Writing Challenge ~ December 2014

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ DECEMBER 2014​

This December we’re doing things a little differently.

There are 24 prompts and, hopefully, you’ll get to enjoy 24 pieces of writing by different writers on the run up to Christmas. One prompt per day, one piece of writing per prompt.

The prompts were ‘revealed’ last week and people were able to claim up to 3 prompts they’d like to write pieces for. If you claimed a prompt all you need to do is write and post your piece on the correct day and all everyone else needs to do is read them and leave a little comment in the review thread that accompanies this one.

Remember you can still leave reviews for last month's pieces if you haven't already!


For the writers who claimed prompts…you can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your link to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of the images, or use them in their entirety. You write whatever you’re inspired to write!

The word limit for the entirety of this challenge is 2,512 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, on the right days, and constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named Comment and Review Thread

And please, if you do take the time to read? Please just take a few more minutes to leave a comment.

The deadline for this month’s challenge changes every day with the last post to be posted on Christmas Eve – 24th December 2014 and January’s challenge hopefully going live shortly after the New Year.

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

Here are the full list of writers who've signed up for the challenge and the dates they should be posting on...good luck to each and every one!
I will endeavour to PM all writers the day before they are due to post in case the December madness means they might forget.

It had been snowing all day. Not the soft and delicate kind but the heavy, constant kind that swallowed up footprints and tyre tracks in just a few minutes. The autumn had taken it’s time in giving way to the season that would follow but in the space of a day, winter had well and truly arrived.
Humming snatches of Christmas songs to herself as she struggled down the path, she kept her hands jammed deep inside her pockets. Earlier that day she’d strolled down this very same walkway with her coat open and hands bare. Now her head was down and she marched through the thick white powder with determination. She had places to go and people to see.

Well. One place. One person.

Just thinking that made her smile into the upturned collar of her coat.
The snow had come down pretty heavily since the late morning and now that the sun was well below the horizon, the ground was buried beneath several inches of white. The falling flakes swirled and danced in the air, riding breezes too light to be felt against your face. It was beautiful, even if it made her journey that much more of a challenge, the world being covered in an impossibly soft blanket.

The walk was slow but it gave her time to think. Christmas was fast approaching and the list of things to be done just seemed to increase by the day. Carefully selected presents to wrap as well as unexpectedly required, last minute presents to buy. There would be food to prepare and a house to decorate too. Another smile. Their house. Shiny and new and just what they had been hoping for. It was within walking distance of her family, hence her snowy trek, but far enough that they had their own space. It was the home they’d dreamt of and never quite thought they’d have. The town was small and relatively far from the urban sprawl they were so eager to escape.

She suppressed a shiver as she felt the snow starting to seep in around her ankles. Her footwear was not entirely suited to the change in weather and while they were relatively waterproof, the fact that the fashionable boots finished just above her ankles meant that the rapidly deepening snow was soon over the top of them. Soaking the bottoms of her jeans so that now the cool fabric was now clinging to her lower calves.

“Maybe I…should have gotten a cab.” She murmured to herself. The walk wasn’t far but it was taking a lot longer than she’d anticipated. The effort needed to push her feet through the snow was increasing with every step, or so it felt. She forced herself to look up and forwards, following the path through the trees. The path ran along the edge of the town park and was a pretty direct route from her parents to their new home but in the blizzard that had engulfed the area it suddenly seemed a very long way.

She pressed on, knowing she’d only get wetter and colder if she turned around and headed for the nearest main road. Watching as the branches grew fatter and fatter in the streetlights. Formerly thin twigs now coated with a fluffy layer of snow, glowing in the pools of light.

“Oh the weather outside is frightful,” she sung quietly, “but the fire is so delightful.”

As she crunched her way forwards she was suddenly aware of a figure to the side of the path. At first she thought it was just a shadow, formed by the falling snow and the heavily laden branches up above but then as she got closer she was sure it was a person. Maybe someone trying to shelter from the snow.

Or maybe a maniac. With a knife.

She frowned and lowered her voice.

“But since we’ve no place to go…” she drew level with the shadowy figure and continued, uncertain if it actually moved as she passed or whether it was just her imagination.

“Let it snow,”

They could be right behind me and I’d never know.

“Let it snow,” in her pocket her fingers curled around her keys.

Right behind me.

“Let it snow!” A deep voice from far too close suddenly muttered close to her ear.

With a loud yell, she whirled with her keys in her hand.

“Hey!” The figure behind her called out, ducking the arc of her arm. “Lucy!”

“Fuck off! Do you hear me!” She snarled, swinging her arm again before the voice registered in her brain and she stopped. The figure straightened and pushed back their hood to reveal the slightly grinning face of her husband.
“Oh, you twat! You absolute twat!” she yelled as her relief rapidly morphed into fury. "What did you scare me like that for?!" Her fist pummelling his sleeve somewhat less than playfully.

“I wasn't sure if it was you. And anyway, I thought you’d gotten lost!” he caught her hand in his and lowered it. “I was worried that something might have happened,” his eyes confirmed the words he spoke. Wide and concerned and focused entirely on her. She didn’t feel angry any more. She just felt bad.

“What could possibly have happened?” She liked that he worried but she didn’t want him to do it for longer than he needed to. Besides it was a fairly rational thought given the ideas that had been running through her head before she realised who he was.

He grinned.

“Who knows? With the snow coming in like this, anything could happen!” His arms slipped easily around her while he continued in his overly excited tone. “Who’s to say that, confused by the sudden change in temperature, an entire herd of deer didn’t find themselves lost in the area and decided to surround your house until the spring came. There you’d be, trapped inside your parents’ house by the be-antlered troupe, nibbling your mother’s handmade Christmas wreath and no doubt making her furious in the process and there I’d be. Home along and worrying until the end of winter.”

“You’re such an idiot.” She giggled, pushing up onto her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders, losing her balance a little as she tried to lean against him.

“Luckily for me though, you seem to find idiocy charming…” He winked before his expression became a little more serious. “Maybe my reindeer theory is a little farfetched, but I was worried…all the same.”

“You needn’t have.” She whispered, the snow continuing to fall all around them.

“How could I not? Without you, there’d be no holidays to enjoy.”

“All I want for Christmas,” she smiled shyly as his fingers brushed the lacy flakes from her cheeks, “is-”

“You already have me,” he whispered, his lips warm as they brushed against hers. “You always will.”

She sighed after their kiss had ended.

"Then I'll never need to write another letter to Santa ever again, will I?"

"Not for you, maybe." His hand dropped from her face to the rather large bump beneath her coat. "But this little chap might need a hand with his first few."

"Or hers," she added gently.

"Or hers."

The two stood still for a few long moments, thinking of the Christmas that approached and all the others that would follow.
The snow swirling around them, blotting out the rest of the world and leaving only the pair of them.

That was the magical thing about snow. In it's wake it left only white. Pure and unblemished and full of possibility. It could be snowmen or snowballs, sledging or skiing.

It was full of hope. And so were they.

It was a special night, a special anniversary, though not a date normally recognised by the ‘normal’ world. He had set up a pretty table for them to enjoy the early winter evening. A fire pit warmed the crisp air, and the candles in the boroughs of the old tree gave their surroundings a warm soft glow. They were just enjoying an after dinner drink by the fire when the first flakes fell.

“It’s snowing,” she said quietly as she nestled into his arms. “Should we go inside?”

“No.” His arm wrapped tighter around her, “it’s pretty, like you. Let’s enjoy the night.” He moved his legs so that his crossed between hers, sharing his warmth as well as his touch. “Do you remember what tonight is?” He asked gently.

“Of course,” her head turned toward his as she gave him a kiss. “It’s the night I first gave myself to you completely. The night you claimed me as yours.”

He smiled, “Yes,it is. It’s the night I earned your trust. The night you became mine.” He topped both their glasses as the snow fell straight and silently around them, slowly accumulating on every flat surface. “Do you remember what I gave you that night?” He smiled as a flake landed on her upturned nose and melted on contact with her warm skin.

She gave his ribs a gentle slug with her arm, “You know I do, I wear it every day.” Her hand absently moved to her neck, fingers running the length of the silver necklace that encircled her. "You gave me my collar, the symbol of my submission to you and the mutual acceptance of our bond.”

“Good girl.” He smiled as he looked down upon her upturned face. The flicker of the flames from the fire danced upon her pink cheeks. With his free hand he reached into the deep pocket of his coat. The long thin box wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow tied around it, rested in the palm of his hand as he extended it toward her. “This is for you my pet. A symbol of our commitment, and something a little prettier to show people you are mine.”

Her eyes locked with his and moisture brimmed but did not spill as she leaned in to kiss his cheek lovingly. “Thank you.” She took the box and carefully slid open the seam of the wrapping. The thick paper almost snapped as the creases became straight again and revealed the blue velvet box beneath. She gasped audibly, recognizing the box and the store it came from. “No... “ she handed it back to him without opening it. “It’s too much, I already know it’s too much without looking.”

He pressed it back into her hand and lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. “No… It’s not enough. It’s not enough to express how much you mean to me, but it’s a start.” They’d had this conversation thousands of times, and he hoped each iteration gave her a little more confidence than the time before. She deserved all his support, all his love. She was his pet, his lover, his reason to wake up in the morning and she deserved the world.

Slowly, she accepted the velvet box, her fingers slowly working to open the long hinge to reveal the cushioned satin interior. The contents glinted in the refracted light of the falling snow. It was a thick platinum rope choker with a single diamond pendant hanging from the curve.

“It’s yours.” He whispered, the snow gathering on their shoulders. “It’s yours to wear and show the world you are protected, claimed, owned.” He drew the choker from the box and gently fastened it around her neck. “Be mine again my pet. Tell me you’ll be mine all over again.”

I'd like to offer my sincere apologies up front, if I offend anyone with this. It's all over the place and I'm not even sure what I've done with it. I respect your right to believe in what seems right to you, and it truly wasn't my intention to mock those beliefs.


It's been so long...and I've never been here, at this hour.

I didn't have any idea what to wear. My mother laughed when she saw me just before I slipped my coat on, calling me Murphy Brown. It was nice to see her smiling.

Parking was a nightmare. We had a walk through the snow from the car, and by the time we stepped through the heavy oak doors, my dress pants were clinging to my shins with wet that I know from experience will leave saltwater tidemarks. Just inside, the damp chill became a stifling damp warmth with the smell of wet wool and perspiration and what seemed to me like desperate good cheer.

As we shuffled with the slow-moving crowd the sweet, pure voices of the children's choir reached our ears, and I smiled, in spite of myself - in spite of the song choice: Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.

It begins.

Well, what were you expecting?

Why am I here?

Even my mother didn't know, and had given me multiple opportunities to beg off:

"You know it's a full Catholic mass, eh?"

"Everyone will be there - it's one of the two times in the year to go and redeem ourselves for not showing up every other Sunday - it'll be standing room only, by midnight! You hate crowds!"

"You're not even Catholic-ish, anymore...are you?"

I think she was afraid of me making some scene. I've been away too long, she should know it's not my style.

I don't know why I'm here.

We make our way into the church proper, and my mother begins scanning the pews. I can't help admiring the pointsettias and the greenery, the candles and the scrubbed eager faces of the darling children in the choir, up way past their bedtimes.

My mother catches a glimpse of my wistful expression, and leans in to whisper, "Do you feel it?"

Someone behind me jostles my elbow. He mutters an apology, but is still close enough that I imagine I can feel the moist heat from his body through lambswool, his breath on the back of my neck.

"Yeah," I murmur sidelong in answer, "I think it's called 'claustrophobia'...we should probably get a seat while we can, right?"

Nodding in the direction of the filling pews, I take a deep, resigned breath and a step in that direction, only to feel her drawing me away.

"One sec -"

She is moving to a darkened corner, away from the crowd, and I feel a strange swelling dread in my chest as I see them - row upon row upon row.

Her voice is soft, slightly cracked. "Will you light a candle for your Dad?"

I frown slightly, I can't speak. Of course I will, I nod, as she drops the coins into the box with a cold chink-chink. A twinge of sulphur in my nose as she strikes a match - in this old church, in this crowd, how can there not be fire codes? - as I struggle with another dangerous twinge in my nose.

Yellow flame licks hungrily at her wick, and then she passes it to me. My hand does not tremble. This is meaningless, I know - I'm just doing this out of respect, and because of course I'll light a candle for my Dad. My mother is performing the too-familiar dance with her hands, down across her body (head, shoulders, knees and toes!), mouthing some feeble petition to some feeble father figure in the sky. I won't go that far. I shake the wooden match to cold wisps of smoke, watching my little flame stretch long and bright above its widening pool of wax. My gaze travels up the rows of brave, trembly little flames wavering on every gust and breath of air, until I reach the stark, solemn iron cross planted in their midst. As if it ought to be enough.

She says yes, we'd better get a seat.

I slide in between my mother and another lady, who smiles at me as if she expects to see me again.

It's much like I remember, though I've only done this a handful of times. I don't know when to stand up or sit back down, I don't know the right responses. "Zubzubzub," I say, under my breath. As it goes on, I feel the same rising irritation - that it's deliberate, manipulative - that I am set apart with my delayed responses, that I ought to know the rituals, and if I don't, then it's because I ought to come more often.

The readings are familiar - tonight, they're the stories everyone knows, and I feel the tug of longing in my chest, the nostalgia. This was my childhood, when it was so easy to believe that there was someONE looking out for us, waiting for us - that the end was never the end.

When do we outgrow this fairytale?

They're preparing the bread and the wine, doing their voodoo motions over it, and when my mother glances at me, I shake my head gently.

No, I will not partake in the consumption of what just became the literal body of your spiritual savior, Mom - I just can't.

What am I doing here?

