“Come on, darling, keep up.”

The boy glanced up at her. She was smiling, but he could see a spark of urgency in her eyes. They had to get there on time. He gave a nod, trying to make his footsteps more purposeful as he raised each boot high above the snow.

He had been admiring the tracks he was leaving, deep holes in the snow, imprinted with squiggles and triangles of definite proportions. Now he marched alongside her, keeping up with her purposeful strides.

He snatched a glance around him every so often, taking in the reindeer hanging over the intersection, crossing Delaney Avenue with a flying bound, staring at the brightly dressed gingerbread people in the window of Bradshaw's bakery, looking up at the wreaths hung on the lamp posts. Every now and then he'd look at her. She had a kind of energy in her steps that seemed unusual. A brightness. Once in a while, she'd look at him, they'd catch each other's eye, and she'd send him that small smile.

It wasn't a secret, where they were going. Dad knew about it and her name was on the list up at the church that they passed every Sunday. But somehow when she caught his eye, he'd feel like there was something that they both knew and they weren't going to tell.

They'd been coming a few weeks now, Tuesdays after school. She would meet him and they would walk downtown to the church instead of straight back to the house. It seemed to stretch out far into the past, this normal routine, but he could vaguely remember that they hadn't been going when Halloween had passed through, also incidentally on a Tuesday.

He might've grumbled once at the beginning, when he was first assigned that bench in the back to sit and wait. He couldn't quite remember. That seemed long in the past, and sinking into the smooth and shiny bench, swinging his feet as he looked through his school books or lined his toy soldiers up for battle along the edges of the seat, were a normal part of his week. He would imagine himself leading whole squadrons across enemy lines, or taking a group on a wagon train across the country to some unclaimed land (because the toy soldiers didn't always have to be in a war), and he would listen to the aged piano and the voices fill the big empty space in the church, and it was the nicest time.

The secret that they both knew concerned that time in the church, after they arrived and shook the snow off their boots, after Mrs. Watson called out (because she was always first to notice anyone in a room), “Ah, there's Susan now, and hello there, Gray!” and Mr. Leonard called the singers to their places. It was over by the time they pulled on their coats and scarves, bracing for the walk home, his mother mentioning dinner and him thinking about this week's Bonanza.

Every week, between those things, while he'd plan safaris and military occupations of the high lands above the cross etched into the back of the bench, some kind of change would come over his mother. He wasn't sure what to call it, but there was something different about her face, when he'd glance up to the front of the room and see her holding her hymnal, watching Mr. Leonard for cues and joining in the soaring and dipping harmonies. She was different than she ever was at home, ironing pants and shirts, squinting over grocery lists, picking up cigarettes, watching out the window. She never stopped moving, through the whole week, but it was like something really started when she stood up with the other altos and stretched her voice to the ceiling. This person, standing up there singing, was different, and sometimes he wondered if she was really his mother, because she seemed so different she might fly away out the door, off to some far away place just like the notes she sang, floating up to the ceiling and away into the evening.

She might forget she had a son. This thought rarely worried him, though. She always remembered in the end, pressing a kiss to his forehead, thanking him for his patience, smiling at her colleagues as they promised to see them next week and wrapping that yellow scarf around her neck. And the singer with the strength to float away was gone, and Mom was ready to put on the potatoes and finish the hemming. She would take his hand on the way out the door, squeeze it in hers, and the secret would flash through his mind once more before he began swinging his lunch box, matching her quick strides once more. The darkness was always sneaking up on them, and they admired the lights, but they looked straight ahead as they walked towards home. He liked the walk there much better.

 

 

The singing had stopped.

He blinked, squinting his eyes at the bright white blankness ahead. No sound but the faint whistle of the wind across the flat land and the muffled steps as he slowly moved forward.

He hadn't welcomed the voices earlier. He had panicked, wondering how long before he'd start to see the ghosts, start to lose feeling in his limbs, and lose track of everything in his mind. But he had kept going, and after a while they had been soothing.

He took a slow, blistering breath. He had known before, how lonely the snow could be. He'd been through a storm or two, and the bitter cold winters without heat and light that'd plagued them after the September attacks. He'd known, too, about the tricks the cold and blinding snow could start to play on your mind. He hadn't known how real they would seem, taunting, dancing so close to you, impossibly near in the powdery quiet world.

Then gone, so suddenly, in a moment of weakness; a stumble and he'd readjusted his boot. Hitching his scarf up around his face, he dared to take another deep breath. Carefully, he fumbled for the compass and peered down at it. He was going in the right direction still, that much he could tell. The voices wouldn't lure him away, no matter what. He trudged forward.

As the wind whistled mournfully, he strained to hear again.

 

 

 

“Coffee?”

Robert Hawkins turned. “What are we calling coffee these days?”

“That powdered stuff they got in at the store,” shrugged Jimmy Taylor, unscrewing the thermos. “It's not bad, and it's hot.”

“I'll risk it then,” said Robert with a shrug of his own. “Thanks,” he said as Jimmy poured him some. He poured his own and raised his thermos lid cup. “To your first Christmas back in town.”

“It's the twenty-third,” said Robert, but he dutifully raised his cup and gave a small nod.

“Well, to getting patrol duty today instead of tomorrow,” added Jimmy with a chuckle, hoisting his mug once more before taking a deep inhale of its contents.

Robert chuckled before sipping his own drink. The heat was a pleasant contrast with the cold air he'd been breathing.

“Kids are pretty excited,” said Jimmy, leaning back in his seat. “They've been packing a whole survival kit just for going to get the tree. You know, with maps and rations and stuff. I told them they can't count on the weather just yet, but they're still really psyched.” He chuckled again. “Almost as much as Bill. He's been talking about dinner all week. I guess after last year, he's looking forward to being anywhere he doesn't have to ventilate and dig himself out of.” Jimmy sighed, but then his eyes widened and he glanced towards his colleague. “Sorry, man. That was a really insensitive...I know there are a lot of worse places to be than snowed into a border shelter.”

Robert glanced across the landscape for a moment. Jimmy was right, there were, but he couldn't know how easy it could become, to push those places away and keep them distanced, waiting across that frozen flat field. He looked over at Jimmy and offered him an easy smile. “It's alright. I hear Bill and Monty both had frostbite.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn't mention it, or Bill will try to show you his toe,” said Jimmy, shaking his head with a look of wise experience. He paused to sip his drink, looking out at the road ahead of them. “So, you looking forward to it?”

“To seeing Bill's toe?” asked Robert.

“No, I mean being home for Christmas,” said Jimmy. “I mean, I guess you'll be at our place, technically.”

Robert chuckled again, only momentarily allowing himself to be thrown by Jimmy's word choice. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said.

“This'll be your what, third Christmas here?” asked Jimmy. “It should be good, I hope. It's too bad you never got to see it before everything. It used to be really nice, with Main Street all decorated, and there was a Christmas party at town hall, and a nativity play at the church. My favourite time of year here,” he added. He smiled then, with just a hint of a self-conscious shrug. “Still is pretty nice, if we're not all freezing and starving.”

“Yeah,” said Robert. He was staring at the road, scanning as they routinely did as part of this most routine of sheriff's department tasks, but he was also allowing those faraway scenes to flicker to life for a moment.

Third Christmas here. The second was a jumble of feelings and impressions in his memory, happy enough not to have been filed away in a careful timeline and point-by-point analysis. The first had been the strangest. His household had been so secret and self-enclosed back then, filled with individual pockets of self-enclosure, reflecting inward. They'd each moved around its hallways and rooms, glancing over shoulders and around corners. Darcy, becoming less suspicious and more protective of her expressions and observations with each new intrusion into her world, drawing herself up and casting her certain and secret knowledge over few others. Sarah had been hiding and recovering from wounds, wildly creeping and infiltrating the structures of their house. His daughter had been his best ally, but she'd been building a secret world of her own too, stockpiling its defences. And Sam was the most surprising, expecting holidays, football games, and birthday cards, in this strange place. Thoughts about Christmas had been far from his own mind, with the weighty decisions that occupied it at all hours.

“I don't know if we'll have much more to eat this year, but kids've promised they'll get the best tree ever,” said Jimmy. “I don't know, though. Last year, Allison really got a beauty. Somehow she got it home all in one piece, no damage or anything. Pretty strong girl you've got.”

“Yeah, she is,” said Robert, a small smile on his face.

“We didn't have lights or tinsel or even that popcorn string they like to make, but it sure looked nice when they put it up,” said Jimmy. He grimaced. “Sorry, man. I don't mean to keep bringing it up.”

Robert chuckled. “Jimmy. I'll be happy to be there.” At his friend's still-worried expression, he raised his mug again, giving him a nod and taking a sip. “Look at it, out there,” he mused, pointing at the grey-white horizon. “You'd never know there was ever anything else, would you?”

 

 

 

“We've gotta ho-old on to what we've got,” came Cheryl's voice from the passenger's seat. Jimmy glanced sideways. She was bobbing her head, as she had been throughout the song, getting more intense as the song built to the chorus again. He glanced in the rear view mirror just in time to catch one of Diane's famous eye rolls. He chuckled, reaching for the dial.

“You're turning it up?” came Diane's protest from the back, but he chuckled again. Having the privilege of controlling the radio was relatively new to him, and they were still adjusting to it too. He glanced in the mirror again and caught her eye, a look passing quickly between them. He glanced towards Cheryl and joined her on “we'll give it a shot!”

As he had anticipated, he could hear Diane joining them as the chorus went into full swing. Emboldened by each other's loudness, all three belted along as the car made its way through the darkness, giving up all restraint on each “Whoa-oh!” He kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, but bobbed his head along with Cheryl and he could feel Diane drumming on the seats from the back.

As the song finished, a temporary silence fell over them, one of the first since they had first piled Cheryl's bags into the trunk. Soon enough though, Cheryl launched into another story about her apartment, this one about the haunted sort of way the shower had of turning on for brief intervals in the middle of the night. Jimmy nodded periodically, keeping a careful watch on the road, smiling as he took a left turn towards a familiar view. “Look, see the lights up ahead!” he said, pointing out the window. “Aren't you glad we were late now? Now you get to see the town all lit up, first thing when you get back.”

“Joy to the world,” said Cheryl.

He kept smiling as he had throughout the drive and through at least three standoffs between Cheryl and Diane. “Come on, you always loved the lights,” he said. “How about the tree? Do you want to stop and see the tree?”

“Cheryl doesn't need to see the tree. They probably have a huge tree in Wichita,” piped up Diane.

“Can it, shrimp,” said Cheryl, in the bored tone she had long ago perfected, that he had almost forgotten in the three months she'd been gone. “Fine, Jimminy. We can go look at the tree. Fulfill all your Christmas wishes.”

Jimmy smirked. “Does this mean we'll be calling you the Christmas fairy from now on?”

“Excuse me, I think we're the ones fulfilling your Christmas wishes,” piped up Diane. “Unless your wish was to hitchhike home from the bus stop in some farmer's truck, with your presents stuck in with the chickens and pigs.”

“Who says I brought you presents?” asked Cheryl. “Oh Jimmy, wanna park on Logan?”

Jimmy turned onto the side street and pulled the car into a space. His sisters scrambled out of either side and for a moment, he breathed in the quiet before getting out of the car. A dusting of snow had fallen earlier in the day, and the lights reflected through it, soft and twinkly. As they turned the corner and walked onto Main Street, Cheryl was smiling, losing her cool demeanour at least momentarily before getting back into something with Diane, who was walking ahead of her.

“You should especially be nice to Jimmy. Steven isn't even coming for Christmas, because he couldn't afford a ticket home,” she was saying.

“I guess that's a risk he took when he moved three states away,” shrugged Cheryl. “Whoa, look at that gingerbread house.” She was pointing at the window of the drugstore. “That's almost as bad as the ones we used to make.”

Jimmy chuckled as he peered in to look.

“What do you mean? Ours were works of art,” proclaimed Diane, flashing them a goofy grin, but pressing her own mittened hand against the window as she leaned in to get a better look. “It is a little bit of a fixer upper I guess.”

“I don't know, I think it kind of looks like Grandma's house, from that side,” suggested Jimmy, turning his head. “You know, after the damage from all the times we played ball in the yard.”

“Looks like it'd taste good, though,” said Cheryl. “Come on,” she linked her arm through Diane's and kept walking.

Jimmy followed, shaking his head in bemusement.

As they approached the end of the street, they could hear the tinny sound of a recorded Christmas song playing from the market. Jimmy had already visited Main Street several times since it had been decorated for the season, but he tried to imagine how it might look if he were seeing it for the first time. It was a difficult thing to imagine, being away, breaking out of the same routines they'd followed since they were young. Everything looked the same right now. But would that be the same, if you left it behind? The town suddenly seemed small even though most of the year, everything from the homecoming football game to a night by the river with his friends, to tense conversation over dinner or a slow day washing cars seemed monumental.

The tree was still impressive though. They had turned on to Spruce Lane and gone past the hardware store and the dentist's office. There was the tree, simply decorated with lights and one star, reaching higher than them but certainly no taller than anything else around here. Still, the three of them stood for a moment, looking up at it.

“It's a nice tree,” said Cheryl, sending him a soft smile. “Good idea, Jimminy.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, mirroring her, putting his hands in his pocket. They stood in silence for a moment or two longer. He didn't want to break the spell of quiet, but finally he realized he should speak. “We should probably head home. Mom's making a welcome dinner,” he said.

“It's a whole production,” said Diane. “There are cloth napkins.”

“Why? I thought that fancy stuff isn't supposed to start 'til the twenty-fourth,” said Cheryl.

“She's trying to make it all nice for when we're there, before we have to go to Rogue River I guess,” said Jimmy, trying to keep his tone casual but pointed.

“They're her relatives,” said Cheryl, though he could see the realization grudgingly settling on her face. “But since we're there Christmas eve, it's her only time with just us,” she muttered.

He nodded. “She's really excited. She's trying hard.” He could hear Cheryl sigh, but he didn't look at her.

“One day, I'm going to have my own family,” said Diane, from his other side.

“What are we, chopped liver?” asked Jimmy, sending her a teasing grin.

“No, you know,” said Diane. “My own husband and kids, and I will get to decide all the family Christmas arrangements. It'll be much less busy.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked Jimmy.

“Just be in one place the whole time, and people can do whatever they feel like,” said Diane, with a nod of certainty.

“What about us, shrimp?” asked Cheryl.

“Oh, you can visit,” said Diane. “But don't get upset, there won't be any cloth napkins.”

“I'm sure it'll be great,” said Jimmy. They stood in silence for a moment. The tree seemed smaller, but it was still beautiful.

