the gesture and was quick to take Adam up on it, asking if his two likewise-bachelor podcast buddies could come as well. Adam balked a bit here, but gave in at Morrigan's promise that nothing amiss would happen. Surely three thirty-something guys would know how to behave in a nice house.

The moment his taxi pulled up in front of his childhood home, his mother rushed outside, practically sprinting toward him. Adam laughed, getting out and catching her in his arms. "Merry Early Christmas, Ma." He kissed her cheek.

"Oh, Adam, you have no idea how happy I am that you're here. I cried all day on Thanksgiving because I missed you so much." She held onto him tightly.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just, you know…I was trying to get caught up on cases."

"Of course. Of course you were, Hon, I don't mean to make you feel bad about that," his mom wiped away a tear. "Okay! Let's get you into the house."

Adam paid the cabbie, then pulled out his suitcases and garment bag, not allowing his mom to carry a single thing despite her protests.

"Well, you've got me for the month, anyway," he smiled.

"I know I do, and I'm so happy about it. So is your dad. And guess what I baked just for you?!"

Adam inwardly winced. He didn't often eat sweets, but he wouldn't be able to resist what he knew was awaiting him in the house–his mom's cinnamon sticks. He would just have to take care not to overdo it and send himself into a gluten-induced flair.

But then, provincially, his Mom added, "Gluten-free! I learned how to perfect the recipe, just for you."

"Ah, Mom, that's sweet of you," he put his right arm around her while he pulled his compacted luggage behind him with his left. "How much time did you spend 'perfecting' it exactly?"

"Well, it took a couple tries. Your dad was my taste-tester, and you know how picky he is," she rolled her eyes, opening the door. The smell of cinnamon and flour nearly knocked Adam down when they entered the house, and he suddenly felt like he could eat the entire pan.

There was nothing like being at home.

"Son!" His dad emerged. "Good to see you," he slapped his son's shoulder, always forgetting to avoid the bad one. But thankfully enough time had gone by to render the pain in that left shoulder nothing more than a dull ache.

That guy. Max Shipley. What ever happened to him? Adam wouldn't have cared other than that a malicious part of him hoped the guy was paying dearly for having been such a jackass as a kid. With one blow he'd effectively messed up Adam's shoulder for life, not to mention his hockey dreams.

But.

It was over. It was seventeen years ago. Adam did his best to remain a forgiving person, and even though he struggled with the concept when it came to Max, he still tried to dismiss his angry feelings as soon as he felt them beginning to take hold.

"Travis'll be by with the kids in a little while. They're ready to see you," his dad smiled.

"I'm ready to see them, too," His sister-in-law had given birth to another baby in the last year, Acacia. He was eager to meet her.

Sure enough, within the hour and just after Adam had finished the last bite of the cinnamon stick he swore would be his last, he heard the front door open and what sounded like millions of little kids spill in–but was actually just five.

He headed into the foyer to greet his brother and family, and before he knew it, four little sets of arms were encircling his waist and legs.

"Hi!" he chuckled, trying to take time to acknowledge each one. Of course, Maple stuck to his side like glue, as though staking her claim on his attention. He patted her shoulder before holding his arms out for little Acacia, to whom he was new. "Well, hello," he bounced the baby on his hip as she stared at him warily. "I'm your Uncle Adam." She watched him with large, green eyes, a soft patch of ginger hair on her head courtesy of Candace. He smiled and gave her cheek a quick kiss. "Beautiful girl."

"She's sweeter than Juni was at least," Maple murmured. Juniper, meanwhile, was showing her wild streak already by attempting to pull the leaves off his mom's peace lily in the corner of the foyer.

"Honey, no no! That's Gigi's special plant!" His mom leaned down to pick up fussy Juniper, showering her with kisses.

"So!" Travis regarded him with another slap on his bad shoulder. "What's new? Still playing?"

"Yup," Adam gave Acacia a final squeeze before handing her over to Travis, the little girl beginning to whimper from being held by a stranger. "It's awesome to be out there on the ice again."

"You ought to think about coaching," Travis remarked. "I mean I know you're not staying around here or anything, but Maple's team's out of a coach. Coaches never seem to last long in pee wee's."

