The Reason for the Season

By Marge Shasberger

"Thomas," Cassy practically snarled as she turned a piercing gaze on her partner, who stood with his back to her, his attention focused on the large screen TV at the other end of her living room. "You are not helping!"

"Here, give me the end. I don't know how these damned things get so tangled every year. Don't you wind them around your elbow when you put them away?" he grumbled as he turned at least a portion of his attention to the tree trimming that was supposed to be the activity for the afternoon.

"You put them away last year, not me," she retorted as she backed away from him, trying to sort out the tangled wires.

"I did? I don't remember."

"You don't remember anything."

Cassy continued to unwind the string of lights, Tom anchoring the end. She watched out of the corner of her eye as his attention once more wandered fully to the large screen TV where the football game was showing. Finally she threw down the hopelessly tangled mass and turned and walked out of her living room into the kitchen. She was slamming around the teakettle, mugs, and other kitchen utensils when Tom entered the room.

"Half time?" she questioned angrily.

"Cassy, it's the Dolphins and the Jaguars. It's a big game!"

"They're all big games, and this will be the same big game next year. You said you could help me decorate this afternoon. Why didn't you just say no?"

"I would have gotten grief from you for the rest of the season, that's why," he answered as he turned to pull open the refrigerator.

Cassy stood in stunned shock, staring at the familiar profile of her partner, former husband, best friend, and newest candidate for Scrooge of the Year."

"What is the matter with you? You've been like this all week. I've never known you to be so anti-Christmas. Is something going on? Why are you being such a wet blanket? You like the holidays."

"Look, maybe I should just leave," was his answer as he gave up searching her refrigerator and slammed it shut and turned back toward her. "If you don't like my attitude, find yourself another volunteer. I just want to watch the damn game."

"Fine. Go home. I'll finish this myself."

"Fine. I'm going," Tom replied angrily as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

Cassy sighed, and turned off the fire under the teakettle. She stood for a moment leaning with both hands on the edge of the stove, then sighed again and turned toward the living room.

"Tom," she called as she circled around the room-dividing bar. "Tom, I'm sorry. Look, you watch the game, we can do this later. I'll...." Cassy stopped and stood staring. The room was empty. He really had left. "He didn't even slam the door," she muttered to herself. "Fine. Go sulk. Go watch the stupid football. I hope the damned fish lose!" she shouted at the empty room.

Tom Ryan pulled his Mustang into the parking structure behind his apartment and climbed out, pulling his jacket with him. He strode angrily to his apartment door, unlocking it without thinking as he entered. He threw the jacket on the couch and walking purposely toward the kitchen, yanking open the door of the refrigerator and extracted a beer, then returning to sit on the couch. Settling back with his long legs stretched out on top of the coffee table in front of him, he grabbed the remote and turned on the game. "Didn't miss a play," he mused silently to himself as the third quarter of the football game began. It wasn't long before he was stretched out full-length on the couch, lying sideways with one arm propping up his head as he relaxed. It was only when the game ended that he moved off the couch again and started for the kitchen.

Depositing his empty beer bottle in the recycle bag, he reached down to retrieve the jacket he'd thrown down earlier, and as he pulled it off the end of the couch and end table, the phone was revealed. The message light was blinking at him, and he leaned over to push the button.

"Thomas?" the voice of his mother reached out from the machine. "Thomas, are you there? Pick up, son?" There was a moment's silence while she waited, then she continued on. "Well, okay, you're not home. I thought you'd be off this weekend. I just wanted to check that you got my message that your dad and I can't get down there for Christmas. I told you about this fund-raiser your dad agreed to do here at the restaurant. The department wants to have it Christmas Eve, and they're going to have the soup kitchen on Christmas Day. But I told you all that. I just wondered if you found out if you could come here. I didn't know if you could get a ticket, but I hope so. We'd love to see you, and it's been so long since. Please, son. Give me a call and let me...." The message was interrupted by the bleep of the machine as it ran out of message space.

He made no move toward the phone, merely standing staring at it. "I got the message, Mom," he muttered. " Two days ago, I got the message. Four days before Christmas. You try and get a plane ticket four days before Christmas. Who are you kidding?" he admonished the silent machine. Then with a shake of his head, he turned and headed toward the sleeping area. He hung up his jacket and was halfway into the bathroom when the phone began to ring again. He hesitated, not wanting to talk to his mother in his present mood. He was afraid he'd say something he would regret

*If they want to spend the holidays in Boston, that's their decision,* he lectured himself as the first ring repeated itself. *Just because you've always been there or they've always been here, it's no big deal. One year, something more important comes up. You'll survive,* he continued, as the third ring demanded his attention.

With a mental and verbal growl, he turned and headed for the phone, realizing he was too late to stop the answering machine from kicking in as the fourth ring triggered the tape.

"Thomas," the voice said. But it was not his mother. "Thomas, I know you're there. Pick up the damn phone. Okay, fine. I don't know what's the matter with you, but I'm getting really tired of this Bah Humbug attitude. Okay, wait that wasn't why I...I was calling to say I was sorry. But if you don't want to talk, fine. I hope the Tiger's won!"

The message was ended this time by the very pronounced slamming down of the caller's phone.

"Gee, Cass. Way to sound sincere," Tom muttered even as he smiled at her confusion over the felines in contention.

With a sigh, he stood staring at the now silent machine. *What am I going to do for the holidays?* he wondered to himself. He and Cassy had arranged to do New Year's Eve duty, neither one of them particularly caring about celebrating the much-acclaimed New Millennium hype that was fueling the partygoers in town. He'd figured he would have three days before his folks showed up to decorate, get groceries, and finish shopping. They'd get there on Thursday; they could do Christmas Eve at St. Michaels, his mother would insist on that, then Saturday was Christmas. It was supposed to be a beautiful day. They always stayed at the Sand Dunes motel just down the street from his place. They'd come over and do Christmas morning. Cassy had said she'd come. His dad would do the omelets once they'd opened presents. It would be great. They could walk on the beach, watch the parades. It was too bad that his brother wouldn't be there, but he had his semi-yearly duty with Michelle's family this year. It would work out fine.

"Canceling that motel reservation cost me $75 bucks, Mom," he groused to his absent parent. "They really frown on last minute empty rooms at this time of year. I'm surprised they didn't make me pay for the whole four days."

Determined to give the search for plane tickets one more try, he reached for the phone book, leafing through the pages until he found the travel agents, and then found the office that he had used several times before. He dialed the number and was greeted by a voice mail message stating that the office was not open on Sundays, and they would call back in the morning if he were to leave a name and number. He complied, and then hung up. He thought about calling Cassy, but his hand hesitated, hovering over the phone. With a disgusted snort, he withdrew and once again headed toward the bedroom.

