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Bikini Beach: Over the River and Through the Woods Synopsis: An elderly man, confined to a nursing home and often neglected by his children, wishes for one last holiday with his family. [email protected] ********************************************************************** Bikini Beach: Over the River and Through the Woods The old woman paused at the door and turned to the girl. "I'm so glad you could come with me, dear." The brunette girl smiled. "Isn't helping others be happy what Christmas is all about, Grandmother?" she asked. "You're such a good girl, Anya," the old woman said with a warm smile. She pushed the door open and the two stepped into the main entrance hall. The building looked, to outward appearances, to be a nice place. The tile floors were spotless, and the walls and doorways were hung with holiday decorations. A number of the residents sat in an open area, in chairs, playing cards at the tables. Some of them sat in their wheelchairs; others ambled about, visiting with the staff and other residents. The old woman glanced around, then she spied someone she recognized. "Merry Christmas, Helga!" she called out happily. In response, an elderly woman turned, then a smile lit up her face. "I knew you'd come by today!" The old woman bent over and gave her friend a warm hug. "Don't even _try_ to get up!" she admonished. In fact, such a feat would have been impossible. Helga's leg was firmly encased in a cast, making it difficult for her to rise from her wheelchair. "Are we going to play bridge tomorrow?" Helga sounded a bit worried. "After all, it _is_ Christmas day." The old woman grinned. "If you think a little holiday is going to make me miss our weekly game, you've got another thing coming!" Helga laughed. "I thought you might want the excuse so you wouldn't lose for once." Anya watched her grandmother. Helga was a dear old friend, and if it weren't for the broken leg she'd suffered skiing, she wouldn't be in this home. Even if it weren't for Helga, Anya knew that her grandmother would have come anyway. She enjoyed the company of these residents - even the crotchety old ones. And it was grandmother's nature to spread as much cheer as she could. Anya wandered to the nurse's station. "Hi," she said as the nurse glanced up. "Oh, you must be with ..." The nurse wrinkled her nose. "Funny, but in all the time she's come by so regularly, I don't even know her name!" She leaned closer. "What is it, anyway?" she asked, sounding like it was a conspiracy. Anya laughed. "I don't know, either," she confessed. The nurse started. "You're kidding!" Anya smiled. "All I've ever known her as is 'grandmother'. She never told _me_ her name, either!" The nurse shook her head. "Just like her, I suppose. She's always been a bit of a mystery." A buzzer sounded, and she glanced at a panel. "But she _loves_ our residents." The nurse hurried off down a hall. "And they love her," she called over her shoulder. ********** Anya paused at the desk. "Merry Christmas," she said cheerfully. "I had fun. I hope your residents liked our visit and our cards." The nurse smiled. "It's nice to see that someone cares." She glanced around and shook her head. "Some of them have no family left. Some of their families ... well, they don't visit much." Anya felt a pang of sadness. Then she spied an old man she hadn't noticed before, sitting quietly in a corner by himself. "Who's he?" The nurse sighed and shook her head. "Harold Jasper. He's a widower, and his kids pushed him in here after his wife passed away," she said softly. "He _could_ live on his own; he's really one of our healthier residents. But his kids..." She sighed again. "His two children live in town, but they _never_ visit." From the look in her eyes, it was obvious that the nurse had never hardened herself to circumstances like this. "It's so sad." Anya nodded. She glided to the corner and took a seat next to the old man. There was a certain air of ... resignation about the man. He looked to be about eighty; he wore his white hair in a severe crew cut, and his wrinkled face was clean-shaven. He sat rigidly upright, like he was at attention, with military precision. His eyes, though, stared into nothingness, as if he were oblivious to everything around him. And there was no spark of life in the eyes. "Hi," Anya said cheerfully. "I'm Anya, and I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas." The man pivoted his