"And the ones who do don't need to be there," Adam rolled his eyes, thinking of his old coach Jack Riley. He'd adored the man, and always felt adored in return. Sure, he knew his hockey skill was probably the biggest reason why, but he never realized that the man had so little regard for him that he would purposefully hurt him. Digesting the fact that the coach actually asked the boys on his former team to injure him during the Ducks playoffs game was difficult for Adam. His dad of course filed a lawsuit that effectively took the coach out of the sport for the duration of his life, and Adam had only recently heard of his passing from colon cancer last year. But he still bore the scar from that first betrayal by an adult he loved and trusted.

He wondered sometimes if learning what a commodity he was to the sport was what caused him to form such a dependence on it for worth when he was younger.

"Oh yeah, Riley," Travis shook his head as though reading Adam's mind. "That guy was the biggest ass in the ranks. Of course the Hawks really dropped down several pegs when he left, but hey. Small price to pay for getting rid of that jerk-off."

As was the way of babies, Acacia chose that moment to suddenly smile at him, seemingly trusting as she held her arms out. Adam chuckled and took her back.

"She can't make up her mind," Travis laughed.

Maple stuck around all while Adam was getting acquainted with his new little niece, quiet and well-behaved, though he sensed her restlessness at not having his attention. Finally he let the baby go back to Candace and sat down to talk with her. If being an uncle required this much of him, what would it ever be like as a dad?

Dinner was pleasant, fun even. Travis's sense of humor could be relied upon to provide entertainment anywhere, and of course the childrens' antics were the icing on the cake. Adam was happy to be home.

After Travis and Candace left later that night, taking their brood with them, his dad came over and handed Adam something.

"What's this?" He looked over the beautifully printed invitation.

"It's the Christmas Gala for Community Caring. And I want you to be there, Son. It's important to me to pass my involvement in these things along to my kids. Travis isn't interested, so I've got to say I've placed all my bets on you for keeping this kind of thing going after I'm gone." His dad peered over at him expectantly.

Adam read over the invitation. "Dad, you do realize I don't live here, right? I mean, I'm happy to go to this, but it's not like I can take over being on your boards and doing your charities. I'm in Albany now."

"Yes, you are," his dad nodded. "But I think more to the point, I want you to carry these things over into your own life, in your own location. Community involvement is important."

Something about his dad's statement rankled him. It's not as though Adam sat home and did nothing for his community. He had taken several thousand dollars' worth of a paycut to become a public defender, his hockey league donated money to local charities and they spearheaded the community's annual Toys for Tots drive. Not to mention he personally supported good causes with his remaining wealth. Just because he didn't have the makings of an almighty board member didn't mean he wasn't supporting his community in his own way.

But he had just gotten home and his goal wasn't to get into it with his dad this soon. So he merely nodded. "Sure, I'll go. Who's the recipient of the award this year?"

His dad paused before answering, "Lacey Primmer."

Adam set down the invitation calmly. "I'd rather not go."

Phil sighed. "What? Adam, seriously. You broke up with this girl when you were what, twenty? How mature is it that at thirty-six, you can't let the whole thing go?"

His dad's words stung. "'How mature is it'?"

Well, to be honest… it wasn't mature. But he couldn't help it. The one thing in his life he wanted to keep his distance from was his past with Lacey. And if his dad knew how much pain the subject caused him, he wouldn't expect him to face it this way.

"Dad, I just…she's the one thing I…" he let out a deep breath, knowing his dad would never understand.

"Adam," his father took a stern tone. "I want you to be there. If you're going to be in town during this, I want you to attend with your mother and me. Do I ask much of you?"

Adam didn't speak. No, his dad didn't ask much of him. But what he did ask always demonstrated how little he knew Adam and what went on in his heart.

"You don't have to speak to her, you don't have to look at her. You can go cry in the bathroom for all I care. But I need you to come. Is that understood?"

Adam flinched at the barb in his father's words. How he wanted to shout back, both guns blazing, that he was old enough to do whatever he wanted, which included opting not to go to a damn gala that had nothing to do with him. Even if he had to pack his things up right then and go to a hotel.