Monday morning found the two at their desks. Tom was busy reading a file, Cassy was on the phone. Their eyes would meet and skitter away, neither having uttered even a word of greeting when they entered the precinct. Finally Tom threw his file aside and leaning his forearms on his desk, glared at his partner.

"What are you so upset about?"

Cassy's head jerked up at the intrusion into her thoughts, and she blinked. "What?"

"What are you still fussing about? It was just a string of lights, for Pete's sake."

"It was not."

"If not, then what was it?"

"It's your whole attitude."

"My attitude!"

"Yes."

"About what? Football? You know I like football, Cassy. It was Sunday afternoon, in December."

"It's not the football, it's your attitude toward Christmas."

"Christmas? What are you talking about?"

"Do you have a tree in your apartment, Thomas?"

"No, most of them are outside in the garden or across the street in the park."

"I mean a Christmas tree," Cassy hissed as she leaned forward in a mirror pose to Tom's, her eyes fairly shooting sparks at his sidestepping her question.

"No. I do not have a Christmas tree in my apartment."

"Why not?"

"Because...because..."

"Ryan, St. John," a stern voice broke into the couple's argument, and both Tom and Cassy turned toward Captain Harry Lipschitz's office. The captain was standing in the door, peering at them over the top of his glasses. Without another word, he turned and moved back into the sanctuary of his office. Tom and Cassy rose as one and followed.

"What's cookin'?" Tom asked as the pair entered the private office.

"Body over on the pier. That's all I know, go."

The two officers accepted the manila envelope the captain handed them, their hands actually touching as they both reached for the file. For a second-in-time they stood frozen both looking up at each other, then Tom broke the pose as he let Cassy take the information packet.

It was only fifteen minutes to the pier, and Tom drove while Cassy stared in silence out the passenger window of the car. He pulled the car in next to the other vehicles from the police and coroner's offices. They left the car and walked down the slight embankment to join the medical examiner, Sterling Morton.

"Anything, Morton?" Tom asked.

"I think maybe calling you was hasty. It's a Hispanic male, probably 25 to 30. Looks pretty much like he drowned. I have a feeling it's a suicide."

"Any I.D.?" Cassy asked as she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. She bent down to the black, zippered bag, and pulled down the tab to open the encasement. Tom leaned over her shoulder as they both looked at the silent face of the body.

"Doesn't look like it's been in the water too long," Tom commented.

"No," the medical examiner answered. "No I.D., and I'd say he jumped about midnight last night."

"Jumped?" Cassy asked as she re-closed the bag and stood.

"Like I said, I'd dub it a suicide, but if you guys want to look into it, be my guests. I'll do a tox screen and look for drugs, but I didn't see any needle marks on the arms. He looks pretty healthy, except for being a little thin. There is a bruise on his head, but he could'a got that from slamming into the pier after he jumped. I'll let you know what I find."

"At least we should get an identity, Tom," Cassy commented.

"Yep. We'll follow you in Morton and get fingerprints. If we can talk to his family, maybe we can find out if something was going on that would make him take a header off the pier."

Fingerprints garnered from the body led to a positive I.D. on an immigration form. The record showed a last known address on the mainland. Tom called the Miami police, and got an agreement to check out the place. From there they began to look for connections to the Palm Beach area, a local relative, or some other reason why the young man had been there.

"So," Cassy leaned across her desk. "Why don't you have a tree?"

"What?" Tom frowned as he looked up from the papers he was scribbling on in front of him.

"A Christmas tree, why don't you have one?"

"Because."

"That's what you said before."

"Cassy, just leave it alone."

"No, tell me. What's with the Scrooge act this year? You've always enjoyed Christmas before. What's up?"

"It's nothing, okay?"

"Thomas!"

"Look, what's the big deal? Christmas isn't about having fancy decorations all over the place. It's about family. Having everybody together, and a house full of people. It's about sharing things with everybody, that's what the decorations are for, to say welcome, and I'm glad you're here. If there's nobody there, what's the point of spending hours putting up decorations?"

"I thought your folks were coming?"

"Yeah, well they can't. Something to do with the restaurant, I think."

"So, are you going to Boston?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because they didn't bother to tell me they weren't coming until it was too late to get any damn tickets."

"Eeeww, Thomas, do I sense a note of bitterness there?" Cassy smiled as she leaned further toward her disgruntled partner.

"Let it alone, Cass."

Cassy leaned back in the chair and surveyed Tom's bent head for several seconds, then she continued. "So, you only decorate for company. Not for yourself?"

"Why would I decorate for myself?"

"To cheer yourself up," she answered sarcastically.

"I don't need cheering up."

"You couldn't prove it by me."

"Would you just leave it alone!" he answered looking up and almost hissing at her.

"The only reason there's a Christmas is so you can get together with your family and pig out on turkey and football? Seems to me I heard there was more to it than that."

"Okay, why did you decorate your house?" he finally gave in and threw down his pencil. This time he leaned forward on his desk, demanding a response. "I don't suppose you invited Evelyn for dinner. And seems to me you were the one that told me your sister and husband where spending a romantic weekend in Aspen to re-cement the fires of romance...weren't those you're words?" he asked sarcastically.

"I...I decorate because it's...it's the right thing to do."

"The right thing? What are you talking about?"

"It's...it's supposed to be a celebration. You're supposed to be happy, and thankful..." Cassy attempted to support her argument.

"We had Thanksgiving last month."

"It's not the same thing. You're not thankful for pilgrims, and Indians and that kind of stuff. You're thankful for..."

"Ah ha, this I gotta hear. Okay, little miss never go to church.

What are we thankful for?"

"For, well for, you know, peace and, and good will, and all that."

"In case you haven't been paying attention, I don't see a lot of peace or good will just taking over the planet. But maybe you don't read the headlines anymore. So, like I said, what's the point."?

"It's not about peace and good will like in everyday, everybody on the street, it's about, well the hope for peace and goodwill. Being thankful that we at least know what it's supposed to be like."

"And just how do we know what it's supposed to be like?"

"Because, well because...I think I hear Lipschitz calling," Cassy floundered as her argument began to lead itself into a discussion of religion.

"Oh, no, not so fast. You started this. Tell me, how do we know about all this stuff, hmmm? The reason for the season is?"

"Okay, fine. All that stuff, you know, the kid in the manger, and the wise guys on camels and all that."

"Ah, Christ Child, and Hallelujahs, you mean."

"I suppose."

"And I assume there's a nativity scene somewhere in that house full of decorations, right?"

"I...I don't have one."

"So you don't celebrate the religion end of it. That leaves celebrating Santa Claus? Major overdraft of the credit cards, seeing how many demands from blackmailing little hoodlums stressed out parents can manage to meet, drinking yourself silly at some office party and standing on the tables to sing stupid songs about reindeer with neon noses. That's what we're all celebrating?"

"Thomas," Cassy cried. "Come on, that's not, I mean there's more than, it's not about spending money, it's about..."