head slowly. For several long moments, he stared at Anya as if he hadn't comprehended her words. Then he nodded ever so slightly. "Thank you," he said softly. His voice was deep and his words sounded like whispered commands. ********** Anya fought back tears as she climbed into her grandmother's car. "It's not fair," she complained bitterly. "He's such a nice man." The old woman nodded. "Very often, life isn't fair." "He gave _everything_ for his kids. And they do _this_ to him?" She wiped at her cheeks. "I promise I'm never going to push you into a home!" The old woman smiled. "Thank you, dear," she said. "So what are you planning?" Anya started, then she smiled. "I should know by now that I can't fool you." "Well?" Anya shrugged. "I'm ... I'm not sure. Yet." The old woman nodded knowingly. "You'll think of something." ********** Harold Jasper paused his narrative. "I must be boring you," he said quietly. Anya shook her head. "Oh, no!" she said quickly. "I learned from my grandmother that the wisdom and experiences of our elders are to be cherished and respected and learned from." Harold smiled. "She taught you well," he observed. "I suppose that being a military family was hard on your wife and kids," Anya observed. She'd learned that Harold had enlisted the moment he turned seventeen - way back in 1943, and had made a career out of the Army ever since. He'd seen action in Normandy, at the Battle of the Bulge, and other sites that were, to most, barely footnotes in history books. He'd been in Korea, at the Frozen Chosen reservoir. During Viet Nam, he'd been Stateside, serving as training cadre. Following his retirement, he'd had to search for a job; tank commanders weren't really needed outside the military. But he'd adjusted, and for the first time, he'd settled down. His experience helped him eventually land a job as a shop manager for a heavy equipment shop. "It was hardest on Edith and the kids," Harold said sadly. "But she was a real trooper." Anya noticed the sadness in his voice when he talked about his wife. She could tell that Edith had been his life. "If you could have anything for Christmas," she said wistfully, "what would it be?" Harold started, then he closed his eyes and thought. "I guess I'd like one more nice Christmas with the kids," he said slowly. He opened his eyes and shook his head. "It's too bad that Edith went first." "Why is that?" Anya asked, puzzled. Harold sighed. "She was the glue that held the family together. She's the one who made the holidays special. If she were still alive, she'd be living in our house, and the kids would be there for Christmas." His voice, though sad, lacked any resentment or bitterness. It was as if he were stating simple facts. Anya thought for a moment. "Would you _really_ like to have one Christmas with Edith and the family?" Harold's eyes snapped open and he frowned. "I thought you asked if I wanted Christmas with Edith." He shook his head. "But that's impossible!" Anya shook her head with an enigmatic smile. She glanced around the lounge of the home. "If you could, would you like to spend Christmas with your family?" Harold nodded. "Of course. But they won't ..." Anya shook her head and stopped him. "Do you believe in Christmas magic?" Harold shook his head. "I suppose I do. But Edith is gone. There's no way ..." Anya placed her finger to her lips. "Shhh," she said softly. "Would your kids like to spend Christmas with Edith?" Harold closed his eyes and nodded sadly. "I suppose they would." ********** "I don't understand." Harold stood by the gate, a pass clutched in his fingers, alternately looking into the park and to Anya. "Isn't it closed for the day?" Anya smiled. "Grandmother owns the place. I help run it." "But how ...?" Anya smiled. "You'll have to trust me on this one." She took Harold's arm and pulled him toward the turnstile. "Now, just before you swipe the card, picture Edith in your mind." Harold frowned, then he shrugged. "I guess I can play along." He paused, closed his eyes, and then he swiped the card. He stood still, as if expecting to be struck by lightening or something. "Now what?" Anya smiled. "Now you go in and shower." "That's it?" "That's it. You might want to get dressed afterward, though." Harold walked through the turnstile and entered the men's locker. Anya stood patiently waiting, and in a few moments, a very confused old lady emerged. "What ...?" she stammered, looking with a puzzled look at Anya. Anya took the woman by the arm and led her back into the locker room. They stood at the mirror, where the woman looked in amazement at the image staring back at her. "My gosh!" the woman said softly. "I _am_ Edith!" Her hand shot up to her cheek, and her mouth hung open in shock. Anya nodded slowly. The woman was an attractive elderly woman. Perhaps seventy-five, her hair was white and moderately long, hanging past her shoulders. She was moderately tanned, and the wrinkles on her face added character. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with an inner charm. Standing about five-foot four, she weighed perhaps one hundred forty pounds. Not plump, but definitely grandmotherly of figure. The bathing suit Harold had borrowed was now a modest old-fashioned one-piece suit. "How?" Anya smiled. "Magic. Like I told you." The woman shook her head. "But ... I have to admit that you made me _look_ like Edith. But ..." Anya smiled. "You don't think the kids will ever believe that Edith is alive again, right?" She saw the nod. "The same magic that changed you to Edith rewrote reality. Edith didn't die." "But ..." Anya nodded. "You said it would have been better if you - Harold - had passed away first. In this reality, that's what happened. You - as Edith - even still live in your little house." "But why don't you just bring Edith back?" Anya shook her head sadly. "There are some things magic can't do. Edith's soul is gone from this world. There's nothing I can do to bring it back." "So ...," Edith's eyes narrowed momentarily, then the light of recognition dawned, "you put _my_ soul in Edith's body when you did the reality thing." Anya nodded. "Now," she led Edith back to the locker where Harold had stashed his clothes, "we need to get you dressed for the evening." "The evening?" Anya smiled. "If I read the new reality right, Susan is going to pick you up in a little over an hour so you can spend Christmas eve with her and her children." Edith opened the locker and gasped; the clothing was changed. Instead of her slacks and shirt, a dress. Instead of a wallet, a purse. And mysteriously, Edith knew how to put the clothing on, from her bra and panties to her dress. "How did I do that?" she asked as she finished putting her hair up in a bun. Anya smiled. "The magic gives you the skills you need to get along while you're changed." Edith's mouth opened in sudden surprise. "How long ...?" Anya knew the question even before it was asked. "Just for today and tomorrow. Then you change back." Edith opened her purse and gasped as she found some jewelry. Slowly, reverently, she slipped her wedding ring and anniversary band onto her finger. On her other hand, she slipped a family birthstone ring. "I remember when ... Susan and Ken and their kids gave this to Edith," she said, almost in awe. Without even thinking about it, she fastened a necklace around her neck. "I gave this to her on our golden anniversary," she said softly. Anya realized that Edith was becoming overwhelmed by the suddenly-recalled memories. She gently grasped Edith's shoulders from behind. "Remember - you _are_ Edith." "But ... but I'll never pull this off!" Edith exclaimed suddenly as she spun to face Anya. "Edit was a ... marvelous cook! I can barely heat up a can of soup!" Anya smiled. "Remember, the magic gives you skills you need. You remember Edith as a good cook; the magic gives you that talent." Edith opened her mouth, then decided to say nothing. "Oh," she finally said. "You think of everything." Anya nodded. "It's my job. Including one more thing." "And that is?" "When you're with your kids?" "Yes?" "Keep your mouth shut. Listen. Don't talk." "But ..." Anya raised her finger to Edith's lips. "Shhh. Don't talk. Just listen." ********** "Oh, grandma, thank you!" One of Susan's girls ran up and practically leaped into Edith's lap, giggling with delight. In one hand, the girl of thirteen held her gift. Far from the teenager she really was, the girl was acting like an excited little girl. Somehow, on Christmas, it seemed to fit. "Are you sure it's okay?" Edith asked carefully. She was having trouble following Anya's advice. "Because we can always get something else if you don't like it." Susan, the girl's mom and Edith's daughter, frowned. "Mother, you're spoiling my girls." In her early fifties, Susan looked older than she really was. Her hair was graying, and her tanned face was lined. Taller than her mother, she was much thinner, bordering on looking