I sit and watch as most of the congregation surges forward to receive Communion. En masse. Didn't Christ himself refer to us as sheep?

The choir is singing again. O Holy Night - this one still kills me, for some reason - I am shivering at once, on the opening notes. The minor key changes, the insiduous lyrics...when the painfully earnest faces of the children implore us all in crystalline harmony to fall on your knees, I shudder violently - always, always in the same place. Manipulative! When I was younger, I believed the sensation to be a brush with faith - thrill of hope, and all that.

There are tears in my eyes as the crowd moves in shuffling patient steps to each take their turn and receive.

And this is all there is, this is all we have. Believe this, or believe nothing - and oh, I want to...

It's the inevitable tug at my heart, like the moon tugs at the tide, that angers me so much.

I dash away the tears - I won't have her see me like this, and think I've been moved. That's not it.

I am defeated, I am angry and exhausted, and I don't know why I've come here. I wait out the remainder of the mass, and stand without comment to follow my mother out of the pew.

In the aisle, I glance back at the votive candles in the corner to see that they've held up much better than I have - still shimmering valiantly in their rows. I can't tell which one is mine, anymore. As we are held up by the draggy procession, it occurs to me that each of those little flames is a prayer for someone, just like mine. Never mind the coins in the box and the statue across the way with ill-proportioned eyes rolling tragically skyward (as if we could forget)...each trembly little flame was lit not in reverence to this god and his unfortunate son, but as an expression of love and hope for a real person we know or have known.

My lips are twisting on this thought as we spill into the vestibule, when suddenly a voice very near me chokes on my mother's name and a woman throws her arms around her. Others stop in their tracks to close in on us - a pair of large warm hands presses mine between them - a wet cheek brushes mine to murmur in my ear. Yes, there are prayers and blessings that might have made me roll my eyes too, but in this moment I am humbled; I am awed. This is love. The rest is just...incidental.

God is love, right? - NO. It's an exclamation that's always enraged me. My love is my own - no god I don't believe in will take any credit for my love. But...maybe they've got it the wrong way around.

Maybe love is god. Maybe Love is the higher power.

Maybe I can believe in that.

(Warning: What follows may be emotionally upsetting. Please read with caution and, if you feel it's going to upset you, please skip it. It's more important that you're okay than that you read a challenge piece. Thank you.)

The snow had come unexpectedly early, winter clothes dug out of storage a bit sooner than planned, washed hastily and hung to air out as the mercury fell. He had surveyed them once they were all dragged out, and sagged some on the creaky old bed in the guest bedroom as he stared into the open mouth of the closet. So many sweaters and coats of varying thickness and length, and what would he do with them after? The clothes of a ghost were no use those on either side of a heartbeat.

Rather than packing away what had just been pulled out, he left it all hanging and ready. Hopeful that it might all be used, that their estimates would be wrong. That she was stronger than even he knew.

Eventually, the snow had fallen, the windows frosted over, the world turned white. They stood together at the large back windows, looking out at the field as it was hidden beneath the frosted blanket, the limbs of the trees sagging under the weight of accumulation. She drank peppermint tea and wore thick socks, the blanket over her shoulders making her spine sag in much the same way as the trees outside.

"Lake'll be frozen over soon," he said, glancing at her next to him without turning his head. It was a thing they both knew, a thing that had happened every winter they'd been here and every winter they hadn't.

"Mm," she replied, her lips against the rim of her mug, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the peppermint steam curling off the surface of her tea. He nodded slightly, silent resignation that she didn't feel strong enough for conversation right now. More and more this occurred, since IT came into their life.

"It" is all they called it now. "It isn't too bad today," or "It's not going to let me get out of bed for a couple days, I think." Code words they said so the syllables of what was actually happening wouldn't soak into the walls and infect the place. His memories would be hard enough, they seemed to decide independently yet together, but actually having the word hanging in the air after would be worse on him.

"After" was another. It was just an indeterminate time in the future, a point at which an event would happen, time would continue moving on, and then there would be an "after." Her, and then not her. As if she was simply stepping out of the car, and then the journey would continue. Simple and clean.

He glanced at her next to him again, and wondered if she was as much a mess inside as he was.

The snow seemed to give her some extra strength, though. A smaller storm came through a few days later, refreshing the snow that was already there, erasing the few tracks they made after he'd helped her out to feel the snow. They'd stood together at the window again, steaming cups of tea in hand once more, watching for a time as the grey skies pushed them further into the depths of winter. She stood straighter then, her eyes clearer and the color in her cheeks brighter. She even managed to cast a grin in his direction at the suggestion of a snowball fight.

Her trips out into the snow increased in duration over the following days, as if winter was somehow making her stronger. There was determination in her eyes when she would pull the zipper up on her long coat, a purpose to her movement as she knotted the scarf under her chin. Every time at the doorway, he would pull her hat down further over her ears as he kissed her. She even managed to slip a handful of snow into her pocket when he wasn't looking, only to dump it down the back of his shirt once they were safely back inside the house. She leaned against the door and laughed for the first time in weeks as he jumped down the hallway, cursing and pulling at the back of his shirt like it was on fire.

For the first time since that trip to the big main hospital with it's congestion of traffic and confusing parking garage, he actually felt some happiness again. He knew there was no cure, no chance It was going away, but something about this time felt different. She really was stronger than any of them knew, and now she was proving it.

The weather warmed surprisingly, sending most of the snow into the ground. Patches of bare earth shown through, brown grass spotting the snow like the hide of some strange albino giraffe.

"Bet the ice on the pond is melted too," she said over her breakfast of a lone egg white. They were sitting in the small nook where they'd managed to fit a table and two chairs, the early morning sun warming the air around them despite the temperatures on the other side of the glass hovering just above freezing.

"Hm?" he said, looking up at her with a mouthful of steel cut oats. "Mm, yeah," he said, pausing to swallow, "Probably so, I haven't... you know," he finished, his voice trailing off as he looked back down at his bowl.

Haven't been out there since It came to visit, he wanted to say. Haven't been out there since you last went skating across the surface of it, sliding so gracefully as you curled your finger and tried to beckon me out there with you. Haven't been out there since you tried to teach me to skate and I fell and nearly broke my leg.

I haven't been out there since It put a timer on our life, he wanted to tell her.

Instead, he took another bite, and they finished in silence.

The temperature fell again, bringing a fresh covering of snow a few days later, and it quickly became obvious they were fully into winter. The world outside was pure white and bathed in the odd silence that can only be achieved with a good snowfall, as if even time itself had been frozen. As if time itself could be frozen.

A couple days after the fresh snowfall, he woke to find himself alone in bed. It was a rare occurrence anymore - rare enough that he couldn't remember the last time it happened, but he figured she had just beat him to the bathroom and he would hear the flush of the toilet any moment now. Extending out his arms and pointing his toes, he stretched the life back into his muscles, and then froze. With wide, unblinking eyes, he stared up at the ceiling, his outstretched arm moving over the sheets on her side of the bed. It had been a moment before his mind had realized why what he felt was so wrong.

It was cold.

And now he was cold. Throwing the covers back, he stepped into his slippers and all but flew over the chilly hardwood of the floor as he moved out of the room.

"Lizzie!" he called, poking his head into an empty bathroom, even the dripping faucet in the sink sitting silent this morning.

"Elizabeth!" he said, moving through the living room, kitchen, peering into nook, glancing into the field beyond the windows. His heart was thudding in his chest as he started back for the hallway, pulling up short suddenly after a glance in the direction of the front door. Her boots were gone.

"Fuck fuck fuck" he muttered, disappearing quickly down the hall. A check of the closet in the second bedroom confirmed that her coat was missing from it's hanger, and he tore his off as well. It was thrown across the bed so he could pull on pants, the movement of air lifting a note off her pillow and sending it wafting down to the floor on her side of the bed. Frowning, he circled the end of the bed and bent, ignoring the complaints of his lower back as he scooped it into his fingers.

Felt great when I woke up, so went out for a short walk. Don't panic if I'm not here when you get back. Loves.

He closed his eyes then, his chest rising as he pulled in a deep breath and let it out through his nose. A walk. Okay. Okay. Yeah. A walk.

Just a walk.

Now calm down.

It was cold out, still, and he knew it would bother his knees if he stayed out in it for too long, but if she could handle walking around out there with It, then he certainly could stand it for a bit. The note was set on her bedside table, and then he dressed a little more slowly than was initially planned. A few minutes later he had stepped into his boots, and was bracing for the shot of cold air that would greet him upon opening the door.

A light snow had begun to fall, stray flakes floating to land on his eyelashes and melt on his lips when he stepped onto the porch. He pulled the door closed behind him, locking it never a consideration for either of them unless they'd be gone for the night, and interlaced his fingers to tighten his gloves. Standing on the porch with the snow fluttering around him, he followed her tracks with his eyes until they disappeared around the side of the house. She really must be feeling better.

It was then that his eyes fell on the porch swing, and the journal sitting on it's seat. The pen was tucked between pages, leaving the book only mostly closed as it collected fine snowflakes on it's cover. Crunching across the snow that had gathered in front of the door, he lifted the book into his gloved hands, the leather cover supple even through the fabric of the gloves. The pen slid out, landing silently in the snow by his feet, the book closing before he could force an awkward finger between the pages and save the place.

Standing by the slowly swaying swing, his breath fogging out in front of him, he stared at the cover and debated with himself. He shouldn't read it, he knew that. It was her journal, an accounting of her private thoughts, and he should leave them private. But, some other part of his mind countered, knowing how she was thinking and feeling might help her open up to him. Since It had come along, conversation was often strained and superficial between them, with neither wanting to be the one to broach the subject if the other wasn't ready for it. Somehow that had turned into an uneasy silent agreement that they simply wouldn't discuss it unless they were forced to.

Maybe this could be what forced it to happen.

With a glance at the side of the house where her footprints had disappeared to, he swiped a hand across the seat of the swing to brush off the snow. Holding his knees together, he set the book on his legs so he could pull off his gloves and flip the pages more easily, each one stuffed quickly in the corresponding pocket of his coat. Leaning forward then, elbows on knees, he let the book fall open to a page near the beginning, and began to read.

...Matthew is a terrible ice skater. He kept saying that his family just never went when he was growing up, but I think they just knew he'd be so bad at it. I felt bad for it, but I think my stomach still hurts from laughing. I guess my plan to teach him before I don't have the strength to do it anymore will have to be rethought. That poor, hopeless man...

He laughed, the sound carrying with it the unexpected sting of tears behind his eyes, and he flipped forward a couple pages as he blinked them away. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.

The page he found was nearly blank, except for a few short lines.

It hurts so much. I don't know how long I can do this. He won't understand if I tell him, but the thought won't leave my head. It's so hard to thinking clearly though.

With irritation, he flicked away a tear from the corner of his eye, and jumped ahead a few more pages.

...supposed to snow. I've made my decision, I think. But I admit, I'm excited for the snow. It always feels like the world is just for us when it snows. Us, and the world, and no one else around. I think it will be a perfect way to spend those days. Sweaters and snow and a crackling fire, it's how I want him to remember.

"Ah, God Lizzie," he whispered with the fog of his breath, ignoring the tear that had suddenly found it's way onto his cheek. He found himself thinking this might be easier to do when she was gone, when these were memories instead of things she was thinking and not telling him. He would read it then, he knew he would. Reading it now, it just didn't feel like the time.

Leaning forward, he scooped the pen out of the snow and trapped it above his thumb and below his finger, as if preparing to write with it. Quicker now, he began to flick through pages, just catching snippets of passages, random phrases without context as he looked for the place she'd left off.

...watched that deer for hours...

...I'm going to miss pizza...

...hot shower, lots of steam...

...called cold shock response, but I...

...picked a day...

...him, but I just don't know if...

He found the last page with writing it in then, and was about to close the pen back inside it when he saw his name at the top of the page.

Dear Matthew,

Blinking unbelieving at the words, he shivered against a cold that suddenly felt oppressive, and pulled in an icy breath that he held as he began to read.

I'm sure you've read at least some of this by now. I guess I still know what you're going to do, even now. Even today.

There are so many things I wish I could tell you, but I don't know how. It's hard for me to think some days, and I know we haven't really talked like we used to. Like we probably should have, I guess. This isn't one of those things we ever pictured for each other, is it?

I'm sorry, Matthew. I'm so sorry. I know you won't understand. Just like I knew you'd read this, I know you'll think you can stop me. I just can't, anymore. I want to, so much, but I can't.

His heart rate increased with each word, the speed that he took them in rising with it, and without even realizing he was moving he stood, the book clutched tighter in his hands. His mouth was dry. The pen fell, forgotten, to the snow again.

My life with you has been amazing. I have no regrets, Matthew. You have loved me in wild and unpredictable ways, and I have lived my every moment since we met, up until my very last, knowing that you were the person made for me, and I for you. They should've written stories about us.

I need to go, my love. It's time.

"No, no, no," he whispered, his vision blurring momentarily before he ran the heel of his hand over his eyes so he could continue.

Visit the pond often, Matthew. Remember me there. I know it may be some time before you can, but I don't want you to remember it only as the hole in the ice where I used to-

The book was dropped into the snow with the pen. He took the stairs off the porch two at a time, sliding a bit in the snow but keeping his balance. Turning, he followed her vanishing tracks around the corner of the house.

Through the snow, he ran as hard as he could. His knees and his back no longer bothered him. Nothing but time, and distance, and what he knew he would find bothered him. It bothered him.

Breathing hard, through snow seemingly designed to slow him down, he ran for the pond.

