Twelve year old William gazed out his bedroom window at the rain. He'd finished The Hobbit and tonight he would begin the second in The Lord of the Rings series. He had made his bed, then put away his books.
He wanted company, but the only friend he wanted to call was five-year old Sarah, and she would want him to come over now, like she always did. Her mother always baked the most wonderful things.
His mother hadn't left her room, but that wasn't unusual. She hardly ever left her room and she didn't welcome him there anymore than his father welcomed him anywhere.
Just like every day, breakfast had been served on time and in silence. His father had asked questions about his plans, but he always asked and never paid attention to William's answers. Just once he'd like for his father to look at him and act like he cared, maybe make a comment.
Maybe if he did something bad his dad would notice. But William didn't dare take the chance. His father would never love a bad son and his mother would cry.
Only the heavy rain kept William from going next door to tell little Sarah the story he had promised. She loved learning to read and he liked teaching her.
The good thing about Christmas break was that he could spend more time with the family next door. He'd rather be in school where he was praised for working hard than at home.
When the rain slowed he'd make his escape to the warmth of a real family. He could be there for lunch and smiles.
By eleven o'clock the rain was a cold drizzle. William dashed across his back yard into Sarah's and to her porch. After he wiped his feet on the doormat he opened the door to warmth and the smell of baking gingerbread. He never tracked dirt on the kitchen floor or let a screen door slam. He wouldn't do anything to make Mrs. Overby angry at him.
"Merry Christmas, William," Mrs. Overby sang out as he hung his coat on his special peg beside the door. Sarah's mama gave him a one-armed hug.
"Good morning, ma'am." It was the first hug he'd had since last night when he'd left to go home for supper. In another year he'd be as tall as Mrs. O.
"Sarah's been fit to be tied waiting for her William."
"William!" Sarah's childish voice squealed. "You're here!" She skidded to a stop within inches of touching him. She pulled a Sarah pout and stood with both hands on her hips. "You're late and I missed you."
He laughed out loud for the first time today. He took the tissue Sarah handed him and cleaned the rain from his glasses. "Well, it was raining cats and dogs."
She snickered. "Did you step on a poodle?" She erupted in giggles. "Or did you bring me a cat?"
William felt his mouth stretch into a grin. "No, they fell from the sky too fast. I couldn't catch one." He sneezed twice, then reached for the tissue Mrs O. held out to him.
"Sarah, I think our friend caught a cold."
"I don't think so, ma'am. It's just allergies, I'm sure." How would he spend his day if he had to leave to keep from making Sarah sick? He'd be careful. "I'll just wash my hands." He headed for the bathroom.
When he came back to the kitchen Mrs. O handed him a plate and sent him to join Sarah at the table. Sarah handed him two slices of bread stuck together with peanut butter and something sticky.
"For me?" he asked. "What is it?" He didn't dare hurt her feelings by refusing her offering, but he wanted to be prepared, in case it tasted awful.
"I mushed bananas," she announced. "It tastes good. Daddy likes my sammiches."
William would eat it if it tasted like mud but it tasted okay. He washed the concoction down with lots of milk.
"See, I'm a good cook."
As he chewed his last bite Sarah grabbed his hand and dragged him to the living room. A Christmas tree took up a corner and nearly reached the high ceiling. It was artificial, the same tree this family had used since Sarah's first Christmas. He'd been there.
"We're decoratin' it and you're helpin'." Sarah pointed to a box. "We got to find all the lights."
William helped her separate the strings of bulbs and plugged them into outlets. He replaced several bulbs until the room was filled with blinking lights.
"It's fairy land." Sarah clapped her hands and hopped around the room.
"And you're a fairy." William crossed his arms.
"A fairy princess," she corrected him.
He and Sarah unwound garlands and separated decorations into piles, locating hooks for each.
William's stomach knotted. There was no tree in his house. His family didn't have Christmas. They didn't celebrate anything. He'd never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or fairies or magic. He believed in taking care of Sarah and had, since he'd seen her as a newborn. He'd promised to look after her, and he always kept his promises. He even pretended he believed for Sarah.
He pretended he believed in love, because he wanted to be loved by this family. He had wandered into the Overby yard when he saw the man and woman moving in years ago. He'd been shy at four but the man and woman had laughed and he wanted to know what made them laugh.
