Astonished, she tries to project relaxation, sipping her coffee with a timid air, like she’s gotten away with a crime spree.

Dad smiles.

“Josh Groban’s tied up in the bathtub,” Peach Tree reports placidly, bricking together a new Mario and Yoshi Lego set. “He says a weird man stole him yesterday and told him that if he ever wants to see his family again he has to serenade Aunt Bettie all day long.”

“It’s not nice to lie on Christmas,” Athena scolds her. “That’s how you get coal.”

“Look! I got a five-pound jar of peanut butter!” Minnesota Moon screams, holding it up over her small head. “That’s just what I wanted!”

Soon, the children are applying Band-Aids to each other and then taking turns to mercilessly rip them off, filling the house with howls and shrieking.

The presents in silver foil—Hall’s signature paper—are big favorites: Russell Stover chocolates for Dad, which remind him of his first date with Mom so long ago—“Wonder how Hall would guess that?”—and a weaving loom for Mom. A picture of a new surfboard for Marilou (the real thing shipped to Marilou and Felix’s house, so that they wouldn’t have to lug it to the airport). A child-size, twenty-five-pound wooden mallard duck for Grandpa that the kids waste no time climbing on (and which has been only modestly bedazzled). Celine Dion collector’s edition Barbies for Athena. For Kaia, a blacksmithing book called Edge of the Anvil, along with a propane forge for metalworking. “I’m gonna make so many swords,” she says with a wicked glint in her eyes, thumbing through its pages.

Felix shakes a Magic 8 Ball that produces a new kernel of wisdom each time you turn it over—Hall’s gift to him is a bottomless well of advice for how to make good decisions. From me, my brother gets the confession that My Eyre Ladies isn’t real. “I knew it!” he cries, pointing his finger at me, at the ceiling, at Grandma, who hasn’t done anything bad (for once). Then he weeps, collapsing against a wall. “Oh, I’m so glad. I can’t stomach competition.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Felix and I aren’t big huggers, but I suck it up and give him one, anyway. “Thornfield really does sound like an interesting movie. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive when you told me about it.”

“Nah, it’s not a big deal . . .” he replies halfheartedly.

“I was an ass.”

He grins. “Yeah, okay, you were an ass. But I get it. I give you shit all the time.”

I hug him again. “Love you, Felix.”

He bumps the toe of his slipper against mine. “Hall’s really rubbing off on you, huh?”

“Nonsense. I’ve always been an angel.”

When I’m finished sweeping up ten pounds of gift wrap, I return to my seat, where a pile of presents waits with my name on them, next to a pile of presents for Hall from my family, which I don’t touch. I go through the motions of opening mine and fixing on a smile, saying thank you. But I don’t absorb any of it. I can’t concentrate on gifts when all I want is for Hall to be here with us, with family, which he’s so badly wanted all his life and so badly deserves. I’m having a delirious, out-of-body experience, putting on a front while internally crashing. How can my family smile? How can they enjoy themselves, when the holiday spirit is gone?