"What?" he fairly shouted. "I'm listening."

"It's about, giving," Cassy replied through clenched teeth.

"Giving. Okay, it's a mass stampede to see if you can one-upmanship the next guy. Drive yourself nuts trying to second-guess everybody you know and come up with something that they won't want to return the minute they open the box. Spending every spare dime on..."

"Okay, okay," Cassy shouted as jumped to her feet. "Fine, just see if I care, you can be Scrooge all you want. Just don't expect me to walk around with a sourpuss like you. Some of us LIKE Christmas," she snarled at him as she turned and stalked out of the room.

"You can't justify it either, sore loser," Tom yelled after her retreating figure. It was the silence of the room around him that finally drew his attention back. It was like a time action stop in some B movie, the entire staff of the precinct standing, some of them with open mouths, staring at him. He tried for a minute to sustain their shocked looks, but ended up dropping back down into his chair and ducking his head over the paperwork in front of him, wishing it had been him who had stormed out of the room.

It was only a second before the activity in the room started up again, but it seemed like years. He stalled, scribbling nonsense all over the white form, until he thought it was safe to move. He rose, pulled his sports coat off the back of his chair, and walked out of the precinct, doing his best not to meet anyone's gaze.

Miami PD called the next morning. Cassy waited impatiently as she listened to Tom's one-sided conversation. "What did they say?" she quizzed as soon as he hung up.

"The address was good. Name matches, Jacob Manuel Juarez. They found a wife, Julia Juarez. They're arranging transportation to bring her to I.D. the body. She'll be here this afternoon."

"Great news for Christmas," Cassy frowned, shaking her head slightly. "I hate this part of my job," she grumbled as she finally looked away from Tom.

Tom and Cassy looked up as the uniformed officer entered the squad room. His olive green shirt and pants identified him as an out-of-towner, and they rose to greet him and the petite young women with him.

"John Bishop, Miami P.D." the officer introduced himself. "This is Julia Juarez. She's here to look at the sti...the body you found."

"Mrs. Juarez," Cassy began. "I'm sorry to have to put you through this. If there was any other way...."

"I understand," the young women answered as she looked back and forth between Cassy and Tom.

"Please, may we go and see, I can not stand to wait longer," she pleaded in her heavily accented English.

"We'll take her, John" Tom advised as he reached forward to take the woman's arm. Cassy moved around her desk and Tom positioned the young woman between them. As the three headed up the stairs and out into the hall, he could feel her shaking, and he repositioned his arm around her shoulders. He hoped she could hold up through what was about to happen.

"Now just take your time, Mrs. Juarez," the medical examiner advised. "There's no hurry. Just this way," he directed as he turned and opened one of the steel doors and pulled out a sheet-covered figure.

Tom felt the shudder run through Julia Juarez's thin frame, and her left hand rose to clutch at his hand on her shoulder. She seemed unaware of his actual presence, yet desperate for his support.

Morton pulled back the corner of the sheet, and Julia Juarez gasped, then took a not so unexpected step back away from the suspended steel slab. Tom's arm around her stopped the sudden retreat, and her hand grasping his closed tightly on his fingers.

"Jacob," she whispered. Then she moved away from the protection of the tall policeman behind her and leaned toward the body, lowering her head toward the deceased and kissing him lightly on the forehead. She straightened a little, pressing her hand to her lips, and then laying her fingers on the still form's mouth. "Jacob," she said again.

"Mrs. Juarez, this is your husband? You're sure?" Cassy asked gently.

"Yes. It is my Jacob. I am...I am sure..." she answered as a single tear slipped down her cheek. She continued to stare at the silent face below her, her fingers moving from the cold mouth to brush gently through the hair that lay on the forehead. "Mi amigo, why?" she asked softly. "How could you leave me..."?

"Mrs. Juarez, Julia," Tom interrupted as he reached forward and pulled the young woman to an upright position. "Let's get out of here. We need to ask you a few questions, and I'm sure you have some. Let's go back to the office."

"Yes," Julia Juarez responded distractedly even as she reached once more to caress the cheek of her late husband. She finally turned as Tom increased the pressure on her shoulders and allowed him to lead her out of the gray, frigid room.

Tom settled the Julia at his desk, handing her the mug of tea that Cassy had gotten at her request. "Mrs. Juarez, I'm sorry to have to question you at a time like this, but we need to know, was there any reason...anyone that might have wanted to harm your husband? Can you tell us anything that would point to murder?"

"My husband had no enemies. It was just he and I, there was no one else," Julia answered slowly. She sat still, staring at the steaming mug in her hands without drinking.

Tom and Cassy watched as she rolled her hands back and forth, moving the mug between them as if she was cold.

"Mrs. Juarez," Cassy began. "Is there any reason that you can think of why your husband might have...?"

"You think he jumped, don't you?"

"It does look that way, I'm sorry."

"It would have been all right, I told him he had to have faith, that things would work out. He was so worried, though, so afraid."

"Afraid of what, Julia?" Tom asked.

"Of being sent back."

"But he wasn't illegal. We found his immigration papers. Why was he afraid of being sent back?"

"He had only a...a...temporary visa. I came almost a year ago. My sister, she was my ....my sponsor. I came, and got a job, and then we got the papers for Jacob. We were going to be together. We lived with my sister and her husband. They had a large apartment, it was okay. Jacob found a job. But then, then everything, it all started to," the young woman stopped, leaning forward as her hands began to tremble and another tear escaped down her cheek.

"Take a sip," Tom encouraged her to drink the tea.

The two officers waited as the young widow sipped at the hot drink, then put it down and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Tom supplied.

"I am sorry," she sniffed.

"It's okay, just take your time," Tom reassured her.

"It began last January. My sister and her husband were...they were killed in an automobile accident. Instantly. They were all the family we had. Then the landlord told us we had to pay the rent or move out, so Jacob and I found a little place. It was in that old part of town, it was bad. But we worked hard. Jacob worked for the landscapers, and I was working at the factory. We would not be there long. We saved our money. "But then Jacob lost his job. They did not need him during the winter, they said. Things were slow during the rainy season. He was so worried about the immigration, that they would find out he did not have a job. Then...then...," Julia stopped. Taking a shuddering breath she looked up, "Then I found out I was pregnant. I had to give up my job."

"They can't make you quit your job because you're pregnant, Julia," Cassy exclaimed.

"No, I had to leave my job. I worked at the plant. We processed.... we used the chemicals. I was pregnant; I could not work there. It was not allowed."

Cassy sighed and shook her head. "So what happened?"

"Jacob, he was so afraid. I told him it would be all right, that something would come up. But he was certain they were going to send him back. I made a mistake then, I told him it did not matter, that I would go with him. We would be together."

"Why was that a mistake?" Cassy asked.