His nanny had laughed with him, but she had left to get married, and he had been in daycare and under the supervision of a housekeeper. He heard Sarah's high pitched little girl voice singing a Christmas song. He'd never bothered to listen to the words, but he was sure she made up most of them.
William's memories were interrupted when Doctor Overby opened the front door with his usual jovial sounds. "Merry Christmas, Sarah. Merry Christmas, William." He brought life and warmth with him, like a daddy should.
Sarah flew across the room at him and launched herself into his arms as he knelt to catch her. "Merry Christmas, Daddy, but we got three more days afore Christmas."
"We can say it every day and get in practice, little girl." Doc. O. grinned.
She looked like a curly haired little monkey as she squeezed his neck with her tiny arms and kissed his cheek with loud smacks.
What wouldn't William give to be able to cling to someone? He edged a step closer to the Doctor. He was rewarded when Doc. put his heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed, man-to-man.
"Well," Mrs. Overby called as she bustled from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on a Christmas towel decorated with holly. He could smell fresh yeast bread. Sometimes she let Sarah and him knead the dough or roll it out or make shapes. She always gave him some of what she baked.
There wouldn't be anything like that at William's house. His father didn't believe in bread you could squeeze or sweets of any kind.
Doc. kissed his wife. "What do I smell, hmmm?"
"You'll see, dear."
Sarah squirmed down and twirled, singing. "Christmas fairy-land, Christmas fairy-land." William caught her when she stumbled. "Let's decorate the tree, let's decorate the tree, let's -"
"Okay, Okay," her dad said. He removed his coat and tossed it over a chair. For hours everyone worked, first stringing the lights around the tree. The fairyland room became a glittering tree. For each decoration they added, William's chest squeezed, like he couldn't breathe.
When the last decoration was in place, Sarah's mom grabbed the Polaroid camera. William took the family picture. Everyone took turns being the photographer, including Sarah.
Standing between Sarah's parents he held his breath, barely swallowing past the lump in his throat. When the grandfather clock chimed seven he hugged Sarah. "Gotta go, Princess Sarah. Thank you, doctor and Mrs. Overby."
Suddenly he was all business, as he had been taught. They weren't really his family. He walked quietly to the kitchen for his coat. He took the bag Sarah's mom handed him. He smelled cinnamon and ginger and bread. If he hurried he could hide it in his room before he had to be at the dining table.
Sarah wrapped her arms around his middle, stopping him as he opened the door to the night cold. When he stopped and knelt to look her in the eye she smiled at him. "The Princess wants a kiss goodbye."
He kissed her sticky cheek. The princess had candy cane on her face. "Goodnight, Princess." She slipped something in his coat pocket but he didn't have time to look. "I can't be late."
She pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yes, don't be late for your supper. We don't want you to be ground.
He hurried to his house, barely feeling the cold. He raced through the kitchen, catching a frown from the housekeeper as she stirred something on the stove. Food smells failed to make him smile or feel at home.
He ran upstairs. His father was in the den having his nightly cocktail. By the time William had combed his hair and washed his face his father's voice came from downstairs.
"Supper is ready, William."
"Thank you, father," he called as he left his room and went to meet his parent.
During the meal there was little conversation and no laughter. Nothing new.
He was going to ask as soon as he could find the courage. His voice scratched. "Dad, could we have a Christmas tree?"
The room was so quiet he could hear the clocks ticking. His father frowned. William felt his lips tremble but he wouldn't cry, no matter.
"Why?" Was all he said.
"Because it's Christmas, Sir."
"We don't do that."
"But why? Don't we believe in Christmas?" William felt a tear in his eye and turned away. He wouldn't let the old man see him cry!
"We don't believe in fairytales or other nonsense."
"Do we believe in birthdays?" He couldn't believe he'd asked that. He watched his father, waiting to see him blow up or show some emotion. William had never had a party or even a wrapped present, except from his neighbors. He'd stopped sharing the presents he'd made at school with his parents who saw only the mistakes of a child and missed the love in them.
"Have you ever lacked for anything you needed?"
He knew better than to tell the truth. "No, sir." His father wouldn't understand.
"You get money for each birthday and I put money in your college fund. You can study anything you want."
William stood taller as his tears dried behind his eyes. "Thank you, sir. May I be excused?"
The man nodded and turned toward his study, where he would remain until late. The housekeeper would take a cup of coffee to the study, then retire to her room. William would stay in his room and start the next Hobbit book.