Too late, too late, he ran for the pond.

winter

As the sun sets
Watercolors dance
On a canvas of white

Snow blankets over the past
The promise of spring, slumbering underneath
The scarred, broken soil healing

The cold wind whispers
Reassuring promises
Of renewal

Let the past slumber
Watch the light
Glisten on the snow

Look to the bare branches
They do not bow, but
Still reach for the sky

No. 6




Frigid Family

The air is crisp and clear and cold. I am falling but I have no clue where my destination is. I can feel by brethren plummeting with me, close enough to touch. But I dare not, for if we should collide, I know not what may transpire.

And then, as if the danger was too much to bear, we crash together, my brothers and I. There is the minute crunching of our bodies meeting, merging. This coalescence takes root in us all; we expand and grow intricately, intimately. As our arms become sprawling tines, we are like a fallen star, drifting through the sky.

Our descent is slowed, we waft and waver as the wind takes us where it will. Finally we reach the ground, greeted by more of our kind, more amalgams of frigid brothers and sisters, each unique down to the very last iota and yet…a family without boundary.


Snowflake

It’s amazing how beauty bursts into being. A single icy crystal meets the resistance of air and suddenly is more than itself. It is a scaffold, a latticework, a matrix of infinitesimal sparks and glints in the sun. It’s amazing how fleeting beauty is. A single breath and it has vanished, the heat too much to contain the intricacy of its form. The unique view of an abstract concept, sometimes visible only through magnification; melted into nothingness, running down a cheek, or a windshield, or a drain. It’s amazing how even the death of beauty is beautiful.

Carefully she arranged the bow after she hung the wreath on its nail. It had been the wreath’s nail for as long as she could remember. Never anything else had hung on it, not a little flowerpot in the summer, not a bunch of dried flowers in the autumn, not a yellow band around Easter, nothing, ever. Her grandmother had been very adamant about it. Once, when Ingrid was a little girl, she had hung a drawing on it, on a beautiful summer day when she played “house” with some friends in the back garden. Her grandmother had brought them some cookies and took the drawing down.

“Don’t hang anything on that nail, Ingrid,” she said friendly as she handed her the drawing. “It is for my Christmas Wreath.”

Ingrid’s mom had hung a wreath from it for some years after her grandmother had died, then the tradition died too. Until Ingrid inherited the house three years ago. The door to the shed seemed so empty the first winter, she made a wreath for it too a few days after she hung one on the front door of the house. Tenderly Ingrid stroked the band of the bow back down. A breeze must have blown it up, and entangled a little loose thread at the end in the dried rose while she was lost in thoughts. She slung her arms around herself. It was too cold to pop out the door dressed in just jeans and a sweater.

The door to the shed was much older than the shed. It was one of the things her grandparents brought with them when they sold the farm. It was the door to the barn where two families, a total of eight persons, had lived during the last two years of the war and the first year of peace, until their own homes were fit to live in again.

Young families, just as young as Ingrid’s grandparents’ family. Ingrid’s mom had been born shortly before the war, just like the eldest children of the two families. Ingrid remembered visiting their families with her parents and grandparents when she was a young girl, when her father bought his first car, a Volkswagen “Beetle”. They had all piled in, the grandparents, her mom, her dad, Ingrid and her sister.

A smile spread around her mouth, as she admired the wreath she made. Identical to the one she made for the front door, which was identical to the one this door wore when it was the door to the barn during the second year the evacuees lived in it. It had been her grandmother’s Christmas gift to them. It had been difficult to establish what the colors of the bow and flowers had been, the photo had lost much of its quality over the years. It was the only colored photo the family had of these years. Ingrid often had wondered why it was of this door with this wreath on it.

“It was a gift from Hans,” her grandmother had told her when she was a year or ten, looking at old pictures on a rainy day. “A professional photographer,” she had added with pride showing in her voice. Hans was one of the evacuees who had found shelter in the barn, Ingrid knew. He wasn’t he father nor the brother-in law though, she had never seen him when they visited those families she realized now.

A visit to the big, big city with her grandmother came to her mind. Between shopping for cloths and drinking a cup of tea her grandmother had suddenly pulled her into a shop and had asked if the owner was available. They had been shown into a room where a lot of pictures hung on one wall, and a lot of cameras and lights stood around. Grandmother had warned her quite sternly to not touch anything while she talked with the owner, and so Ingrid had looked at the photos. Amidst all the pictures hung an old portrait of her grandmother. In black and white.

“That is my Nan,” she had told the man when her grandmother excused herself to go to the toilet. “Why do you have a picture of my Nan here?”

“She is a beautiful lady,” the man responded. Ingrid had nodded. In her five years old eyes her grandmother looked like a princess in the photo.

She sighed. She now wondered if that man had been the famous Hans. She wondered if that picture still existed, it was made so long ago. Grandmother would have been around twenty-five when it was made, and now she was dead for twenty-three years and Ingrid was twice as old as her grandmother on the picture in the shop. Christmas time really was the time memories popped up in your mind, Ingrid thought, turning to go back into the house, back into her warm kitchen to drink a cup of tea.

Her eye was drawn to a movement on the bedroom window of her new neighbor’s house. Sam Meyer, he had introduced himself two weeks ago, when he moved in. Since then she hadn’t seen him often. He worked, she worked, when they passed on the street they waved or nodded, that was all. Ingrid had no idea if he was also divorced, a single by principle, a widower, if he was straight or queer, the only things she knew was that he had a nice voice, looked quite good, did some sport (she had seen him jogging) and was around her age.

Ingrid’s tongue quickly licked her lower lip as she looked up to the window. Mr. Meyer stood behind it, immobile, a towel on his head, held there by his hand. Just as if he had been interrupted when he was drying his hair after a shower. Ingrid lowered her eyes, raised her hand in a wave and hurried back to the kitchen.

“Mrs. Sanders!”

Ingrid stopped in her tracks and looked up to the window.

“That is a nice wreath,” her neighbor complimented her. “It reminds me of something.”

“Of Christmas?” Ingrid laughed.

“Yes, that too, my is it cold!”

Ingrid clapped her hand in front of her mouth to smother her laughter.

“Get dressed and close the window,” she hiccupped. “Or better do it the other way around!”

Very faint laughing told her he had decided to the other way around already.

Four days later Ingrid yelped and jumped when a shopping trolley grazed her hand as she reached down to pick her basket up from the floor, her mind on other frozen goodies she had looked at after she got her favorite pizza out off the freezer.

“I am so sorry!” A deep voice said. “I really am, I wasn’t looking what I did. Is your hand alright?”

Ingrid looked at her hand.

“Yeah. It was more the unexpectedness than the hurt. So you are having a fast food day too?” she distracted her neighbor, who looked like he wanted to grab her hand to check it. His eyes on her hand he nodded, then his gaze moved to her basket. And up along her body.

“About those wreaths on your doors,” her neighbor said with a slight blush on his face, knowing she had caught him checking her out.

Ingrid just looked at him. She hoped he would hurry, she wanted to pay, get home and shove her pizza in the oven, she was hungry.

“I have an old picture. A very old picture. It was made by my grandfather, when he was hiding from the Nazi’s on the attic of a farm in the last winter of the war. On it is your door, with the exact same wreath,” he grinned, waved his hand through the air.

“Well, it isn’t your door of course. But it looks just the same. On the picture the bow is entangled. It was, and is again, glued to a page in my grandfather’s diary. Last year around this time I browsed it -I was contemplating if I should scan it into my PC- when I found the glue didn’t stick anymore. On the back of the picture stood: “Entwined! Just like we an hour later.” When I read it I had to grin. My grandfather even managed to have fun when he was hiding in a tiny room on a drafty attic. And four pages later he wrote: “Ingrid is marvelous. If I had more film left, I would shoot more pictures of her. I am sorry I have to leave after New Year. But one of the kids has seen me. Too dangerous for everyone.” Isn’t that funny? He wrote about a lady who had the same name as you have!”

Ingrid swallowed.

“Yes, a very funny coincidence, and the more because my grandmother was called Ingrid too.”

“…oh, that I were that star,” a pair of intelligent brown eyes flicked down to the sheet of paper in her hand and then back up to what was supposed to be the heavens. Pretending that above her she could see an endless carpet of blue, decorated with diamonds, and not the slightly bored face of one of the stage hands. “I would shine down on you, for you, every night and hope that you might wish on me. For,” she looked down to the floor beside her. The empty spot where one day there would stand an over polished, more than slightly precocious child actor. “You are already every wish I could ever make.” She made the words sound genuine. Or so she hoped. Her voice tender and soft but still audible from the stalls where the director sat, clipboard perched on his crossed leg.

She squatted down now, before this phantom child and pretended to ruffle their hair.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you. My whole life would be like an endless night without stars.” She winced inside as she delivered the saccharin phrase that signalled the end of her audition.

Who talks like this? And to a kid? Seriously.

Forcing herself to keep smiling, she waited for a moment and then stood up to face the front of the stage. Squinting slightly as the lights blinded her for a second or two.

“What was your name again?” The director’s deep voice called from the seats.

“Taylor. Jane Taylor.” She continued to hold the smile on her face. Like some dumb Miss World contestant about to wax lyrical about world peace and her favourite colour.

She hated this. This wasn’t what she wanted at all. At least, the process wasn’t what she wanted. All her life she’d dreamed of the stage and, like most performers, of Broadway. The reality was proving to be somewhat less glamourous than she’d envisaged.

“Thank you, Miss Taylor. Thank you very much. That was a…” he paused, clearly searching for a suitably over-embellished way of saying she wasn’t right for the part. “…determined performance. Determination is a wonderful characteristic and one of the many our protagonist displays but perhaps not the quality she would be using in this scene.” He sounded pretentious. She expected as much. Many were in these off-Broadway theatres.

She kept smiling. It was coming. Any minute now.

“You would make a fantastic heroine, I have no doubt.” He clearly believed he sounded magnanimous, she thought he sounded like an idiot. “But for this particular play we don’t need a heroine. We need,” another pause. What cliché was going to fall from his lips this time, she wondered. “We need a saviour.”

“Thank you, again, for the opportunity.” She bowed her head ever slightly towards him before turning smartly on her heel, unable to stop herself rolling her eyes before she even reached the wings.

With a heavy sigh she pulled her jacket on and fastened the zip, trying to ignore the overly bright faces of the other auditionees as she walked by. Her failure meant they still had a chance. It was the way it was but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to deal with.

The stage door opened onto the street with a blast of icy air. Winter was truly in the city, coating the trees in a powdery layer of snow and turning the lakes in the parks to opaque mirrors. Jane pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck as the frozen wind whipped down the narrow street. The sun had been below the horizon for an hour or two already and so the wind was just making everything colder. The sky was heavy with cloud, she knew if it was daytime the clouds would look leaden. Now, at night, they looked slightly orange. Illuminated by the million and more lights in the city that never slept. She hoped it wouldn’t snow again that night. There were already several inches on the ground and she knew the subway would just get crazier with the bad weather. As if on cue, large white flakes began to drift down lazily from the heavens. Thick but gentle. They’d quickly add to the snow already on the ground.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist, she had an hour to get to work. Her ‘day’ job consisted of a waitress and bar tending gig at a fancy hotel. She laughed at herself as she sidestepped a particularly icy patch of pavement, she was such a cliché. The wannabe actress slaving away in bars while she dreamed of spending her evenings in the limelight. Sinking into bed exhausted and almost always alone. It wasn’t much of a life, if she was honest. But you had to pay your dues, didn’t you? All great performers had had to struggle, hadn’t they?

It was hard to struggle on your own though. Family and friends had been left back home so she could try and make her dreams come true. They sent cards and emails, whenever they were in town they met up for coffee or wine. As lovely as it was to see them, they always had to leave. A flight to catch or a train to make. After which she inevitably had a job to get to. Maybe she should give in her notice and go home for a little while. Take a break from it all. The worry there was that if she left, she might never come back.

As she wove her way through the evening crowd she was running through a familiar series of phrases in her mind.

There’ll be other auditions.

The right part was clearly yet to come.

She never cared much for the director anyway.

There were a hundred of those lines, the ones actors learnt pretty early on their careers and never needed a prompt to remember. You gave them to one another at times like this. They sounded hopeful but they all knew that each failed try out was almost certainly another step away from the stage. And now, as she tried not to slip over in the slightly greasy snow that covered the sidewalk, she repeated them to herself.

As she turned the corner at the end of the street, a block or so from Times Square, the wind hit her full in the face and robbed her of her breath for a few fleeting seconds. The snow here anything but lethargic in its motion. The wind whipped wickedly around her knees between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots and she thought, not for the first time, that she should have worn jeans. It hadn’t been that classy a theatre. She really needn’t have bothered so much.

“Duck!”

A hand suddenly snatched hold of hers and tugged it sharply downwards. Instinct made her follow the yelled instruction before she really realised what was happening, the hand not being pulled rising to arch protectively over her head. Anxiety flared up inside, tensing muscles in its wake and making her feel immediately nauseous. It was the big bad city and after 9/11 you never really knew…

It turned out, however, that the situation was far from sinister. A large snowball sailed over her head and struck the store front behind her crouching form, exploding into a powdery cloud of glitter that was quickly blown away by the wind. Frowning slightly as she felt suddenly embarrassed to have panicked so much and so openly, she looked for the first time towards the holder of her hand. Intending to snatch it away and suitably chastise this stranger for taking such liberties.

Her eyes met a pair that almost glowed with mischief and she found all urges to lecture him fly out of her head. Instead she just smiled.

“Sorry about that.” The stranger apologised, his gloved hand still holding hers as they remained close to the ground. “I just didn’t, I mean, I didn’t think you’d realised what you were about to walk into the middle of.”

Jane’s brows knitted in confusion before she allowed her gaze to shift away from the young man beside her and drift into the street.

It was all out war.

Snow was being flung in every possible direction. Packed tightly into balls that sailed with speed through the air or just gathered into hands and then thrown into the wind to be caught and sprinkled on people like confetti. As quickly as the snow was being snatched up from the ground and launched, the sky was doing its best to replace it.