“Should we go?” asked Cheryl. Three months before, she would've just ordered them to. Jimmy glanced at Diane, who grinned at him. “Lead us onward, driver!” she declared.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jimmy and his siblings sing along to Bon Jovi's “Livin' on a Prayer,” which came out at the end of 1986.

“I'll Be Home for Christmas,” the classic song by Kim Cannon, Walter Kent and Buck Ram and originally released by Bing Cosby in 1943, contains the line “It's a long road back,” providing inspiration for this story's title. 

 

 

Inside the farmhouse, the whistling winds were drowned out somewhat by the crackling fire and the sporadic talking of the people sitting in various positions on the couch and chairs. An ever-present sound of clicking knitting needles kept a steady low rhythm below everything else.

“Dammit.”

Mimi looked over at Jake. “Watch it.”

Jake glanced around. “I think they're both asleep.”

Mimi shook her head. “No, you're miscounting and it's throwing that whole row off.”

Jake sighed and held out the tangle of yarn like it was a small-pox-infected blanket. “Well, I gave it a try. Who wants to finish it?”

“Does it count as completing the dare if he only did two rows?” asked Eric.

Jake scowled. “Come on Eric, I'll trade you?”

Eric chuckled. “You can have Johnny but I already finished my socks, I'm not doing any more.” He stood carefully, balancing the baby in his arm.

“You guys seriously all did this, when I was away?” Jake asked.

Mary nodded. “Sometimes, if Mimi could handle dealing with the gaps in skill level.”

“We've got a holiday to get ready for,” said Mimi, and everyone around the room nodded with an unconcerned acknowledgement of this familiar reminder.

“I must've at least done better than Stanley,” said Jake, though everyone avoided his eyes as he looked around. He shook his head, taking his nephew in his arms as Eric passed him over. “Jeez, can you imagine being able to sleep like this?” he asked.

Heather grinned, leaning down from her perch on the arm of the chair to peer at the sleeping boy. “He's used to strangers walking around under his bedroom, right?” she said.

From the other side of the coffee table, Gail laughed. “True, but it also reminds me of Eric. When he was little, you could shoot off fireworks outside his bedroom and he wouldn't wake up.”

Mimi laughed, though glanced as if by reflex over at the playpen where her own son slept. “Clark takes after Stanley too. They both fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. I can't imagine. And in all this quiet.”

Jake gave a knowing nod, but Gail glanced towards the window. “I don't know. Seems like it'll be another windy one. I hope those guys out on patrol don't freeze.”

Eric shivered. “That'll be us tomorrow. Christmas Eve shift.”

“The few and proud,” said Heather with a chuckle.

“Someone's gotta do it,” said Jake with a swaggering head tilt.

“Speaking of, someone's gotta put another log on the fire,” said Mimi.

“I'm on it,” said Eric, standing again and going over to the fireplace. “This is the last,” he said, pushing aside the screen and briefly looking into the orange flames. “We should go out and grab some more so you'll have enough for the night.”

Mimi waved a hand while still grasping her needles. “Later. Stay in the warm for now.” She paused as Eric sat back down on the couch. “You guys should just stay,” she said.

“We are,” said Mary, leaning towards Mimi and holding out the knitting she had been working on. “What am I doing wrong?”

Mimi squinted down at it. “What? I think you keep adding extras. No, I mean you should just stay here. You don't have to leave when Stanley gets back from his shift, do you? It's the holidays. We could all just be here. Not out there.” She stared down at the project with the extra stitches, carefully working the yarn with her fingers.

“Hey, we'll be together Christmas,” said Mary, patting her friend's arm. At the looks that suddenly settled on her from around the room, she reached across Eric to knock on the wooden side table. “And if not, we'll deal like we did before.”

“I know,” said Mimi, presenting the now fixed knitting project back to its owner. “I know it's not going to be a huge deal, but I'm just looking forward to Clark's first Christmas with everyone. And Johnny's first Christmas. It's a few firsts.”

“You know they're not going to remember this one, right?” asked Jake.

“I know,” said Mimi, drawing herself up with a dignified posture as she resumed her own knitting. “But we'll remember, and we'll tell them about it.”

Jake laughed. “Then I guess it'll be better if some things don't go so well.” At Mimi's raised eyebrows, he continued. “The best stories are the ones where something happens. The ones where things were normal, nobody cares about. Like my first Christmas.”

“It was very nice, dear,” said Gail. “You slept through the night, which was a miracle in of itself.”

Mary, Eric, and Mimi all nodded their heads appreciatively, but Jake made an emphatic gesture. “See, I bring it up and you mention me sleeping. Eric's first Christmas on the other hand...”

Everyone glanced at Eric, whose face was sporting his characteristic half-amused, half-embarrassed grin. “Hey, I don't remember it,” he said, holding up his hands.

“Yeah, you were what, three months old?” asked Mimi.

Mary's eyes widened slightly. “Is this the year...?” she looked from him to Gail, who chuckled.

“Jake, you want to take this one?” she asked, turning over her nearly-finished hat.

“I don't remember much either,” protested Jake. “But it was the first year my grandparents were here for Christmas.”

“My parents,” clarified Gail. “We'd taken Jake their way the year before, but it was their first time being in town for the holidays, and their first time seeing the baby.”

“I guess they made a big deal about it for awhile beforehand,” said Jake.

“I felt like I was cleaning for weeks,” added Gail. “Johnston was finishing the dining room table, right up to the last minute, and we were having his folks over too, so there was a lot of stuff to get ready, presents to buy, food to plan.”

“Somehow, I guess I decided it was all about Eric,” said Jake.

“I'm not sure why,” said Gail, shooting an affectionate look at each of her sons. “I mentioned a few times that it was Eric's first Christmas, but I never said 'this entire event is for your little brother.'”

“That's just how everything seems for a while after they're born,” said Jake, nodding sagely and glancing around at the others. Mimi raised an eyebrow, Mary shook her head with a small smile, and Heather shrugged. “So the whole sibling rivalry thing stated to rear its ugly head, huh?” she asked.

“There were a few meltdowns,” said Gail. “But nothing too out of the ordinary. And then, lots of excitement in between, with Christmas pageants and cookie baking, visits with Santa. Of course more than one treat ahead of time too.”

“Remember Christmas back when there was chocolate everywhere?” asked Mimi.

Mary nodded and sighed dramatically. “And hot chocolate.”

“And candy canes. And kids totally hopped up on it all,” said Heather with a grin. “Up all night, waiting for Santa to bring even more.”

“Yeah, you guys really dodged a bullet on that one,” said Jake, motioning down at Johnny.

“They'll still have Santa, right?” asked Heather, glancing over at Eric, who smiled. She glanced back at Jake. “But now I'm picturing a tiny, sugar high Jake.”

“Kind of paints a scary picture doesn't it?” asked Eric.

“So what happened that was better than sleeping through the night?” asked Mimi.

“Well, my folks came into town Christmas Eve, everything seemed to be going smoothly, we had a nice dinner, and everyone was getting settled in for the evening. I'd set my parents up in the guest room and I was just putting away the china while Johnston was reading the kids a story by the Christmas tree. I came over to get them so I could get them ready for bed.” Gail paused, smirking at Jake. Mary chuckled slightly, putting her hand on Eric's arm, but Mimi raised her eyebrows and Heather turned a suspicious look on Jake. “What happened?” asked Mimi. Eric grinned.

Gail shook her head slowly, reaching to place the finished hat on the coffee table before leaning back in her chair. “Johnston had turned his back for a minute, I think, to clean up a drink that had spilled. He turned back just as I came in, so we both saw it at the same time. There was Jake, sitting on the blanket on the floor with this guilty look on his face. And there in the midst of all this wrapping paper was Eric.”

“You tried to wrap him?” asked Mimi, scandal in her tone.

“What? Was he okay?” asked Heather, the expression on her face seeming torn between concern and amusement.

“Yeah, I wasn't going to cover his face or anything,” said Jake, awkwardly shifting his sleeping nephew to his other arm. “I remember this part mostly. I just wanted to make him look like a gift.”

“Why?” asked Mimi.

“He wanted to regift me,” said Eric with a shrug.

“I just remember deciding,” said Jake, “that Grandma and Grandpa would love to take him home with them.” He shook his head, smirking but somewhat sheepish. “Sorry man,” he said, reaching over to pat Eric's shoulder.

“Well, no long term harm done, right?” said Eric.

Gail sighed. “At the time I was quite upset. I'm pretty sure I ended up crying, and Jake ended up crying, and Eric too. Johnston was the only one who stayed calm. I remember him saying later 'I'm sure there were times I wanted to give Caroline away too.' And we laughed, later. But it was a scare at the time.”

“I can believe it,” said Mimi, glancing over at her own sleeping son.

Gail smiled. “Of course it didn't take much to push me to tears that year. When I look back on those early Christmases, I remember working so hard to try to make everything special. My first Christmas in Jericho, nothing really went wrong besides the centrepiece we brought Johnston's parents falling apart on the car ride there. But it was because I spent so long worrying, trying to make it all work out, no matter what. I wouldn't have told you I wanted it any other way, but you know what? It got a lot easier when the kids came along and started getting into trouble.”

Jake feigned an expression of innocence. Eric smiled cautiously. “Easier?” he asked.

“Yeah. When one of my kids was wrapping the other one up like a present, or one was helping guests to punch and spilling it all over the house, or they were both running back and forth between each other's rooms long after we'd hoped they'd be asleep and we could put out the gifts, I would realize I couldn't really make those moments perfect, or anything but what they were.” She glanced down briefly, but smiled. “So it got easier to laugh, and take a step back, and not be quite so worried. Not that I didn't try to keep the ball rolling through all the disasters, mind you.”

“Useful talent if there ever was one,” said Eric. His mother smiled at him.

“I think you're right though, Jake,” he said. “Eventful ones make better stories.”

“My first Christmas in Jericho nearly ended in an all out brawl,” boasted Mimi.

“I thought you had drinks with us,” protested Mary. Eric nodded. “You kept wanting that song on the jukebox, but I don't think anyone was willing to fight you for it.”

“Yeah, but before that I went on a journey through the underworld of Jericho's teenage population,” she said. “Stanley was trying to track down Sean.” She sighed, leaning back, her hands pausing in their task for a moment. “I think I spent most of it worrying about frostbite. It seemed like nowhere on earth had ever been that cold, back then.”

“Little did we know, huh?” asked Jake.

Heather smiled, though with a somewhat faraway look in her eyes. “Actually, my first Christmas in Jericho was all caused by a snowstorm. I wouldn't even have been in town if I hadn't heard the roads were really bad.”

“I thought your first Christmas here was after the bombs,” said Jake, glancing up at her.

She shook her head. “I had one before. I was supposed to be going to a friend's dinner, in New Bern. That's where I did Christmas my first couple of years here, but it was going to be different because it was the first year I'd be spending without either of my parents. Then Christmas Eve, the storm hit, and it was really rough going just driving over to the gas station.”

“What did you do?” asked Eric.

“I got lucky,” she said. At the raised eyebrows, she chuckled. “I got invited to another friend's,” she said, smiling but somewhat more serious. “One of those moments where everything comes together, I guess.”

Jake nodded, taking her hand in his for a moment and staring down at it. There was a silence that came over them, but Heather didn't say anything else. The crackling of the fire was punctuated every so often with a pop of sparks.

After a moment, Mimi glanced from them to Mary. “And was your first Christmas in Jericho memorable?”

Mary smirked. “Sure, memorably awkward. First time I gave away my heart.”

Mimi raised her eyebrows. “Did it get given away the very next day?”

Mary wrinkled her nose. “Actually I don't know. My dad and I had moved at the beginning of summer, and on the last day of school, in a totally romantic moment surrounded by our whole class daring us, I had my first kiss, with Bobby Snyder.” Jake snickered and Mary raised an eyebrow, smirking herself before continuing. “I'm not sure what eleven-year-old me was so taken with, but I guess absence made my heart fonder. I really liked it here, but I was convinced I'd left my love in Ashton. By the time November rolled around, I decided I couldn't let the holiday go by without making some kind of statement.”

“What did you do?” asked Heather.

“I made him a very special set of friendship pins,” she said.

“Of what?” asked Gail.

“You know those safety pins with the beads? I guess it was mostly girls who traded them, but I made Bobby the best, most embarrassingly romantic set of four pins. I got this bead with a big sparkly heart to put in the centre, and I used letter beads to spell out L-O-V-E.”

“Exactly what every sixth-grade boy wants,” said Eric, smiling apologetically. Mary laughed. “Yeah. And I sent it the first week of December so he'd have lots of time to respond. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting, but the weeks went by and I never heard from him. Then, the day school let out for the holidays, I phoned one of my old girlfriends. I didn't want to ask directly but I thought maybe if I hinted around, I'd hear something. Turned out I didn't have to hint. The first thing she had to tell me was how my name kept coming up in the slam books people were passing around. Everyone knew about the friendship pins. They were some kind of punch line.”

“And Bobby?” asked Gail, with a sympathetic smile.

“Had passed them around to everyone,” she said with a chuckle. “After that I was mostly over Ashton.”

“I don't blame you,” said Mimi. “Sixth grade was unfortunate, wasn't it?”

“I kind of liked it,” said Heather. “I got my first tool box. Seventh grade on the other hand.” She shook her head, but then held up a slightly misshapen mitten. “Finished. Best it'll be, anyway.” She glanced at Jake, a question on her face. He raised his eyebrows. “Want to trade?” she asked.

“I thought we covered me and knitting,” he said with a sigh, but he passed her the baby, standing up so she could take his seat. She grinned as she settled into the chair, carefully supporting Johnny in the crook of her arm, as Jake attempted to balance on the chair's arm before giving up and sitting on the floor, leaning against her knee instead. “You know what we should do?” she asked, addressing the room at large. “Where's Trivial Pursuit?”

“No!” said Jake, with an expression of feigned horror.

“Worried you'll be beaten by team Book Smarts again?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“Well, you guys should be glad Stanley isn't here, or team Street Smarts might get our revenge,” he said.

“Gail could play on our team,” suggested Mary. “I think we'd be a force to be reckoned with.”

“True,” said Jake, glancing between his mother and sister-in-law. “But how are you going to finish all your knitting projects if you're busy trying to beat us?” He looked over at Mimi.

She was about to answer, but just then a wail from the direction of the playpen cut her off. She began to stand up, but Eric cut in. “I'll get him. I've got free hands,” he said.

“We'll have a rematch at some point,” she said, turning back to Jake with her most intimidating expression.

“I thought we got to pick the turf,” said Mary. “We were going to do charades.”

“You and Stanley wanted charades,” mumbled Jake.

Heather chuckled. “I'm sure you'd all be badass charaders.” She glanced over as Eric sat back on the couch, bouncing Clark lightly on his lap. “What's the story, little guy?” he asked. Clark giggled and reached out to grab Eric's beard. “Already getting ready for your Santa debut, I see,” she said.