"He became even more desperate. He did not want our baby born in Mexico. He said I must stay, I was naturalized, and I could stay. The baby would be an American. He wanted his child to grow up here, where there was hope. There was no hope back in our little village, only poverty, living in huts, and being sick. He became so upset."

"Mrs. Juarez," Cassy leaned forward. "Are you saying you think your husband jumped, that he committed suicide to keep from being sent out of the country and making you go with him?"

"Yes," the young woman answered even as she sobbed and raised both her hands to cover her face. "Yes. He was a good man. But the commandment, it is forbidden. My Jacob, to spend eternity in the fires. I will never be with him again."

"In the fires, what...?" Cassy looked from the widow to her partner.

"Suicide is a mortal sin. Cassy. She's saying he's never...he's gonna...he isn't going to heaven." Tom interrupted Cassy's question.

"You've got to be kidding."

"You wouldn't understand. It's a church thing. I'll explain it later."

Tom turned his attention back to the newly widowed woman. "Mrs. Juarez, we need to finish some things before we can release your husband's body. Do you have a place to stay? Someone we can call?"

"No," she replied hesitantly. "There is no one now. There will be...there will be only me and the baby from now on. I...is there someplace here close by I can go?"

"We can arrange something. Let me make some calls."

"Thank you," she replied. "I...is there somewhere...if I could just be alone, to comb my hair," she muttered as much to herself as to Tom.

Tom called Nancy, one of the female uniform officers over, and she escorted Julia Juarez from the room. He was reaching for the phone to see what he could do about accommodations for the night when Cassy turned toward him.

"That's what we have to give her? Sorry, your husband off'd himself, and we're sure it was suicide. So he's gonna burn in Hell, have a nice night."

"Cassy, it's complicated."

"It's stupid."

"Cassy, we...the Church teaches...says...that God is in charge. He decides when you're born, not you. And he decides when it's time for you to...to die. Not you. Suicide, it's taking your life; it's against the, the fourth, the Fifth Commandment.... playing God to kill yourself. It's..."

"I don't care, it's horrible. How can you let her go on believing that? That her husband is going to rot in Dante's Inferno forever just because he was miserable 'cause he couldn't support his family."

"I'm kinda, well I don't exactly keep up. I know the modern Catechism says God can redeem those who have committed suicide. But that wasn't always the way people felt. Sometimes old beliefs are hard to get rid of. If she believes that he's damned forever, she believes that she's - that she's not going to see him.... they won't be reunited, you know, in Heaven.

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"I can't explain a whole religion to you in one night. It's like I said, it's complicated. I didn't say I believed it, or that it's even really the way it is anymore. It's just...I was just telling you what she was talking about."

"Sergeant Ryan," the pair were interrupted by the young officer from Miami. "Can I go now? I'd like to get back to Miami before dark if I can. I take it Mrs. Juarez is going to stay and make arrangements and stuff. You don't' need me any more do you?"

"No, John. Thanks for coming over with her. We'll take care of things from here.

"I wonder if she can afford a cemetery plot somewhere. This isn't going to end up in some Pauper's grave I hope," Tom muttered as he dialed yet another of the motels in town that usually offered discounts to police related guests. Finding an empty room this week was proving to be a major assignment.

"Paupers grave?" Cassy asked. "Are you talking about the county plots? Only those we can't I.D. end up in those unmarked places."

"She'll have to find somewhere in a public cemetery. Usually the church has places, you know, that don't cost an arm and a leg. But I'm not sure he can be, if there's some exclusion because he...."

"Did this mortal sin thing, right?"

"I'll check with the Father at St. Luke's. I'm probably worrying about nothing. But even if they can help her there's going to be expenses. It doesn't sound like she can afford what it's all going to cost."

"This just gets better and better. I think I changed my mind, I don't think it was a suicide. I think it was an accident. I think that rail on that old pier was definitely rotten, and it just broke and caught him off guard. I'm sure of it."

"It doesn't matter, Cassy. It won't change how she feels."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter what you or anybody else calls it. It only matters what was in his heart. If he meant to do it, it's still suicide."

"Great. So what are we going to do now?"

"We close the case, Cassy."

"Just like that?"

"What else can we do? We need to close it so she can claim the body and do what's necessary. There's no reason for us to do anything else."

"Fine, just great. You go sign the papers, I think I'm going for a walk," Cassy directed as she grabbed her purse and fairly stomped out of the room.

Tom worked for a while on the paper work, finally heading for the captain's office with the case file in his hands.

"You want to keep this open?" Lipschitz quizzed him as he scanned the incomplete case report in the folder. "I thought you were convinced it was a jumper. Why do you want to spend more time on it?"

"I don't know, Captain. I know it looks like the guy jumped. All kinds of domestic reasons."

"But you want it to be something else."

"I know what I wish it was, but I'm...I don't have anything to go on. I know it looks like a suicide."

"But?" Lipschitz prompted again.

"I'd just like to take a little more time, to look at a couple of things."

"What is it I'm hearing, this case is closed? Or you think there's more to it?"

"I...I want there to be more to it."

"Why, Ryan?"

"Because I'd like to be able to tell his widow, and for her to be able to tell her kid that he...that he didn't just duck out on them. That he wasn't a coward who couldn't face the responsibility. I'd like to...she deserves...."

"Twenty-four hours."

"Hell, that's not enough time. I...!"

"Take it or leave it. That's all the time I can give you. Without any solid evidence, I can't justify the man-hours on what even you admit looks like a suicide. Find me something, anything, and I can give you more time. Otherwise we'll have to close this one. Take your look around, Sergeant, and then bring me back this folder, with the papers signed. You got it?"

"I got it, thanks, Captain!"

Tom accepted the captain's decree, taking the case file and turning back toward his own desk. *What can I do in twenty-Four hours? I'm gonna need some kind of miracle here,* he muttered to himself.

Tom wasn't at his desk when Cassy arrived on Wednesday. She waited until almost an hour past the beginning of their shift, and then she reached for the phone. She plugged in the number of his cell phone and waited. When he answered she was both angry that he hadn't checked in and relieved that he was all right. "Why didn't you call? I didn't have a clue where you were. Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, Cass. I didn't think it would take me this long. I was going to come in and get you, but the Captain said I could check on some things about the Juarez case, and I just wanted to talk to some people.”

"The Juarez case? What's going on, Thomas? I thought we were done with this. Didn't you turn it in last night?"

"I couldn't, Cass. I've gotta prove..."

"What Thomas? We agreed. It was a suicide. You can't make it something it wasn't."

"I know. I just want to check some things."

"Well, last I heard we were supposed to be working together."

"I know. I just wasn't sure..."

"Sure about what?"

"That you'd back me on this."

"I can't believe you said that!"

"It's just a hunch, Cassy. I know how you hate my hunches. Look, I'm coming in. I'm just gonna stop and talk to one person, then I'll be there."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the dock. At the ferry landing. I just..."