“What’s going on?” Jane’s face had broken into a smile. “I mean, this is madness!”

“I know, right?” Her ‘saviour’ laughed with her as he rose to his feet and used his hold on her hand to help her up onto hers. “I don’t know quite how it started, I think somewhere in the middle…” he gestured to the centre of the street where there were three people so heavily covered in snow that Jane couldn’t immediately tell their gender. “But one stray snowball got a passer-by who joined in and then another and then another.” He ran his free hand up and through his hair, brushing snow dampened strands back from his face. Subconsciously she noticed his hair was thick and dark and found herself wondering how it might feel to run her own fingers through it. “I didn’t want you to become an innocent victim of the chaos, you…” She could have sworn he blushed as he searched for the word he wanted, “…you looked like you had somewhere to be.”

“I-“ Before she could reply that she should probably get to work and that she was grateful for his intervention, he paid the price for his gallantry. A well-aimed snowball struck him squarely in the back of his head and he dropped like a stone.

She laughed, you would, until she realised he had stumbled back off the edge of the sidewalk, sunk down into the snow in the road and then hadn’t moved.

“Hey,” she said a little cautiously, as charming as he’d seemed, she’d heard about confidence artists.

“Hey you, you ok?” She stepped off the sidewalk and edged nearer. She nudged his thigh with the toe of her boot. Still nothing. Wetting her lips she slowly bent down and looked at his face. He didn’t look like he was faking, one thing she could usually spot when she saw a show was the extra who couldn’t pull off a convincing ‘death’ on stage.

“This isn’t funny you know.” She groaned, dropping to her knees and looking a little more closely at him. He wasn’t moving. At all.

“Oh shit, oh shit shit shit!” She shook his shoulder gently but his expression remained unchanged, all that happened was his head rolled slightly to the side.

“Help! I think I need some help here!” Jane yelled. The wind swallowing up most of her voice and the whoops and hollers from the snow war drowning out the rest.

“Oh, why did you have to be so cute,” pulling her bag from her shoulder she leant down over him. “I should have just walked away, and then if I had, I’d be on a train now and you’d be…well…conscious…”

She should check for a pulse or something. The lessons learnt at her first aid course suddenly dropping out of her mind. Or should she give him mouth to mouth?

Shit. He still wasn’t moving.

She pressed her fingers to the side of his neck but without gloves her fingers were already cold and damp and she couldn’t feel a thing.

“Don’t you dare do this to me,” she ordered as she drew in a deep breath and pulled down on his chin to open his mouth, “don’t you dare!”

Closing her eyes and readying her fingers to pinch his nose shut she began to lean closer still.

“I don’t usually kiss until the second date, but for you I might make an exception.” The voice was quiet and she could feel the heat of breath dancing over her open lips.

Her eyes flew open to see his looking back up into hers. She pulled back until he was in focus but no further. One hand on his jaw, the other dropping in to the snow beside his head.

“Second date, huh? Doesn’t a first date usually have to come first?” Jane was blushing, she could feel it.

“Well, seeing as how you were about to kiss me, I figured it would be a fairly safe bet that you might be interested in me.”

“I don’t even know your name.” She smiled softly.

“Jonathan.”

“I’m Jane.”

“Pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

He was still laying in the street, the snow steadily soaking through his coat. She was still knelt beside him, the snow seeping into her tights and down into her boots.

“Dinner?” he offered.

“Yes, please,” she accepted.

Another minute passed before the cold forced them both up and off the ground. Stood before her she was able to see he was taller than her, not by much but enough. Enough that she knew she’d have to tilt her head to kiss him, maybe even push up onto her toes. She couldn’t wait to see if she was right.

In the street the battle was still raging. It had spilled out now. Filling the small street where they stood and down into Times Square itself. Strangers pelting one another with snow. Laughing, shrieking, adults forgetting their worries and their schedules for a few minutes of pure fun.

Something she knew she should do more often. Something she was going to do. With him.

They started to walk down the street, ducking snowballs, holding hands all the way. Pausing when they reached the Square and just watching the gleeful madness for a few moments.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. Ever.” Jane admitted, a little in awe.

“Me either.” He replied. She glanced up at his face and blushed rather violently to see his eyes fixed firmly on her face.

“I have a place, it’s not far,” his teeth caught on his lip and she fought a sudden urge to kiss him rather firmly. “We could go…warm up.” That mischievous twinkle was back in his eyes.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea to me, but first,” Jane replied before ducking down towards the ground and straightening up with a ball of snow in her palm, tossing it once for effect. “I feel like we need to get vengeance for that snowball to your head.”

“Or maybe find the one who launched it and thank them.” Jonathan grinned, leaning down to press a shy kiss to her lips.

“A lot.” She kissed him back. The snow starting to melt in her hand.

An arm curled around her waist and drew her nearer as the kiss deepened. She was about to let the slowly liquefying snow drop to the ground when icy cold wet interrupted their kiss. A snowball had found its way into their embrace, showering them with snow.

They both stepped back, their faces masks of surprise with wide eyes and mouths. Then they laughed.

“Shall we?” He asked, dropping down to quickly make a snowball for each hand.

“We shall!” She giggled before the pair of them ran into the snow storm with a whoop of excitement. Their snowballs blending with a hundred others as the war went on.

They’d stop when they were too cold to go on, and then a different and far warmer sort of fun would begin.

“Are we lost?” It was a sudden and concerned inquiry from the passenger seat.

“Mmmmm?” He murmured preoccupied, his fingers flexing in their grip on the steering wheel as he kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“We’re lost! We’re lost aren’t we?!” She cried, her voice raising more than an octave. The concern in her voice swiftly turned to panic, as she turned in her seat to look out the window.

“Calm down, Caroline.” Came his amused reply, “We’re not lost … we just … took a wrong turn somewhere.”

“I knew it! I just knew it!” she said slamming herself back into the seat.

“I knew this would happen.” She continued, before dropping her voice to a mocking baritone, “Why don’t we all take an afternoon drive up the mountain … hum dee hum hum hum.”
She paused to look at her fiancé where he sat to her left. “NO ONE DRIVES AROUND IN THIS KIND OF WEATHER!” she all but screeched, gesturing sharply to the world outside the car where the snow fell heavily, blanketing everything within its reach.

Unmoved by her outburst Matt cast a sidelong glance her way before asking, “Are you done? Hmmm?” He looked at her then, his eyebrows arched in amusement. “Feel better now that you got that out of your system?”
She scowled at him in reply; irritated at his use of his usual calm, easygoing tone despite her obvious distress. She took in a deep breath, intent on unleashing her fury all over him; he was after all the reason they were out driving around in subzero temperatures. She was about to speak when a fine little voice emanating from the backseat chimed in.
“It’s just snow, Lina. We drive around in snow all the time when we’re at home.” The statement laced with matter-of-fact innocence that could only come from a child so young. “Today we get to do it while going to the top of a mountain!” the little voice added excitedly.
“See?” Matt said good-naturedly, leaning in and shaking his head at her. “At least someone is looking on the bright side of things. Sophie at least sees the in adventure in it all.”

Caroline did he best to mask the annoyance she felt, which she was certain would otherwise be plainly visible on her face. Her only response was a moderately derisive “Of course…”

Of course Sophie was excited, of course she saw their current predicament as an adventure … she was five! What couldn’t a five year old find adventure in? What was more, Sophie more than any of them had wanted to come here to spend the holidays, so naturally she would be the last one to complain or find fault. Hadn’t she picked the location, hadn’t Matt indulged her? Caroline was being unfair, perhaps even a little petulant … and she knew it too. But that didn’t mean that she was about to admit to it, at least not yet.

When Matt had first suggested the alphabet game as a way for them to decide where they would spend their Christmas holidays, Caroline – though skeptical – had played along. They had only recently gotten engaged; and she knew how important it was to Matt that Sophie felt included in the decisions they now made as a family.

He had explained the rules, and they were simple really – one of them would choose a letter at random and then they would list out as many place names as they knew that began with said letter and decide from there. So when she pulled a B out of the velvet bag filled with every letter of the alphabet, Caroline had been excited at all the possibilities. She had been shot down lightning quick by a disapproving Sophie when she had tried writing down St. Barth’s, who noted that it didn’t count because of the “St.” that came before it. Caroline had reluctantly conceded, grateful that Bermuda, Bahamas, Barbados and Brazil were still on the list, especially since places like Bethesda and Boise were considered contenders – thanks in no small part to Sophie’s limited geographical expertise.

Matt had been the one who wrote Banff. A word - thanks to its unusual spelling - Sophie had become fixated on. At first she had only wanted to know how it was pronounced, curious as to whether it was “Ban-eff-eff”. When Matt corrected her, she giggled as she tested the word on her tongue, scrunching and wrinkling her little nose as she drew out the “ph” sound at the end. Satisfied by her father’s correction of her pronunciation, she inquired as to where it was exactly. After that her questions seemed never-ending – “Was it cold there? Did it snow there? What do people do when they go there?”

Each question had filled Caroline with a sense of dread, she had already seen in her mind’s eye what was going to happen before it actually did. She wasn’t surprised when Sophie had declared that Banff was where she wanted to spend Christmas. Nor had she been surprised when Matt agreed with her. Outnumbered two to one, she had still tried to convince them that a trip to Bermuda would be just as fun – if not more – than a trip to Banff. She had tried her best to convince them – Sophie really - that Christmas would come all the same even if they were walking on sand instead of trudging through snow. She knew she had lost her case when Sophie had lamented that “it isn’t Christmas without snow.”

So here she was … stuck in Banff eating blueberry pancakes for breakfast each morning, when she would really rather be on an island in her bikini sitting behind a bar. And now … now of course they were lost somewhere out in the great wide open caught in the swirling snow.

The feeling of the car slowing it’s pace, drew her from her thoughts. Looking over at Matt, confusion etched on her face she asked “Why are you stopping?” When he didn’t answer she went on, “Are you going to try to turn around and go back the way we came or something?”

The frown on his face did little to assure her, “I would … that is I would, if I could.” He said softly, his eyes flicking over to her and then back to the dashboard.

It took a second before she realized she could no longer hear the steady hum of the engine. “Have we stalled?” she asked on a whisper filled with genuine concern, all trace of anger gone for the moment.

“I think we have …” Matt replied, nodding slowly.

Caroline swore she could almost hear him cursing in his head. Damning the car - for cutting out on them, the weather – for relentlessly blanketing the world with snow, the mountain - for luring them out here, and of course himself – for giving in to its call. She bit her tongue not wanting to add to the upset she was certain he felt in that moment. She even felt a wash of shame at her earlier behavior, knowing that her words were probably bouncing about inside his head now.

The last think she wanted to do right now was panic. They were in this together after all, all three of them. Her panicking would only further upset and distract Matt and worse than that scare Sophie. She had vowed, on accepting his proposal that she wouldn’t be one of those wives who only complicated and added undue stress and strain to a situation by yelling and complaining. She wouldn’t be like her own mother, constantly nagging and insisting on her father’s idiocy instead of trying to support and help him.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked, trying her best to keep the fear swelling inside her, from seeping into her voice.

“Not really … I definitely lost my bearings after turning onto this path.”

Caroline took a moment to gaze out the windshield to take in their surroundings. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t been paying any attention to where they were going. She wanted to kick herself for not doing so. There wasn’t much to be seen out the window. Stands upon stands of fir trees lined each side of the remote mountain road, their branches laden with snow. The failing light of evening seemed to hasten as she glanced up at the sky.

“We could try calling for help.” She said turning back to face him. “Where’s your cellphone?”

“It’s no use … I just checked … there’s no reception up here.” He said with an apologetic smile.

“Okaaaay …” She said cautiously, running a hand through her dark hair almost savagely. “A cabin … maybe? Did you see any cabins nearby as we were driving along? I mean there must be people living up here right? I mean why else would there be a road? There must be a cabin or something close by where we can call…”

She hadn’t realized that she was racing in her speech until she felt his palms on her shoulders. His grip was strong and steadying as he turned her in her seat to face him. It was something else as well, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, before he spoke. “Hey, hey, hey … calm down. It’s ok, we’re going to be alright.” He smiled as he made her look into his eyes, and she knew then that it was comfort she felt in is touch. “We’re going to be fine. I’m going to go and make my way back to the main road to get help. You and Sophie, can stay here until I get back.”
The last he said before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Closing her eyes at the feel of his lips, she shook her head to say no. She opened them again as he pulled back.

“You can’t go out there by yourself. Are you crazy? You said yourself that you don’t know where we are, which also means you don’t know how far away the main road is. What if you get lost or hurt?” Shaking her head firmly, she went on. “No, I’m not letting you go. All the experts say that when you’re stranded in the snow, you best chance (of survival, she hesitated to add) is to stay in the car. Besides it’s going to get very dark very soon and there aren’t any street lights or lights of any kind out there.”

“I saw a light” said Sophie suddenly.

Caroline had almost forgotten that the little girl had been watching and listening to the entire exchange between her father and soon to be stepmother. Almost … though not quite. It had taken Caroline a fair amount of time to grow accustomed to Sophie’s quiet observing manner. More than once she had found herself comparing her to a wide-eyed owl. To say that she wasn’t like most little girls her age didn’t really do her justice.

“What was that, sweetie?” Matt asked, turning to look at his daughter.

“I saw a light.” The auburn haired child repeated.

“Where?” Caroline asked perhaps a little too sharply. “What kind of light?”

Grey eyes shone brightly in earnest as she turned her small face to look directly at Caroline. “A little way back… it was on a piece of wood, it looked like a lantern.”

“Did you see anything like that as you were driving?” Caroline asked turning to Matt.

Before he could reply, Sophie spoke up, her voice insistent. “I saw it. For real … I’m not making it up!”