“I've got a fake one for that,” he said, chuckling but gently pulling Clark's hand away and whispering “Gentle.”

“Are you guys excited for the other Santa visit?” asked Heather, peering carefully at Clark, who was now examining one of the socks Eric had knitted. “First one and all.”

Mary glanced at Eric. “Yeah, though we're not sure just how much of a splash he's going to make.”

“Not that there aren't knitted things for everyone,” said Eric, glancing at Mimi who was sending a pointed look.

“It'll be fun anyway,” said Mary. “Whatever you don't have, you can always enjoy the things you do, right? Not like he knows the difference. Santa could come down the chimney to rearrange the living room or make a mess in the kitchen or something. No one would tell him that's weird.”

Eric nodded. “Who knows? Maybe Santa will get up to some mischief, along with the knitting.”

“I don't know,” said Jake, skepticism in his tone. “Remember the town hall Christmas parties?”

“Of course,” said Eric. “So?”

“I'm just saying, you were always more the enforcer of tradition,” said Jake.

Glancing quickly between her sons, Gail said “You were always a big help.”

Noticing the blank look on Mimi's face, Eric said, “Dad's staff used to put together a Christmas party at town hall every year. Anyone could go. I loved helping out.”

“Yeah, he'd always direct people to the coat check or inspect cookie trays for broken gingerbread men,” said Jake.

“And you'd always help by sampling the punch,” said Eric.

“Everyone did that,” said Jake. Mary smirked but glanced down at her knitting. “Everyone except you and Bill.”

“Bill?” At Mimi and Heather's questioning looks, he added, “Before he started trying to convince us he's a badass, he used to always worry about getting in trouble. He wouldn't even leave the cabin at night on our seventh grade camp trip, but everyone else did.”

“Speaking of leaving the cabin, it looks like we're going to need that firewood,” said Mary. She turned to Mimi. “Finish this edge and I'll get enough to last you the night?”

Mimi pretended it was a difficult decision for a moment before taking the needles and yarn from her friend.

“Want help?” asked Heather. Mary nodded. “Thanks.”

“Want an extra pair of hands?,” said Jake, standing up. Eric opened his mouth to speak too, but Heather was already handing Johnny to his uncle. She raised her eyebrows. “You don't think I can watch her back?” she asked.

Mary smiled. “I trust you.” She looked back at Eric, who sent her a quick nod, and she stopped to pat Johnny's arm lightly as she crossed the room. Jake shrugged and sat back in the chair.

Heather followed Mary to the back door, where they began the arduous process of putting on outdoor wear.

Mary glanced back towards the room where the others were now talking about Christmas radio messages before saying quietly, “So did you figure out your tomorrow night plans?”

Heather nodded. “Yeah, I'm going to stay over. I guess we can all walk together, after they're done their shifts.”

“Great!” said Mary, wrapping a scarf around her face. “That'll be so nice, all being together in the morning. And you can be there for whatever Santa-ing goes down, if you want. Or not, of course, we don't want to cramp your style.”

Heather laughed and waved a hand before pulling on her boot. “No way, I'm so there.”

Tugging on a hat, Mary took a breath. “Ready?” She hoisted a lantern.

Heather nodded, bracing herself as she opened the door.

The blast of cold that hit them was familiar in its biting surprise. After closing the door, they walked in silence for a few steps, adjusting to the bone-deep chill. The crunch of their footsteps and the smooth glide of the small sled Mary pulled along seemed muffled. The snow around the farmhouse wasn't too deep, but the wind was harsh and the pale beam of their lantern in the darkness twisted the shapes of things and made it seem more like a strange new, very cold planet than ever. As Heather walked with her arms crossed against her body, she could almost imagine an alien creature popping out from behind the truck or lounging against the woodpile. Set phasers to stun, she thought to herself. She stopped suddenly, as Mary had stopped just ahead of her, several feet from the woodpile.

Heather looked at her in silence, quickly looking forward in the direction her friend was staring. She waited for a moment, peering in the dark. Mary was frozen, her features all intent and searching the darkness ahead. After a few more moments passed, Mary relaxed her posture slightly, shivering. “I thought something up there...sorry. You know how sometimes...”

“Yeah,” said Heather, stepping up beside her. “I know.” She peered again at the yard ahead for a moment longer before linking her arm through Mary's. They walked the last steps to the woodpile steadily.

Positioning the lantern on top of a sturdy part of the pile, they worked quickly, filling the sled. Heather lifted the lantern, surveying the woodpile. “One of these days, I'm going to invent a wood-chopping machine, like that one from Beauty and the Beast.”

“That'd be amazing,” said Mary, gripping the rope handle of the sled. They both laughed as they started towards the house. A strange sound in the howling night.

Heather stepped onto the porch first, clutching a few sticks of wood. She placed the lantern far enough back that they wouldn't accidentally kick it, but it still cast a faint pool of light towards the sled with their wood haul. She gripped the porch railing for a moment and stared out at the land. After a moment, she looked up at the sky. The stars seemed sharper tonight than they had recently. A wave of things old and recent came over her. She felt her breath catch, and she clutched the railing tighter.

“You okay?” Mary was standing on the bottom step, adjusting the firewood in her arms.

“Yeah,” said Heather, hearing the shiver in her voice.

Mary stepped up beside her, leaning slightly to look up too.

“It's weird,” breathed Heather, feeling a strange kinship with the cold as her muscles gave in to the stillness. “When I look up, I think it looks the same. But it isn't, is it?”

She could feel Mary's question, though she couldn't hear her say anything.

“It makes a difference,” Heather said, willing herself to stay here, still, locked in a staring match with the stars. “Somehow...how it looks...somehow.”

“Depending where you stand?” asked Mary.

Heather nodded. She stepped back down to grab her own bundle of firewood.

The cold seemed a worse shock as they moved in and out of the back door, bringing the rest of the wood inside. The vague promise of warmth beyond the hallway cheered them too and they spoke breathlessly of brighter things.

“We can play a game tomorrow, if you want,” Mary said. “When you come over after the school thing. Your pick.”

“That'd be nice,” said Heather. “Is the Star Wars game still at your house?”

“Last I knew,” said Mary. “But we haven't looked for it since Jake was last there.”

Heather chuckled, finally kicking her boots against the stoop and stepping inside at last. “You know what I was thinking?”

“What?” asked Mary, pulling off her mittens and bending and flexing her fingers in the warmer air.

“If you guys decide to you know, play around with the Santa thing, a little bit. Do something sort of different. Mischief, like you were saying.” Heather pulled off her coat, shivering as she tried to adjust.

“Yeah? Got something in mind?” asked Mary.

“I was thinking about that story, Jake wrapping Eric,” Heather said. “Do you think Santa might think it time to get a little payback?”

 

 

 

“Aw, come on, don't get up yet.”

Mimi turned to raise her eyebrows at Stanley. “Seriously?”

He propped his elbow against his pillow. “Ten more minutes? Five? I wouldn't think you of all people would be looking forward to going back out there.”

She sighed, midway through the act of pulling on a shirt, awkwardly attempting to work within the blankets still pulled around her. “Don't you think this is going to make her even angrier?”

“You kidding me? I don't think she's ever coming in here without knocking again,” he said, shuddering but then shifting and fixing her with the grin he seemed to think irresistible. “So we're safe.”

“No, not that,” said Mimi rolling her eyes. “I mean she's probably going to be mad you're not spending time with her.”

“She's not even back yet,” he said, motioning towards the window, though her words seemed to be having their desired effect. He looked less pleased with himself. “Besides, I don't think she can get any madder. That was seriously an eleven on the Bonnie's mad scale. Ten was the time that girl stole her egg project at the fair.”

Mimi paused and pulled her feet back into the warmth. “You shouldn't have forced her.”

He glanced at her, and then looked down at the bedspread. Mimi sighed, and leaned back onto her elbows. “You're right,” he finally said. “I just wanted you to have an okay Christmas.”

She glanced sideways. “Through the magic of re-gifted clothes?”

“I didn't know she'd give you the worst pair of pants ever made,” he said with a shrug. “I told her you like nice clothes.”

She snorted, but then sent him a softer smile that was almost apologetic. “Well, it's the thought that counts.”

“Sorry that the thought was still 'How dare you move into my house and eat my food and take over my brother's life,'” he said.

She shrugged. “Could be worse I guess. I once gave my dad's girlfriend a marzipan Mount Rushmore. That was a gift picked out under duress.”

Stanley laughed. “Yeah, you're really horrible.”

She raised her eyebrows cautiously. “I never liked it when someone pushed me into things.”

“Huh. Weird,” he said, but he became serious again. “Anyway, I'm sorry.”

“It is what it is,” she shrugged.

“I wanted it to be a good one,” he said with a sigh.

She peered at him for a moment, sizing him up. He shivered and pulled the blankets further towards his chin. “You know, we don't get many holidays. I thought I'd make this one count.”

“Case it's our last?” she asked.

“Always the optimist,” he said with a shake of his head. He folded his arms into his chest.

“I just try not to expect things, these days,” she said. “I find it easier, not getting my hopes up.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Fair enough.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned to look at her. “You know what though? I'm going to keep trying anyway. Hoping for things. I think I have enough for the both of us.”

“You do, huh?” she asked, raising her eyebrows again.

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling once more. He leaned back again, letting out a sigh.

She studied him. “I guess we should go look for her.” Her face was posing the question, though she was shifting closer to him again.

A dark look passed over his features. “I have an idea of where she is.” His face softened though as he held out an arm, pulling her towards him. “But I guess it'd be nice to go into town. Stop and have a drink, if they have any, on our way home.”

She sighed, but nodded before leaning her head against his shoulder. “Okay. In five minutes. It's so cold.”

 

 

 

“I always thought it was cool how Picard was so good at the diplomatic stuff. You know, he could kick some ass if needed, but he always understood the value of using a cooler head. Thank you,” Heather paused to accept a spring roll from the plate being offered to her.

The young man perched on the edge of the ottoman nodded. “Yeah. He stood strong and made the tough calls, but he was good at making friends too, and he'd admit it if he screwed up, you know what I mean?” He accepted a spring roll himself and bit into it, making a surprised face. “These are – really hot,” he managed between quick breaths, grabbing his glass and taking a big gulp.

“Sorry Kyle,” said Scott Rennie with a chuckle, taking a seat in the arm chair and holding the plate out to the young woman seated beside Heather on the couch. “You know, I see what you guys are saying, but I've still gotta go with Kirk. You're right that Picard is a better diplomat, maybe even a better leader, but Kirk was always just such a no holds barred hero. He was young, messed up sometimes, but he was unstoppable. And back when I was a kid, he was everything I wanted to be. I guess you can't beat childhood heroes, huh?”

Heather shook her head, musing over her own preference. “No, I guess not. How about you, Caitlin? Who's your pick?”

“Kind of like apples and oranges right?” she asked with a grin, carefully biting into her spring roll. “I always liked Data best anyway.”

“She did, she used to call the whole show 'Data,'” said Kyle.

Scott laughed. “We'd call out 'Caitlin, Data's on!' when it was time for it to start.” He chuckled again. “She'd come running.”

Caitlin's expression seemed torn between embarrassment and affection. “I'd never miss it, if I was awake.”

Heather smiled at her. “Me neither.” Deciding it was now safe, she began eating her spring roll. “These are really good,” she said.

Scott gave a nod of thanks, but chuckled. “Not quite as good as if we'd gotten take out from Fielding, but the best laid plans right?”

“Hey, it's much better than anything I've got in my freezer right now, guaranteed,” said Heather. “If you guys hadn't invited me over, I'd probably be calling the Pizza Garden or something.” She chuckled but glanced to the window. “Though I'm not sure they're delivering in this.”

“We're happy you could join us instead. But frozen pizza's the second course,” said Scott. “So I'm glad you're up for adventure.”

“I don't know how adventurous this is,” said Caitlin, gesturing around their living room. “Monopoly and cleaning out our freezer.”

“I'm just glad I made it back in time,” Kyle announced. “Those exams were brutal. I wasn't sure I would make it through.”

Heather chuckled but gave him a sympathetic look. “First round is the hardest. I must've called my mom to freak out at least once a week.” She smiled, though for a moment she went to a slightly quieter place in her head. It was weird – the place was sometimes a terrible shock, when she'd find herself plunging there unexpectedly, after a surprise conversation or finding something small in the back of a drawer. Sometimes it was welcome, a place to retreat, quiet and warm and outside the storm. Often though it was a jumble of both. She took a breath, trying to shake it off. “So I guess that'll be you soon, huh Caitlin?”

She nodded. “If everything works out.”

“Next year I'll be calling her every week,” said Scott.

Caitlin rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You'll be fine Dad. I'm going to do physics, or something in the medical sciences maybe.”

“Excellent,” said Heather. “That's really awesome, and you have lots of time to decide.” Caitlin smiled.

A timer beeped from the direction of the kitchen. “Must be the pizza!” said Scott, standing up. Caitlin followed him, mumbling something about plates.

“So how'd you decide to come here?” asked Kyle.

“Well, I was going to go to a friend's over in New Bern, but since the roads were so bad I figured I'd be staying in, and then I ran into your dad at the gas station and he said you guys were snowed in too and the rest's history I guess,” said Heather.

“But how'd you decide on here, I mean, to live?” said Kyle. “Jericho.”

Heather smiled. “Close to home without being home, you know what I mean? New Bern's nice and I still have friends there, but I definitely didn't want to teach in the same town my dad taught in. So I thought I'd have an adventure here. Which probably sounds really boring to you guys, huh?”

Kyle chuckled. “I get not wanting to teach in a town where your dad's a teacher,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen. “And you're right it doesn't seem so exciting if you grew up here, but I'm really glad to be home for now.” He paused for a moment, studying his glass. “It's our first Christmas here in a while.”

“Yeah?” asked Heather, with just a hint of caution in her voice. Her colleague hadn't mentioned much about this.

“After our mom died, we went different places for Christmas. Sometimes we went to visit our cousins in Denver. One year we even went to New York.” He smiled. “Dad wanted to make new memories, I think.”

“I get that,” said Heather slowly. “Trying something new. It's nice.” She glanced hesitantly at him. “Usually.”

“Yeah, it's nice,” he nodded.

He glanced at her and she grinned. “This is nice too. I've never spent a Christmas quite like this.”

“Pizza, everyone!” called Scott, coming into the room.

Heather happily accepted a plate from Caitlin and took a slice. As everyone began to dig in, she took a bite. “Better than the Pizza Garden,” she declared.

They ate in silence for a few moments, hearing the roar of the winds outside and the crackling fire. After a while, Scott raised his glass. “Can I propose a toast?”