"Thomas Patrick Ryan, you wait. I'm coming. Don't you do one thing until I get there, do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Cassy."

"I mean it. If you aren't sitting in the Mustang waiting for me, I'm going to..."

“I hear you, Cassy. I'll wait."

"You better," she barked at him as she slammed down the phone and grabbed her purse.

"What are we looking for," Cassy demanded as she settled in the passenger seat of Tom's car.

"I don't know. Something. Anything."

"You have nothing to go on."

"I...I just don't believe he'd do this. He wouldn't leave his wife, especially knowing she was pregnant. He just wouldn't do this."

"You know so much, just by looking at a stiff?"

"No, just from talking to her."

"Julia?"

"They loved each other, Cassy. They were trying to make a life. She was pregnant."

"And he freaked. He couldn't stand the pressure. He didn't want the responsibility."

"If that was true, he'd just have walked away. He wouldn't have jumped."

"Okay, I suppose. So what are we doing here?"

"He'd have to have come over on the ferry. He didn't have a car, so I'm hoping somebody saw him. Maybe he talked to somebody on the boat. Maybe somebody knows something."

"This is a major long-shot, Ryan."

"I know."

Cassy sighed and watched as the large vehicle and pedestrian vessel pulled into the slip in front of them. "Come on, let's go," she directed as she reached for the door handle.

Tom stopped her motion with a hand on her left arm, and she turned back toward him. "Thanks, Cass."

"We're partners, remember? Hunches and all. Come on, let's go talk to these people before they get off the boat."

The two officers approached the gangplank, and walked against the exiting tide of humanity as they boarded the ship. They stopped first to talk to the deck hand that was watching and offering assistance to the foot traffic. He indicated the upper wheelhouse as they asked to talk to the captain. It only took a moment for the captain to direct them to a second officer who could supply them with a duty roster for the last few days. It turned out that the crews were pretty stable, certain sets of employees working the same days every week. Permission granted to talk to the personnel on board, Tom and Cassy split up and questioned the workers, showing the picture of Jacob Juarez, and asking if anyone had seen him.

It was Cassy that lucked out. The young deck hand was more than willing to be helpful, acknowledging that he remembered the quiet, solemn young passenger.

"Sure, he came over...must have been Friday. That was my last day before today. He was all alone, standing over by the rail the whole trip. I was checking the lifeboats and stopped to talk to him."

"Can you tell me what he said?"

"He was coming over to look for a job, he said. Somebody had offered him something. Had to do with driving, or something. He sounded kind of desperate."

"Desperate," Tom's voice interrupted the questioning as he approached from behind Cassy.

"This is my partner, Sergeant Ryan. Go on, what can you tell us," Cassy encouraged her informant.

"Well, he just sounded like he really needed the job, what ever it was. He showed me a picture of his wife, said he had to find something, for her. He asked directions."

"To where," Tom asked.

"Lincoln Street. Lincoln and Beach, he gave me an address. Fourteen hundred something. I told him how to get there. He said he couldn't afford a cab."

"Thanks. If you think of anything else, call me," Tom directed as he handed the workman his card.

Tom and Cassy left the ship, saying nothing until they reached the unmarked police car Cassy had driven to the docks.

"Shall we leave yours here?" she asked.

Tom locked the Mustang, and climbed into the passenger side of the police vehicle as Cassy started the car. "Not the best part of town," she remarked as they pulled away from the parking lot.

"No. I wonder what he was doing headed there. Driving, what kind of driving?"

"Fourteen hundred something, that's a pretty long block, Tom. How are we going to check all that out?"

"We'll just show the pictures around. See if anyone saw him. Maybe we'll find out who he went to see."

"You got it," she agreed as she drove toward their destination.

They reached the warehouse district, one of the less than impressive areas of the otherwise posh island community. This time they stayed together, asking workers and others on the street as they walked the block. A street hotdog vendor remembered the young man, gesturing toward the rundown warehouse on the corner as the location he'd been asked about. Together the two walked toward the building that appeared abandoned.

"Something's wrong," Tom murmured.

"What? I don't see any sign of life. Are we talking hunches again?"

"I don't know. I...something feels wrong. What kind of driving job would there be in a place like this? I thought we were talking delivery truck or something. This isn't any kind of operating business."

"You want me to call it in? We could check on who owns the place and if there's a business here."

"Let's just take a look first. Maybe we'll see something that we can actually ask about."

They approached the old building, checking the front door that proved to be securely locked. Tom looked down inquiringly at his partner, and Cassy rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Just a look around," he pleaded.

"Okay, I'll take the alley, you go around the corner there. I'll meet you in the back."

They split up, each moving warily around the two sides of the building. They rounded the opposite corners of the rear of the building at the same moment, stopping and both stepping back to lean against the building itself as they observed the two unmarked utility vans parked at the rear door of the old building.

One of the vans had its engine running, and both rear doors open

Tom waved at Cassy to hold her position as he reached for the cell phone inside his jacket pocket. Even as he dialed the automatic number to report that they were going to check out the location, he saw the movement. Two men exited the building, both carrying cardboard boxes in front of them. He spoke quickly, giving their location even as he turned and started moving toward the pair. He reached for his badge, even as he saw Cassy's hand slip inside her shoulder bag as she too started toward the van and the two men.

"Palm Beach P.D. Could I have a word with you?" he called out as he raised his identification. "We just need to ask a few questions," he started to explain.

The reaction from the pair was not a total surprise. The two men swung around toward the sound of his voice, then back toward the other direction. At the sight of Cassy coming from the other end of the building, both turned and started to retreat back into the building.

"Hold it," Tom yelled. "Just hold it, police, just stop," he demanded even as his left hand snaked inside his jacket to retrieve his gun.

But the pair did not halt their reaction at this demand. Instead one of them grabbed clumsily for the door they had just closed behind them, and both disappeared into the building. Tom and Cassy reached the door together, guns raised.

"We should wait," Cassy hissed.

"They're going to go out the front, we'd never get around in time."

"Did you call it in?"

"Yes, but nobody's going to get here in time. They'll be gone, Cassy."

"Okay, okay. On three," she agreed.

Tom reached for the doorknob and counted, when he reached three, he jerked the door open and swung around, ducking even as he jumped into the interior of the building. Cassy was right behind him, dropping down and entering in the opposite direction. The two stopped, both crouching, eyes scanning the immediate area.

They were in what appeared to be a delivery room. It was empty. Just across the pavement in front of them there were three steps that led to a raised shipping platform and another door. Tom nodded, and Cassy sprinted across the open parking area and up the stairs. She stopped beside the door, and Tom moved to join her, once again reaching for the knob that would open the door. This time Cassy mouthed the numbers, and when she reached three, he again pulled open the door. Cassy entered first, ducking down under her taller partner even as he swung around to follow her inside. There were three of them, scurrying through the debris and litter on the floor, grabbing at things on top of the long table as they tried to fill duffel bags with whatever it was they seemed to want to take.