anorexic. Edith thought for a brief second. "That's a grandmother's job, dear," she said softly. "No, grandma, it's perfect!" the girl announced. She gave her grandma a kiss and hug. She crawled off her grandma's lap. Edith glanced around. "Does anyone else want more hot cocoa?" she asked. The two teenagers waved her off, but Susan nodded. "That sounds like a good idea," she said. Edith started to rise, but Susan stopped her. "No, mother, let me get it." "I'll help." "You don't trust my cooking," Susan said quickly. "Yes, I do," Edith replied quickly. "After all, I taught you." The two went out to the kitchen, where Susan put the kettle on the stove while Edith rinsed out their cups. "Ken wanted you to spend Christmas eve with his family," Susan observed. "But Rich has the girls tomorrow ..." Edith understood. Rich was Susan's ex-husband and the girls' father. _That_ much hadn't changed in the new reality. Being a single mother explained Susan's gaunt look and the second-hand look to the house. Even the tree and its decorations looked meager and worn. Still, Susan dearly loved Amy and Nicki, her daughters, and that made up for a lot. "I know, dear," she said softly. "I wish I'd have listened to daddy," Susan said out of the blue. "He tried to warn me that Rich was a no-good bastard." "Susan!" Edith snapped, surprised at the language and tone. "Well, it's true." Susan opened the cocoa envelopes and poured them into the cups. "That son-of-a-bitch ran off with a teenager and left me with nothing!" "I know," Edith said softly. "And we felt so helpless while you were going through it." "I wish daddy would have been more supportive and less judgemental." Edith stood, stunned, for a moment. "Your dad tried to support you every way he knew," she finally said. Susan nodded. "But he should have been more consistent." "How?" Edith felt her head swimming; this was all new conversation to her. Susan shook her head. "It wouldn't have hurt him to be firmer. To help me learn to decide for myself instead of trying to order me around, or to indulge me because I was daddy's little girl." She dabbed at the tears trying to leak from her eyes. "And I miss him." She turned away so her mother wouldn't see her dab at the tears on her cheeks. "You never told him," Edith observed softly. "You never let him get close to you." Susan shook her head again. "He wasn't exactly the easiest person to get close to." Abruptly, she changed the subject. "I'm glad you're better." Edith frowned. She didn't know what Susan was talking about. "So am I," she said carefully. Susan laughed. "Yeah, I suppose so. It was _your_ heart!" She was obviously trying to make light of _something_. Heart - that explained the small scars that she'd noticed on her chest when she'd dressed in the locker room. She'd wondered, but since it wasn't the 'zipper' ... Had she had a heart attack? Inwardly, Edith dismissed the thoughts. It was temporary, so it really didn't matter. "The girls are hoping you can go with them on their band trip this spring." Edith's eyebrow raised. "Oh?" "Selective memory?" Susan laughed. "I can't say as I blame you. Two teenage girls, long band trip, you have to be their escort." Edith thought - had one of the kids said something about that recently? No, that was something that wasn't worth bothering 'grandpa' about. "I don't know. It could be fun." "Well, if you could, it'd make them happy. With the job and all, I can't really get away." "And Rich won't do anything to help?" Edith asked carefully. Susan snorted. "Are you kidding? He's six or seven months behind on child support as it is!" Edith practically bit her tongue to keep from talking. She had a _lot_ to say about Rich. But Anya had very explicitly told her to keep her mouth shut. "I know, I know," Susan added quickly, "I should turn him in. If he's got money to spend on his teen-age bimbo, he should be supporting his girls, too!" She shook her head. "The son-of-a- bitch got her a new Volvo, too!" Edit shook her head. "You're a grown woman, Susan," she said slowly and carefully. "You've got to make your own decisions." Susan set the hot cups down and gave her mother a nearly- crushing embrace. "Thanks, mom," she said softly. Edith frowned. "For what?" "For being so understanding. For not interfering." ********** The covers were almost too cozy for Edith to get up, but she forced herself. There was something ... With a snap, Edith was wide awake. The kids were coming over - soon. Slowly, carefully, she pulled on her housecoat. As she began her morning rituals, she found herself watching everything with amazement. It was all perfect. Each and every nuance of the house was exactly as it should have been. Except... It was Harold's stuff that was missing, not Edith's. Still, she walked through the house, looking through the closets, letting her fingers dance across every memento and photo, relishing each and every treasure of the house. The smell of Edith's perfume, the softness of her nightgown, the colors and textures of her clothes - the memories threatened to overwhelm her. Pictures of the kids, the grandkids. Some Girl Scout things Susan's girls had obviously given her. Other things from Ken's kids. Edith glanced at the clock when she finally got to the kitchen, and was shocked to see it was nearly nine! She - or rather, Harold - had _never_ slept past six-fifteen, and had always been ready for the day by seven-thirty. Even in the nursing home. Something told Edith that the kids would be over at noon, and they would eat around one. Nervously, Edith opened the refrigerator. A ham sat on the bottom shelf. With trepidation, she pulled it out. Now, she had to cook the darned thing. And potatoes, and green-bean casserole. Apple pie for dessert, like always, with fresh whipped cream. Fear gripped Edith; where was she supposed to start? As suddenly as the fear came, it left. Without knowing where it had come from, Edith realized that she had to start the ham first. And that meant making her famous honey-cranberry glaze. It all seemed so obvious. As she opened the can of cranberry jelly, Edith realized that she was humming. Even more surprising, it was a tune that Edith had _always_ hummed to herself when she was cooking. ********** "It smells wonderful!" the man said almost even before he got into the house. Edith smiled. "Thanks." She ducked so the three kids could scamper between them into the house. "Careful, kids," the man warned. "Don't break anything!" Edith felt like laughing. "Don't worry, Ken," she said easily. "Kids will be kids." She accepted the hug from her son. "Anyway, Merry Christmas, mom," Ken said as he came in. He was tall - and suddenly Edith gasped as she looked at him. He was the spitting image of his father, only he wore his hair longer than Harold's crew cut. "Merry Christmas, Edith!" Ken's wife took Ken's place as he disengaged to chase after the kids. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Linda!" Edith echoed. "Can I help in the kitchen?" Edith laughed. "I think everything is done." "She doesn't want you cooking, mom!" one of the kids sang out. Linda frowned. But even with the frown, she appeared very friendly. A bit taller than Edith, plump, her fiery red hair set her off from the rest. Her face seemed incapable of displaying negative emotions, and her eyes sparkled with happiness and joy. "Watch it, Sam," she cautioned, "or I'll make you do your own cooking for the next week." It was clearly a hollow threat, an inside joke. Sam, all of ten, laughed. "We'll order pizza!" He had his mother's stature and reddish hair. Another boy, maybe eight, taller and more slender than his brother, poked his head around the corner. "I thought Grandma was making ham and apple pie!" he wailed. "I don't want pizza for Christmas dinner!" Edith laughed. "Sammy wasn't serious," she said. "I made my ham and pie, just like you wanted." The younger boy ran up and gave his grandma a hug. "I love you, grandma!" he said. As quickly as the sentiment came, it vanished, and the boy scooted off. "Okay," Edith finally said, her arms crossed sternly, "where's my granddaughter?" Linda laughed. "Ken!" she called out, "Where's Valerie?" Ken stuck his head around the corner. "Tormenting her brothers again. Like usual." He vanished, and a few moments later, appeared with a three-year old girl. "Go give Grandma a kiss." The little girl scampered across the floor and hugged her grandma's knees. "Hi, grammy!" she said enthusiastically. Her long black hair and Asian eyes stood in stark contrast to the rest of the family. "Isn't she learning so quickly?" Linda asked approvingly. "She's picking up English faster than I thought she would." Edith picked up the little girl and gave her a big hug. "She's just a smart little girl," she said approvingly. "Aren't you?" She glanced at Ken. "Does she remember much Chinese?" Linda laughed. "Sometimes, when she gets excited, she'll revert. But she's getting