Heather raised her wine glass, and Kyle and Caitlin raised their root beers. “To good food, new friends and new traditions!” said Scott.

Heather smiled. She hadn't been certain earlier. She'd been surprised when she'd had to call Ted and Leah and cancel at the strange sort of relief she'd felt, imagining her cosy night alone in her apartment. She hadn't realized until that moment how nice a prospect it was, not having to do anything. Not having to go back to her hometown, not having to bring gingerbreads and the gifts she'd bought last month, not having to even think about Christmas if she didn't feel like it. Jericho could be a Christmas-free zone, without obligations or memories, without ties. It was easy enough, when you were young and single, and your friends who loved you and looked out for you, checked in on your feelings and baked you brownies through the year were busy with their own obligations and memories and ties, these two days. You could maybe escape that whole routine. It was much easier.

It was much harder to say yes. She'd run into Scott Rennie at the gas station check-out. She'd worked with him for two years, but it wasn't like they knew each other incredibly well. But she'd somehow let it slip she wasn't going back to New Bern and he'd explained that their plans were off too and she might as well join them. It had seemed risky. Not that she didn't trust Scott, the great tamer of sixth grade chaos and enthusiastic basketball coach, and his kids, it turned out, were cute and had good taste. It was risky to share this Christmas, also a first for her, with someone else.

Still, something had reminded her of those conversations she'd had on the phone with her mother. “Sounds like an adventure,” she would always say, even if Heather had been talking about the exam that allowed graphing calculators, the student apartment with the leaky kitchen sink, or the disastrous school play debut of several of her students. So she had said yes.

She enthusiastically clinked her glass with Kyle's, then Caitlin's, then Scott's. “This really is a nice way to do Christmas,” she said. “Nowhere we have to be, an awesome smorgasbord of food, Monopoly and Clue. When are we ever going to have another like this?”

“I think we should play Life next,” said Caitlin.

“Dessert first,” said Kyle.

Scott shook his head. “Guest's choice. What do you want to do, Heather?”

Heather considered them, all looking at her with the same eyebrow raised expression. “Can we do both? And can I have the red car?”

 

 

 

The town hall Christmas party was winding down, at least for the adults in the room, who mingled in clusters around the foyer, some on their third glass of punch. The warmth of the air, contrasted with the cold night, seemed lulling as the soft music playing in the background.

The younger guests, however, seemed to be experiencing an opposite effect, and some were on their sixth or seventh Christmas cookie. Even those who had arrived with their Christmas outfits in perfect order and their manners dusted off had abandoned their adults and now dashed in and out of the shadows at the edges of the room, giggling, sneaking more candy canes from the table in the corner, and taking advantage of the adults' distraction to loosen collars and let suspenders dangle.

A grand tradition had been continued, that of playing the tiniest of pranks – not anything big enough to get one evicted from the gathering or to jeopardize one's chances of rewards on Christmas morning, just little things to show off to the others and prove one's lack of lameness. Someone had moved the nutcracker on the front table so that he was now saluting the flag. Someone had covered a photo of Jericho's second mayor with mistletoe. The rules were to move quickly and quietly.

Three girls had gathered on the landing of the staircase, and were whispering amongst themselves as they surveyed the railing running across the upper level of the room. “Let's put it over that weird sun face dude so it looks like it's riding on his shoulders!” said the one with the darkest hair.

“Sounds good Diane. Go ahead and climb up there,” said her blond friend.

“No, I'll give you a boost,” said Diane. “Come on Heidi, I'm steady as a rock. You won't fall.” Heidi shook her head.

“I can do it,” the third girl said, handing over the object she had been guarding. “Here, toss it up to me.”

“Okay, but first take off your shoes,” said Diane, bending her knees and preparing to hoist her friend.

“Ready?” asked the climber, exchanging a mischievous grin with her friends before stepping with one stocking foot into her friend's interlocked fingers. “One, two -”

“Look out Mary!” shouted Heidi as three other kids came careening onto the landing. Mary and Diane stumbled backwards, just out of the way of the newcomers, who were laughing and running past them up the stairs. “Hey, they got the elf!” shouted Heidi. The girls chased the thieves to the top of the stairs, where Diane snatched the object of their prank back from the sandy-haired boy. “Stanley Richmond, that is not yours!”

“It's not yours either,” said the other boy, folding his arms and puffing up his chest. “What are you doing with it anyway?”

“Putting it on the stupid sun face guy,” shrugged Heidi, pointing towards the carving along the stairs' edge.

“Kids' stuff. Someone steals that elf and puts it somewhere weird every year,” scoffed the boy. “See what we're doing?”

“Don't tell them, Jake,” hissed the blond girl at his side.

Mary eyed the carton of milk she was holding. “Trying to make people cry or something?” she asked.

The girl raised her eyebrows but said nothing, glancing towards her companions instead.

“Let's just say the people who add milk to their coffee are going to get a surprise,” said Jake. “What?” he whispered to the girl, who had glared at him. “They're not going to drink the coffee. And they're not going to be lame and tell anyone.”

“Ew, what are you doing with it?” asked Heidi. “You can't poison people, Emily.”

“We're not,” said Emily. “Jake knows where there's some chocolate syrup.”

“Chocolate?” asked Diane. She burst into laughter. “That's the poison?” Her friends began giggling too.

“Laugh all you want,” said Jake. “It's the little things that drive him crazy. Come on,” he nudged Stanley but then he stopped and frowned. A slightly smaller boy conspicuously wearing a tie had appeared at the top of the stairs. Jake stared at him for a moment before turning back towards his friends.

“Where are you guys going?” asked the boy in the tie, following behind him.

“Just getting something from the break room,” said Jake, glancing at his friends and his audience before giving a casual smirk.

“No one's supposed to go back there,” said the boy, glancing warily between the older kids but looking more determined as he fixed Jake with a serious look.

“Then what are you doing here?” asked Emily, putting her hands on her hips.

“Really, guys,” said the boy. “Mom said -”

“Eric, isn't it tiring sometimes, being such a dork?” asked Jake. Undeterred, Eric continued to stare back at him.

With an expertly put-upon sigh, Jake said, “If you shut up about what Mom says, you can come with us.”

Eric looked seriously tempted, but as he glanced between Jake, Stanley, and Emily, he shook his head. “No, I'm going back downstairs, and you should too.”

Jake raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You're going to tell them?”

Eric scowled but said nothing.

Jake appeared to be contemplating for a moment, but he turned to his friends. “It'll take at least three minutes. We can make it there and back!” With a giggle, he and his friends began racing down the hall, Stanley shouting “Don't spill it, Emily!”

Eric looked as though he might shout something after them, but then he turned towards the stairs. “You shouldn't go back there,” he warned the girls still gathered at the top. He paused. “And you're supposed to wear shoes in here.”

“Okay, fine,” said Mary, holding her hands up in a placating gesture, but sending her friends a sideways glance. They waited until the mayor's younger son had retreated before bursting into laughter themselves. “So where do we put it now? Somewhere I won't get killed trying to reach it,” said Mary.

“I don't know, but let's go scope out the dessert table. We can get more brownies and see if there's somewhere good nearby,” said Diane.

Moments later, they had tucked themselves into the small alcove near the dessert table, each having secreted away one of the candy cane brownies Mrs. Leigh had proudly unveiled earlier. From this vantage point, most of the foyer was visible, and they watched as the adults still wandered and visited in pockets around the room, waiting for a window of opportunity to hide the famous elf. “Whoa, is that your brother Diane?” asked Heidi. “Talking to Cynthia James, over there by the punch bowl?”

Diane rolled her eyes. “Yup. He used to be one of the best Christmas party pranksters, but now he just thinks it's some big deal to pour some girl a glass of punch.”

“Jimmy-James used to be a prankster?” asked Heidi, staring still at the older kids.

“Yeah!” said Diane. “You know one year he took the elf and he somehow got it into the mayor's office. He had it sitting at the desk.” She paused, and rolled her eyes again. “And now look at them. Love.”

Mary was looking on quietly, but now she smirked. “Jimmy-James and Cynthia James?”

“I know right?” said Diane.

Heidi put a hand on her hip. “What do you think he's saying?”

Diane looked vaguely horrified at the thought, but then shrugged. “Wanna find out?” She began dramatically tiptoeing out of their hiding place.

“You're going to spy on them?” asked Mary.

“We won't get caught,” shrugged Diane. Heidi giggled and began to follow.

Mary smirked at her friends and shook her head at their offer to come along. “Have fun,” she said, leaning back against the wall and taking another bite of brownie. She looked around the room. For the first time that evening, she felt free to stare at all of the other party goers, since none of them could notice her watching them. It was interesting, seeing these people in a different sort of mood than normal. Even Mrs. Leigh was in an incredibly festive mood, and she could see her giggling, patting Reverend Carlson on the arm, wiping her mouth with one of the red napkins. There was Mr. Hughes, somehow nearly as awkward looking in the midst of a group of punch-sipping adults as he normally was in front of the blackboard, explaining integers to belligerent sixth-graders. There was her father, chatting with the mayor and his father, laughing at some story he'd probably never repeat to her. And someone nearby was talking about her father.

She automatically paused at the sound of her own last name, but as she listened, frozen to her spot, she heard “Patrick” and a few moments later, “the poor man.”

She glanced towards the name droppers. At the dessert table two women she recognized, though she couldn't remember their names, were carefully loading the leftover desserts into colourful tins. Making certain that they hadn't seen her, she edged slightly closer, holding her breath.

“Gladys,” one was chiding the other. “He probably hoped he'd leave gossip like that behind when he moved here.”

“Maybe. But why is he still wearing that ring? You'd think he would understand that it's bound to raise questions,” said Gladys.

Mary focused her eyes on the wall ahead of the speakers, trying to listen to their words only. “Obviously he isn't interested,” said Gladys's friend. “Maybe he's using it to ward off the bloodhounds. God knows, any time a single man under forty without too much baggage comes along, it's like the whole pack can smell him forty miles out.”

“Me?” asked Gladys, “You don't have to make me sound so tawdry. But I do suppose you're right. It's baggage. He's clearly got some, hasn't he?”

“It's none of our business, Gladys. Everyone's got their own crosses to bear.”

“Oh, speaking of, did you see the Reverend tonight? Lord, if he isn't thinking of getting back into the dating game. As if it wasn't disastrous enough the first time.”

Mary didn't wait to hear the details of the reverend's previous dating disaster. She slipped out of her hiding place as carefully as she could, making her way over to her friends. “So, love. Grody, huh?” she whispered.

“Jimmy totally saw us and called us out in front of everyone. Lame to the max,” said Diane, rolling her eyes. “And now we have to bounce, or Mom won't get home in time to put away her shortbreads or something. You guys have a good Christmas! I'll see you if I survive!”  

The girls exchanged hugs and Heidi left soon after with her parents. Mary eventually found her way to her father's side. He was at the tail end of the story about the raccoon that'd come in through their roof and sent them both running around the apartment in the middle of the night, but he smiled at her. “Ready to go home?”

She nodded, smiling briefly at the adults he introduced her to, but feeling more serious as she went to get her coat. “Nice walk home, huh?” he asked as they made their way into the night. She nodded. “Those ones new?” he asked as they stepped inside and into the hall light. She glanced down. He was pointing at the friendship pins she's fastened to her coat pocket. “Yeah, from Diane and Heidi,” she shrugged. “I'm going to make sure everything's set for tomorrow morning. Want to hang out in the main room?” he asked, heading towards the hall instead of up the stairs. She nodded again, and followed him into the dining room, pulling off her coat and swinging herself up onto one of the stools at the counter. She always liked the moments when no one else was there, and they had free reign of the place they'd spent summer fixing up. Tonight, she watched her father going over an inventory list with a pen in his hand, eying the conspicuous gold band around his finger. “You want to put some music on?” he asked. “I can make you a hot drink. Some party huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, still twirling in her seat. She paused, watching as he arranged a tray of juice glasses. “Dad?” she asked, wondering as she said it if she would be able to throw the rest of the question out there.

“What is it, Mary girl?” he asked, not looking up from his task.

She took a breath, looking down at the smooth surface of the counter. She could almost see her reflection in it, though it was too murky to make out features. “Um, do you...do you believe in love?” she asked. It was out there. In this weirdly quiet room, in this weirdly quiet moment. She waited.

He smiled. “Why you asking? One of those boys back there...”

“Ew! No,” she said. “I don't know. I guess I was just wondering. Just wondering what you thought.”

“Huh,” he said, pausing to peer at one of the glasses in the light. He reached for a cloth. “I guess I'd say yeah. You mean like that Romeo and Juliet stuff?”

“I don't know,” she said, wrinkling her forehead and leaning her chin in her hands.

“I don't know about love at first sight. But I guess I'd say yeah,” repeated Patrick. “I think there's real love. For some people.”

She hazarded a glance at him, but wasn't sure what else to ask.

“I guess you might find out for yourself, if you're lucky,” he said. “Long time from now, course.”

She made a face, but smirked. “How about you?”

“What about me?” he asked. For a moment, he had the same look on his face he usually had when telling a funny story, but when he saw the serious look she was fixing him with, he grew serious too. She willed herself to keep looking back, like a staring contest.

“I don't know,” he said, looking down, and for a moment she was sure that was the end of it. He shrugged, but looked back at her. “You know, I think it's really nice for some people, but it can also be a bitch.”

Mary nodded, trying to appear understanding. She looked down again at the smooth surface, wondering who had won the staring contest. She glanced up as her father took a seat in one of the nearby stools. He leaned one arm against the counter.

“Course, can't be all bad,” he said. “Got you, didn't I?”

She widened her eyes, but gave him a small smile.

He grinned back. “You want hot chocolate? I'll make us some.”

“Now?” she asked.

“Sure, it's our first Christmas here. We've got to kick it off with style,” he said.

“It's the twenty-third,” she said, but she climbed off her stool to help.

 

 

 

 

The night was bitterly cold, but the heat coursing through him was enough to compel his footsteps forward.

He stared at the sidewalk ahead, walking purposefully and ignoring the festive decorations and the few other pedestrians still out clutching packages and wading through the snow at this hour. There weren't many, but if he came within a too-close-for-comfort proximity to someone heading in the other direction, he pulled his coat collar up further and hoped they wouldn't look at his face.

It was very seldom he ever cried. If it had ever been a habit, he'd learned to avoid it early in life. The tears on his face tonight took him by surprise, and the more frustrated he became, the worse the slow cascade of hot hitting his cheekbones and burning them cold became. He kicked at the ground, sending a powdery spray of snow into the air. Getting angrier wasn't helping, he realized, in a small, new moment of clarity. They were tears of rage.

He kept going, listening to the rhythmic crunching of his feet against the covered sidewalk. The steadiness of movement was slightly calming, though he could still feel his blood screaming with all the things he couldn't say.