"Freeze," Cassy shouted, "Police!"

Even as she spoke, one of the three turned back toward them. His hand came up, the gleam of a gun apparent in the bright lights of the room.

"Drop it," Tom added his command to Cassy's.

His demand was met by the blast of the gun as the man fired. Tom jumped sideways even as Cassy ducked in the opposite direction. As he moved, he sighted automatically, keeping the shooter in sight.

The man abandoned his attack, turning to follow his now retreating partners. Cassy stepped out with Tom as they started after the three.

"I said hold it," she barked even as she shot off a warning blast from her revolver. They closed on the fleeing men, skirting around the littered floor.

Another of the men turned back, also raising his arm, a gun apparent in his hand. This time Tom didn't hesitate. The 33 magnum gripped in his locked hands only shot once, and the suspect yelled, he dropped both the gun and the satchel he was carrying. The man fell, rolling sideways, even as he grabbed for his now bloody arm.

The other two men made no attempt to go to the aid of their fallen comrade. After a quick glance back to take in the action, they both turned and increased their flight toward the front of the building.

"You got him?" Tom demanded as he started to run.

"Got him," Cassy advised as she closed on the fallen man.

"Watch it," she admonished as Tom started after the other two.

The two suspects reached the door, and one of them grabbed for the handle even as Tom closed on them.

They both turned back toward him. One of them started to raise his hand, and Tom slid to a stop, ready to take cover if he needed to. "Hold it. Drop the gun or I'll shoot," he demanded as he pointed his gun at the two. He wasn't sure if it was his order or the sound of the sirens indicating the arrival of backup that convinced the two, but after a moments hesitation they did as he commanded, the one lowering his weapon.

"I said drop it," Tom again demanded, and the now identifiable young man complied, letting the weapon drop with a clatter to the floor. "Hands on your heads, get away from the door," Tom continued as he closed on the two.

The door burst inward just as the two stepped away, and the room was suddenly filled with uniformed officers. "Ryan, homicide" Tom identified himself as two of the blue shirts trained their guns on him. He held his right hand out in front of him and then reached slowly inside his jacket to retrieve the badge he'd hooked back on his belt. He lowered his gun even as he brought the ID up, and the two officers acknowledged him, then turned toward the two now being taken into custody. Tom turned back and watched, as Cassy appeared behind him, the wounded man now on his feet and walking in front of her.

"You gotta look, Thomas. This is a chemistry class's playhouse. We got ourselves a meth lab here."

The patrol officers took the third man into custody, and Tom joined Cassy as they checked out the illegal gear in the room. The investigating team arrived, cameras popping, as they did their work. The two sergeants exited to the front of the building where the suspects were waiting, two of them sitting in the rear of one of the marked patrol cars, one of them being treated at the rear of a paramedic unit.

Tom approached the injured man and pulled out the picture in his pocket. "You have name?" he asked the perp.

"Samson," the man muttered belligerently.

"Well, Sam, you ever see this guy before?" Tom asked as he showed the man Jacob Juarez's picture.

"Shit," the victim exclaimed. "I told you, Mason," he yelled toward the patrol car. "I told you the guy was trouble. You had to leave his body, what did I tell you?"

"Shut up, you jerk," one of the suspects inside the police vehicle snarled back. "Just shut your fucking mouth," the man swore.

"Shut up, Mason. You think you're so damned smart. I told you it was stupid to hire a nobody,"

"Enough," Tom intervened between the two as the injured man started to rise off of the tailgate of the medical unit. He pushed him back down, and nodded at the paramedic to continue. "You can yell all you want when we get down town. Just cool it. Did you read these jerks their rights'?" he demanded of the patrol officer hovering beside the perp.

"Yes, sergeant, all three of them."

"Good. Does this guy have to go to the hospital?" he asked the medical tech.

"I should take him in. It's a clean wound, and the bullet exited. But he should be looked at."

"Okay. Cassy, you want to go along and take care of those two? I'll ride in the unit and keep an eye on this guy until the doc's let him go."

"Sure. I'll meet you at the precinct. Can you get a ride or should I come pick you up?"

"I'll get a lift back to the Mustang. I won't be long," Cassy nodded, and moved off toward the sedan they had left parked across the street.

It was several hours later when the two officers moved together into the captain's office at headquarters.

Harry Lipschitz peered up at the two over the top of his glasses and motioned them to sit, before returning his attention to the open folder on his desk. "I thought I gave you 24 hours, Ryan."

“You did," Tom replied with confusion.

"It's only been fourteen from my estimation. I assume you've got something to report on your Juarez guy. Was he part of this?"

"No, it wasn't like that. The guy at the hospital, Samson. He was more than helpful. This guy Mason wanted somebody to drive the vans across on the ferry. He met Jacob at the unemployment office. He went looking for somebody to hire. They didn't want to drive in case somebody checked out the truck. The other guy, Jackson, was supposed to be waiting on the other side to meet Jacob and drive the rest of the way with him. He swore that Jacob didn't know a thing."

"So what went wrong?" the captain asked.

"Jacob got suspicious. He asked too many questions. Wanted to know why the vans were unmarked, what he was driving. Jackson says Mason just lost his temper and told him to shut up and drive or he'd be sorry. Pulled a gun on him. But Jacob tried to run. Samson swears it was Jackson who decked him."

"The bruise on his forehead," Cassy supplied.

"And then?" the captain asked.

"Mason says the other two took him, threw him in the back of the van and took off. He says he stayed behind at the warehouse, and didn't know what they did, but when they came back, Jacob wasn't with them."

"You think they threw him off the pier?"

"I'd say it's a good bet, boss. We just need to get one of them to sing and coo berate his story."

"I'll leave that up to you two, then" the captain nodded.

"And the fourteen hours?" Cassy inquired with a smile.

"I didn't want you two to get any ideas that I owed you the other ten," Lipschitz turned toward her with a scowl. "Just because you got this so neatly tied up so fast. Don't even think about me letting you out early or anything like that!"

"Wouldn't think of it, Cap. We're here, on duty until quitting time tonight. No sir, we don't start vacation until tomorrow, " Cassy rejoined.

"Good. I'm sure you have paperwork or something to do."

"Yes sir," Tom smiled as he and his partner rose and started out the door of the captain's office.

"You two," Lipschitz stopped them.

The two partners turned back and waited.

"Good work."

"Thanks, Cap," they answered in unison as they left the private office.

Cassy sat silently at her desk for a few moments, her head cocked sideways as she watched her partner leaving through files on his desk. She wasn't sure if it was her silence, or just the connection they seemed to have, but he finally looked up. He said nothing, simply returning her look.