As he undressed for bed he found what Sarah had slipped into his coat pocket. He smiled at the pictures of himself with the people who cared about him. He unfolded a paper. Sarah had drawn a Christmas tree covered with crayon decorations. Four stick people stood together holding hands. He put them beneath his pillow and cried.
He had cried at six years old when he had fallen asleep waiting for his mother to come tell him happy birthday and kiss him. He hadn't cried since then, until Sarah's mother had lost her baby months ago. He wouldn't cry again, ever.
He buried himself in the world of the Hobbits. He didn't believe, but it was entertaining. He didn't know how long he read but knocking on the door woke him. The book lay open on his chest and his glasses were crooked and light seeped between his curtains.
"Breakfast in fifteen minutes," the housekeeper called. Groggy, he glanced at his alarm clock. He hadn't set it. What would happen if he missed breakfast with his father?
Christmas morning William awoke to a quiet house. Would his father expect him to have breakfast as usual? Oh, he had forgotten, the housekeeper had Christmas morning off. When could he sneak next door?
He opened the second Hobbit book and took out the pictures of him with his other family. Closing his eyes he imagined how it would feel to wake up and hurry downstairs to open presents and enjoy his family. He imagined that he smelled Christmas cookies and turkey.
He snuggled beneath his covers and closed his eyes. Five minutes later he opened his eyes and left his warm bed. Even though there would be no tree with presents downstairs, he figured he might as well get up. The Overbys would expect him. As he dressed his excitement grew.
He grabbed a bag from under his bed, then hid his pictures back in his book. He made his bed and put his clothes away.
When his room was in order he walked downstairs. He took a card from his bag and placed it by his father's place at the dining room table. After he slid a card under his mother's door he headed to the kitchen to find his father standing at the stove. The coffee maker was going and his dad wore sweats and a dishtowel as an apron.
"Please set the table while I scramble some eggs for us. There's bread in the toaster."
"Sure." William set the dinning room table for two. He turned at a faint noise. His breath caught at the sight of his mother's ghostly image. The shiny robe hung loose on her.
"Here, Mama, sit down." He pulled out a chair and pushed it to the table. He set her a place. His mother had come to the table for a meal. "Dad," he called. He was afraid to leave her alone. She might disappear.
"Yes?" His father entered, carrying two platters.
"Mom is here."
"Yes, she is." He placed the platters on the table. "Could you get the juice, please?"
"Yeah, I mean yes, sir." William hurried to get the juice pitcher and took it to the table. While he poured juice into glasses he watched his mother. She sat straight but she looked so tired.
After another quick trip for coffee his dad motioned for William to sit. He couldn't take his eyes from his mother, who drank her juice but ate very little. His father had made a nice breakfast and William ate to show his appreciation.
"It's good, isn't it, Mama?"
"Yes, William." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She pushed her food around her plate, while his dad ate mechanically. He said little.
As he ate the last of his food his dad handed him an envelope, then helped his mom from her chair.
"Your mother is tired. I'll take her to her room. Leave the dishes. I know you want to go next door."
William was afraid to open the envelope. When he did tears stung his eyes. A single folded sheet of his father's stationary held cash. His father had written him a note.
"William, for the things your mother and I cannot give you, we are truly sorry. We know we fail you, but you will never want for anything. That we promise."
It was signed like a business letter. He broke his vow not to cry.
William removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He put the envelope and its contents into his pocket and cleared the dishes from the table. No one came from his mother's room while he put the juice away and stacked the dishes in the sink.
When he saw lights in Sarah's room he grabbed his coat and paper bag and ran across their yards. She must've been watching for him because she opened the door before he could.
"Come on." She grabbed his hand and pulled. "Hurry. Santa came and I want you to see what he brought me and we waited for you to help us open the other presents."
By the time she pulled him to the Christmas tree his mood had brightened. She yanked at his hand until he sat on the floor with the Overbys.
He reached into his sack and pulled out small boxes, which he passed to Sarah and her parents.
"Now, you," Sarah clapped her hands, then knelt to grab brightly wrapped boxes of all sizes and fill his lap. He grinned as he found books and a sweater and gloves and games. Sarah waited until he opened the last package.
"Put it on, please." She handed him the necklace he had brought her. He clasped it for her.
Mrs. O. had pinned the gold broach to her sweater and Doc. had the silver pen in his shirt pocket.
If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was part of this family. He had two families. One that knew how to show love, and one that didn't.