Danielle Steel - The Gift

Thanks, Mom.” He was glad they had done the right thing, and they all went into the kitchen to have dinner. Maribeth asked about their trip, and Liz said it had gone well. She didn't look thrilled, but John nodded agreement. It had gone as well as it could have, given the circumstances. But they seemed pleased, and there was a festive atmosphere between them for the rest of the evening. Liz noticed something different about them though. They seemed more serious than they ever had before, and quieter, and they looked at each other with an even stronger bond than Liz had ever noticed between them.

“You don't suppose they did anything while we were gone, do you, John?” she asked him that night, in their room, and he looked amused.

“If you mean what I think you mean, even a sixteen-year-old boy couldn't overcome an obstacle like that one. I'd say your fears are definitely unfounded.”

“You don't think they got married, do you?”

“They'd need our permission to do that. Why?”

“They just look different to me. Closer somehow, more like one than two, the way married people are, or are supposed to be.” The trip had been good for them too. Being alone in a hotel room had brought them closer than they'd been in years, and he'd taken her out for a very nice dinner. And they had accomplished more or less what they wanted before that.

“I think they're just very much in love. We have to accept that' John said calmly.

“Do you suppose they really will get married one day?”

“It wouldn't be the worst thing for either of them. And they've already been through a lot together. It may prove to be too much for them, in the end, or it might be the making of them. Only time will tell. They're both good kids, I hope they do stay together.”

“She wants to wait though,” Liz said, understanding that well, and he smiled ruefully.

“I know about that kind of woman.” But it was a good kind, as time had proven to him. Not always an easy kind, but a good one. “If it's meant to be, they'll find a way to make it work eventually. If not, they'll have had something most people never have in a whole lifetime. In some ways, I envy them.” There was something about starting out again that appealed to him, about having a new life and a clean slate. He would have loved to start fresh with Liz. But for them, in some ways, it was too late now.

“I don't envy her what she'll have to go through,” Liz said sadly.

“You mean the delivery?” He sounded surprised, Liz had never complained much about childbirth.

“No, I mean giving the baby up. That won't be easy.” He nodded, sorry for her. Sorry for both of them for the pains they would have to go through, growing up, yet still envying them what they shared and had to look forward to, separately or together.

Liz lay close to John that night, as he slept, and Maribeth and Tommy sat and talked for hours in the living room.

They felt exactly what his mother had seen, closer, and more one than two. They were each more than they had ever been. And for the first time in her life, Maribeth felt as though she had a future.

The alarm woke everyone up the next day, and Maribeth showered and dressed in time to help Liz serve breakfast. Liz had arranged for Maribeth to take a special exam to skip the first half of her senior year. And Tommy had finals that day too. They talked about their exams back and forth over the table. The school was letting her take them in a special room, in the administration building, where none of the students would see her, and Liz was going to meet her there for the tests that morning. The school had been incredibly decent to her, they were doing everything they could to help her, thanks to Liz going to bat for her. And when they left each other outside the school, Tommy wished her luck, and then hurried off to his classes.

The rest of the week seemed to fly by, and the next weekend was the last before Christmas. Liz finished her Christmas shopping, and on her way home, she hesitated for a moment, and then turned around and decided to go and see Annie. She had been postponing it for months, because it was too painful for her, and yet today, she felt that she had to.

She drove through the gates of the cemetery, and found the place where they had left her and as she approached, she stopped and gasped when she saw it. She saw the little tree, listing slightly to one side, the ornaments tinkling in the wind, just as they had left them. She walked slowly up to it, and straightened it, tucking the tinsel in again, looking at the familiar ornaments Annie had hung on their tree only the year before. Her little hands had so carefully put them just where she wanted, and now her mother remembered every word, every sound, every moment, every silent agony of the past year, and yet suddenly it was a bittersweet kind of pain as she felt the floodgates open and engulf her. She stood there silently for a long time, crying for her little girl, and looking at the tree Maribeth and Tommy had brought her. She touched the prickly branches then, like a little friend, and whispered her name …just the sound of it touched her heart like baby fingers.

“I love you, little girl … I always will …sweet, sweet Annie …” She couldn't say goodbye to her, knew she never would again, and she went home feeling sad, and yet strangely peaceful.

No one was home when she got there, and she was relieved. Liz sat alone in the living room for a long time, looking at their tree, seeing the familiar ornaments there. It was going to be hard having Christmas without her. It was hard every day. It was hard having breakfast and lunch and dinner and trips to the lake or anywhere without their little girl. It was hard getting up in the morning and knowing she wouldn't be there. And yet she knew they had to go on. She had come to visit them, for a short time, if only they had known it would be that way. But what would they have done differently? Would they have loved her more? Given her more things? Spent more time with her? They had done all they could then, but as Liz sat dreaming of her, she knew she would have given an entire lifetime for another kiss, another hug, another moment with her daughter.

She was still sitting there, thinking of her when the children came home, full of life, their faces bright red and icy cold, full of stories about where they'd been and what they'd been doing.

She smiled at them then, and Tommy could see she had been crying.

“I just want to thank you two,” she said, choking on her own words, “for taking the tree to …thank you …” she said softly, and walked away quickly. Maribeth and Tommy didn't know what to say to her, and Maribeth was crying too, as she took off her coat and hung up their things. Sometimes she wished she could make it all better for them. They still all hurt so much from losing Annie.

His father came home a little while after that, his arms laden with packages, and Liz was in the kitchen by then, making dinner. And she smiled when she looked up to see him. There was more warmth between them these days, and Tommy was relieved to see that they weren't snapping at each other as much as they had been. Little by little, they were all getting better, though Christmas wasn't easy.

They all went to mass together on Christmas Eve, and John snored softly in the heat of the small church and the smell of the incense. It reminded Liz of when Annie had come with them, and often dozed between them, especially last year, when she was getting sick, and they didn't know it. When they got home, John went right to bed, and Liz finished putting out the presents. It was different this year, for all of them. There was no letter to Santa, no carrots for the reindeer, no delicious pretense, and there would be no wildly excited squeals on Christmas morning. But they had each other.