"You know the odds against all this?" she finally began.

"Against?"

"I'll give you the hunch about him coming on the ferry, but our finding the same crew members! And one that talked to our guy out of all the passengers that take that ferry; you gotta agree, that was kinda out there!"

"Well, yeah,"

"The street vendor remembered him. The guys were just right there, cooking up their stuff in that meth lab, two days before Christmas. The perp was totally willing to sing his song about Jacob, and fess up to what happened. I mean, we're talking less than twenty-four hours here, Ryan. I think that must be some kind of record, even for us."

"Us?" Tom smiled.

"Well, okay, you."

"No, you're right. Us. Couldn't have done it without you."

"So, you'll admit, the odds..."

"We're in our favor. I admit it."

"Some kind of...."

"Just years of experience and training, and a little Luck of the Irish, that's all, Cassy. It was a pretty clear-cut case. Here, you want to read this and see if we can close it out? I'd like to get through some of these before the end of the day," Tom suspended the conversation as he tossed a folder across the desk.

Cassy caught the flying envelope and held it as she continued to stare at her partner. He had looked away, again rummaging through the pile of folders beside him. *I don't care what you say, this was definitely more than luck,* she concluded silently.

It was late Friday afternoon, Christmas Eve, when Cassy entered and slipped into the back of the church. She had dropped Tom and Julia at the front of the downtown church, intending to wait in the car. But curiosity got the better of her, and she changed her mind. Tom had said she could come in, that no one would care. It was dark at the rear of the sanctuary, the brighter lights illuminating the altar and the wooden nativity scene. Candles flickered in front on both sides of the beautiful worship area. No one would see her there. She saw Tom. He was sitting about half way down, alone. Then she saw Julia. She was in the front, her head covered by the lace shawl in the tradition of the past.

She was also sitting alone until the pastor of the church appeared and joined her. He sat beside her on the hard, wooden pew and the two spoke. Then the young woman turned toward the priest and he wrapped her in his arms. She only stayed like that for a moment, then the clergyman eased her back to a sitting position. He made the sign of the Cross in the air between them, and then placed his hand on top of her head. Julia bowed beneath the man's touch, raising the chain of rosary beads she held clenched in her hand to her lips as the pastor's lips moved in a prayer. When she looked up at him as he removed his hand, there was a watery smile on her face.

The priest stood, stepping back into the center aisle and bowing toward the cross over the altar before he moved back up the steps and then disappeared behind the high podium. Julia rose, and followed in the direction he had gone, but instead of walking up the steps, she moved toward the bank of burning candles in front of the tall, alabaster white statue of the female figure with its arms stretched forward to greet approaching worshippers.

Cassy rose and walked further into the church, taking a seat beside Tom. "What's going on?" she whispered.

"She was saying the Rosary," Tom replied. "It's another kind of old tradition. It's like a set of prayers. Usually there are people to say it with you. But she's all alone. She said it didn't matter, that it was the doing that counted, not who was with you. God doesn't care how many people there are."

"I guess that's what it's really all about, isn't it. "

"Praying?" he asked.

"No, hope. She's not going to give up. She still believes that, that there's a God up there watching over her. Don't you believe that?"

"Sometimes I wonder," he answered without taking his eyes off of the young woman walking slowly toward the front of the church.

"You did a good thing there, Ryan. I'm glad you wouldn't let go. Probably would have just gotten filed if you hadn't been here and understood what was going on inside her head. You eased her mind."

He made no response, sitting silently beside her.

"So,” Cassy started again, “you got the body released okay yesterday?"

"Yes.”

"Somebody paid for the arrangements, I hear," Cassy remarked off-handedly.

"With the Church's help, there wasn't much more due than the cost of a first class airline ticket to Boston."

"First class?"

"My travel agent called. The only thing she could get was a first class on a Saturday morning flight. Major bucks for the holiday, the weekend departure, blah, blah, blah. I told her never mind. I figured this was a better use of the money."

"Did you hear she's staying in Palm Beach?" Cassy asked.

"Yeah, I heard that too. Seems like some socialite, who was it, the ex-Mrs. Sedgwick Morton, suddenly had an overwhelming need for a companion. I wonder whose idea that was?"

"Couldn't say," Cassy replied flippantly.

"Ah, Cas. You can run, but you can't hide," he kidded her as he raised his left arm and dropped it around her shoulders. "What are you going to get your favorite bored ex-society wife into next? Jumping out of cakes at bachelor parties wasn't risky enough? Now you've got her taking in homeless mothers-to-be."

"It was her idea. I just stopped by to take her a Christmas card yesterday and was telling her about the case. She insisted I bring Julia over to talk to her. She said you have to be careful about turning away helpless mom's-to-be, especially at Christmas time. All she's got is that flaky grandson that keeps going in and out of rehab. It's a match made in...."

"Heaven?" Tom finished for her. "You did good, Cassy."

"We are a couple of soft touches," she acknowledged. You think she's going to be all right?" she asked, nodding toward the young woman now kneeling at the altar rail in front of the candles and statue.

"I think so. She told me she's got the baby. Something to love. That she's not alone, so long as there's somebody who needs her. It's going to be hard, but it sounds like she's going to get some help."

"Are we taking her back to the motel?"

"No, she wanted to stay for the Mass. I said I'd wait, and we could get a cab and let you go, but Father Mason said he'd see to it that she was taken care of. There was a Sister talking with her a bit ago. I think they want to be sure she's not alone on Christmas Eve."

"Funny how that word 'family' keeps getting redefined isn't it," Cassy remarked softly.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Behind them the organ in the loft at the rear of the church began to play softly. A young boy in a robe and cassock appeared and begin to light candles in the candelabras along the sides of the altar. A few people began to filter in to the church, assuming seats around the two, some of them kneeling, others just sitting.

"So, are we done here?" Cassy finally asked. You said something about wanting to light a candle. I think the Christmas Eve service is starting soon."

Tom sighed, then removed his arm from her shoulders and resumed his slightly stiff posture beside her. "I haven't done this in awhile."

"I thought you were an altar boy," she teased, pointing toward the young man performing his duties at the front.

"I was. For years. I guess I remember all the steps."

"It's for Jacob, you said. The more candles the better, right?"

"I...I don't know...I mean I don't do this much, at all, not like I really...anyway, it doesn't matter now. He was murdered, so it's not that important...."

"She believes," Cassy stopped his nervous dialog. "It matters to her. That's what counts, isn't it?"

Tom merely nodded his head, and then he shifted forward until he was kneeling on the padded wooden kneeler at his feet. His forearms rested on the back of the pew in front of him, his hands clasped together. Cassy watched as he just stared ahead for a few moments until he seemed to surrender to something. His shoulders lost their tense, hunched up position, and his head dipped until his forehead rested on his hands. He had raised them, his elbows now resting on the back of the pew. He rubbed the center of his forehead from side to side against his interlaced thumbs as if to relieve a headache. Then he lifted his head, pushed away from the pew, and stood. He raised the kneeling bench and stepped in front of Cassy out into the center aisle. He stood there for a minute, then took two steps forward and stopped.

