Comfort & Joy

“Joy?”

“I have a plan. ”

He rubs his eyes. “What for?”

“A secret mission. ”

He sits up. “Like we’re spies?”

“Exactly like that. ”

He throws back the covers and climbs out of bed. In his Spiderman jammies and clotted hair, he looks incredibly young.

“Downstairs,” I say, checking my watch. “It’s 9:07. You have five minutes or you’ll miss the mission. Don’t forget to brush your teeth. ”

He giggles.

I’m smiling, too, as I head for the door. Four minutes later, he comes barreling downstairs like a Saint Bernard puppy, all feet and exuberance.

“Did I make it?”

“Right on time. Now, Agent 001, we need to be quiet and careful. ”

He nods solemnly.

I lead him outside. We move cautiously, not wanting to be seen. Not that it matters. Daniel is deep in the trees now, out of our view.

We go to the spot where Daniel was working yesterday. There, at least a dozen young fir trees lay on their sides, waiting to be chopped into firewood. “Hmmm,” I say, tapping my chin with my forefinger. “Which of these trees wants to come to your house for Christmas?”

Bobby gasps. “We’re going to put up a Christmas tree?”

“We are. ”

“My dad won’t like it. ”

“You let me worry about your father,” I say with more bravado than I feel.

Bobby giggles again. “Okay, Secret Agent Joy . . . ”

“Shh. You can’t say my name out loud. ”

He clamps a hand over his mouth and points to a rather sad and scrawny tree, which he drags back to the lodge.

Once there, we move quickly and quietly. Bobby runs upstairs, then returns with a poinsettia-decorated red box full of lights. He makes this trip several times, until there are four boxes and a tree stand on the stone hearth.

It takes us almost twenty minutes to get the tree in the stand and positioned correctly. I am no help at all, which wouldn’t surprise my sister. Bobby and I giggle at our ineptitude and hush each other. Every few minutes we go to the window and make sure that Daniel is busy. It isn’t until I stand back to inspect the tree that I really feel it.

A tug of loss and longing. I can’t help remembering how it used to be between me and Stacey at this magical time of year. Like the time she gave me the Holly Hobbie doll Santa had given her, just because I wanted it more. And there was the hellacious camping trip when we were little. Mom had been in full headband-wearing, tie-dyed T-shirt glory in those days. Singing and smoking and drinking through seven desert states. Stacey’s sense of humor had kept me sane.

Now she’ll be having Christmas morning without me. That’s never happened before, not in the whole of our lives. I believe in reconciliation for Daniel and Bobby, but what about for me and Stacey?

“Why are you crying?”

I wipe my eyes and shrug. How can I possibly fold all that longing into something as small as words?

We pause for a moment, taking strength from each other, then we get to work. I decide to let him choose and place all the ornaments and lights. It’s his tree, after all; my job is encouragement and understanding.

He goes to the box. Choosing takes a long time. Finally, he reaches down and finds an ornament. It is an intricately painted globe that reflects the rainforest. He shows it to me. “My mommy made this one. ”