But, swallowing his ire, Adam closed his eyes for a second before murmuring, "Yes, Sir."

After a moment of stillness, Phil retreated upstairs while Adam stood staring down at the invitation.

"Don't take your dad personally," he heard his mom say behind him before he gave her a rueful laugh.

"'Don't take your dad personally'. What does that even mean, Mom? How can I not when he makes… asshole remarks?" He turned to her, angry now over far more than his mandated gala attendance. "He's always bet everything on me, whereas Travis gets off scot-free. Because Travis is, you know, the 'free spirit'." Adam used air quotes. "That's usually the role of the younger kid, but apparently it was reversed for us, because for as long as I can remember, I've felt like I had to step up to make Dad happy. With hockey, with my career, with my personal life…" He tried to stop himself from unloading on his mom, but the words just kept coming. "And it's like he doesn't know me at all. I don't barrel through life like he does. I'm happy to be in the background of things. Why can't he just accept that?" God, this had been a good evening until his father's words had effectively ruined it. "The very least I should be able to do is say no to seeing Lacey Primmer right now."

His mom placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Adam, he's proud of you. Very, very proud. He just doesn't know how to say it, so instead, he keeps heaping responsibility on you because he feels you can handle it. You really need to talk to him about not being able to live up to what he wants, because if you keep consenting to him, he'll keep giving you mandates."

"I just tried to talk to him. It doesn't work."

"It wasn't the right time. Both of your tempers were spiked, and you know as well as anyone that trying to have a productive conversation like that just doesn't work. If you don't want to go to that gala, don't go. I'd say I'll stand behind you, but I don't think that's really what you want. I know you'd rather face your dad yourself about this."

"Only, he's right," Adam snorted softly. "By now I should be able to face an ex-girlfriend that I dated twenty years ago. I mean the fact is, we were kids when all the bad stuff happened. It's effectively a non-issue."

"Is that what you and Roger have discussed?" His mom asked pointedly.

Adam sighed, exasperated. "I can't talk about this to Roger, Mom."

"Why not?"

"Because I just…I can't. That's all. It was painful, it was absolutely miserable. I don't want to open up that place again."

"Yet you might have to, Hon. To heal. It might take ripping those stitches open and letting that wound drain. Remember what I went through a few years ago when my surgical wound was infected? And let me tell you, it hurt. But it was necessary. And if you face Lacey now, there's a chance you can let that pain out, have a clean wound bed. Then, go back to Albany and talk over with Roger what the experience was like. This may well be how things are supposed to go."

"But what if…" Adam paused, suddenly feeling like openly weeping. "...what if I start reliving it and I just can't get through it all? What if it leads to something way worse, like…I don't know, deep depression. Then my job and everything else could be affected. I just don't have the time or energy to spend hashing it out. So it's easier to stay away."

"You're right, Adam," his mother responded patiently. "All those things could happen. That's why it may take bravery to face Lacey on that night."

Brave. There was that word again.

"I'm not brave," he muttered.

"Honey, how could you say that? You are one of the bravest people I know. Even though I wasn't there to watch it happen, I remember how many times you were tackled. Fell down. Missed shots in hockey. But you charged ahead and became one of the best players out there. When you were diagnosed with RA, you didn't let that stop you, either. After you had your heart broken, you surged on in college, went to law school, and have thrown every part of yourself into the job." Just when he thought his mom was done, she continued. "And that's all before we get to how you handled yourself with Grandpa Greg. You were his hero through that whole ordeal, whether he had presence of mind to realize it or not. So, when I ask myself, can you face your past with Lacey? Absolutely. I don't even hesitate."

Adam was quiet a moment before he nodded. He could face Lacey again. He could and he would. It would just take stiffening his upper lip, pulling that rod of steel into his backbone, and digging in his heels. Because, he thought, that would be the way to face her down. To let her know their memories weren't conquering him. That their puppy love was far away and long ago.

Even if it would take half the month to prepare himself.

/

Lacey was sure she'd sneezed five times in the course of the ten minutes she sat with the girl across from her at work. She carried Kleenex and hand sanitizer with her at all times, but this cold was getting the best of her, and her clients knew it. She didn't want them to worry about becoming sick, especially as many of them lived on the street and wouldn't have proper care.