He had tried earlier. It was something he'd often daydreamed about, when he was younger. Putting his toys aside, getting out from under his blankets, bursting into the room and commanding a ceasefire with a forceful, steady voice. In his imagination, his posture was so imposing, his speech so confident, his father was shocked into submission. When he'd gotten older, he'd imagined less, but he'd felt flashes, from time to time, envisioning himself stepping forward instead of back, raising his eyes and his voice, showing his own rage or wounded pride, anything but the stone face he had usually learned to adopt. Tonight it hadn't really happened like that. He hadn't planned it. He'd actually planned to ignore his father, because he'd been working on a chemistry assignment that was due on Wednesday, but quite unexpectedly he'd found himself shooting his father a quick but biting rebuke. And when his father had forgotten the burnt casserole dish and had instead taken issue with him, he had even more unexpectedly stood from the table, squared himself, and answered his father's disbelieving question.

It was strange, letting the rage take over. He had many times wondered, watching and listening to his father, if it would feel like power, like control, but it felt more out of control than anything. He'd shouted words, but most hadn't been the right ones, and none had worked. His father had words too, and none of them made sense. Not knowing why, he didn't back down, and soon enough they were face to face, uncomfortably close to a thing that had never transpired yet between any of them. But before either of them dared, his father found at last a few words of control. “If you don't like it, leave!”

And he hadn't dared either. He'd run to his coat, trying not to see his mother leaning, clutching the sides of the sink, or his father pacing, his hands shaking, taking up space in the hallway. He'd run as fast as he could into the cold, taking coat, hat, scarf, and gloves only so that he wouldn't have to come back.

Only now, far enough into the cold to feel his tears, did he fully understand how enraged he was at this defeat. The moment he had hoped he might have, one day, had been a failure. He had not become the conquering hero of his daydreams. He stopped at an intersection with a red light, but the street stretched out empty on either side of him. He crossed, not wanting to break the pattern of his steady steps.

He'd given up on her being the one to step forward. She wasn't strong enough. Her thin frame seemed as light and liable to fall apart sometimes as the dresses she wore on cleaning day. It was her own way of standing up, he knew, when she held herself so still and steady. She whispered, and sometimes she was reduced to tears, but her hands never shook and she never covered her face. She could hide in plain sight. It wasn't enough for him. He got taller, he got louder, and he was sure he had to be getting stronger. He'd never given up hoping one day it would be enough.

It wasn't enough. Suddenly he felt the hot rage slipping away, like smoke vanishing into the blue-black night. His eyes were dry but his steps had begun to slow. There was no use for all that furor. It wouldn't be enough. The cold was taking over. It was seeping through his coat, under the fibres of his gloves and scarf, binding his arms and legs like a million icy cords. It filled him with every breath.

What would it be like to stop? Could he stand and let it swallow him whole? He envisioned his joints freezing, his pose that of a statue, no longer fighting, and maybe not feeling. This moment in time would be enough, and he wouldn't have to keep imagining how to be better.

Still, his legs kept moving. His arms kept swaying. The crunching of his feet was steady. His lungs kept breathing in, forcing everything to go on. He took a deeper breath, letting it out slowly. Stopping wasn't enough either.

As he turned the corner, he caught sight of his reflection in the window of the record store. His face, foggy underneath his hat in the low light of the reflecting street lamp, had a wild look. He tried smoothing his muscles, staring at the calmer mask he could make. I won't be like him, he thought to himself. I will be different. He stared for a moment longer before his legs took over again and he continued through the silent street.

 

 

 

Gray took another deep, steadying breath, shaking his arms and legs out slowly. His whole body ached, but he was worried that if he stayed resting for too long, the cold would become too comfortable again.

Looking longingly at the ground, which seemed to beckon like some kind of soft feathery bed, he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders once more. As he stepped forward, his stomach grumbled, unsatisfied with the portion of energy bar he had swallowed. Good, he decided. It was good to carry that spark of dissatisfaction. His legs kept moving him forward.

He reminded himself again of the moment he'd woken and pulled himself out of his snowbank shelter, surveying the empty land. He'd repeated this moment in his mind many times since yesterday. It didn't carry the terror of the moment when his horse had first startled at the vehicle chasing them, or the shock of being thrown or of crawling to safety through a throbbing injury. It was the moment he remembered being the angriest. He was angry at himself for going to the meeting instead of waiting for the next, hoping it would come at a time of better weather and more stability at home. He shouldn't have trusted that the area between Fielding and home would be clear, just because the road gang had supposedly been run out three months ago. He should've allocated more resources for this trip, taken others with him, if it had been so important. He had felt he owed it to the town, to reach out to the small council newly developing as Fielding recovered, but he should've thought of the many more important things he owed Jericho. They would manage as they always did, but they deserved the best he could give them. He should've realized that he owed it to himself to give his best, too.

He held on to the anger at those who had done him harm, and the harms he had done himself. He let it become light, burning at a low, steady pace as he kept his footsteps even.  

 

 

 

 

 

He let out a sigh that drifted like a cloud in the sharp air and rubbed his gloved hands together. Shifting his feet back and forth, he listened to the crunch of the snow underfoot and the quiet creaking of the porch. It really was a beautiful view from this spot. He would have been delighted to stay here, staring out, only hours earlier. 

He had considered going further when he'd stepped out through the sliding door but he had stopped, despite all his instincts telling him otherwise. He breathed in, feeling the icy air in his throat, feeling an odd sense that the bright sky could commiserate better than those inside.

He heard the door slide open and shut. He wasn't sure it was her until she approached. Her footsteps were muffled but they were the same here as anywhere. “Do you want to come inside? It's friggin' freezing out here,” she said.

He shook his head slowly, trying to think of something clever to say. 

“Dad's got coffee on,” she said, in her perfected casual tone. “Look, Gray, you can be as mad as you want at me, but I can't let you freeze to death.”

“I'm not,” he said slowly. “Freezing.” He turned to glance at her. She really did look sorry, and worried, and part of him felt bad, but the rest was annoyed at her, looking so sympathetic and so unreachable.

“Cedric and Grandpa are going to go to the lake, if you want to get out for a bit.”

“I'm not sure the lake is far enough,” he said. 

“I thought we were just going to get through the next few days,” she said, her tone betraying an anxious edge as she glanced back towards the house.

“That's what I'm trying to do,” he muttered. 

She heaved a sigh, gripping the porch railing in her hands and leaning back. Part of him wondered why she hadn't worn gloves, though he chastised himself. He wasn't supposed to worry about her now, was he? “I'm sorry. I was going to talk to you soon,” she said. 

He gave a quick nod, though he saw, as he watched her in his peripheral vision, that her eyes were beginning to flash with a familiar fire. Somehow he felt compelled, against his better judgment, to poke the flames. “I guess I understand. Who breaks up with someone right before Christmas?”

“Who proposes to someone on Christmas Eve?” she countered, her voice rising. He noticed her glancing back towards the house once more, but she didn't stop her voice or gestures from getting increasingly intense. “God, could you pick a better time to load on the pressure? And were you reading the situation at all? What about this made you think it was the right time for – for that?” 

“I don't know, okay Ginette?” He sighed. “I just wanted it, I think. So I tried to make it happen.” 

“It doesn't work like that,” she said. “And I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you make me the bad guy. You can be mad, hate me, and you don't have to stay, but it wouldn't have been right.” 

“How long have you thought that?” he asked. 

“I don't know,” she said, and now she seemed close to tears. “But haven't you felt it too? I didn't know, for sure, I was still waiting I guess. Hoping. But I knew when you asked that the answer wasn't yes.” 

He glanced down at his hands, realizing he'd clenched them into fists. 

“I am sorry,” she said, raising her hand for a moment but then thinking better of it and folding her arms. “And sorry for suggesting you stay. You can leave if you want. You don't owe me anything, or them.” 

He shook his head slowly. “I'll stay ‘til tomorrow. I can get through it.” 

“Okay,” she nodded, for the first time swiping at her cheeks. “Whatever you want.” 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. He glanced at her for a moment, and she stared back at him, her eyes wider than a deer in the middle of a country road. He hated it, seeing each other so clearly like this, but for the first time it all seemed real. 

“I'll be inside,” she said. “And there's coffee. Dad says he wants to challenge you to a rematch.” 

Her footsteps retreating were the only sound for a moment, though there was silence suggesting she had paused. “Ginette,” he added, without looking over. “I'm sorry too.” 

She didn't say anything, but he heard the door slide open and closed again.

He breathed in and out, staring out the ravine her parents' house backed onto, the trees capped in white and the grey-blue shadows encircling them. He shouldn't stay, really. He hadn't been invited anywhere else, but that didn't mean he should be here.

It had once seemed like a strong pull, something keeping him close, but she was right, he'd been reading the story he'd wanted to read. Maybe it was time to look somewhere else, to do something different. 

He surveyed the trees and hills again. This beautiful place. He would find somewhere else.

 

 

 

The sky was darkening, the brightness of the snow finally less dazzling. He could glance into the distance for periods of time instead of briefly checking now and then. It was still impossibly empty, though his own shadow growing long in the mounds of snow at least reminded him he was still here. He hadn't become one of the ghosts, flitting around in plain sight and just out of reach.

They were back, he'd noticed a little while ago. Faintly he'd realized, so faintly, he could hear his mother's choir, making their way through “O Come all ye Faithful.” His father's voice, explaining the finer points of a football game, sometimes presented itself, surprisingly welcome in this hostile world of soft snow. The teacher welcoming everyone to the prom and wishing them a good night, and Karen Jenkins squealing in his ear. A few other things he heard were less welcome, and he tried to push them aside. 

He tried to envision, as he looked out at the sky now bleeding purples and pale orange-gold, the place he couldn't see yet. His house, with the blue shutters and grey shingles, the living room couch waiting for him to sink into, the stack of blankets still there from his last night camping beside the fire. And the rest of the town, warm and safe. 

It had been a year like others. Deaths still struck at surprising moments. News trickling from the outside was sometimes hopeful, sometimes devastating, and usually monotonously rare. The fights still broke out between town leaders and authority figures, between old ways and new ideas, between friends and family members. And they still hadn't learned how to erase the damages from their land, their buildings, and themselves. But they had been rebuilding, and planting, and somehow they were still going. And there were little triumphs all the time.

You could almost forget sometimes how fast everything could become a life and death battle. He wasn't sure how. How could he have misread the situation so badly at first? Did they develop a complacency when things were okay, or was it because the dangers only phased them when they were forced to take them on directly? In those moments, he wondered if the dangers were more real than that warm place he imagined. He could nearly always see it off in the distance, that place they could have, could be, but now and then he wondered if he was looking for something that wasn't there.

His mother's choir was singing “I Saw Three Ships.” “I hear ya,” he whispered, and stared down at his feet as he walked onward.

 

 

 

 

 

“Look out, dips down right here,” said Stanley Richmond. 

Emily Sullivan turned to look and chuckled slightly. “I see. Here.” She stepped forward to where he was half crouched, one of his feet sunken into a deceptive but deep rut in the snow-covered path. She held out a hand and he gripped it in his own as he pulled his leg out. “Don’t you hate when it gets all icy on top? Thanks,” he said.

She let go and began walking at his side again.

 “So I found it in a box in the attic,” he said, launching back into his earlier topic of discussion. “I think it'd be an awesome kerchief for Mama, so I just have to convince my co-star. If you see her before Friday, can you try to mention that you think the Night Before Christmas couple would look awesome with costumes?”

 “I'm not sure it'll come up, but I'll try,” she said.

 “Eric's gotta have some dorky shirt or something she can steal,” he continued. “Last year, it didn't really matter because we were just on the radio so no one could see us.”

 “Well, I could -” she started.

 “But this year, it's going to be all live and all awesome. It might even top my performance in the Christmas pageant.”

 “The year you were eating a Fun Dip when you visited Jesus in the manger?” she asked.

 “No, the year I was the baby Jesus,” he said. “My first Christmas.”

 Emily smirked. “Right. Didn't your cousin forget to bring you onstage?”

 Stanley laughed. “Yeah. Poor Loretta – got stage fright and left a baby in a Sunday school room once and never lived it down. But then I got to be the first Jesus ever carried in by Mrs. Larson during the 'O Come All Ye Faithful' chorus like Rafiki in The Lion King. Just before my mom could faint.”

 She smiled, stepping carefully as they came to another patch of ice-covered snow mounded high over the path. “I always wanted to be Mary but they made me play an angel every year. The hair, I guess.”

 “Or the irony,” he said with a smirk.

 “That too,” she shrugged, laughing. “And Chris was always a shepherd. He didn't care, as long as he could wear a moustache.”

 “That was Bonnie's favourite part,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “The year she was one of the wise men. She convinced me to get her makeup and everything, just to draw herself a beard.”

 She looked sideways at him and smiled.

 “Hey, look,” he said suddenly, his entire demeanour shifting in a moment. She was instantly serious too, her eyes following the direction he was pointing. He raised the binoculars and peered at the blur of movement at the edge of the horizon.

 “Oh, it's just them,” he said.

 She gave a nod, still holding her muscles tense for a few moments longer, by habit. In a few seconds she could see. Two riders were approaching in the distance.

 “I guess Santa really is coming to town,” he said with a grin.

 “You guys run into any trouble?” asked Emily a few moments later. Skylar and Dale were dismounting their horses and Skylar shook her head, stretching her arms and twisting at the waist. “Other than nearly freezing, no,” she said. “We talked to a supplier who can get us seed and some extra food, but we'll have to go back with the truck when the snow lets up.”

 Dale nodded. “We brought the stuff we could carry in the sled, though. Archie and Gus are unloading it at the warehouse. We wanted to check in at the store, make sure the last storm didn't do any damage.”

 Stanley nodded. “Anything to declare?” His tone was somewhat joking, but he awkwardly shifted his feet in the snow.

 “Got some spices we thought people might like for Christmas. Want to see?” asked Skylar, reaching for the big pack tied onto her horse.

 “Any chocolate?” asked Stanley, stepping towards her.

 “Sorry, you’re on your own with that one,” she said. “Though there is some cinnamon.”

 Emily sent him a sympathetic grimace. “Emily,” said Dale. He had a more serious expression on his face. “We checked at the centre. We couldn't get anything else on him. I think the lead's dead.”

 “Oh,” she said, finding herself slowly sinking from the place where she'd smirked about chocolate and Santa. “Okay. Thanks, for...”

 Dale nodded, sending her a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

 “Do you guys want a hot drink?” she asked. “We've still got some left.”

 “No, we're almost home,” said Skylar. “I just want to get to the store and then not move. Thanks though.”

 “You're free to go,” said Stanley, putting on his somewhat playful official tone again. “We'll see you soon.”