better." Edith smiled. "Since we have to wait for the ham to finish baking, why don't we open presents now?" Ken frowned. "We told the kids they'd have to wait until _after_ we ate," he complained. Edith smiled. "Grandma's house, grandma's rules." "You're just like dad, sometimes." Edith froze at the words; there was an edge to Ken's tone, almost like he was complaining. She couldn't help wondering what the hidden meaning was. ********** "You know, you look a lot like your dad," Edith observed as Ken hefted the garbage bag. Dinner had gone fantastically well, better than she'd ever hoped. Ken stiffened. "I wish you wouldn't say that," he said with a frown. "You know we never got along." "Well, you do." "At least I don't act like him," Ken observed harshly. "Ken!" Edith exclaimed, surprised by his outburst. She was trying desperately to control her reaction; Harold would have told Ken a thing or two about lack of respect, and in language that would not soon be forgotten. But Edith? She nearly bit her tongue to stay silent. "That's not a very nice thing to say about your father!" Ken dropped the garbage bag heavily to the floor. He was scowling. "Well, it's true. He was always trying to boss me around like I was one of his privates. Trying to run my life, telling me what to do, what not to do, to make my decisions." Edith felt as if a dagger had pierced her heart. She couldn't keep her tongue - she _had_ to say something. "But ... he was trying to do what was best. For all of us." Ken frowned. "Well, he didn't do too well." He saw the pained expression on his mother's face, and his features softened. "I know I shouldn't talk like this. But ... it's just that I never felt like he was there for me. He was always being deployed, or on TDY, or going somewhere." Edith dropped her gaze. "That comes with the Army," she said softly. "I wasn't easy - for any of us. And it was probably hardest on him." Ken glanced up, surprised. "What do you mean?" Edith closed her eyes for a second, and in that moment, memories flashed by. Letters from home, pictures, of Ken starting as end on the football team his senior year - and Harold missed it. Of Ken and Susan going to the prom - and Harold missed it. Of countless letters from Edith trying her best to describe the moments of the children's lives - and all the while, Harold was off somewhere on assignment. She opened her eyes and dabbed at the tears. "How do you think your dad felt when he never got to see you play a game?" she asked softly. "Do you think he _enjoyed_ being away from his family? Missing you kids growing up?" "Why didn't he ever say anything?" Ken demanded, his anger slightly abated. "It wasn't his way," Edith said. "But ... he was so demanding. Such a perfectionist." Edith nodded sadly. "Maybe he was trying, in his own imperfect way, to help you avoid mistakes he'd made. You know he didn't have it easy growing up. He lost his mother, his dad lost the farm, his family was split up. Do you think _that_ was easy? Did you ever stop to think that what he wanted for you was to make sure you never went through that? That all he wanted was to do what was best for us?" Ken looked down, feeling his cheeks burning from the shame of what he'd said. "I guess I never thought of that. But I still wish I could have had some of the normal things. Playing catch in the yard. Going fishing. Baseball games." He shook his head. "But he was never around." Edith put her hand over her open mouth, surprised at Ken's reaction. Her lack of words was not because of Anya's advice, but rather that she honestly didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, mom," Ken finally said sadly. "I know it hurts you when I get like this. But ... I wish ..." Edith understood. For the first time, she understood. "You wanted his love and attention." Ken nodded mutely. Edith swallowed, then she bit her lip. "Your dad never had anyone say they loved _him_ when he was growing up. I guess he never learned to say it to you kids. But he _did_ love you. With all his heart, he loved you." Ken shook his head. "I _want_ to believe you. But it's hard - after all these years. It's ..." He broke off and turned sharply away. He dabbed at his eye, and Edith knew he was trying to wipe a tear away without appearing ... weak. Because Harold would have never tolerated a son crying. "And now, you're upset because you never got a chance to set things right?" Ken nodded again. "I ... I guess I miss him. Even