"I'm sorry, Michelle," Lacey tried to talk from behind her latest tissue. "Let's move back a little further from each other." With that, she pushed back her rolling desk chair. She'd go home if it wasn't for how needed she was right now. Several youth had come in just that week that were bipolar and in need of medication that was too expensive to fill. A few even needed antipsychotics, which were nearly impossible to pay for. So she attempted to assess their need for assistance and pull strings with her director to secure funds to help pay for the prescriptions. A few that she knew could be irresponsible because of their "revolving door" nature, or those she knew sold the drugs, she would lock prescribed medicine away for on the Hope Heals property. They would need to come into the center to receive their meds, which she would gladly dispense. It would keep them coming back and prevent them from selling on the street.

"But they could break in here for them," Jashandra had protested at their most recent staff meeting.

"They see me putting it in the safe, which would be really hard to get into. And plus, none of them has a rap sheet for stealing or for violence," she petitioned back. "Trust me, you guys, this will work. It will keep them safe and medicated appropriately."

The director of the center expressed skepticism, but she finally approved Lacey's idea.

Michelle was thankfully one of the easy cases to handle. She took Lamictal, which wasn't a street drug, and seemed so far to be faithful in taking it. What had hindered her this month was an increase in rent from her landlord, leaving her little to nothing in the way of extra money. Lacey used some of the last of the allotted medicine fund for the month to fill the prescription.

"Thank you, Ms. B. I mean…Ms. P." Michelle smiled a little as she got up and left the office after Lacey called in the pills to the nearby pharmacy. Kids still forgot the fact that Lacey had changed her last name back to Primmer from Breckenridge. There was now a new Mrs. Breckenridge, and Lacey wouldn't allow herself to be confused with her. Plus, she preferred to leave her marriage with nothing of Jeff's, including his name.

But as for her paintings, she still used "Lacey B." It was just easier than completely changing her artistic signature.

It wasn't long after Lacey finished Michelle's case management that her supervisor called her to her office. "Lacey, go home. You're sick as can be, and we don't want your funk," Lisa had ordered, smiling. "Trust me, there'll still be plenty to do when you get back."

Lacey doused her hands in sanitizer yet again before smiling weakly to her boss. "I'm counting on it."

On her way home, Lacey glanced toward The Daily Grind as she drove by. What she wouldn't give for a peppermint latte to soothe her throbbing throat. But she felt far too bad to even stop. That would require getting out of the car and walking, and she knew she could maybe do that once–into her house. There was a commission waiting for her at the coffee shop, but she would get it later.

Lacey's paintings continued to sell decently at the Daily Grind, though not nearly as well as they once did.

"I think people miss the maroon scarf," the shop owner, Alazia, had sung out in a lecturing tone as she'd given her her check last month. "Seems nobody will even buy the one of the girl letting it go on the breeze for the last time."

All Lacey did was shake her head. "People don't like change. It's a shame, because the painting symbolizes release. Everyone has something they need to release in life."

"So." The beautiful Black shop owner with the decadently smooth skin leaned against the counter conspiratorially. "I've been selling your stuff for years now, Girl. Are you finally gonna tell me what the scarf stood for?"

Lacey smiled mysteriously, slipping the check into her purse. "Have a good day, Alazia."

"Damn! Really?" Alazia slapped the counter in frustration. "Don't think I'm ever gonna let it go," she called out.

"Oh I know you won't," Lacey laughed, continuing out the door.

She smiled now, remembering that last exchange. Yeah, she probably wouldn't have made a significant enough amount this month to worry about snagging a check.

After finally reaching home, Lacey fixed herself some soup and snuggled up with a blanket on the sofa, watching as the sky threatened snow. It was that time of year. Christmas was a holiday Lacey had always loved as a child and during her early college years. However, somehow it had always fallen short of her expectations after she was married, and she wasn't sure why. Thankfully though, that was a situation she didn't have to worry about anymore, and she threw herself into the holiday with zeal. She and Halen had a Christmas tree in the living room, and she had another one in her room done up in gold ornaments and white lights.