 They prepared to mount their horses again. “You still having that dinner at the school tomorrow?” asked Dale.

 Emily nodded. “Drop by if you want. It's always nice when you guys can show them there's life after.”

 Skylar chuckled. “Sure. See you later.”

 “Those two as role models?” asked Stanley, shaking his head slowly, as he and Emily watched them retreating.

 Emily nodded, though she couldn't quite bring herself to joke back. She could feel Stanley looking at her, but when she glanced at him, he was looking out at the landscape.

 After a few moments, he said “Sorry it didn't pan out.”

 She shrugged, feeling a strange slowness in her movements. “He's probably dead, right?” Stanley didn't answer and they stared out a little while longer. “I already thought so,” she said. “But I still hoped maybe...”

 “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I get it.”

 They stood in silence for a few moments longer. “You never know, right?” he asked. They looked at each other. His expression wasn't as hopeful as his words. They didn't need to say it because they both knew. It was nice not to have to pretend. She smiled a small smile.

 “So, you're really going to wear a bonnet to the Christmas party?” she asked.

 “It's a kerchief, and I'm just wearing it for the reading, not for the whole party,” he said in a tone that suggested the obviousness of it all.

 “Yeah, that would be weird,” she said. “Well, I'm looking forward to it. Especially the look on Mimi's face.”

 “I'll tell her you were the one pushing for costumes,” he said. She laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

Gracie turned a glare in the direction of a young man and woman, who were still laughing as they righted the rack they had knocked over, picking the books up off the floor. “If you damage anything you'll have to pay for it,” she said sharply.

 “It's fine Mrs. Leigh, see?” asked the young man.

 “Are you headed over to your father's reception, Jake?” she asked, a look of reprimand still on her face.

The blond woman with him was looking at the shelf in front of her, but Jake gave a quick nod. “Put in an appearance, sure.”

 “Good,” said Gracie. “Can I ring in those sodas or did you want something else?”

 Emily watched the man in the next aisle, carefully deliberating over some flower bouquets, before turning back to the shelf in front of her. “I think something else, Mrs. Leigh.” She glanced at Jake. “Chips? I'm really craving something salty.”

 “Anything but pickle,” he said, making a face.

 She had been reaching for the dill flavoured and sent a glance over her shoulder. She picked up a bag of the sour cream instead, and after a moment’s hesitation, grabbed the dill too. “Compromise?” she said with a grin. He smirked.

 “So want to get a drink?” he asked.

 “What about that appearance?” she countered.

 He nodded, with a showy look of resign. “Sure. Ten minutes, then we can escape.”

 She nodded. “The night is ours. But not too late, right? My mom's probably going to want me up early, driving around for last minute things.” 

 He grinned. “Robin's really going all out isn't she?”

 She looked sideways at him. “Don't let her hear you say that.”

 He chuckled. “Why not? You can call my parents Johnston and Gail.”

 She raised her eyebrows. “You call them that.”

 “I do,” he said. At the look she shot him, he shrugged. “Not to their faces. Think I'm an idiot?”

 She laughed, gathering her items together. “Okay, I’ll pay and then I think I'm going to use the payphone. Meet you in there?”

 “They'll be fine,” he said.

 “I want to make sure Chris isn't burning the place down,” she said.

 He raised his eyebrows. “You know what I mean,” she said.

 “No, what exactly do you know about not burning things down?” he asked, barely suppressing a chuckle.

 “A lot. I learn from experience,” she shrugged.

 “They'll be fine,” he said, looping an arm around her.

 “You know what he did the other night?” she asked. “Mom wanted hot cocoa, the real kind, so he made her some. With the kettle! I went to plug it in the next morning and it was still full of old milk.”

 Jake laughed, and she reluctantly smiled, but then grimaced. “I want him to help but I just...he does such a half-ass job. Why can't he be more like your brother?”

 “Trust me, you don't want an Eric,” said Jake. “The world can't handle another. Come on, try to take it easy. It's supposed to be your night off.”

 She raised her eyebrows. When he gave her that look, it was a little like going back, even though she knew really that things were different than those sixteen-year-old days when they never called home. “Come on, one drink, then we'll make our appearance, then we'll escape?” he asked.

 She smiled slightly. “Okay.”

 Gracie kept her eagle eyes on both of them as they paid, though she smiled at them as they took their bag of groceries and prepared to go. “Take care of yourselves,” she said.

 “Always do,” said Jake, holding open the door.

 “How about you? Are you going to the mayor's party at town hall?” she asked, turning to the customer who was now stepping up to pay.

 Gray nodded, handing her the flowers and reaching for his wallet. “Sure, I’ll put in an appearance.”

 She gave him a look he had seen a few times in the past two months, though he wasn’t quite sure whether she was reprimanding him or smirking at a joke that they were both in on. “You’d better, if you want to really get to know the town. Mayor’s Christmas party is an event for sure.”

 “I look forward to it,” he said politely, taking his change.

 “These are lovely,” she said, pausing for just a moment of wistful admiration before she handed them back to him. Her eyebrows were raised in question, another expression he’d gotten used to quickly. You certainly had to be careful how much you gave away in these moments, when the operators of the small town rumour mill seized opportunities and ran with them.

 “Thanks. Hope my hosts like them,” he said with a nod.

 “Oh, I’m sure they will,” said Gracie, her tone bordering an edge. Before he could stare at her with his own questioning eyes, she was busying herself tidying the things sprawled across the counter. “Have fun at the party, if I don’t see you there,” she said.

 He nodded again. “I’ll try.”

 He paused for a moment to smile to himself as he opened the door. A blast of icy wind collided with his face.

 

 

 

 

It was strange the way the cold kept hitting, long after it’d first started seeping into his bones and settling in the dark corners of his mind. Like the scent of the tree lot in the middle of the city where he’d bought his first tree, that first time he’d spent the holiday by himself. You would find yourself adjusted and then you would turn your head a certain way and be hit with that pine smell again. Cold was like that, if you turned. He tried to walk in a straight line.

 The silence was worst. It could drown someone. He tried to compensate with thoughts and memories, but the silence filled it all up, stretching into all of the curves and depressions in the landscape.

 Except it wasn’t silent. How had he not noticed before? He could hear them now, the impossibly loud, moving across the ice and snow, muffled and thundering. All of them. So many. Stepping, onward and upward. Just like Superman. Onward. He had to go onward, didn’t he? For some reason.

 

 

 

 

Inside Town Hall, the music mixed with voices, laughing and frenetic. People were dressed nicely, though not overdressed, and they milled around, sipping drinks, eating baked goods from napkins, and making dramatic hand gestures. He was greeted near the door by a young man wearing a red tie who enthusiastically introduced himself as Mayor Green's son, home for Christmas break. Gray politely nodded at his directions to the coatroom.

 He passed a few familiar faces on his way down the hall, and each person nodded or said hello. It had been somewhat of a process, infiltrating this small town – some had viewed him suspiciously, and others seemed almost overcompensating in their friendliness. Then in the past few weeks, everything had gotten a little easier. He hadn’t decided yet if this was as a natural result of the festive season or if people were truly beginning to warm to him.

 Just as he was about to unbutton his coat, something slammed into him. “Dale!” He turned. A kid with a mop of curly hair and a fast reddening face was backing away. Several other pairs of feet were retreating quickly, but the kid stood frozen in place as a woman marched up to him. “Say you're sorry,” she said, putting her hand on the boy's shoulders. The boy looked as though he'd rather do anything but mumble his apologies to the stranger, but as his mother prodded him, he finally complied.

 “It's alright,” said Gray, awkwardly sending mother and son a smile. “Everyone gets a bit excited around this time of year right?”

 Dale felt his cheeks growing hot and was glad when the bald man in the fancy jacket continued on to the coatroom. He was less glad that his mother was still gripping his shoulders. “I didn't mean anything bad,” he said, leaning his head back and glancing up at her. “He got in the way.”

 She peered down at him in silence for a moment, a familiar worried expression on her face. “Okay. But see why I don't want you running around with those Lewis boys?”

 “They're alright,” he protested. “You don't have to worry.”

 She reached down to smooth his hair, which he endured with a grimace. “Okay, let's go get some juice.”

 Dale permitted his mother to hold onto his arm for a moment as they walked towards the foyer, but he sent her a pained look before the door. She relented with a sigh. “Go find your friends. Not those boys.”

 He narrowed his eyes as he walked into the crowd. If she didn't like the Lewis boys, why did she hang out with their mother so often? He spotted several classmates as he slipped in and around the pockets of people, but no one he wanted to spend time talking to. Finally, he spotted Bonnie by the refreshment table. “Have a shortbread,” she said, holding out one of the pink and white cookies.

 He accepted with a nod, looking around the room. He spotted the man he'd bumped into earlier, and retreated to the other side of the table.

 “Who's that?” asked Bonnie.

 “I don't know,” he said darkly. “But he got in the way and my mom made me say sorry.”

 “Sad,” she said with a mischievous grin.

 “Whatever. So,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her. “Anyone steal the elf yet?”

 

 

 

 

His eyes had fully adjusted to the swirling white in all directions. About time, wasn’t it? He was beginning to feel giddy that he had discovered the secret at last. There were always people here, all around, pressing in. He wasn’t sure what they wanted, and, so long ago now, at first they had frightened him, but now they were comforting. He wasn’t alone, was he?

 Never alone, they had said.

 You’re always here, he had thought to himself, a realization and a question. Of course they were. There were more of them, for sure, all across this country than the measly group back in town. Millions out here, waiting, watching for someone else to take into their arms.

 Maybe it would be warm, he thought. It had to be. So many of them. This was the country. The world that was, and is. The here and now. He could stop, here and now.

 Faintly, very faintly though, he remembered the measly group. A very distant place. It seemed like a very wispy dream to hold onto, but something in him made him dig in. Remember, he told himself. Something warm.

 

 

 

 

He had spoken to a few people already when Shep Cale spotted him and waved him over to the group of men he had been swapping stories with. Soon he had been introduced to Shep's friends, some of whom seemed to extend back to his school days. They clapped each other on the back a lot after a joke or story, and although they made a few jokes about Gray's former life in Denver (asking whether or not he rode a bicycle to work or ate dried cranberries on everything), they nodded appreciatively enough when Shep mentioned his new scheduling system at the mine. It was fifteen minutes before he made it to the baked goods table. Spotting Harry Carmichael, he nodded a hello to him and his wife, Lorraine, who he'd met at the Anderson and Stevens party. “Enjoying yourself so far?” asked Lorraine.

 Gray nodded. “I'm heading out soon, pre-Christmas dinner at Stevens's, but I thought I'd stop by and check it out.”

 Harry smiled. “Definitely. It's a town tradition, you don't want to miss your first one.” Gray chuckled lightly. He'd learned early on that although Harry had only begun his position at the mine last year, he'd grown up in town and often seemed amused to act as a tour guide.  “Everyone seems to get pretty involved,” said Gray, looking around the room.

 “Sure,” said Harry. “Hey, Jimmy, Margaret, any day now?” Gray glanced over at the couple Harry was waving at. The man, holding his partner's hand and both of their coats over his other arm, reminded Gray of a kid on a field trip. Maybe it was his beaming smile. “Any day,” said the man named Jimmy.

 The woman shook her head, putting a hand on her stomach and laughing. “Not quite, and good thing. We're not even done the nursery yet.”

 “Have you met Gray?” asked Harry. Soon he had been introduced to Margaret, Jericho pharmacy tech, and Jimmy, sheriff's deputy, who stayed and chatted a few moments, jokingly accepting advice and recent wisdom from Harry and Lorraine, who had an eighteen-month-old at home with a babysitter. Soon they were heading over to the dessert table themselves, Jimmy exclaiming over the shortbreads on the way.

 “Hey Stanley, going to make it out to the pageant this year?” asked Jimmy as he passed him at the beverage table.

 Stanley nodded. “Bringing one of the wise men. Looks like the Baby Jesus sweepstakes is going to just miss you this year.”

 Jimmy shrugged. “Always next year.” He gave Stanley a nod as he picked up the second plastic juice cup and, carefully balancing, made his way back over to where Margaret was waiting.

 “So dinner at the Stevens' place,” Harry was saying. “That must be why Stevens didn't drag himself out here tonight.”

 “Yeah, I'm sure he's slaving away over a hot burner right now,” said Lorraine with a joking tone, though Gray wondered if he imagined a tiny, more biting flicker in her voice. If Harry noticed, he was brightly smiling as if nothing had happened. “I'm sure it'll be nice. You've met the missus already right?”

 Gray nodded. He'd been introduced to his partner's wife at the Christmas party. “Everyone but the kid. She's going to be there tonight, he said.” The beloved Skylar. He was sure he would be able to pick her out of a line up, from the number of pictures of her he’d seen displayed around the office. Meeting her was probably the most daunting prospect of the night. Miners, engineers, storeowners, and sheriff’s deputies were one thing, but kids, they were a true challenge. He glanced down at the bouquet he was still holding. “You don't think I should've brought something for her too do you?”

 Lorraine's lips twitched into a smile. Harry shook his head. “Nah, she'll get tons of things the day after tomorrow. Don't they all, this time of year? It seems like we should own a share in Fisher Price after this one. Thank God Jamie's not old enough to want one of those Furbies.” He made a face. “You just look out,” he said, glancing at Jimmy and Margaret. “By the time yours is old enough, these things’ll be even weirder. Space age toys.”

 “Sounds like something Kaitlyn would be all over,” said a man in a sweater vest who had just been greeting Harry and Lorraine at the edge of the circle. “She asked for a telescope this year.” He nodded a hello to the others in the group, peering over at Gray. “Anderson, right?”

 Gray realized then that he had met the man before, at the homecoming game. Last time he had seen him, he'd been sharing popcorn with his wife and children, spilling a good deal of it in the bleachers. He thought fast, trying to pull his name from the corners of his mind. “Yes. Rennie?” he asked.

 “Please, Scott,” he said, reaching to shake Gray's hand.

 “And you can call me Gray.” As Gray shook the man’s hand, a pair of children bumped into them, nearly knocking the drink out of Scott’s hand. “Boys!” he said sternly after them, but he smiled as he turned back to Gray. “Kids at Christmas, huh?”

 

 

 

A laugh startled him. It wasn't from the ones he had been watching. He turned to the side. A boy was running, a snowball in his hand, aiming it. He was slow to react, to shrink backwards, but the boy wasn't looking at him. A girl, her hair escaping from its barrettes, was holding out a cautioning hand. “You better not dare!” she was shouting. He knew her, didn't he? Her picture used to sit in the middle of the desk, in that other office.

 The boy laughed again, so much it seemed his ill-fitting hat might fall off of his unruly curls. He tossed the snowball at the girl, and though she looked furious for a moment, she sprang to action, chasing him across the space.