though he seemed impossible to please." Edith nodded slowly. "But you know, he's a lot closer than you could ever imagine." She saw the surprise on Ken's face, and she smiled, touching her chest over her heart. "He's in your heart, too. If you'll let him." She gazed at her son. "You know, you can't go through life with old ghosts haunting you. _I_ know your dad wasn't perfect. Nobody is." Edith gulped at having to admit what she'd just come to realize in the past day. She didn't really know where the words were coming from. "Being bitter about the past won't help. But forgiving your dad for his shortcomings might." ********** "We get Christmas Eve next year?" Ken asked as they stood in the doorway. The kids clutched their presents, and Linda carried some leftover pie. Edith smiled. "We'll see." She gave her son a kiss, then Linda, then the kids. "Be careful." "It's only a couple of miles." "Be careful." Ken nodded slowly. "Okay, we will." He helped the kids get into the car, then he stuffed the presents into the trunk. As he turned on the motor, he glanced once more at his mother, framed in the doorway of her little white house. He waved. Edith watched the car drive away, then she closed the door. The house was quiet once more, and but the lingering smells of her dinner still filled the air with their enticing aromas. She sighed as she sank into Harold's favorite old chair - a big, stuffed recliner. She felt a chill, and she pulled a knitted afghan off the sofa and draped it across her legs. Across the room, the fire in the fireplace had gone out. The lights on the tree gleamed. Edith sat in the chair, her eyes half-closed, and a smile on her face. On the mantle, the clock ticked, until it chimed. Once. Twice. The lights on the tree sparkled and swirled, and then they slowly faded from sight. The overstuffed recliner seemed to remold itself, until it was a simple institutional vinyl seat. The walls, decorated with family mementos, lost their definition, fading, until they were gone, replaced by sterile institutional white. A woman, wearing a white uniform, walked slowly by, and she glanced at the man sitting upright in his chair. She noticed a piece of paper on his lap. Then she glanced again. Frowning, she carefully lifted his hand, and her fingers expertly grasped his wrist. For several seconds, she probed as her features became increasingly concerned. With a snap, her head lifted, and her shouted voice echoed down the halls. ********** The doorbell interrupted Anya's breakfast. She set down her bowl of yogurt and fruit, then she waved her hand at the door, which sprang open. "Come in, grandmother." The old woman had a look on her face that Anya didn't quite recognize. "I know what you did," she said simply. Anya looked surprised. "I thought I could help ..." The old woman sat down and took Anya's hands in hers. "It was probably the nicest gift you could have given Mister Jasper," she said. Anya looked down. She was embarrassed getting such praise from anyone, and she knew it was rare coming from Grandmother. "I hope he liked my present." The old woman handed her the folded paper. "The nurse found this in his lap this evening. It's addressed to you." Anya looked puzzled, then she unfolded the paper. 'Thank you for the best gift an old man could ever wish for. Merry Christmas.' She looked up at her grandmother. The old woman nodded, and Anya saw something in her eyes. She looked ... old. Anya had a sudden, horrible thought, and her hand raised to her mouth. "No..." she cried. The old woman nodded. "He passed away last evening." Anya fought back the tears. "But ... how? Why?" she stammered. "He was so ... healthy! I know - I checked!" The old woman shook her head. "That's not for us to understand, my dear," she said sadly. "Perhaps, after he got a chance to set things right with his children, he decided it was his time." "But ..." Anya was confused. "The reality - his children won't remember the past two days." The old woman shook her head. "No, I'm afraid they won't." "But ... then it was all wasted!" she complained. "I wanted to help him. And it was wasted if they don't remember!" She looked down, feeling helpless. The old woman looked straight into Anya's eyes. "To them, perhaps. But not to Harold." She watched Anya look up, at her. "You gave _him_ a gift. That's the important thing. You let his soul move on in peace." She pulled Anya into her arms. "And isn't that what this season is about? Peace?" FIN