The season was also busy at church. Each year featured a Christmas play that drew in the nearby community, and Lacey took part every time. It was through this that she learned she had a flair for the dramatic, which was why she was sure it seemed odd to Halen that she would dread going up in front of people to accept her award for her work at Cat's Cradle.

Lacey was nearly asleep when her phone rang. Checking it and seeing Ariel's name, she accepted.

"Hi! Want anything from The Daily Grind? I heard from Halen you've been a sickie."

Lacey chuckled. Her little sister, once so rough around the edges, had turned into a thoughtful, mature woman, if still a little blunt. "Actually, I was thinking a peppermint mocha would be great," she sniffled. "I was going to stop by earlier, but I just didn't have the energy. But you know, you really shouldn't be around me. The baby and all?"

"I'll leave it at the door and call you when I do, how about that? Although you know this is the 'sick' time of year. If I'm going to get it, I'm going to get it. And hey, he's tough! Maybe it'll give him the first hair on his chest," Ariel jested. Lacey could visualize her now, patting her large pregnant belly.

"Kenji's too young for hair anywhere," She laughed, then sneezed right into the phone. "Sorry…"

"Yeah. Let me get you that mocha. Be right there."

They hung up, and Lacey laid back. She really ought to get up and find some Mucinex, but she would wait a little while first. A peppermint mocha could do wonders.

/

Adam drummed his fingers on the table at The Daily Grind, staring at his laptop screen and the mugshot that stared back at him. Carmen White, a girl of mixed race, had somehow gotten involved in holding up a bodega a few miles from her home. She swore, as they usually did, that she hadn't done it, but Adam was fairly sure she had. The evidence was damning. So his next move was to get her into a juvenile rehabilitation program as opposed to a detention center. Who knew if she would benefit from it. Carmen was a straight-faced girl with a bold, inky, melon-shaped stare that appeared downright defiant, as though she was sure he was going to be yet another person that looked at her and saw trouble. Adam had gone out of his way to assure her that wasn't the case, but his efforts to establish rapport had fallen flat.

Well, no matter. He was going to do what he could do for her anyway, because that was his oath to himself. Just as he was about to send an email to his contact at the rehab center, pausing to sip on his cafe au lait, he noticed someone standing right there in front of him at his table.

The first thing he saw was the pregnant belly, dark red sweater drawn tight over the bulge. His eyes then trailed up to see familiar blue eyes, a sharp chin and blonde hair tapered long in the front. The young woman's full lips broke out into a smile.

"Adam? Adam Banks?"

Adam stared for a moment. Did he know this woman?

"Yes?" he replied, hesitantly.

"I would have known that face anywhere!" She excitedly bounced, nearly spilling the contents of the cup she held. "It's Ariel! McBrayer as was. You dated my sister!"

Adam froze, sure his eyes looked as big as silver dollars as he regarded the excited woman

Ariel. Ariel! Of course. He remembered her vividly no matter what might have transpired between him and Lacey. This was that moody little girl that always wore black and constantly carried around her Walkman.

"Ariel, hi," he smiled warmly, standing up and giving her a proper hug. "How are you, Hon?" The endearment just slipped out of his mouth. His eyes instinctively went back to her stomach, and he flushed, sure it was undignified.

But she relished it. "Oh!" She rubbed her belly. "Let me introduce you to Kenji! Kenji Kimura. He's my first. We waited a little while to have him."

"You and…your husband?" Adam ventured.

"Yes!" Ariel beamed. "I met Asa at…" she hesitated. "...well, at Lacey's wedding. Years ago, of course."

Adam wasn't sure what else to do but nod and smile. "Congratulations, Ariel. You always were a firecracker. I'm sure you gave the guy a run for his money. Take good care of that baby, yeah?"

"Oh sure. We're trying, anyway." With one hand resting atop her belly and the other holding her cup, Ariel continued talking, clearly ignoring the fact that he was working. "So, I'm not sure if you know, but Lacey's scored the Golden Giving Award. Aren't your parents involved in Community Caring?"

