Marge smiled as she burrowed deeper into the couch. “That sounds like fun,” she said. “Not really sexy or romantic, but fun. Any bites on your house yet?”
“There have been a few nibbles here and there, but nothing official yet. My Realtor says that December is always slow. She wants to do an open house in January.”
“Let me know when. Liz and I will come by as ringers, and talk up the place in front of potential buyers.”
“You have better things to do than go to an open house.”
“Probably,” she conceded. “Then again, you always seem to end up needing my help in one way or another. I’ve had to take care of you my whole life.” She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where Liz was preparing lunch. “I’m supposed to have more chemo this week. Next Friday, I think. I’m not looking forward to that at all.” She sighed, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. She turned to me. “With that in mind, we should probably do our thing on Thursday.”
“What thing?”
“Our trip, remember?” she said. “My Christmas present?”
“You do realize that I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s okay. I’ll pick you up at seven. Liz can get London ready for bed, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course,” I said. She stifled a yawn and I knew it was time for me to go. “I guess I should take off. I’ve got a ton of work I want to get done before London gets home.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m looking forward to Thursday night. Make sure you dress warmly.”
“I will,” I promised. I rose from the couch, hesitated, then leaned back over to kiss my sister on the cheek. Her eyes were closed. “See you later.”
She nodded without answering, and by the sound of her breathing, I knew she had fallen asleep again, even before I’d reached the front door.
Vivian delivered London around 7:00 p.m. that evening. While the limousine idled out front and London was in the bath, we spoke briefly in the kitchen.
“About Christmas,” she said, cutting to the chase. “I think it would be best if we spend it here. For London, I mean. It’ll be her last Christmas in this house. I can just stay in the guest room, if that’s all right with you.” She reached for her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. “I’ve already bought some things, but it might be easier if you picked up some of this other stuff, so I don’t have to haul everything back here. I made a list. Just save the receipts and we can split it all up at the end.”
“Whatever’s easiest,” I agreed, thinking back to what Marge had said about the holidays, knowing she’d be pleased. “I saw Marge today,” I said, leaning against the counter.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s already beginning to sleep a lot.”
Vivian nodded, lowering her gaze. “It’s just awful,” she said. “I know you think Marge and I didn’t get along that well, but I always liked her. And I know she doesn’t deserve this. I want you to know that. She’s always been a great sister.”
“She still is,” I said, but even as the words came out, I wondered how much longer I’d be able to say them.
After school on Wednesday, Emily and I planned to take the kids out to a Christmas tree farm, where you could choose and have your own tree cut down. Much of the place was decorated like Santa’s village, and kids could meet Santa before visiting his workshop, where hot chocolate and cookies were served. Even better, the farm would deliver and set up the tree in its stand, something I needed since I suspected that my Prius would otherwise be crushed beneath the weight of the tree.
When I mentioned the plan to Marge, she insisted that she and Liz meet us there.
It was nine days until Christmas.
In the gravel parking lot, Marge emerged from the car. When I hugged her, I could feel the sharp ridges of her ribcage, the cancer slowly eating away at her from within. She seemed to have more energy, however, than she had just after she returned from New York.
“And this, I take it, is Bodhi,” Marge said, shaking his hand with touching formality. “You’re so tall for your age,” she remarked, before proceeding to ask about his favorite activities and what he wanted for Christmas. When the kids became visibly antsy, we let them run off toward the farm, where they were quickly lost between evergreen triangles.
Emily and I trailed after them, strolling with Marge and Liz.
“How is your holiday season shaping up, Em?” Marge asked. “Are you going anywhere?”
“No,” she said. “We’ll just do the family thing like we usually do. See my sister and my parents. Ever since London learned to ride a bike, Bodhi’s been begging for one, so I guess I have to get him one – even if I’m not so confident about my ability to teach him to ride.”
“You’ll help her out, won’t you, Russ?” Marge said, elbowing me.
I grimaced. “Marge has always been good at volunteering me for things.”
“I seem to recall that,” she laughed. “Russ said you had a good time in New York?”
The two of them fell behind a bit, engrossed in their conversation. I looped my arm through Liz’s, and followed the path the kids had taken.
“How’s the schedule working out with Mom?” I asked.
“It’s working, I guess. I cut back to three days a week at work, so your mom is going to come on the other two weekdays.”