“Come and see the tree!” demanded Sara. “We made it so pretty.”

Helen shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

“Well, it sounds as if you’ve been busy. Let me see the tree,” said Lucy, allowing the girls to pull her along.

Just then they heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. Bill’s folks had arrived. The house was soon full of confusion and bustle as hugs and kisses were exchanged, groceries put away, and suitcases and shopping bags full of presents carried in.

At last, Bill’s parents were settled, and everyone was gathered around a cheerful fire in the living room. The scene looked Christmas card perfect: the lush tree twinkling in the corner, three children playing quietly on the rug, the adults relaxing on the couch and easy chairs. Lucy perched on the edge of her grandfather’s cane chair, took a deep breath, and tried to still the butterflies that were churning in her stomach. Now she ought to be able to relax. After working toward it for weeks, Christmas was finally here. The house was clean, the cookies baked, the presents wrapped. Everything was under control, she realized, except for the people. She was so worried that her mother’s depression would return and dampen the holiday, or that Bill’s father, always unpredictable, would say exactly the wrong thing.

She had always found the elder Mr. Stone intimidating. She would never forget the first time she had met him. She had been terribly nervous and as Bill’s fiancee had wanted to make a good impression. She hadn’t known what to say when Mr. Stone suggested that she escort Brother, Mrs. Stone’s retarded brother, to the bathroom. She could still remember the blood rushing to her face as she stammered out an excuse, and Bill had rushed to her rescue, leading Brother out of the room. That meant she was left alone with Mr. Stone, who’d muttered something and left the room, too. All by herself in the Stones’ living room, she had felt totally abandoned and suspected that she had failed some important test.

She had always marveled that Bill’s mother never seemed upset by her rude husband. She was a small, plump, cheerful woman who serenely managed to smooth the feathers that her husband continually ruffled. Now she was sitting on the couch with Helen, and the two women were chatting together.

Bill’s father was sprawled on the recliner, puzzling over a fishing reel Toby had asked him to fix. Suddenly he looked up and demanded, “Don’t you have any cookies? What’s Christmas without cookies?”

“I’ve got cookies.” Lucy snapped to attention. “Would you like some coffee or tea to go with them?”

“Sure, whatever,” he answered gruffly.

“Tea would be very nice,” said Mrs. Stone. “Can I help?”

“No, I can manage. Just relax,” answered Lucy.