Danielle Steel: The Gift

Tommy went off with some of his friends that night. The weather was so bad he didn't even ask to borrow the car, he just walked to his closest friend, and then came home at eleven-thirty. They never had to worry about him. He'd sown one or two wild oats by fifteen, all of which consisted of two instances of drinking too much beer and throwing up in the car when his father brought him home. The Whittakers hadn't been pleased, but they hadn't gone crazy about it either. He was a good boy, and they knew that all kids did those things. John had done them too, and a few worse, especially while Liz had been away at college. She teased him about it sometimes, and he insisted that he had been a model of virtuous behavior, to which she raised an eyebrow, and then usually kissed him.

They went to bed early that night too, and the next morning, as they looked out their windows, it looked like a Christmas card. Everything was white and beautiful, and by eight-thirty that morning Annie had Tommy outside with her, helping her build a snowman. She used Tommy's favorite hockey cap too, and he explained that he was going to have to “borrow” it that afternoon for his game, and Annie said she'd have to let him know if he could use it. He tossed her into the snow then, and they lay there, on their backs, waving their arms and legs, making “angels.”

They all went to Tommy's game that afternoon, and even though his team lost, he was in good spirits afterwards. Emily had come to see him too, although she was surrounded by a group of friends, and claimed that they had wanted to come, and she had just “happened” to join them. She was wearing a plaid skirt and saddle shoes, and her long dark hair was in a ponytail down her back, and Annie said she was wearing makeup.

“How do you know?” He looked surprised and amused as the whole family left the skating rink at school and walked home together. Emily had already left with her gaggle of giggling girlfriends.

“I wear Mom's makeup sometimes,” Annie said matter-of-factly, and both men grinned and looked down at the little elf walking beside them.

“Mom doesn't wear makeup,” Tommy said just as firmly.

“Yes, she does. She wears powder and rouge, and sometimes she wears lipstick.”

“She does?” Tommy looked surprised. His mother was nice-looking, he knew, but he never suspected that there was any artifice involved, or that she actually wore makeup.

“Sometimes she wears black stuff on her eyelashes too, but it makes you cry if you use it,” Annie explained, and Liz laughed.

“It makes me cry too, that's why I never wear it.”

They talked about the game then, and other things, and Tommy went out with his friends again, and a classmate of his came to baby-sit for Annie that night, so her parents could go to a Christmas party at a neighbor's house.

They were back home by ten o'clock, and in bed by midnight, and Annie was sound asleep in her bed when they came home. But she was up at dawn the next morning, and wildly excited about Christmas. It was Christmas Eve, and all she could think of was what she had asked Santa Claus for. She wanted a Madame Alexander doll desperately, and she wasn't at all sure she would get one. And she wanted a new sled too, and a bicycle, but she knew it would be better to get the bicycle in the spring, on her birthday.

There seemed to be a thousand things to do that day too, a myriad of preparations for Christmas. They were expecting some friends to visit the following afternoon, and her mother was doing some last-minute baking. And they'd be going to midnight mass that night. It was a ritual Annie loved, although she didn't really understand it. But she loved going to church with them, late at night, and being sandwiched between her parents in the warm church, dozing off, as she listened to the hymns and smelted the incense. There was a beautiful manger with all the animals surrounding Joseph and Mary. And at midnight, they put the baby in the manger, too. She loved looking for it before they left the church, and seeing baby Jesus there with his mother.

Just like you and me, huh Mom?” she asked, nestling close to Liz, as her mother bent down to kiss her.

“Just like us,” Liz said gently, counting her blessings again. “I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too,” Annie whispered.

She went to the service with them that night, as she always did, and fell asleep as she sat comfortably between her parents. It was so cozy and pleasant there. The church was warm, and the music seemed to lull her to sleep. She didn't even wake up for the procession. But she checked for baby Jesus in the manger, as she always did, on the way out, and he was there. She smiled when she saw the little statue, and then looked up at her mother and squeezed her hand. Liz felt tears in her eyes as she looked at her. Annie was like a special gift to them, sent just to bring them joy and warmth and laughter.

It was after one in the morning when they got home that night, and Annie seemed more asleep than awake when they put her to bed. And by the time Tommy went in to kiss her, she was sound asleep and gently snoring. He thought she felt kind of hot, when he kissed her head, but he didn't think much of it. He didn't even bother to tell his mom. She looked so peaceful that he didn't think anything was wrong.

But she slept late on Christmas morning for the first time and she seemed a little dazed when she woke up. Liz had put out the plate of carrots and salt for the reindeer, and the cookies for Santa the night before because Annie had been too sleepy to do it. But Annie remembered to check to see what they'd eaten when she woke up. She was a little sleepier than usual, and she said she had a headache, but she didn't have a cold, and Liz thought maybe she was coming down with a mild case of influenza. It had been so bitter cold lately, and she might have gotten a chill playing in the snow with Tommy two days before. But by lunchtime she seemed fine. And she was elated over the Madame Alexander doll Santa had brought her, and the other toys, and the new sled. She went out with Tommy and played for an hour, and when she came in for hot chocolate that afternoon her cheeks were bright red and she looked very healthy.

“So, Princess,” her father smiled happily at her, puffing on his pipe. Liz had given him a beautiful new one from Holland, and a hand-carved rack for all his old ones. “Was Santa Claus good to you?”

“The best.” She grinned. “My new dolly is so pretty, Daddy.” She smiled up at him as though she almost knew who had given it to her, but of course she didn't. They all worked hard to keep the myth going for her, although a few of her friends knew. But Liz insisted that Santa Claus comes to all good children, and even some not so good ones, in the hope that they'd get better. But there was no question as to which kind Annie was. She was the best, to them, and to everyone who knew her.

They had friends in that afternoon, three families who lived nearby and two of John's managers with their wives and children. The house was quickly filled with laughter and games. There were a few young people Tommy's age too, and he showed them his new fishing rod. He could hardly wait for the spring to use it.

It was a warm, enjoyable afternoon, and they had a quiet dinner that night, after everyone had gone. Liz had made turkey soup, and they ate leftovers from lunch, and some of the goodies people had brought them.

“I don't think I'll be able to eat again for a month,” John said, stretching back in his chair, as his wife smiled, and then noticed that Annie looked kind of pale and glassy-eyed, and there were two bright spots on her cheeks, which looked like the rouge she liked to play with.

“Have you been into my makeup again?” Liz asked with a mild look of concern mixed with amusement.