"Um…yeah, I suppose they are," he replied in what he hoped was something of an apathetic tone. "Well, I hav–"

"Will you be at the gala?" Ariel continued, eagerly. "I'd love for you and my sister to reconnect. You guys probably have great memories you can talk about."

Adam felt his ears grow a little hot, and he swallowed. "Well, matter of fact, I am going to be there. But I'd appreciate it, Ariel, if…" he paused, still working through what he wanted to say. "...If we don't make this a big deal, okay? If I see your sister, I'll be sure to say hi."

Something about not speaking Lacey's name with her sister felt like a degree of separation was placed between them. Ariel was a beloved figure of his past, the little sister of an ex-girlfriend. None of this was personal.

Ariel smirked. "Okay. Not a big deal, got it. Good thing you ran into me and not Halen."

Adam nodded. "Thank you. For that."

"Sure," Ariel shrugged, then flashed him one more smile as set her cup down a moment, rearranging her scarf and buttoning her coat in preparation to head back out into the cold. "Remember how you introduced me to the Counting Crows? You know, 'Mr. Jones'?"

He did, and smiled ruefully. "Yeah. At least there were much worse bands I could have exposed you to."

"Oh, you were a sweetheart. You always kept it clean." With that, Ariel took up her cup to leave, and suddenly Adam felt sad.

"So, Ariel, will you be there at the gala?" he spoke up quickly.

"Me? Oh, nah. I don't know that they allow 'plus ones', and if they did, Lacey would have to pick between me and Halen, so," she shrugged. "It's all good. I'm satisfied just to hear about it later. You take care, okay?" She smiled warmly. "It's been so nice to talk to you again."

"Yeah, you too. And good luck with the…" he motioned awkwardly toward the belly that had been close between them the entire time. She had to be nearing full-term.

"Thanks. We're hoping kids aren't as easy to screw up as you always hear," she gave a little half smile, betraying her anxiety over new parenthood for the first time during the conversation. But she quickly moved on. "Merry Christmas."

Adam waved as she walked on. He then dropped into the booth again, utterly spent. Why was it that that had taken just about everything out of him?

After ordering a green tea the next time around, Adam sat back and tried to concentrate. But it was no use. Running into Ariel, the very last thing he'd planned, had thrown him off his game a bit, as nice as it had been to see her. So he sighed and closed his laptop, packing it, plus his work folders, back into the case. Just as he was doing so, he looked behind him and saw something that made his heart stop.

There, in the center of the back wall, was a gorgeous painting done in a style he recognized. It was much like his mothers, for one thing. But for another, he had seen that style many years ago from another's brush. He even had a painting, stored up in his attic and doubtlessly dusty by now, that was a little the same, if much less polished.

And he would definitely know that scarf blowing away in the wind anywhere.

Leaving his laptop case sitting there on the table without even bothering to secure it on his shoulder first, Adam found himself walking toward the painting, studying its details. The background of the painting appeared to be of a blustery fall day, and in the forefront, a girl with brown hair whose face was partially obscured by wind-blown tendrils held out an arm as she let go of a maroon scarf which floated up and away on the breeze.

His scarf.

And there in the corner, as he'd predicted, was signed a name: "Lacey B."

Adam looked around, spotting a few more impressionistic paintings that mirrored this one, and in the corners of each was scrawled "Lacey B." They were of various subject matter, all masterpieces of their own right. But his eyes kept drifting back toward the floating scarf on the back of the wall.

"Excuse me," he went over to the counter and spoke to a dark-skinned woman in colorful, loose-fitting clothes who appeared to be examining some sort of ledger. She looked up and smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, um… sorry," Adam shook the cobwebs out of his head, embarrassed for approaching her with no real idea what he was going to ask or say. But finally the words came. "The 'Lacey B.' who sells paintings here. Is she Lacey Breckenridge?"

Like he needed to ask. But he wanted it confirmed under no uncertain terms.

"Was Lacey Breckenridge," the woman replied, leaning on the counter to talk to him. He was grateful he had caught her while the shop was slow. This might be the owner. "She changed back to 'Primmer' not long ago, but kept the 'B' for consistency sake, I guess. Why, were you interested in that painting in the back?," she pointed.