Again, Cassy sensed that feeling of surrender from her partner as he placed his right hand on the end of the pew beside him and dropped into the one-knee kneeling position. Then he rose again and walked toward the front of the church. She watched him nod to the main altar as he passed to the right toward the smaller worship area under the welcoming white figurine.

Julia was still there, still kneeling before the rows of candles after having lit one herself. She looked up as if startled, when Tom approached. Cassy cocked her head sideways, and smiled a little. She watched her partner reach up and take one of the long, thin matches provided, lighting a candle from one of the others flickering in the holders. He made the sign of the cross from his forehead to his chest, and then lowered his tall form to the kneeling bench beside the young woman. Julia continued to watch him for a moment, then turned back to her own prayers.

Time seemed suspended. The soft music played, candles flickered. People came and settled in the pews, and the young altar boy continued his preparations for the upcoming service. But no one intruded on the two figures kneeling together. Tom finally raised his head and leaned over toward Julia. She turned and looked up at him, and Cassy could tell he had said something to the young widow. Julia reached up with her left hand and touched his face, then lowered her hand to rest on top of his folded ones. He shifted one hand to cover hers, patting it twice. Then he withdrew gently from the contact and rose. He turned and walked down the side aisle under the curved porticos that supported the lower ceiling over that part of the church. Cassy stood and walked sideways in the pew until they met, then she slipped in beside him and they walked out together. Somewhere in that short trip, their hands intertwined.

Cassy didn't say anything as they drove back toward the west end of the island. Tom finally broke the silence.

"You want to come over and have some eggnog?"

"You have eggnog? How festive. I'm surprised you bothered to buy any!" she teased.

"I...well I sort of...I decided you were right. It doesn't matter if you have anybody around; it's the spirit that counts. It's not about big crowds, it's about celebrating the..."

"Reason for the season," she finished for him. "I'd love some eggnog. Is your tree up?"

"No, I never got one. It's probably too late."

"It's Christmas Eve, Thomas. Lots of people wait till Christmas Eve to put up their trees. Run by that tree lot over on Jamison. I'll bet they're still open."

Tom wrestled the seven-foot tree through the door of his apartment, Cassy holding onto the top of the evergreen as it was wrenched into the almost too small opening.

"Be careful, don't break the top. It's perfect, and if you break it you won't be able to put the star on it," she directed.

"It's too big, Cassy. This is what happens when you wait until the last minute and have to take what's left."

""Well at least they were open. I told you, didn't I. They always stay open until midnight."

"It'll be midnight before we get this decorated," Tom retorted as the tree and the doorjamb reached an understanding, and the intruder was allowed to slip into the room.

"Where are your decorations?" Cassy asked.

"In the storage locker in the garage. I'll get them," he volunteered as he stood the tree up on its crossed wooden leg holders directly in front of the small living area window.

Cassy waited until he had left, then rummaged in the brown shopping bag she had brought. She ignored the tree, and spread the boxes she retrieved form the bag one by one under the coffee table. By the time Tom returned, she was once again standing beside the pine, nonchalantly pulling at branches to unbend and arrange them strategically.

It took all of about two hours to get the lights on and the decorations unwrapped and carefully hung. They were half way through stringing popcorn when Tom brushed the evening paper off the table in front of them as he started toward the kitchen to pop more supplies for the old fashioned decoration. He stopped, seeing the boxes hidden underneath the table for the first time.

"What's that?" he asked, looking suspiciously back and forth between the boxes and Cassy.

"I...it's your Christmas present."

"It? Don't you mean they?"

"Well, they are an it," Cassy replied with a smile. "I was going to make you wait until midnight to open it, but I guess it doesn't matter." She dropped her end of the popcorn string and reached under the table to retrieve one of the boxes, handing it to Tom.

"What is it?"

"Just open it, Thomas."

"Is it going to explode, or jump out at me, or...?" he teased as he undid the string. He pulled open the tucked in top and extracted the white mound of tissue paper, dropping the cardboard onto the table.

"Be careful," Cassy admonished as he began to pull randomly at the taped paper. "It's breakable."

"It doesn't have a store name on the boxes. Where'd you get it?"

"I...I got it at that craft fair they were having at the pier the other night. You know, that Yuletide Holiday thing at the old village."

"You hate those affairs. I can't imagine you wandering around all that homemade stuff," Tom stopped his unwrapping to stare at her.

"I know, but somebody at the office told me about.... Just finish unwrapping, but be careful."

He proceeded more carefully, pulling the paper away a little at a time until the treasure inside was finally revealed. It was a small, handcrafted ceramic figurine. For a moment he simply stared at it, then he looked up. "It's a sheep," he said softly.

Cassy didn't answer, and he set the tiny figure on the table.

"Cassy," he started to speak.

"Open the rest, Thomas. Here," she cut him off as she reached for another box.

"You open one, " he directed, and Cassy complied as she handed him a small box and then chose one for herself. The shapes were crude, not the picture perfect replicas in so many store windows, but handmade representations of a manger scene. A shepherd to go with the tiny lamb, three stout figures in robes with twisted, hand formed clay decorations to show the richness of their robes. There was a male figure whose hand rested on the seated female figure when it was properly positioned. There was an angel, and a crude camel. And the small manger formed by two triangular shaped pieces upside-down on top of each other. The last was a small white bundle to place inside the rustic crib. Only the small face was visible. But there was a tiny, rose shaped mouth, light brown hair sticking out from the swaddling clothes, and two large, round eyes looking up at the other figures around it. Tom finished the small set as he placed the baby in the simple manager.

"There's a little stable, shed thingy, that goes with it, but the one they had was cracked. The gal who makes them said she'd do another one, but I probably won't get it until later. I didn't think that would matter," Cassy remarked as she stared at the small arrangement.

When Tom didn't answer, she looked up. He was also staring at the figures on the table. She reached out and touched his arm. "Do you like it?"

He looked up then, finally smiling as he sighed. "Thanks, Cassy."

"For?"

"For helping me remember."

For a moment they just sat, then they smiled. "Eggnog?" he asked.

"Sounds good."

Tom rose, retrieving cups and the pitcher from the refrigerator. He stopped on the way back to the couch to turn off the rest of the house lights, leaving the one-room apartment bathed in the glow of the lights on the tree. He finally settled on the couch and poured them each a mug of the holiday drink, then leaned back.

Cassy moved naturally in against him and he draped his arm over her shoulders. She raised her mug toward the tiny arrangement. "To the reason for the season," she toasted.

"Amen," he replied as he clinked his cup against the rim of hers.

fin