Still, it was cozy. And filled with the most delicious smells—turkey and gingerbread and pumpkin pie. And decorated just as extravagantly as our house was, though clearly by different hands. The bathroom curtain had been drawn aside to reveal a skinny six-foot spruce tree occupying the shower stall—one of the few spaces large enough to hold it. The tree, the rest of the bathroom, and the whole apartment were decorated with red and gold paper chains, lopsided stars cut out of gold paper, and garlands of evergreen held together with Scotch tape, from which I deduced that Michael and the boys had picked the vegetation themselves. A papier-mâché Santa and nine papier-mâché reindeer hung from the ceiling. The power cord to Rudolph’s flashing red nose was wrapped in tinsel and taped across the ceiling and down one wall until it could reach a vacant outlet And taped to all the walls were Christmas posters painted by the boys. Wise men riding on beasts that looked a lot more like llamas than camels. Mary and Joseph bending tenderly over a baby Jesus who seemed to be occupying a car seat rather than a manger. Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus, and the elves surrounded by a three-foot-high avalanche of presents—including what I suspected was a giant hamster cage. A giant Christmas tree almost hidden by the wrapped presents piled around it. A mantel from which hung a line of stockings large enough for giants.

“Did you guys do all this?” I asked. “It’s beautiful!”

Josh beamed. Jamie, overcome with praise, buried his head in the sofa cushions with his rump sticking up, ostrichlike.

Just then I spotted a completely unexpected sight.

“Did Charlie actually add a fireplace?” I exclaimed.

“Couple years ago,” Michael said. “He added one onto the side of his living room, which is right upstairs from here, and decided it wouldn’t take too much more to add one down here.”

“We can make s’mores now,” Jamie suggested.

“After dinner,” Michael said.

“Can we hang stockings here, too?” Josh asked.

“No, we’ve already got stockings at home.”

“But Santa could come here, too,” Josh protested.

“Mommy, listen,” Jamie said. “It’s our Baptists.” He scrambled over to the end table where the soft strains of a choir singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” were coming from a portable speaker hooked to Michael’s iPod. Suddenly “Adeste Fidelis” blasted forth at such incredible volume that we all flinched and Michael hurried to turn the volume down.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Jamie said.

“It’s okay,” he said. “He’s learned how to operate the iPod,” he added to me.

“I’m impressed,” I said. “And that does sound like the New Life Baptist choir.”