Caroline turned at that, feeling somewhat wounded at the unspoken accusation of her doubtfulness. Then again she didn’t need to look at Sophie’s face to see how wounded she herself felt, she had heard it in her little voice. The same way she was certain her mother must have heard it in her voice all those times as she was growing up. For the second time that afternoon Caroline felt her cheeks burn with shame. Was she really that much like her mother?

“Lina didn’t mean …” she heard Matt saying, before she placed her hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’m sorry, Sophie. I know you wouldn’t lie to your Daddy or to me, hunny.” She paused, looking the little girl in the eye. “Do you think you could should us where you saw it?”

The nod that Sophie gave in reply was so vigorous that for a moment Caroline was worried she might seriously hurt herself if she didn’t stop.

“I guess that settles it then. Let’s go find that lantern.”

“I thought you said we should stay in the car.” Matt said softly as he watched her undo her seatbelt.

She didn’t reply, not with words anyway. But the look on her face spoke volumes, letting him know that this was something she needed to do both for Sophie and herself. She was grateful that he didn’t press her for more.

On opening her door and stepping from the car, she stumbled and almost fell. She silently cursed herself for not choosing to wear more sensible boots. When she moved to open Sophie’s door, she caught sight of a frown upon her pale brow and worry in the grey depths of her eyes.

“Silly shoes …” She whispered, as she leaned in to lift her from the car. “Pretty… yes but pretty silly too.” She winked, coaxing a small shy smile from the girl.

Caroline took the time to her scarf from her neck and wrapped it around a tiny pair of shoulders. The wind had picked up and she felt that the extra layer would be put to better use on Sophie than on herself. She didn’t try to stop her as she ran to take hold of her father’s hand. She tried to fight the smile that came to her lips as she heard her tell him that she was sure the light was a marker for Santa’s Workshop. She listened to the way Matt encouraged the idea, and shook her head in wonder as she walked as short distance behind them.

She had never wanted a family; at least so she had told herself a million times. She was sure Matt had expected her to turn and flee in horror when he finally told her that he had a daughter. She didn’t of course, she had already lost her heart to him by then. The issue of a daughter was something she didn’t allow herself to think about for too long. That was before Matt had proposed. She didn’t consider Sophie to be a complication, nor was it that she disliked her … it was more that she was afraid of her. Afraid of failing her, of making the same mistakes with her that she had learned from the only example she herself had ever known. To say that her relationship with her mother was tumultuous at worst was being kind. How could she be a mother, especially to a girl whose real mother had chosen to walk out on her and her father?

Caroline knew that was why Matt was so protective of her, why he had taken almost a year before he introduced them to each. He wanted to spare Sophie as much heartbreak as possible. Caroline often wondered of the two of them who had gotten the easier lot in life, the one whose mother had left or the one whose mother had stayed and made life so difficult that she wished she had left. Neither of them really, they were both two sides of the same coin, both a little rough around the edges. She saw so much of her younger self in that sweet little girl. The same fragile timidity and watchful wariness, all held together with a healthy dose of creative curiosity. It never ceased to break her heart. Maybe it was too late for her, but as far as Caroline was concerned there was still time for Sophie. Unconditional love wasn’t some unattainable fairytale, Matt had proven that much to her. By the same logic it stood to reason that she could prove it was true of any form of love to both Sophie and to herself.

They walked for some time more and sure enough just as Sophie had said, there off the side of the road, hidden somewhat by the lower branches of a pine, was a lantern on a post.

“There it is. Just like you said.” Caroline said in awe, as she gazed at the flickering flame within the glass. “Well spotted Sophie! With eyes that sharp, you really are a little owl.”

Plump little cheeks already flushed by the crisp air, were made even rosier by those words, as Sophie all but beamed at her Lina’s praise.

“Now all we have to do is find a door.” Matt said, confidently as he stepped down off the road and onto a cobbled pathway. As he let go of Sophie’s hand momentarily, it seemed only natural for Caroline to move to her side and lift her into her arms. She still held her balanced on one hip as she made her way down the path only steps behind Matt.

The cabin they found at the end of the walkway was as quaint and curious as the lantern on its post had been. The doorbell, as they discovered upon pressing it, rang out the tune of jingle bells – to which Sophie squealed in delight.

“It is Santa’s Workshop!” she giggled, clapping her hands together.

Ordinarily Caroline would have disagreed, but her arguments all faded away as the door opened to reveal an elderly gentleman sporting a suspiciously full and almost impossibly white beard. He was kind enough to let them inside what was in fact his home.

Help was apparently already on its way, their host having heard them as they drove by earlier had figured they would wind up lost or stranded on the roads. There was a surprising number of toys on display, which captivated Sophie’s attention and only further served to fuel her insistence that the kind old soul was in fact Santa Claus. Even after they had thanked him for his hospitality and we seated safely in the cab of the tow truck, she kept insisting. Humouring her, Caroline asked how she could be so certain. To which she gave the most curious reply, saying …

“It’s easy Lina, he guessed what the number one thing on my list and said I would get it Christmas morning. He said you and Daddy would get what you both wished for last night as well, but not at Christmas … he said it would take a few months more.”

After that she didn’t say anything more.

“Can you forgive me for how awful I’ve been behaving?” she whispered in the dark as the lay in bed together later that night. Her was pressed tight against Matt’s chest, and his arms were wrapped around her holing her to him.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he whispered “I know it hasn’t been easy … and that this wasn’t the holiday you wanted…”

“No.” she said quickly, cutting him off before he could say another word. “It’s even better." She paused turning in his arms to face him. “You know that I love Sophie don’t you? That I love her, more than anything because she’s a part of you.”

The smile he gave warmed her through to her core. “I know.” He whispered kissing her forehead.

They lay silently for a moment, letting their mutual love wash over them like the unceasing rhythm of the ocean crashing upon the sand.

“What did you wish for?” She asked softly, Sophie’s innocent words coming back to her. “Last night … what did you wish for?”

“A baby.” He said timidly.

She giggled then, a richer sound than that of the little girl fast asleep in the other room, but no less full of happiness.

“Why? What did you wish for?” he asked, amused by her reaction.

“A baby.” She whispered, her voice full of hope at the prospect of yet another "B".

I watched out the back window as I finished rinsing a glass in the sink. The frenzied activity of a neighborhood snowball fight in full swing unfolded across three yards and there were kids and snow everywhere. I’d literally thrown my kids out of the house not more than an hour earlier telling them to go find some fun somewhere other than in front of a screen, and then set upon the weekend chores while they played. It was a beautiful day. A post snow storm kind of day where the sky is clear and blue and the sun sparkles over everything in sight.

The neighbor kids were using a makeshift fence as a shield while Jake and Joanie, my own two kids, dodged between trees and returned fire. Jake had a hell of an arm, but I could see he was careful to not throw too hard. His accuracy, however, was like that of a sniper. I swear I saw at least two curve balls and a slider work their way through the other team’s defenses. Jeanie on the other hand was definitely struggling. Younger than the rest, she gave it her best effort but just her size alone kept her at a bit of a disadvantage.

Then it happened. As Jake mounted an assault on the fence, young Billy from across the street caught Jeanie in the head with a heck of a shot. She was caught off guard and fell just before the tears started to fall. Billy never missed a beat. He broke cover and rushed to her side immediately to see if she was alright. I watched carefully, worried about my little girl, but also not wanting to be too overprotective. I could see her pride had taken most of the damage and I was curious about what Billy would do next.

I remembered my own youth. I had a major crush on Patty, a pretty girl just about my age who lived down the street, but like most young boys, I had no idea how to express my feelings for her. Typically, it was expressed badly, if at all, and I remember throwing more than one snowball in her direction hoping she would notice me. It wasn't until years later that I found out she did notice me, but it wasn't in the way I’d hoped.

I returned to reality just as Billy helped her up and started walking her to the back door of our house. She had stopped crying, but Billy still had a protective arm around her as he walked her home. She’d had enough of snowball fights for one day.

I opened the door before they had a chance to knock, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that Jeanie meant more to him than her just being a neighborhood friend. I knew that look, I’d worn that look a thousand times. I let them enter and sat them at the table as I set a kettle on the stove and made for the mugs and coco in the cabinet. There’s nothing that soothes a bruised ego faster on a winter day then coco and the attention of two adoring men.

“I’m sorry Mr. Peterson. I didn't mean to hit her in the head. I swear.” Billy looked like he’d done the worst thing he’d ever done in his life and took her hand in his as they sat. “I’m sorry Jeanie, I really didn't mean to. I swear I didn't.”

Her cheeks were pink from the cold and wet from her tears, but she gave him a brave smile nonetheless. “I know Billy, it’s OK.”

The kettle whistled. I mixed up the coco and made sure to put in a few extra marshmallows for each of them. Billy was much better at this than I ever was at his age, a few extra marshmallows was small compensation for the way he was trying to help, even if it was his snowball that did the deed. “Here you go guys, this ought to help.” The room was filled with the smell of sweetened chocolate and he figured it was only a matter of time before the spidey senses of the rest of the pack picked up on the scent, so he turned to give the kids some privacy and refilled the kettle for the next inevitable round.

As the pot filled he remembered Patty again. It was years later when they finally met properly. They were both home from college during Christmas break and he saw her shoveling her walk as he passed on his way to the corner for a newspaper for his dad. He still didn't know what made him lob a loose snowball so it would land at her feet, but the sudden explosion of snow caught her attention and she looked up at him with a glint in her eyes.

“Johnny Peterson, after all these years I’d have thought you’d have come up with a better way to get my attention!” She had stomped her foot in mock anger but smiled nonetheless as he dug his hands deep in his pockets in embarrassment.

“Sorry… I… sorry.” I looked away and thought, she’s right you know, try something else dumb-ass. “I… I was on my way to get a paper for my dad, there’s a coffee shop next door, would you like some coco? My treat?”

She dug the shovel into the bank and smiled, “It’s about time you asked me proper. Yes, and I want extra marshmallows, just because.” Taking his hand in hers without pause she led the way to the corner shop.

That was many years ago and he missed her every day. He could see her in their daughters eyes. He could picture her as their daughter moved about the house and danced upon the stage. He saw her every day in the smallest of ways. Even the way she looked at Billy as he held her hand over coco reminded him of her. He hoped Billy realized how lucky he was.

Kelly looked out at the snow. She felt cold, chilled to her very bones. She wanted to be excited about the season. She wanted to trim the tree, bake cookies and think about kisses under the mistletoe. But all she could think about was the nursery upstairs. She had painted little owls on the wall. Todd had assembled the furniture, ever so careful to follow the instructions to the letter. Normally, Todd would have improvised, but not when it came to the baby. Their baby. They had gotten their hopes dashed three times. The last time they had made it almost 20 weeks.

She flinched when she thought of it. Todd had found her, feverish and in pain. She was willing herself to keep the baby. She begged him not to take her to the hospital. But in the end, he had to call the ambulance. He held her hand. He cried with her. He nursed her back to health.

Todd kept hinting that it might be best to pack the nursery away, until… He couldn’t finish the sentence any more than she could. Until, her body stopped betraying her and losing their babies…Until, a birth mother picked them out of binder of other hopeful couples? To Kelly, taking down the nursery meant they were no longer expecting. That they weren’t expecting a miracle.

They had passed their home study. They had met with social workers and lawyers. She forced herself to have hope and to smile at every meeting. But she wondered if Todd was right. If it might be better to let go of what she wanted, until it was granted to her?

The air was still too cold. She got up and put on one of Todd’s sweaters. She even bumped up the thermostat a few degrees. She flipped the stereo on. Todd had it preloaded with Christmas cheer. She padded into the kitchen in her slippered feet. She pulled down her mother’s worn cookbook and found the recipe for peanut butter cookies, Todd’s favorite. She wasn’t feeling it, but she wouldn’t allow herself to wallow any longer. She measured the ingredients and then got out her stand mixer. Soon, the kitchen smelled of sugar and peanut butter.

While the cookies were baking, Kelly lugged the decorations out of the garage. She assembled the Christmas tree. She wrestled with the large pieces and spruced up the branches. The tree was pre-lit and so when she plugged in the tree, the lights twinkled. She left the box of ornaments. She and Todd could decorate the tree together when he got home from work.

The buzzer on the over timer went off. She was about to retrieve the cookies, but the phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Mrs. Phelps?” The voice on the phone was sugary and southern as sweet tea. “This is Melanie Taggart down at Children’s Services. I am sorry for the short notice. But I have two little ones, that need to be fostered. They will be available for adoption in a few months. A four year old boy and his little sister is…. Let’s see she is six months old. We really want to keep them together. And I would like to place them before the holidays. Sam, the little boy, he is old enough to know it is almost Christmas. Would you-?”

Before the lady could finish, Kelly was offering to take them. She got details about when they would pick up the children and other specifics. Mrs. Taggart let her know that Sam was very protective of his baby sister Charlotte and he slept better when he was allowed to sleep in the same room with her.

Kelly smelled the cookies scorching. She turned off the oven and kept taking notes. Mrs. Taggart had car seats for them both. She even asked if they would need assistance getting the children Christmas gifts.

“No, my husband and I will go shopping for them tonight. If you would just give me their sizes….”

Kelly spent another thirty minutes on the phone. She wondered how to tell Todd. She grabbed her winter coat and pulled on her galoshes. Using a stick, she drew four hearts in the snow. Inside the hearts she wrote Todd, Kelly, Sam, and Charlotte. And then she wrote underneath, WE GET THEM TOMORROW.

She waited in the front room, watching for his car. Todd pulled in. She watched him load up in his laptop and his lunchbox. And then he got a bouquet out of the backseat. The roses were deep Christmas red. She worried he wouldn’t see her message.

But then he did. She saw him stop in his tracks. He looked up to the door and saw her.