 “You're going to have to look out for them.” He turned. Ginette was standing, her powder blue coat somehow muted in this bright snow.

 He shook his head, wanting to say so many things to her, but all the words seemed to melt on their way to his mouth. “It’s alright,” she said, looking at him with those piercing eyes.

 What do you know, he thought. She was reaching her hand towards him, and part of him wanted to stop and wait. Her arm, nearer than all the others, vaguely hovering somewhere in the icy background, looked just as it must have, years ago, leaning against her porch railing, his car door, a windowsill. “It’s alright,” she said again, stepping forward.

 He shook his head, grimacing, and kept walking. Right foot, left foot. Each a tiny triumph.

 

 

 

 

Someone was asking him a question. “What?” he asked. He turned back to Scott. “Sorry?”

 Scott had an easy, unoffended smile. “How are you adjusting to the town so far?”

 People had asked him this question a lot, from the moment he'd first set foot here. He'd answered simply and straightforwardly, the same each time and it seemed to satisfy them, though he rarely thought about it himself. It had really been a strange place at first. Someone had shown up on his doorstep the first day he moved in, with muffins and nosy inquiries. There were more arguments in the lunchroom at the mine than there'd ever been at his company in Denver. Stevens had informed him that it would be considered completely unacceptable if they didn't throw their employees a Christmas party and here they all were two weeks later, celebrating again.

 Tonight he looked around the room at the chaotic gathering, the sometimes pettily sworn enemies greeting each other heartily, smirking behind each other’s backs, and then offering each other cookies. Some theatrical, telling their stories as if they’d taken to a dimly lit stage, and others using the opportunity of the warm haze to fade in and out of the background, darting between crowds and gathering greetings, handshakes, and sweets. It was a whole world in here. A strange one, where he often felt like an astronaut touching down, but somehow an enticing one.

 “It’s nice,” he said. He looked at Scott again, but the sounds made it hard to hear what he was saying. If only they would stop shouting.

 

 

“Retreat!” He peered again through the burning snow. There they were, somewhere beyond the closer, more familiar spirits. The tiny line of soldiers, struggling to hold their ranks.

 He wanted to shout out to them, suddenly. His voice just sputtered, like smoke in the air. He leaned forward, watching their progress.

 They were sheltering against a small snow bank and now and then they would bravely heave a snowball over the top of their fortress, these adult figures, terror on their faces. One was slumped, clutching at his side. They wore the greens of browns of the border patrol, hardly effective against this cold and hardly camouflage against this white. “We have to go back for him!” a woman was shouting, gripping the icy ledge and sneaking a peek over the side, ducking as another snowball came flying over their heads.

 “Forget it, we're dying out here!” said the bearded man who was clutching his wounded friend to him.

 “Kids and their games,” said a voice in his ear. He glanced sideways, startled. His father was surveying the snowy war scene, his arms folded, a half-amused grim smile on his face. “You don't seem ready to play, boy,” he said.

 The son gritted his teeth and kept walking. He could hear one of the soldiers sobbing, could see them flattening themselves further into the snow bank as the snow kept erupting around them. He should do something, shouldn’t he? If he could reach?

 “How do you think you’re gonna help?” continued that voice. “You’ve been a real help so far, haven’t you?”

 He stared as Scott Rennie greeted his wife and touched her arm, introducing her. Smiling at each other in the foyer lights.

 “No,” he muttered to himself. Had he ever said it out loud before? He could now, with all of them listening. He looked down, watching his feet as he willed them forward.

 The ground felt strange now. Lighter, somehow. He breathed deeply. He must’ve gone ten or fifteen feet, but Scott was still there up ahead. He tried looking away, but it didn’t seem to help.

 The others were there too, talking, clutching at their drinks. Harry miming a football pass, Jake and Emily squeezing past, trying to remain unnoticed. There was Shep again, showing off a new scarf and Gracie Leigh, gathering ammo amidst handshakes.

 But there were so many strangers standing closer in the cold. So many faces. Some he felt he recognized, for a fleeting second, and he wondered where he’d seen them before. Walking, maybe, on the road out of town. Going towards warmer weather, towards a battle with their neighbours, towards another war zone. Here they were, his people, mingling with the others out here. Could he help? “No,” he whispered again.

 He looked at his feet and realized he had lost the path. He wondered if there’d ever been a path. Maybe he was just following them, and everyone was going away.

 He stumbled but remained upright, trying to find his footing.

 “Come on, stay!” Harry was surprisingly insistent. “Just a few more minutes. The mayor’s about to give his speech.”

 What had he answered, in that warm room? Surely he hadn’t been impolite, but it couldn’t have been all that pressing. What did any of them care about a speech anyway?

 “You’ve got time, haven’t you?” Shep was asking.

 He had time, and they all had, back then, but they hadn’t known it. Time marching on, bringing changes and surprises, nothing like the endlessness out here. Time to make mistakes, time to make better, time to show up and to sleep in.

 He chuckled to himself. He felt a warmth growing in him. He closed his eyes and saw them, looking back at him expectantly. He walked blindly, listening to the hum of all of them, their inevitable one story. How good it was, not being alone.

 The church loomed ahead of him. The figure in the yellow scarf was still far away. He smiled as he walked forward.

 “Good evening, folks. I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight. First off, let’s hand it to the refreshment committee!” Appreciative applause sounded around the room. Everyone was settled for the moment.

 Part of him wanted to stop and listen too. That room, those people. They were warm, they were waiting, and though they wouldn’t stay the same, there was still something ahead for them.

 It could still be something.

 He had never noticed how much the snow looked like flour. He nearly laughed at the thought. His mother had sometimes let him stand on a chair in the kitchen, peering over her shoulder as she mixed things in bowls, pouring and adding and checking the book. Every now and then he had been given the spoon. He would stir, smoothing the flour into hills and valleys, making tiny trenches, burying clumps of sugar, raisins, and other additions and watching everything become powdery white again.

 It could be like that here. They were making it easy, these ghosts. He could rest his legs. Rest his heart.

 He turned and looked again. There was a small child up ahead, in a hood and mittens, lifting his boots high in the snow. Taking on the world. He was struck with the impulse to follow, but it was hard to move.

 He couldn’t see her, but he could almost tell she was somewhere to the side, just out of reach. What was she saying? Something she used to say. “You can’t take it all on, but you can take your share.”

 He smirked. That wouldn’t really help now. He craned his neck, but he couldn’t see. A hint of yellow. Fluttering in the wind.

 “You can,” she would say.

 There were no tears, but he closed his eyes. An eternity passed, and he stepped on.

 That child was coming closer. He could hear the footfalls, louder than any of the ghosts. How? What was he doing, in their midst?

 Suddenly the face was right in front of him. Peering in surprise from under a knitted giraffe hat. “Dad!” she shouted.

 He stumbled a bit. Her voice was a shock. He glanced to the side.

 Yellow scarf in the wind. He could hear all the voices, the whole choir. She looked the same as those years ago, when they’d walked downtown secretly. The voices were rising higher. She smiled at him again, looking up to the sky. She might fly away again. Everything was so light, he suddenly wondered if he might be able to fly too.

 But the voice was in his ear again, nagging at him. “You okay? What are you doing out here? Hello?”

 He shuddered and looked back. The giraffe-haired child was standing with a man now and he realized that it was the man who had spoken this time. “Gray? Can you hear me, man?”

 He knew the face staring at him, close and cold and sharp in this windy white plane. His brain struggled to form the thought.

 “Gray? You're in rough shape huh? Come on, we'll get you somewhere warm.”

 The man grasped his arm, a strange haunting feeling. The little girl was still staring up.

 He closed his eyes, feeling at last that the cold was draining out of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gray stared at the ceiling. Pale rays of sunlight were scattered across it, filtering through the blinds. The storm seemed to have let up. It was nice to wake up without an alarm but his mornings at the mine had trained his body long ago and soon enough he found himself sitting up and swinging his feet to the soft carpet below.

Pulling on a robe, he stretched and made his way through the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. He turned on his coffee maker, as automatic a motion this morning as any other, and even walked to the front door, forgetting there wouldn't be a paper today until he was staring at his snowy front stoop. Yawning, he glanced up and down the sunny street. No one was out and about yet and the place was covered in a blanket of snow more than a foot high, but at least a few of his neighbours would be digging themselves out from under the debris of last night's storm and warming up their cars for the short trip to church soon enough. Perhaps a few of them would take the snow as a reason to skip it this time and hibernate a little longer with their morning coffee.

He was planning on attending the service himself but the idea of going back inside and relaxing on his couch with his books and that box of fancy pastries the Carmichaels had given him was tempting. He assumed the roads out of town were still a bit hazardous, perhaps enough that he would forgo his usual tradition of catching a movie or picking up some Chinese food in Fielding. It would be nice to take a day off from everything out there, but he reminded himself of his goal. The service would be the most attended church event of the year and he'd chosen his red tie from three finalists last night.

He took his coffee and wrapped a blueberry pastry in a napkin, leaning back on his couch and putting his feet up, staring out the big glass doors at the backyard as he sipped. For now, he could get lost in the quiet. He'd found this was how he enjoyed Christmas most, his years here in Jericho. He liked the town events, certainly, and the parties they threw at the mine. He'd watch them light that tree on Main Street, he'd give his okay on the menu, gifts for the employees, and door prizes, and he greeted friends and neighbours at the town hall Christmas reception, becoming more an integrated part of it all each year, familiar and predictable as that elf decoration the kids were so strangely obsessed with. He'd let it surround him and enjoy his part in it and some years as the business events and civic festivities died down and everyone started retreating to their own homes and insular family units, he'd feel a little empty.

It wasn't anything like those years he'd spent Christmas Eve out walking, back when he was a kid, walking until his feet nearly fell off or he got tired and numb enough to face going home. He used to stare at the houses he passed, imagining the groups of people inside them opening presents, eating, doing everything out loud instead of all the quiet that strangled his house after a storm. As an adult, he knew people were looking in from the outside all over, even when they were inside those brightly decorated houses. It was best to make the most of your surroundings and not worry about what you didn't have except when you planned on changing it. Some years he'd welcome the quiet. It was always a good chance to take a break from the hectic day to day, answer only to himself and have no one looking to him for answers either. He'd let go of the sentimental parts of it, for the most part he thought, and learned to appreciate this moment removed for what it was.

Today as he leaned back, sipping his coffee, watching a lone chickadee making its haphazard way along the fence, he tried to breathe in and hold on. Next year would be different. Win or lose, stay here or move on, begin to make changes to this town or find it changing him, he guessed he wouldn't be able to spend the day quite so simply. Likely this year would seem a blur, an insignificant blip in a line of years. There was something comforting in that.

He sat, lost in time and space, drinking his coffee and watching the black and white bird. When he finally looked at his watch, he realized he still had an hour until he had to get ready for the service and time for one small tradition. He stood to switch on the radio. Tuning the dial until he found a choir singing “We Three Kings,” he nodded to himself and stood in the doorway, staring out as he listened.

 

 

 

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

The room echoed with applause and a few whistles which turned to cheers as Stanley took off his flowery kerchief and waved it around in his hand. Mary grinned, grabbing his hand and Sam's as Sam reached for Sally's. Stanley took Woody's hand and they bowed as the rest of the room continued to clap.

Stanley narrowed his eyes towards the front row of the loosely organized chairs, where a few shouts could be heard interspersed with the clapping.

Mary glanced in the same direction, trying to maintain an equally stern expression, but broke into laughter after a moment. As the noise died down, she spoke again. “Thanks everyone. I think we're going to reconvene for a carol sing in a bit, but in the meantime, Santa's here and he's brought some gifts, so kids, you can visit with him in just a minute.” She nodded towards Eric, who waved his gloved hand and stood, hoisting the sack he'd been keeping beside his chair and heading over to the seat they'd decorated with twists of shiny garland. The crowd began to disperse, with some of the children going to line up, some of the adults going to get another drink or another helping of dessert, and others turning back to earlier conversations and games.

“Very nice,” said Jake, coming up to clap Stanley on the shoulder. “Definitely a top five performance.”

“Thank ya very much,” said Stanley, taking a sip of water and grinning, though his expression grew accusatory again. “But don't think I didn't hear you laughing.”

“I didn't say anything,” protested Jake. He glanced from Stanley to Mary, who was now unbuttoning the striped dress-shirt she'd been wearing over her clothes. “It was Eric. He was the one whistling.”

“Oh, I know,” said Stanley. “And I'm pretty sure it was Mimi who was calling out something about the pretty lady.”

“Well, you are quite pretty. She could do worse,” said Mary.

Stanley nodded emphatically. “I'd say they're both pretty lucky.” He held up a hand and she high-fived it.

Jake sniggered and ducked out of the way as Stanley sent a tattered songbook flying in his direction.

“Thanks for holding him,” said Mary, taking a pyjama-clad Johnny from Woody's outstretched arms. “You guys were all great!”

“Told you I wouldn't let you down,” said Woody. “I'm steady as a rock!”

Mary smiled and glanced to the nearby table where Jimmy was sitting down again. Jimmy caught her eye and looked somewhat confused but smiled back at her. “Yeah, you are,” she said quietly.

Jimmy chuckled as he watched Sam and Woody, now free from their performing and baby-holding volunteer tasks, racing across the room. He turned back to watch as some of his friends reclaimed their seats at the table.

“So, who's up for another round?” Darcy was asking, motioning at the table still strewn with playing cards.

“Another round of getting my ass kicked?” asked Bill, a wary look on his face.

“You never know. Your luck might change,” said Jimmy.

Bill sent him a sidelong glance. “We don't have any more office chores to bet. Unless you want to dip into next month's.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Come on, man, live a little.”

Darcy glanced towards Allison, who was sipping a drink, Sally leaning against her. “Deal you in?” she asked.

Allison nodded, but then glanced sideways. “Aren't you going to go see Santa, Sally?” she asked.

Sally shook her head. “That's for the kids.”

Allison looked down at her. “You're a kid.”

Sally wrinkled her nose. “Not so much as them.”

Allison chuckled. “You're still allowed to be today, you know.”

Sally leaned her chin in her hands, putting on her most serious face.

Allison sighed before smiling and hugging Sally around the waist. “Come on,” she said. “I'll go with you.”

Sally laughed and pushed Allison's arms away, but as the young woman stood to get out of the booth, she followed her.

Darcy smiled over the cards she was shuffling. Jimmy glanced over at her. “Should I go take over? Let Allison off the hook so she can catch up with the others her age?”

Darcy looked over at their daughters, but shook her head. “If she didn't want to do it, she wouldn't.”

Jimmy nodded, contemplating. “Must be a bit weird, being in between. Being sort of one of the adults, sort of one of the kids.”

Darcy smirked. “Probably. But it's nice too. She never had a sister.”