"Oh, I…no," he shook his head. "It's just, I knew her once, and wondered…does she come here often?" Adam wasn't sure why he asked.

"Not really," the woman sighed. "I mean, she used to, back when she sold alot more paintings. They were all known to feature a maroon scarf somewhere in them. It was neat, really," she grinned. "Sometimes they were obvious, and other times you had to really look for them. It was part of her signature. But then she did that one," She nodded toward the painting on the back wall. "And ever since then, no more maroon scarves. She said once it had to do with releasing something, but she never said exactly what. It was part of her mystique, I think." Her eyes twinkled. "Beautiful, vibrant woman. Last we left it, I told her I would just call her to report if any more of her paintings sold. That way she didn't have to come in here every month for nothing."

Adam's heart caught in his chest as he turned to peer back longingly at the painting of what he now knew to be Lacey letting go of his scarf. Did this mean she'd let go of the literal thing, too? And what had caused her to do this if she'd been painting them for so long? Was it after he had run into her at the business dinner that time…?

"I'll take it."

He spoke the words without really planning to. But the idea of walking away from the symbolic work of art of Lacey letting him go felt impossible to do. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he needed it.

"Oh really?" the woman flashed a big, toothy smile. "So it finally sells! After more than a year."

Adam unthinkingly dropped the amount of cash in front of the woman that she requested, and stood watching as it was taken down off the wall. Where was he going to put it? And how hard might it be to get it back to Albany?

It didn't matter. It was going to be his. The idea of anyone else sheltering such a personal symbol of the two of them in their home felt almost intrusive to Adam, and he wouldn't have it.

"Thank you." He took the boxed painting from the woman he'd been talking to, who seemed to be trying to hide the curiosity that now shone from her striking, dark eyes. He made for the door when he heard her call to him, "Oh, Sir. Your case, over there on the table?"

/

The next day, Adam took a break.

He'd thankfully brought a more formal outfit just in case something like the Christmas Gala came up, so he wouldn't need to go shopping. What he actually wanted to do, however, was something he hadn't done in quite awhile.

Adam carried his camera with him everywhere he traveled out of habit. But it had been quite awhile since he'd actually used it. Business trips almost never allowed time for photography, and visits home were similarly busy. But today, he needed to let off a bit of creative steam.

He went downtown first, capturing shots of happy kids and parents pointing out the various Christmas trees in store windows. He caught a great shot of a woman reading in a bookstore, all while he discreetly captured the picture through the shop window. The old sense of guilt crept in every now and then over stealing images of people who might not know they were being photographed. But, he reminded himself, this was art meant only for him.

Well, him and his Facebook friends who kept up with his page, upon which he posted almost nothing personal. It had, instead, become something of an album of his photos, a dumping ground for his creativity. A lot of his stuff was rich and beautiful if he did say so himself. And some was a little more mediocre. But either way, he loved it.

Next, he went to a nearby park and shot photos of the freshly fallen snow on the trees and skaters zipping across the ice. He zoomed in at one point and caught a shot of a couple's clutched hands, complete with complementing glove colors. That might be a good one to cast a different hue over.

"Adam? Adam Banks?"

He had just focused in on a cozy shot of the hot chocolate stand when he heard the man's voice calling out to him, and he paused, looking over.

Approaching him, wearing an overcoat and nearly unrecognizable with facial hair, was none other than Coach Orion.

A flood of fond memories, with those of tough evenings spent on the ice thrown in, washed over Adam. "Hi, Coach," he smiled, lowering his camera. "It's been…what, seventeen years?"

"Yes, it has." The man joined Adam as the two watched the skaters circling a Christmas tree in their midst. "Seventeen years that have gone rather fast I must say."

Adam chortled. "Yeah, I guess in a way they have. In another way, I feel like an old man."

"You?" Orion turned back to him which was when Adam was able to get a good look at the rapidity at which the man had aged. The grooves in his forehead and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared much deeper than they should have. The coach had to be approaching sixty easily, but he looked closer to seventy. He sported a salt and pepper mustache and beard, neatly trimmed as expected. But something about him seemed sad. "You're still in your prime, Adam. What in the world could make you feel that way?"