She went out to meet him, taking the flowers and his lunchbox.
“They are four and six months. We will pick them up tomorrow. I mean… I know I should have asked but they were looking for someone to take them before Christmas, and they said Sam was worried he wouldn’t be in a house for Santa to find.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t have to ask. This is what we have been waiting for.”

He looked at the house as he walked in. “You did all of this for them?” He asked touching the boughs of the tree.

Kelly shook her head and smiled. “No, Mrs. Taggart didn’t call until after. I did this for you. I wanted you to have Christmas. I wanted to pull myself out of this fog and have Christmas with you.”

He tossed his laptop bag on the couch and held her close. “We need to make a list and go to the store. Santa is going to find Sam and Charlotte at our house on Christmas Eve.”

Let me ...


It had been this time last year when they had gotten engaged, Christmas Eve. And their first Christmas together had been perfect, so much more so as they spent that week sharing their good news with relatives and friends. It had been so joyous!

And then New Year had hit with vengeance bringing forth a string of events that seemed to batter her emotions and erode away her spirits, but through it all he had held her hand and they had worked through the darkness together.

Before meeting him she had been considered ‘self-sufficient’, obstinately so perhaps? She had carried everything single-handed, had been the person others relied on.

But now, when she buckled beneath the onslaught of the year’s events, when she crumbled, it was he who caught her and kept her safe.
‘Let me support you’, he had told her.
And she had.
Because she could not manage alone.

And now, when it all became too much, when she withdrew and shut down, he was there.
‘Let me in,’ he had begged her
And she had.
Because there was no one else she could trust with the tumult of emotions she just couldn’t control.

And so, instead of the planning and preparation of their wedding, she spent most of the year riding the storm of crisis after crisis.
It took everything just to get through.
But still he wanted her, wanted their marriage.

‘Let me …‘ he asked her again.
And she had.
Because there was no one alive who knew her better than he did.
Her trust in him was complete.
And so, she allowed him to organise everything; allowed him to give her the wedding he believed she wanted.

For those that knew her it was incomprehensible.
Family and friends commented at how uncharacteristic this was for her.
They could not understand how she could not want to be in control and make the decisions about ‘her big day’?
But by letting go and letting him, she had made the only decision that was important.
To marry him.
The rest was dressing …

”Do you like it…?”

She heard the unfamiliar hint of concern in his voice and wondered how he could doubt that she was overwhelmed by the heavy silver gown with golden embroidery that he had picked out for her and the cool white/silver décor accented by the warm golden flames that bedecked the tables.

”It’s all I could ever have dreamed of … “

She breathed as her eyes took in the detail of everything he had arranged for her. The simplistic beauty of both gown and room was exquisite.

”I never expected … “

She was stunned to silence mid-sentence by the expression on his face as he watched her turn towards him.

”I never expected to find the answer to my dreams, either.”

Came his soft response as he closed the distance between them, his lips descending to hers as he whispered.

”But you are … “

The Winter Wolf




He had taken every single one of them here. The snow was deep and the air was cold. They were warmed by cloth and liquor, by hot kisses and hungry hands and the fires of lust. They were drunk and naive, too trusting and too eager to realize the danger of the situation. Each one would give him little deaths and then one of the larger, more final variety. Their bodies would go limp, the fight would leave their eyes. He thought no one would ever find them. Buried in the blanket of white crystals, never to thaw until it was far too late, until he was in another state, with a new name and a new life to lead until the winter came again.

One night, much like the rest, he brought her to the grove of trees, the snow nearly above their knees as they walked, crunching a path from the car to their hiding spot. Somewhere secluded to do a deed that was both dangerous and exciting.

“I know what you’ve done”

Her voice was low and heavy with a menace he was unused to. It raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. She stared directly into his eyes and the moon shone down, reflecting a pale glow within them.

“I know what you’ve done and you will pay for desecrating this sacred place. For I am the forest. I am the trees and the grass and the leaves and the rivers and the snow that you have chosen to make a graveyard. I am the spirit of all those you’ve tricked and betrayed and stolen from. We are here, but we are more here when the snow comes down. It is a reminder of your transgressions.”

Terror; all he knows is fear as she speaks in a voice that is so unlike the quiet, mousy girl he had met at the local bar and seduced, persuaded and coerced into joining him on a late night romp in the snow. She was full of intention and every word she said was like an icicle driven into his spine.

He turned to run, but tripped. Found his vision clouded by the snow dusting up and coating his face. When he could finally see again, she was gone. Frantic, he turned again, lifting his knees high as he ran toward his car.

Swift footsteps became even softer. The sound of wind practically dancing across the snow. He felt a weight on his back like a boulder crashing into him. He struggled against it, but found it impossible to move. The first flash of pain was dwarfed by the succession of wounds to follow. He cried out, but his voice was drowned in the night. His breath curled in the air, steaming as the splashes of crimson melted in the snow.

Eventually he ceased to be warm. The snow came down and completely shrouded his form. On a high snowbank, a wolf sat, watching the scene, a pale glow glinting in its eyes. Once he was no longer visible to even the eagles above, the wolf rose and trotted off into the heart of the woods, leaving nary a paw print.

“This’ll take about twenty extension cords, and I still haven’t been able to check every bulb,” he said. They were taking looped strings of electrical articles from the trunk of the car, their actions sending out slightly muffled interruptions in a space banked deep with snow. It wasn’t a cold kind of winter, so far. It felt like being wrapped in an entryway jacket that held onto the chill: it was easy to make peace with the darkest stretch of the year, as long as it came with little islands like this. She was hoping the tree would be a park beacon and people would come to stand around it with their mouths shaped like “o’s.”

She hummed “Welcome, Christmas,” and together they shut the trunk with a clunk. “It’ll work. Do you have the clips?”

He patted his pocket with an experimental mitten. “Sure. But we won’t need them. It’s a good tree.”

She smiled, moving to kick her way through the sifted powder and keep her eye on the distant target. Not too far. Alone, for now, but there would surely be others. She had looked through every kind of sapling available to plant, trying to find a tree that could withstand a little loneliness and grow proudly without a stand to surround it. Maybe someday it’d have root-fellows, but the meaning of those trees and their interlocking branches coiled labyrinthine emotions tighter than a drum in her heart. For now, it was enough that the balsam fir she had chosen grew undisturbed in its field of white and watched over the forest line with abiding certainty. She shrugged the helix of cord more securely over her shoulder, and they trudged through the snow.

“It’s so quiet out here. I forget about that, the silence.” His breath misted out away from his mouth in great bursts of fog.

“I know. Do you think it’s too much? Maybe it could use a little noise.”

“Nah. It’s peaceful. Meditative, right? That’s important. And there’s no one here to bother it, except in the sports’ seasons when kids come out to play soccer. Run track, too, did you see? They’re adding to the complex.”

A little bite of sorrow flexed itself, somewhere deep in her throat. It was familiar, so recognizable, and yet it remained a stranger.

“Oh. No, I didn’t. But that seems right.”

She gestured with a gloved hand to the small, cottage-like structure that stood some 70 feet away. The weight of the cords was taking its toll and her back was starting to ache.

“Alright, get to it, Theseus. I’ll start unwrapping the rest at the tree.”

He snorted but went obediently enough. He didn’t mention that this left her with a moment of silence to fill as she crossed that last, final breadth of land to where the tree waited with monumental patience. He kept his eyes on the shelter and then began to unwrap his burden with an extra sort of efficiency. The mittens had been a mistake, and he shoved them in his pocket.

But she saw none of that. The tree waited, catching the last rays of a fading sun with an ease that surprised her. She knew that she was guilty of forgetting that life was capable of revelation, and that these visits were an important reminder. It never got easier, but she didn’t think it was supposed to. Enough of that. Almost sternly, she slid the lights down her arm and began to string them out to assess their entanglement. She couldn’t hear his movements anymore. The tree stood silently, patiently. Tears began to blur her eyes as sharply and unfairly as the origination of the whole venture, and she started screwing up in the simplest of ways. Her hands wouldn’t work right and she fumbled, before letting the string fall to the ground like a clumsy layup when it really mattered. When it was easiest. She sank to her knees and felt the snow swim around the thin skin of her knees, seeping through her leggings.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, feeling like ten kinds of wretched. “It’s such a small damn thing and I can’t even do it. I can’t find my way, even though this is the plan that I made.”

She reached up to tug the fleecy hat from her hair, sending the red spilling down over the black of her coat. His movements over at the shelter slowed, momentarily, but he stayed away. It gave her a modicum of strength, and she tried to squeeze her eyes shut. Things felt manageable for a moment, and then she ran her hands over the lights in her lap, feeling the bulbs click amiably.

“I remember your first Christmas. You were still so little, and you still had the tubes in your ears. We got the Nintendo 64 that year and freaked out. You were too much of a baby to really know but you knew everyone was excited. You even had a stocking –“

No, too much. It was too much, it was a chasm. She could feel her voice breaking and falling away, unable to compete with the dampening snow. The cold that had seemed like a friend to her before only crystallized the moment now, froze everything into place with the discipline of glass. Fucking talk to him. Say his name. Stop being such a damn coward. The tears weren’t stopping anytime soon. It hurt but it felt easy too, simple to slip into with the comfort of long intimacy. It had all happened so quickly: the unloading, the trek from the car, the approach. She realized she had been sheltering the seed of her sorrow even as she whistled Christmas songs, built gingerbread houses, fluttered around the house with an air of determined activity. They had bought and decorated their own tree earlier that week. It had been with her as she held her son up to the branches, watching him affix hooks to spindly offshoots and studying the glow of the lights in his blonde hair. She had told him that the house settling at night was really elves doing reconnaissance, making sure their Christmas selections for him fit him just right.

Just say his name. It’s alright.

Justin had been two, once. Forever ago. Not long enough.

A weariness ratcheted into place inside her and she got to her feet, brushing snow from her body with absentminded interest. She’d have to live with it. She’d keep living with it.

“I picked a balsam fir for you. I don’t know how much of church you remember but that’s where it came from. I remembered balsam was biblical and that was it.”

She began to wind the strings around the tree, settling them with delicacy and thoughtlessness, knowing that the prettiest effects came from the littlest effort. She wanted it to be effortless, just like being with him had been.

“I remembered that it went into chrism. It’s one of those things that made mass smell like mass. It comforts me, you know?”

She couldn’t quite reach the top of the tree. She would wait for him to walk over, and feel bolstered by the reach of his height. Feel secure in the shadow of his simplicity. Through all of this, every bit of it, he’d understood. That, in itself, was its own consecration.

“I told Father Mike about it. I don’t go anymore, I never believed in it and still don’t, but I still find… something. It makes it harder, sometimes, to know – to know what happened to you. To know that it keeps going, but it doesn’t.”

The tears surged again, briefly, at the memory. She was able to continue, even as she heard footsteps in the snow behind her.

“He told me that it symbolizes good works. He also said that it symbolized… that it stood for an innocent life.”

He was at her side, then, and he waited for a moment before wrapping her hands around a plug. They didn’t look at each other, but they didn’t need to. The presence of one another was enough. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky than before, a red streak timed to call for another light source as its rotation came to a close. Everyone needed help, at one time or another. She slid the plugs along her fingers as he reached up and wrapped the last of the lights with a more painstaking air. It was important to him, to be what she needed.

“Ready?”

“Let’s light ‘em up.”

The cords fit together without drama, and the lights flickered on immediately. It took her a couple of minutes to let the connection fall to the ground and trust that it would stay together. They stood together in the glow from the tree, as night crept into the sky above them and the individual spots of brightness gleamed ever stronger. There would be, as there always was, a sense of guilt as they got in the car and drove away. But there would be a sense of relief, too.

“He’d love it. It’s just his size.”

“The littlest one.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”


People would come to the park, through December. Only a few of them knew what the tree stood for, the secret in its needled arms. It was better that way. But some, before Christmas, brought ornaments that came out only for this purpose. They were cradled in hands, hung with care, and left to stand as shining sentries. He wasn’t forgotten. He was loved.

Hands closed on her suddenly, grabbing, pulling, throwing her down onto the snow.

She pressed her back to the bare trunk of the tree, streaks of green and blue and purple blazing overhead, lighting the thin forest more than she would've liked. Her breathing was quick, chest rising and falling rapidly as ice crystals formed in front of her with every exhalation. She could hear her quick, steady pulse in her ears and feel it thumping under her sternum, the exhaustion of running through the snow making her muscles burn. She closed her mouth, nostrils flaring as such sucked in a deep, lung-filling breath through her nose and held it a moment, listening intently for crunching footsteps in the snow.

She nearly fell, her arms pinwheeling through the frigid air, the snow-covered ground seemingly rushing up to meet her before her hands found purchase on the thin truck of a tree. She stood there for a moment, bent over and breathing hard, the cold air burning her lungs with each breath. A sound of movement in the snow somewhere behind her spurred her into action, and she pushed off from the tree. Only able to manage another few quick steps before she needed a break, the burning in her thighs matched only by the stitch that had formed in her side. Supporting herself on the truck of another tree, she ventured a glance back over her shoulder as she worked her way around it.

The snow was hard to run through, deeper than she thought it would be, and the ground hidden under it was slick with a thin sheet of ice. More than once as she ran, she lost her footing, bare hands plunging into the snow, her face inches from the surface. A glance over her shoulder showed him surging through the snow, gaining on her as if he wasn't even slowed by it. The reflection of light off the snow and the contrast with his skin made the scratches she'd left on him visible even in the deep winter night, but she knew her chances of doing more damage were not great if he got ahold of her again. Gritting her teeth, she clawed through the snow, her feet working to find purchase on the ice beneath. Straightening, she started off through the snow again, his curse slicing through the frigid air as he hit the same churned up patch of snow, the deep thud evidence enough of his fall without a look back.