Jimmy smiled and nodded, looking down at the pile of cards Darcy had dealt him.

Bill narrowed his eyes at his cards for a few moments, then glanced up. “Hey, Gray, you playing?”

Gray shook his head with a small smile as he sat at the edge of the booth, clutching his refilled mug in his hands. Darcy and the deputies continued with their game, in that politely unnoticing way most people had been displaying as he'd encountered them today. Everyone had been kind, offering him drinks and food, asking after his health, or welcoming him back, but no one pressed him for any more details, a behaviour they'd surely adopted after so many battles and losses. He gratefully held his mug closer. His hands hadn't been too badly frostbitten (Bill had commiserated earlier but thankfully a warning glare from Mary had stopped him from showing off his own frostbite battle wounds), and it was certainly warm in the bar with the wood stove going and so many bodies moving around, but the cold haunted him still. He suppressed a shiver.

It was more than the cold. He'd spent most of yesterday at home, recuperating. Today he was surrounded by his fellow townspeople laughing, eating and drinking, playing, and talking. Yet in the gentle quiet of his house and in the jovial jumble of this party, he could still feel them. He supposed they had always been there, pressing in on them from outside, those many faces and voices of their countrymen lost, and some clinging to them from within. Individual faces sprung to his mind as he noticed the solid, noisy partygoers in the crowd. The pair of confident teens unloading presents from a box as the deputy mayor Santa passed them to kids. The black-haired baby laughing at funny faces made by his father as they stood in line. The school teacher staring down a troublemaker with that same unyielding gaze she'd had levelled at him once, before she'd seen even worse injustices.

Most days he had to forget the missing ones connected to these survivors. Working with the here and now was the best way to make sure these few might be saved. Perhaps this haunting chill would fade in the next few days as the blisters on his feet healed and his muscles recovered. Their presence would continue but he'd be able to push them away again, just enough to remember his choice. If it was a choice. He still wasn't certain there was much difference between the land of the living and the other world he'd seen, superimposed, out there in the endless white.

“Mayor Anderson, do you want a cookie?” asked a kid in glasses, holding out a plate, partway through a tour of the room.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding towards the kid and smiling as the boy continued towards the poker enthusiasts, so intently focused on their game Bill jumped in surprise as Robert Hawkins plunked down the glasses of cider he'd been balancing in the middle of the table and took a seat next to his wife.

Allison and Sally navigated around several people balancing drinks or extra desserts as they made their way over to the Santa lineup. “What do you think the present is?” asked Sally, looking up at Allison.

“I hear it's pretty cool,” said Heather, who was standing nearby.

“What is it though?” asked Sally.

“You don't want the surprise spoiled, do you?” asked Emily, passing her friend a plate with a cookie.

Allison nodded in greeting at the teachers. “Did you have a good turn out at the dinner yesterday?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah, it was a good group. Lots of lively discussion.”

“Sorry I couldn't make it,” said Allison, glancing down at Sally with a smile. “We had a tree mission.”

Emily nodded. “Success?”

“We got the best tree ever!” said Sally.

Heather chuckled. Emily smiled. “I'm thinking of having another get together, sometime in January maybe, so if you're free and want to come, you should check it out.”

“Sounds good,” said Allison. “Oh, look,” she motioned to the moving line, putting her hands on Sally's shoulders. Sally smiled. “I think it's crayons.”

“Yeah? I think it's a puppy,” said Allison. Heather and Emily laughed as the two continued towards Santa.

“Gonna make it a regular thing, huh?” asked Heather.

Emily shrugged. “I've been wondering for a while how to make it easier for them. Not easier. I don't know.”

Heather was watching Sally and Allison's progress pensively. “No, it's good,” she said. “When you're between things, starting out, it's always been hard, but it's gotta be even weirder now. I think it'll be nice to have something for them.”

Emily nodded. “I hope so.” She glanced sideways. “Do you want to come to the next one? We could do with another good role model.”

Heather raised her eyebrows but nodded. “Yeah, sign me up.” Both women kept their eyes on the line of kids, but they shared a small smile.

“So is this how it's going to be now?” asked Jake, leaning over Eric's shoulder as Bethany Cale thanked him again and stepped back to her mother. “All of you ganging up on me when I'm most vulnerable?”

Eric waved at the next kid in line and glanced back at his brother. “It was their idea,” he said, hiding a grin.

“Right,” said Jake. “And Heather and Mary knew exactly where the Star Wars sheets were I guess?”

Eric chuckled. “Made good wrapping paper in a pinch, didn't it? Personally I thought the angel garland bow on your head was the nicest touch. Took Mary a while to untangle it, so Heather had time to make the antlers for your bed posts.”

“Another bright idea,” grumbled Jake. “You guys are so funny.”

Eric feigned innocence once more, but then laughed. “I think it was Johnny's favourite part of the morning.”

Jake sighed, but looked as though he was fighting a smile. “His laugh is even louder than yours. How is that possible?”

Eric shrugged. “Hi there! Merry Christmas!” he said as Jamie Carmichael came towards him, leading his sister Laura by the hand.

Jake smirked as Eric tried to balance both kids as they climbed onto his knees at the same time. “Well you better laugh while you can, Santa.”

He made a face as Eric complimented Jamie for being a helpful big brother, but as Eric looked over his shoulder and asked him to pass the kids' gifts, Jake relented and picked up the small packages. “Ho ho ho, thank you elf,” said Eric, and Jake rolled his eyes.

“Whoa, you're an elf now too?” Lucas had appeared nearby, holding out a cookie tray. Jake looked sideways. The kid was taller than he had been on that night on the school bus, a thousand years ago now, but he still peered up with big eyes through his round glasses. The smirk suggested a bit more worldly experience though.

“Yup,” said Jake through gritted teeth, shoving a cookie in his mouth.

“Ooh!” shouted Sean, grimacing theatrically as his last dart hit the wall beside the dart board.

“Come on, two out of three,” said Dale. “You can handle another round or two, can't you?”

“And give her more bragging rights?” asked Sean.

Skylar laughed but shrugged. “Don't know what to tell you. Must be my lucky night.”

“It's Christmas, don't be a Scrooge,” shrugged Dale.

“Fine. Just wait, I'm totally going to dominate this round,” said Sean, grabbing one of the darts and winding up to take a shot.

“Whoa, watch it with those,” said Stanley, who had appeared at his side, holding up one hand over Clark's face. “We just wanted to thank Santa's helpers.” He nodded towards Skylar and Dale.

“Eight colours! Where did you score those?” asked Sean. Clark was staring down, mesmerized, at the box of crayons in his chubby hand.

“That big market in Grand Bend,” said Skylar. “We couldn't find much this year but we thought most of the kids would be into it.”

Dale nodded, but looked warily at Clark's grip on the box. “Probably didn't think about the really little kids though. Is he too young for them? I can see if we have something better at the store.”

“I'll show him how to use them!” cut in Sean. “We'll have lots of fun.” He held out his arms.

“Right now? I thought you were going to dominate this round,” said Stanley, emphasizing the last three words in what was clearly his Sean voice. Sean just chuckled and shook his head. “I'll catch up with them after. Let the queen of darts here tire herself out and then swoop in for victory.”

Skylar rolled her eyes but Dale smiled. “I'll see if Archie wants to join this round,” said Skylar. “Glad you had a good first Santa visit, Clark.”

“Say 'thank you,'” Stanley whispered loudly, and Clark, in a somewhat dazed state of grateful, chirped a few words after them.

“Wanna draw your favourite person in the whole world?” asked Sean.

“Let me guess, that must be Uncle Sean?” asked Stanley in a playfully sarcastic tone as he passed his son over to Sean.

“Mimi,” shrugged Sean, making a funny face at Clark.

“What?” asked the woman in question, who had just appeared with two drinks in her hands.

“We can get some paper from those guys over there,” said Sean, motioning towards a table where some kids were colouring with their new gifts.

“Alright,” said Stanley. “Don't detour by the darts.”

Sean made a face. “I would never let him get hurt!”

“We know,” said Mimi, reaching to briefly brush her fingers against Clark's cheek.

“No!” said Clark, squeezing his mother's hand and giggling at his favourite word.

Stanley watched them retreat with a bemused smile on his face. “They kinda look like twins in those sweaters, don't they?” Mimi raised an eyebrow. “Creepy twins, where one took skelegrow juice and one got hit by a shrink ray,” he added.

“Shrink ray?” she repeated, shaking her head. “There weren't a whole lot of yarn colours to choose from.”

“True, and red suits both of them,” he said, accepting the drink she handed to him. “Sean loves it. I saw him showing off earlier.”

Mimi smiled, looking down at her drink for a moment. She stepped closer to Stanley, leaning into his side as he put an arm around her. “Of course everyone's loving your gifts,” he said, glancing around the room. Several of her creations were now drying on the edges of tables and near the wood stove.

“Just one more to hand out,” she said, motioning towards her pocket. “In a minute.”

He nodded, sipping his drink. “Yeah, let's just stay still while we can.”

She smiled again and reached her arm around his waist, leaning her head against his chest and closing her eyes for a moment.

“So Russell, I hear you're the hero of the week!” Bill exclaimed loudly over the edge of his latest hand of cards.

“Yeah, thanks for finding our mayor,” added Hawkins, nodding as Russell took a seat at their table.

Gray turned and smiled. He was sure he'd thanked the man and his daughter, the night they had brought him to the med centre in their truck, but since it was all a blur in his mind, he couldn't quite remember the moment. Others had recounted how delirious he'd been, muttering about churches and snow battles, and it was very possible he'd welcomed Russell to planet earth or asked him for the answer to question nine on the chemistry test. Russell would understand, he was sure. So much that happened between them all, everyday, stretched beyond the limits of simple words. Sometimes, too, simple words could contain everything all at once. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at Russell.

Russell nodded back, an awkward smile on his face. “Don't mention it,” he mumbled.

They went back to their drinks and the conversation at the table. Gray only half paid attention to what the others were saying, glancing towards the nearby window. He had been watching the snow, intermittently through the evening, but now it was too dark to see much of anything. It still all felt strange, this noisy, lively room filled with hot breath, footsteps, people bumping into each other, accidentally touching arms and elbows as they navigated around each other, sides touching in their seats and holding hands, going in for hugs, sitting on laps. The air was congested with cinnamon, home brew, and wet wool, drying in the form of mittens, hats, and scarves, lining the room as they recovered from recent battle out on Main Street. The voices all around were swimming, hitting heights and depths. He'd spent most of the evening taking it in and trying to hold on.

“Gray, welcome home!” said Harry Carmichael, passing the table as Jamie pulled on his arm.

Gray raised his hands in thanks, watching the father and son make their way towards the table where Gail was supervising the song books. Everyone had been saying that. Today, for the most part, he believed it, even as the ghosts out there still beckoned and called with their distant voices. For so long, home had been a place on the road ahead and he'd figured he'd recognize it when he reached it and know when to stop. Each time he stopped though, he'd felt a pull between the road behind him and something even further on. But perhaps that was always the way. Never quite settled, never quite still, but a series of stops where you could look forward and back and find some way to be let yourself feel at ease in the moment between the people and the ghosts.

“Hey Doc,” said Mimi, hoisting herself up onto the bar stool beside Kenchy. He smiled and tilted his head. “Hello.”

“Didn't get a chance to give you your present yet,” she said, holding out a small bundle.

He began to protest, as per their usual routine, and she insisted as usual. He accepted the mittens, holding them closer to admire them in the dim light. He smiled. “Beautiful.”

“Royal blue, right?” she asked.

He slipped one of his hands into one mitten and flexed his fingers. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Wouldn't do you any good to get frostbite. Winters here can be a bitch.”

He nodded. “That they can. Here.” He reached for the drink he had been served and handed it to her. “To your health.”

“Now you're gonna need one,” she protested, waving at Darryl, who had taken over pouring drinks. “One more?” she asked, spotting Emily walking by. “Actually two please?”

“What? I was going to -” began Emily.

“We're toasting to health,” said Mimi, shaking her head at Emily's protest. “Darryl, you should have one too. It's a party.”

Emily chuckled as Mimi began debating with the bartender. She shrugged and sat down on the stool on Kenchy's other side. “Happy Christmas,” she said. “That's what you say right?”

He nodded. “You seem rather merry though, I must say.”

She shrugged, smiling and glancing around the room. “It's never quiet around here, is it?” she asked.

He shook his head with a chuckle. “No, it is not.”

“Okay, come on,” said Mimi, hoisting her glass. Darryl had come around the bar with a few more drinks, and Mimi had enlisted the people in the nearby table, who were holding their drinks now. “To life!” she said.

They echoed her, and she glanced at Kenchy. “To the future,” he echoed, smirking but nodding.

From his seat at the corner of the table, Gray clinked glasses with Russell and Jimmy, smiled and sipped his drink. He laughed softly as Mimi and Kenchy offered a few other bright and shiny sentiments and Emily slipped in something about the past and present. Several others around the table chimed in: to the dinner, to the fire, to the snow being over, to the walk home being warmer. Russell caught his eye and he smirked. “To you,” he said softly, nodding his head to both Russell and Hailey, who was sitting so close by her father she was nearly in his lap. He glanced towards the others. “To us!” he said a little louder. He stood, holding his glass high. “To here and to now!” They nodded, the glasses clanged, and they drank.

“If everyone's done...whatever you're doing, the carolling is about to begin!” announced Mary, motioning as several volunteers were passing out the worn booklets. “Feel free to pull up a chair or stay where you are and enjoy the surround sound.”

Gray accepted the booklet Sally Taylor passed to him, absently flipping through some of the songs as the room erupted in a flurry of activity and then started to settle once again.

After a few minutes and some false starts as Stanley, Mary, and Gail tried to decide on an opening song and direct everyone to the right page, the carolling began. The din of voices suddenly took on some kind of structure as he recognized the opening lines of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” He didn't sing himself, preferring to focus on their voices. Voices that annoyed him, some days of the year. Voices that could break hearts. Voices he wanted to believe in.

He had never known quite what he believed, preferring to focus on the moment at hand, the problem to solve. But of all the skills that had allowed him to survive this far, believing was probably the most important. Though he couldn't often admit it, he trusted them, if he trusted anything.

He slowly stood, making his way in the dizzying warm room towards the chairs arranged in the middle of the floor, narrowly avoiding tripping over a small child on a sugar high. He sat in one of the last available chairs. Sam Hawkins was beside him, shyly singing along. Forgetting his pre-teen reputation for the moment, he leaned against his mother, who held her book so that they could both see. Gray smiled.

This was where they had all ended up and they were making it what they could. It could be anything. It would be something. He would make sure of it, and so would they, he trusted.

It didn't always seem enough, but tonight Gray smiled again.