Considering the question, Adam realized he didn't really have a good answer. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe just working hard?"

"That's right, I heard you were a public defender over in Albany. How do you like that work?"

"It's…" Adam tried to think of how to generalize his profession. "...Educational. You run into a lot of stuff you've never seen before, you know?" Then something prompted Adam to ask, "How have you been? How's your daughter?"

At that, Coach Orion looked back to the skating pond before responding, "Emily passed about three years ago."

Adam's heart sank. He and the entire team knew how much the coach had adored his daughter, permanently maimed from an accident when she was very young. There were times, Adam recalled, when Emily was even allowed to sit in her wheelchair right beside the bench, cheering on the team. She had become an honorary member, of sorts. "I'm…I'm sorry," he stammered, hating now that he'd brought up the subject. But it certainly explained the worn down appearance of the coach.

Coach Orion shook his head slowly, still not meeting Adam's eyes, every bit the proud, measured man he always was. "Well, truth be told, life must have been very difficult for her in that chair. But she never complained. Not even when her systems began shutting down. Come to find out, the human body isn't designed to withstand years sitting in a wheelchair."

Adam nodded, trying to think of some words of comfort or gratitude for Orion to take with him. But he couldn't seem to think fast enough.

"Everyone should have the chance to love someone like that," Coach went on. "Even if it ends in pain. I certainly don't regret a minute of it,"

Adam glanced down for a moment. No, he wanted to tell the man. It's never worth it. All that pain, all that pointlessness.

After all, even though he'd never had a child, he'd loved dearly once, and lost. It was torture. And he was doing pretty good these days without that intensity. Maybe loving people deeply wasn't meant for him.

"You know," Coach Orion rested a hand on his shoulder, causing Adam to turn fully toward him. "You inspired me that day on the ice. I don't think I ever told you."

"Which day?"

"The day you won the playoffs for us," Orion smiled. "All while your body was breaking down. That's real strength. Shows what you're made of, even if hockey is just a game."

Adam smiled awkwardly. "No one's brought that up in so long I nearly forgot. Not that I see the team much these days."

"You should get them all together," Coach Orion supplied "You kids were quite the tight-knit crew."

That was true. And Adam had certainly been guilty of losing most of his connections to them over the years. "Guess so."

The man took a deep breath, his exhale visible against the cold December air. "Well…good to see you, Son."

But Adam wasn't ready to let Coach Orion walk away yet. Not until he said something. "Coach, um…I want to thank you. For being a tough coach. I think we needed that. I mean, we had two of the best," he smiled. "Bombay was a great starter coach. He made us who we were, and taught us to have fun and just enjoy the game. Then you came along and polished us up."

Orion chuckled. "Well…I saw potential. Probably the most I ever witnessed throughout my whole coaching career."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," Orion nodded. "Definitely. It really is true that Ducks fly together. Or at least they used to." His expression darkened slightly.

Adam watched him a moment. "Aren't they still Eden Hall's mascot?"

"No, actually," Orion replied, annoyed. "They were so successful they took them out of the high school setting and practically started a franchise. They're one of the toughest junior teams in the local league now. But they lost a little of the original magic along the way."

For the second time during his conversation with the coach, Adam felt a little sad. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Trust me, they're not our Ducks anymore." Orion cleared his throat. "Well, I'd better get home to the wife. But Adam," the man looked straight at him. "You're still that fierce, focused kid I coached in high school. You never lost it. I can tell. So keep living your life. Forget this business of feeling old, because you've got miles to go, Son. And don't just walk." His coach took his shoulder firmly, emphasizing the last word: "Fly."

Adam managed a smile, feeling warmth all over from the words of a very old mentor. With that, Coach Orion gave his shoulder a final pat, and walked back toward his car.

He stood thinking for a while about what the coach had said. Could Adam truly say he was 'flying' right now? Sure, he was working a good job, doing fun and worthy things on the side. What could be missing to launch him into the air?

Finally he turned away and snapped one last picture of one of the park's bird baths, frozen over and bereft of visitors for the winter. Then he took a deep breath and called it a day.