"Fucking bitch!" he yelled, touching his hand to his face and then looking at the beads of blood that clung to his fingertips. His eyes were wide and angry when he looked up, her back already to him as she ran for the field.

She felt her nails rake down the side of his face as he pivoted towards her, skin cells building up under each nail as it cut into his flesh. He hissed from the pain, his hands hard on her chest as they shoved her away. She stumbled, almost regained her balance, then rolled onto her hands and knees and scrambled to her feet. A glance to her right showed Jill running up the road, her breath forming clouds in front of her.

A strangled cry of surprise from Jill startled her, and she half turned to see a man with a hold of her, their silhouettes dancing awkwardly against the white background of the snow beyond. She felt rooted to the frozen ground on the side of the road, like a bad dream where she was robbed of the ability to move, reduced to an involved observer. An awkward jerk back of Andrea's head seemed to snap her out of it, and she ran around the back of the car. She attacked on instinct, bent fingers reaching for his face, nails dully reflecting the oddly colored light overhead.

"God, no... Andrea!"

The light was gorgeous, somehow otherworldly and alien as it swirled overhead. A slight breeze drifted past them, chilling the tips of her ears and bringing up blooms of rose in her cheeks. She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets, leaning her shoulder against the passenger window of the car. A glance over the roof of the car caught Jill in profile, and Andrea couldn't help but reflect the smile she saw on her face. Moments like this, peaceful, beautiful moments made the long journey here worth it.

Of course, as tourists neither of them knew of the number of girls that had disappeared from the area they stopped in. How could they? They didn't speak the language, not anything beyond "bathroom?" and "food?" demanded the use of a translation dictionary. And even if they were fluent, who paid any attention to the news while on vacation? And so, ignorant of the dangers, they closed the doors on their little rental car, and craned their necks up towards the sky.

They climbed out of the car almost in unison, both of them wincing at the cold blast of air that hit them in the face. It was not their first night driving through Scandanavia, far from their first time getting out of the car and stepping into what felt like a freezer the size of a country, but it never seemed to get any easier. Still, a sight like the one they had pulled over for was worth it. This far out from any major cities the light pollution was virtually nonexistant, the stars and the aurora overhead providing almost all of the light they saw.

"Okay, okay, settle down!" Jill said with a laugh, the breaklights casting a red glow across the road behind them. She pulled out of the lane, the tires crunching in the gravel along the side of the road as the car slowed to a stop.

"Stop! Look! Stop, pull over!" Andrea, riding in the passenger seat said as she slapped her open hand on the dashboard quickly. She was leaned forward, her head turned at an awkward angle, peering up at the colors splashed across the sky. They had been hoping to see some of the northern lights on their trip - coming from the southern United States, both of them had only read about them in books or viewed them in pictures - and now here they were, painting the sky overhead, seemingly so close they could reach out and touch them.

It was a holiday trip they had both been looking forward to for months, something planned around the rubble of two failed relationships. The winter darkness of Scandinavia may not appeal to all, but they were a pair that never quite did what was expected. Perhaps that was why they were both now single, a pair of women driving alone through the late night darkness not far from the Arctic Circle.

It was to be the adventure of a lifetime.

You're Perfect

We all face demons
We all wrestle with our fears
We all have scars
both inside and out
but to me, you’re perfect.

Sometimes life isn't fair
Sometimes the breaks don’t fall your way
Sometimes the fallout is
more than you intended
but to me, you’re perfect.

Sometimes you need to be reminded
Sometimes you need to be told
Sometimes it needs to be reinforced
more often than you think it should be
but to me, you’re perfect.

Rebirth can be traumatic.
Rebirth can wipe the slate clean.
Every new fallen snow gives a fresh start.
Every Christmas star starts a cycle anew.

Tomorrow it will be better
Tomorrow it will be OK
Tomorrow will help you see
what you couldn't see today
but to me, you’ll still be perfect.

No. 17


Christmas was less than a week away.

Their house had been a brightly lit shrine to the holiday since the day after Thanksgiving. Penguins danced and played and fell (in the most adorable ways imaginable) in ceramics figurines, placed on shelves and side tables throughout the house. Silver garland was draped across the entertainment center, wrapped with blinking multicolor lights that caused a reflected shimmer with every strobe. The usual wall décor was replaced with Noel banners and depictions of Santa, along with a wide bell-fringed curtain that framed four ornate hung stockings, an array that dominated the back wall of the living room. Nearer to the hallway that led to the kids’ bedrooms, a fabric advent calendar was placed at the perfect height for them to move a cheery little elf one pocket closer to Christmas every morning.

The Christmas tree was a dazzling sight to behold, though it did not conform to any design in theme. Rather, the ornaments were seemingly random – porcelain ballet slippers, a handmade snowman, a rabbit on a sled, a miniature baseball glove, and other oddities: all mixed along with traditional glass orbs. Multicolored lights added to the display of chaos, gleaming steadily against the luster of the garland.

But Kristen wasn’t interested in that tree. No, her attention was firmly elsewhere: through the window, outside, baby blues focused intently on the pine tree in the front yard. Snow fell peacefully in the early dusk of the evening, the sun’s rays reduced to slats as it settled behind mountains in the distance; the girl watched as snowflakes danced into a beam of the dying day, briefly illuminating a golden hue before passing into the obscurity of the tree’s shadow. She didn’t try to chase them as they became lost. Instead, her gaze remained on the highlighted branch of the pine, only passively appreciating the beauty of the snow and light around it.

The nine year old was sitting awkwardly on the couch – or not really sitting, at all. Her knees were on the cushions, arms folded and placed on the back rest. She had been staring out the window for well over an hour… Whenever a vehicle drove past, her attention would shift to it just long enough to confirm that it wasn’t the one for which she was waiting.

“Dinner time!” her mother announced as she stepped out from the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we wait for daddy?” the girl asked without budging from her former position.

“He…might not make it tonight, honey.” The woman forced a smile as she approached her daughter. “Come on, now. He’ll be home soon enough.” Gingerly, she wrapped a hand around Kristen’s shoulder, slowing turning her away from the window.

“Soon enough would’ve been yesterday,” the girl complained. It was Christmas break! Daddy worked all the time and he was supposed to be on vacation, at home with them over the holidays and through the New Year. But, instead… “Why isn’t he home yet?” the girl asked for the hundredth time. She followed the guidance of her mother’s hand and climbed off of the couch, standing and turning to face the woman as she spoke.

“The roads are horrible where he is, sweetie. Dad’s stuck in a storm far away from home and it’d be too dangerous for him to try to get here right now.”

“He’ll make it before Christmas, though, right?” the girl asked, eyes as hopeful as her tone.

“Of course he will.” The mother brushed a strand of golden blonde hair from her daughter’s face and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Now go tell your brother it’s time for dinner. I expect both of you to wash up before you come to the table.”

The girl couldn’t help but glance at the window one more time before doing as she was instructed. She was just certain daddy was going to surprise them and show up any minute.


“No, Keith – you have to come home,” Jessica whispered angrily into the receiver. It was late, and the kids were in bed, but there was no reason to risk them overhearing. “Our daughter has been staring out the window for days, and—“

A voice on the other side of the line cut her off.

“I’ve told you! I’m not telling the children – not by myself. You’re the one who’s leaving, at the very least you need to man up and…” her voice was trembling with rage. In truth, it was a defense mechanism against the pain: a paralyzing sorrow that threatened to rip her apart inside. She felt a stinging in her eyes. “It isn’t fair,” she remarked suddenly. “Keith, please…” She allowed the request to trail off, not entirely certain of what it was she wanted. For him to not leave? Yeah, there was that. She knew he wasn’t going to stay, though, and she wasn’t going to degrade herself in begging any further. It couldn’t be about her right now, or them. While she struggled to fully accept the reality that their thirteen years of marriage was coming to an abrupt end, all that mattered right now was getting him to share the burden of explaining the situation to their children. For him to still be involved in their Christmas, for him to make sure they understood that he’d always love them, even if he didn’t love her.

He didn’t want to hear her cry. So he hung up at the first sniffle.

At the sound of a dial tone, Jessica felt her knees go weak. She leaned against the wall for support, but all that did was to help her slow her descent to the floor. The corded receiver of the wall mounted telephone followed and continued to taunt her with its shrill note of emptiness. That is, until several long moments later, the noise suddenly shifted to an unpleasant incessant beeping. Somehow it was just enough to spur her climb back to her feet.

Wipe those tears, she told herself sternly. You need to be strong for your son and daughter.


“It’s not even bad out,” Kristen contested the following morning. She stood outside, little purple boots planted firmly in the less than impressive foot of snow. “How far from home do you think he could be?”

Her elder brother, Mitch, watched her from his position on the swing. He wasn’t utilizing the play set to its full potential, rather sitting and allowing his feet to dangle lifelessly. He was two years older than Kristen and a hell of a lot more aware. Mitch understood that none of this had anything to do with the weather or whatever road conditions might separate them from their father. “Could be pretty far,” he responded flatly.

“I bet we could get to him, if we tried.”

Mitch shook his head definitively. “It’s best for us to stay here. Dad’s a professional driver… He could make it home if he wanted to. …You know how mom drives, we’d end up freezing in a ditch somewhere…”

Kristen attached to the slip. “If he could make it home… Why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know, Kristen,” he admitted.

She pouted. Her gaze diverted to the ground for a moment. She kicked at a wind-swept mound of snow. A passing car drew her attention, but again, she found only disappointment when she looked.

If he could be home, he would be home, the girl assured herself silently.


When it grew dark outside an entirely new glow sprang to life. The mother had painstaking hung lights from every gutter of the house, wrapped the railings of the porch, and lined the front face of the fence with a dazzling combination of blue and white. The effect as it reflected off of the stark brilliance of the snow was breathtaking.

The lights hadn’t been on for more than fifteen minutes. It was getting too dark to see much outside, or at least much beyond the illumination of their yard. Headlights were quickly becoming all Kristen really saw of any vehicle; she couldn’t even be sure of their body colors as they drove past, anymore.

“Honey,” Jessica spoke tenderly from behind her. Kristen turned from her now usual spot on the couch. From the expression on her mother’s face the little girl could only assume the worst: that something had happened to daddy. He wasn’t coming home, because he had tried, and he had gotten into an accident – the girl felt a stab of guilt at having insisted that he should risk his safety in order to get home to them. She began to cry.

The truth didn’t make it any better. Less easy to accept, even.

He was choosing to not be home.

Kristen stopped sobbing as her mother finished explaining the situation to her and Mitch. While she was chastised for responding by calling her father a very bad name – as Jessica had determined to not defame the man in front of the kids (or allow them say such horrible things, themselves) – the girl’s prospective didn’t change over the course of the rest of her life.


Twenty years later.

In spite of childhood events, Kristen enjoyed Christmas. Every year, she hung enough lights and décor to compete with the displays she had witnessed from her mother. And she truly found solace in it. The sight of Christmas lights and Santa made her entirely too gleeful (perhaps a developed coping mechanism from her youth that eventually became sincere – she didn’t really care to delve too deeply into that one).

Mitch, meanwhile, always found the season with a thinly veiled sorrow. He wouldn’t admit that the sight of Christmas lights made his stomach turn, made him feel sick and alone and hollow. He’d endure the spirit of his mother and sister, but… Gods, he hated it. All of it. It was cold, and shitty, and everywhere played horrible music. Some retailers even had the audacity to put out their gross displays out and up before Thanksgiving. As if a whole month of suffering wasn’t enough…

Neither of the two had fixed the broken bond with their father but as adults they had resolved to at least stay in contact. A couple of times a year they’d call, maybe even meet up for coffee. Most of the time this translated to their father giving them a bi-annual update on his other family. He’d prattle on about the step kids, and their kids, and… Mitch and/or Kristen would grin and bear it.

And so Kristen was surprised at her own naiveté: how could she have let herself be blindsided? Or set herself up, no less?

She was twenty-nine years old, married for eight years, trying to conceive over the last four. She’d thought a pre-Christmas meeting with her father would be the perfect time to give him the recent happy news. It’d be his first grandchild, by blood; Mitch had no interest in settling down, much less in ‘spawning minions’, and their father hadn’t had any more children with his new wife. (Though they’d been married nineteen years, the woman would always be the new wife.)

“I’m pregnant!” Kristen announced.

The man seemed a little caught off guard. “Oh, well!” He smiled sincerely. “Congratulations!” After a moment’s consideration he continued. “What’ll that be…my eighth grandchild?”

To her credit, Kristen didn’t show what a blow it had been.

…It killed her, though.

Afterwards, she couldn’t help but feel guilty at her natural response. She wanted to be special, yes. She had always secretly wanted to go back to being daddy’s little girl, even as she’d pushed him to an immeasurable emotional length since that fateful night twenty years ago. Even more, she wanted her child to be special to him. More precious than the all the others, because he or she would be of his blood. But. She had also been the person who’d criticized her so-called grandmother, who had failed to embrace or love the existing children of her widower husband. The animosity even extended to their children - her “grandchildren” - which is how Kristen knew of that particular sting.

“It is fucked up?” she asked Mitch on the phone later that evening. “That I still let it hurt me? Shouldn’t I just be happy for him? I mean, he should consider them family, right?”

“I don’t know, Kristen.” He was silent for several moments. “But I’m sorry, in any case.”

Secret Santa

She stood quietly at the window, absently watching as the ocean waves crashed and tumbled repeatedly upon the shore. The usual gentle hushed lapping of water upon sand that could so often be counted upon to lull would-be dreamers to sleep, had been replaced by the dull roar of a churning winter sea.

Sleep was hard to come by tonight - so it seemed for her at least. Sarah could not help the wry smile that came to her lips with that last thought. Turning her gaze from the window, she glanced briefly to the place where her husband lay in bed sound asleep. Quite unlike her, he had fallen asleep almost the instant his head had touch the pillow. His exhaustion due in no small part to his overzealous exertions only hours earlier. The corners of her mouth curved higher still as she remembered how she had almost died with laughter when he came into the room dressed all in red from head to toe. She had squealed in delight when he had nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck to kiss her, his thick curling fake white beard tickling her skin. She had almost swooned as he gathered her up and spun her about the room dancing, and would have lost her balance had it not been for the strength of his arms around her. Yes ... his jolly old soul had enjoyed quite a merry time indeed.

In spite of the fact that her mother in law had expected her to act as secondary hostess with more than a fair share of primary functions - something she had more than grown accustomed to over the years - Sarah had enjoyed the night as well. A Christmas in the Donnelly household was nothing to scoff at, surely. Naturally large families boasted of large feasts; but the annual Donnelly Christmas party was very nearly a festival in its own right. Far less things were filled with as many certainties as this event. It was always held five days before Christmas. Always attended by every member of the Donnelly clan, as well as its extended branches. Every neighbour for miles within the coastal New England town could count on an invite. Most importantly one was always guaranteed a warm welcome and certain to feel at home for food, drink and merriment were never in short supply. As involved and as hectic as the preparations were themselves guaranteed to be, it was always worth it in the end.

However, unlike her slumbering husband, the excitement of the preparations and the party itself had not made her weary. Instead a restlessness seemed to fill her. Suddenly tired of staring out the window, she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders before quietly making her way to the door and slipping easily from the room. She had no set destination in mind as she gingerly padded her way down the stairs, her feet guiding her every step with a mind of their own.

It wasn't long before she found herself standing in the middle of the kitchen, the faint rumbling of her stomach serving to dispell any confusion as to why she has arrived there of all places. Doing her best to keep quiet, lest she wake anyone else, she set about making herself some hot chocolate.

She had been sitting quietly on her own for some time, before someone joined her. She watched silently as the figure moved quietly into the room. At first she was unsure if who it could be, aside from the fact that it was a man - made obvious by the individual's build. As she continued her silent observation the figure clad all in black cotton became more familiar to her. Even before his hand stretched forward to open the refrigerator door, before that bright interior light spilled out onto his rust coloured hair where it sat rumpled atop his head as he bent to examine the contents of the fridge, she knew him.

"I wondered how long it would be before you came skulking about in search if treats." She teased.

Her voice though soft, seemed almost thunderous in the silence of the nigh. Unexpected as it was to him, she watched as he jumped in surprise.

"JE -sus!!!" He exclaimed, his voice dropping mid cry as though some part of him remembered that the while house was asleep.

When he turned he found her half bathed in moonlight and half drenched in shadow as she sat at the table in the corner.

"You scared the hell out of me!" He whispered accusingly, though there was laughter in his time. "What are you doing down here?"

"Same as you" she replied with a shrug of her shoulder, before nodding at the mug clasped in her hands. "Couldn't sleep, so I thought some hot chocolate might help."

He chuckled at that, before saying teasingly "Your go to cure, huh?"

"It works..." She said matter of factory, her eyes sparkling playfully in the darkness between them. "There's still some on the stovetop if you want any." She offered, knowing full well that he would never... could never refuse.

Mug in hand, he sat down across from her, sighing deeply after his first sip of the warm smooth liquid. For a moment silence stretched between them, but was quickly broken when he asked, "Jack still asleep?"

"Mmhmmm..." She answered. "Snoring and everything."

"Lucky bastard."

She chuckled at that, "I don't know if he'll feel all that lucky in the morning. I'm pretty sure he pulled something with all that jumping about he was doing."

Shaking her head yet again at the thought of her husbands earlier antics, she went to take a sip of her drink. A sudden thought crossed her mind causing her to lower the mug and look over at him once more.

"That reminds me... Exactly how is it that you guys convinced him to be Santa, yet again?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in mock suspicion. "It wasn't his turn. Did you all draw straws, make him pick first and then trick him into thinking his was the shortest, when they were really all the same length, again?" she asked, stifling a laugh as the memory of their childhood pranks came to life once more if only for the briefest of moments.

"That was one time!" He protested. "Besides..." He continued with a boyish shrug, "what does it matter, he enjoys it and he's too good at it for his own damn good."

Sarah smiled at that and thought of the way her husband made everyone light up with his impersonation of St.Nick. There was no denying that it was true. Wrapped up in the thought, her smile widened as she said, "The kids really do seem to light up all the more when he's handing out presents."

"That they do .." He whispered.

She realized then that he was staring at her. Looking at him quizzically, she was about to ask him what was wrong, when he spoke again.

"Speaking of presents..." He said pausing a little as he pulled something from his pocket. "Looks like there's one still to be handed out."


He kept his eyes locked on hers as he spoke while setting the small box down in the middle of the table between them. Breaking her gaze on a trembling breath, Sarah looked down in wonder at the small offering. She knew for a fact that there were no more gifts to handed out - not this night anyway - having been the one to pack Santa's bag forie the party.

No ... this was a present from him. A present from him to her.

Stretching out her hand she let her fingers delicately trace the edges of the box. Her eyes took in every curve and fold of the gold paper, every loop of shimmering red ribbon. Every inch had been wrapped with painstaking care. In that moment, much like every other that passes between them in quiet private moments like this one, Sarah knew how much she was loved by him. She knew all over again the patient tender care he would always have whenever it came to her. In that moment, she fell in love with him again.

"Well?" He asked, reaching out with his hand to cup the back of hers where she still lovingly stroked the box. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Rendered speechless by the warmth of his touch, her grey eyes danced with girlish happiness as she blushed while shaking her head from side to side, causing her raven curls to bounce about. She allowed herself the stolen pleasure of lacing her fingers with his, still awes by the fact that he could still find ways of surprising her.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah." He whispered tenderly, before lifting her fingers to his mouth and lightly brushing his lips across them.

She longed to give herself over to the moment, but it ended almost as soon as it began. The sound of approaching footsteps forced them apart, and has her hastily tucking his gift away in the folds of her shawl.

"I thought I heard voices." Her mother in law intoned from the doorway, most exasperated. "Why are the two of you up?"

"Just getting some hot chocolate, mom." He answered, no doubt sounding a bit like the little boy he once was years ago.

"Mine has actually gone cold..." She confessed, before easing out of her seat. "I think I'll head back up to bed now."

"Thanks for the gift ..." She tossed the words casually over her shoulder, before stopping mid stride to kiss her mother-in-laws cheek. Then seemed to continue her sentence. "Of your company."

Upstairs, back in bed next to her sleeping husband, she turned the box over again in her hand before clutching it to her chest as she snuggled down into bed. She wouldn't open it tonight. She would open it another time when she was alone... When she was alone with only thoughts of him.

Piece in progress - reserving this spot. Apologies for the delay!

Reserved, because it turns out you can't telepathically upload to Google Drive.

Number 22

I woke up with a combination of gut-wrenching dread and hopeful purpose clutching at my queasy stomach. Today was the day. After making the boastful, tequila fueled resolution almost twelve months earlier that this would be the year to finally make peace between my brother and myself, today was the day... Maybe.... if I could screw up the courage, the nerve, the... whatever it was that would fuel my feet to walk the expanse of the well manicured greens and deliver me to stand before my sibling, the one I was probably the most alike, but the one I had not spoken to for over twelve years.

Pushing myself out of bed, my eyebrows furrowed at the strange stillness of the house. It wasn't like our house to be this quiet on a Saturday morning. At the very least, there should be sounds of grumbling coming from the youngest over not wanting to clean his room or the frantic calling from the oldest as she searched for her ballet slippers or leg warmers, but the house was silent... almost breathless as if it too knew the importance of today. Walking to the bedroom door, I pulled it open and stuck my head out to listen for sounds from my normally boisterous family. Nothing. Just the sound of my heart throbbing painfully loud in my ears as my anxiety level grew. Today was the day.

A brightness caught my eye from the large window in the foyer, and I looked out to see a blanket of white covering the grass in front of the house. Wow, guess the forecast wasn't wrong after all. They had been calling for snow all week, but had been woefully wrong the three other times so I hadn't actually put much credence in the prediction. For a moment, I thought about using this an excuse to put off my trip because everyone knew how crazy the drivers were around here with just a hint of precipitation, let alone actual accumulation, but I had made promises... and it really was up to me to make the first move.

I readied myself for my errand like a teenager heading into exam week. My feet dragged, and I tried to use any excuse to delay the inevitable... even going so far as to start to organize my sock drawer. Enough, chicken... Christmas is just around the corner, and Mom needs to know that you've visited Danny. My stomach knotted up, but I wasn't sure if it was the thought of what I needed to or the realization that Mom's cancer treatments weren't going as well as everyone had hoped.

Trudging downstairs with a heavy heart, I saw a note from my husband on the counter. Picking it up with one hand as I brushed my long brown hair out of my eyes with the other, I saw that he taken the kids to the neighbor's house to help clear off her driveway so that I could take off without them wanting to tag along. He knew how hard this was going to be and how much I was dreading it. I didn't want the kids to see the emotional scene that would likely happen, although they were aware of the gulf between Danny and I... and had been since they were old enough to start learning names of their various uncles.

Pulling on my jacket and wrapping a cheery red scarf around my neck for courage, I grabbed my purse and the poinsettia that I had picked up earlier in the week as a peace offering and walked outside before I could come up with another excuse. The driveway and car were nicely cleared, so all I had to do was slip into the car and start it up. Taking a deep breath, I backed the car out of the driveway, waved to my family who were working on clearing the driveway next door and proceeded down the street.

In some respect, the snow made things easier. Instead of obsessing about what I'd say or do when I got there, I had to focus on my driving as not all of the streets had been plowed or treated. However, before I knew it, I was pulling into the parking lot and looking at the path that would take me to Danny. I hadn't actually visited him since he had moved here, although there had been times that I had wanted to do so desperately. Actually, none of us had initially... save my parents who had the patience and forgiveness of saints, although what did you expect from a couple who had raised five kids. But after all this time, I was the only one who hadn't seen him, hadn't talked to him, hadn't given him my forgiveness if that's what you could call it.

Parking the car, I sat there white knuckled as I tried to prepare myself. My heart started beating like I had just finished a ten miler and I could actually feel a cold sweat breaking out along my hair line. I'm not ready... So not ready for this! It took everything I had not to throw the car into reverse and fishtail my way out of there, but somehow I managed not to... barely. Turning the car off, I grabbed my purse and the poinsettia from the passenger seat and stepped out into crisp air.

I made it twenty determined steps forward before I spun around in a panic to head back to my car, thinking there was no way I'd be able to handle the situation...not now... maybe never. There had been too much that had been left unsaid after all this time... too much that had changed. Teeth clenched in an attempt to keep my emotions contained, I made it ten paces towards my car before my shoulders slumped and I pivoted in the opposite direction once more.

I lost track of the number of times I did this back and forth movement, never making way fully to the path nor actually back to the car. At one point I got so frustrated with my inability to decide on what to do that I threw the poinsettia down like some fool football player after a dance into the end zone and watched as it fell apart. Hands clenched at my sides, I had to take huge quivering breaths to keep from following suit.

Head bowed, I didn't see the couple walking towards me until they were practically on top of me. Eyes bright with unshed tears, I forced a smile to my lips and a quivery "Merry Christmas" to the white haired man and woman who looked old enough to be my grandparents who were picking their way carefully through the snow. They smiled and returned the greeting as I turned to the side to let them by. Right as they were passing, the woman turned to me and patted my arm. Her eyes were full of knowing sadness, but her voice crackled with kind encouragement as she urged, "You can do it, dear-" and with a pointed look at the plant laying in pieces beside me, she continued, "-and it looks like you need to."

Nodding my head, unable to speak, I watched as they tottered their way to their car and waited until they were safely ensconced before turning my attention to the poor poinsettia smashed to pieces on the ground. Sighing, I squatted down and tried to see what I could salvage, but the only thing go that didn't seem to be permanently busted were a trio of ornaments that had been hanging from the poor plant. How they had survived my temper tantrum I wasn't sure, but I carefully picked up the red and silver balls before stuffing them in my pockets.

Taking a deep breath, I began walking once more, childhood visions dancing through my brain. Family vacations to the beach... snowball fights... camping trips... piling into the back of the station wagon to go see fireworks... even the neighborhood rumbles when it was my brothers and I against everything else because I might fight with my brothers, but no one, and I meant no one, picked on one of us without having to deal with all five of us.

Even though I had never been there, I had heard the directions from my parents so often that my subconscious carried me to his doorstep before I realized what I was doing. And then.... there he was... face to face for the first time in twelve years, and I had no idea what to say. I looked at him, and then had to look away while struggling to find my voice. No one else seemed to be around, and for that I was grateful. Some women were beautiful when they cried... I was not so fortunate. My nose would get bright red and my face would get all splotchy, and from the way tears were starting to stream down my cheeks, this was going to be a doozy.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I sank to my knees, uncaring of the way the wet snow instantly began seeping through the thick denim, and hugged the gravestone, wishing with all my heart that it was my brother that I was actually holding instead of the impersonal grey marble that had his name on it. "I miss you, little brother" was the only thing I force out, but knew it was enough... for now.

After a long time and more prayers than I can recall, I reluctantly stood up and patted the headstone. With a last look, I started to turn away, shoving my hands in my pockets. Realizing I held the remnants of the peace offering, I pulled them out and looked around. My parents had brought a small potted evergreen that they had placed behind the marble block, and it seemed appropriate to hang the ornaments from its snow covered limbs.

"I'll be back, Danny... and maybe next time I'll bring the kids. They've heard of the infamous Dennis the Menace for years now. I think it's time that they come here too."