Carol for Mixed Voices By Madeleine Rose Reardon Dimond

10 December 2001

Marley was dead on her feet to begin with, but she still ran all the way from the underground parking lot up the stairs of the Wyndham-Mark hotel. Why had Curtis picked today, of all days, to end up in the principal's office? He'd already proven he could manage it any time.

The sight of the Lamar Ballroom doors gave her the energy for one last sprint, but a security guard grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop. She cried out in frustration.

She tried to reach for her First Contact Team identification, but another guard helped the first hold her immobile. In the party room, a salsa band swung into a well-meaning attempt at "Hail to the Chief." A childish fury blazed through Marley. Her delinquent son's antics had cost her not only hours off work and her dinner, but her chance to see the President in RL.

The ballroom doors slammed open. More security scurried out, reminding Marley of the time Curtis poked a fire-ant hill with a stick. In the middle strode President David Fordham, hero of the Middle East war and protector of North America. Marley shrank against the wall and held her breath, as much to avoid his angry glare as to allow passage.

In seconds, Fordham and his swarm disappeared. Her arms freed, Marley displayed her credentials, but the guards had lost interest and waved her into the holiday party. Her heart pounding with the merengue beat of "White Christmas," Marley, suddenly weak, leaned against the door. She shouldn't have run. She hadn't regularly exercised in a year. For that matter, how long had it been since she'd eaten? She remembered only half a donut around dawn. Now that the anger, shame, and fear she'd been feeding on had seeped away, she became aware of her stomach, painfully constricted around a vast vacuum. She felt too wobbly to walk, but she had to eat immediately.

She set out towards the most likely location for solid refreshments: behind the biggest cluster of people at the far wall. The party looked like the inside of Curtis's anthill. Half the guests were streaming past Marley towards the door; the other half jiggled about in fierce Brownian motion, careening off each other and into the 12-foot Christmas tree.

The ballroom had shed its workday character as the FCT's conference room and blossomed into diversity-crazed holiday splendor. Marley tried not to laugh as she passed under Chinese wedding symbols hanging from Christmas lights looped around garlands of Hanukkah dreidels and Kwanzaa corn. Token Solstice moons and stars littered the ceiling.

As she struggled upstream through the crowd, she heard scraps of conversation like chittering insects on a Houston summer evening.

"Can you believe it?"

"Is it safe to stay?"

"You can't tell what they'll do."

Startled, Marley looked around for the Eridanians. The aliens stood, as serene as ever, exchanging greetings with the European Anschluss Ambassador at the opposite end of the room from the band. People seemed to be giving them a wide berth that had nothing to do with the military guard surrounding the festivities like a menacing Nutcracker army.

"Don't they look evil?"

"Just like bugs, aren't they? Great big carnivorous bugs."

Marley flinched. The Eridanians had been called "Bugs" since their first transmissions had arrived, nearly two years ago. Beings with six limbs, huge eyes, and flat, noseless faces could expect nothing else from humans. The individuals who arrived in May had been dubbed Red, Green, and Blue, based on slight tinges to the gray skin. Marley was embarrassed when the Eridanians adopted the names too, but she refused to call them Bugs. Naturally, Curtis did so when he was annoyed, which was whenever she saw him these days.

She couldn't see any of her First Contact Team co-workers among the politicos, glitterati, and others who'd cadged an invitation to the event. For some reason, the crowd's excitement over the Eridanians' first public reception had turned to fear, but since it didn't look like the Eridanians had suddenly started eating the guests, Marley continued her quest. She couldn't see the food tables, but as she approached the main cluster of people, the holiday smells strengthened into something nasty. The chatter around her crescendoed.

"What's the President going to do?"

"He ought to blow them back into space."

"Let's leave before they get violent."

Marley had just snagged a plate when the head of her department, the eminent and publication-encrusted Dr. Winthrop Scofield, appeared in front of her. "Where were you? We needed you."

Though she knew exactly how Dr. Scofield manipulated language to control the hired help, Marley became tongue-tied whenever he spoke to her. She always felt hardly more than a translator. "I had to . . . my son . . . I thought you were going to translate."

He scowled at her. Wondering what had gone wrong, she bit her lip. Party amenities should have been within the scope of Dr. Scofield's skills, even with the Southern drawl that lay over all his speech.

"First thing tomorrow, I'm putting you on High Eridanian." He didn't wait for an answer.

"Merde, not High Eridanian." They'd only begun to crack Blue and Green's native language. The grammatical structures seemed totally different and the words layered with extra meanings. Marley felt sick as the odors threatened to overwhelm her. She lunged towards the food.

"Hey, Marley, you missed the fireworks." Kevin Bates, Army xenobiologist, blocked her way to the meatballs. He carried his omnipresent camcorder under one arm to leave his hands free for macaroons.

Marley didn't even like coconut, but she eyed the cookies longingly. She shifted in her long-unused party shoes, now pinching like a vise. "What happened?"

He tossed one handful of sweets into his mouth and pulled out the camcorder. "Not real sure," he mumbled around the macaroons. "I mean, it's all here--" He handed her an earphone and pointed to the viewer, where a tiny President Fordham, still recognizable by his granite chin, stumbled through a greeting in Eridanian. The Eridanians chittered together.

Marley covered her eyes.

Kevin asked, "What are they saying, word wizard?"

"They're trying to understand why our leader would address them in half obscenity, half nonsense," she snapped.

Red used the Eridanian language that Marley knew best. "I will speak to him. I have heard such speech at our lodgings by those who attend our comfort." The alien switched to AmStandard and said, "And the same thing with your mother!"

Kevin shook his head. "That went over big. So how come you understood so quickly? Took the others fifteen minutes to come up with anything."

Marley flushed. "The language the Eridanians chose to teach us is tonal. It helps to have a tonal native language, like Chinese."

Kevin glanced at her face. "Regular melting pot, aren't you? Funny, you don't look . . ."

"More of a gumbo, actually, since my father's family comes from all over the Caribbean. My mother's from Ohio, but her mother was the daughter of a missionary and one of his Chinese converts. Grandmother always spoke Chinese with me."

"We need you on the front line. Should have finished that doctorate, baby girl."

"I was a single mother with a young child to raise," retorted Marley. Finishing a terminal degree in communication science had seemed a pointless mockery when Josh left her for a woman who really understood him. "What else happened? We have translation snafus all the time."

"Usually not with the whole world watching. Look at Fordham, ready to burst. Then old Blue steps out . . ."

The largest alien stretched out his arms and declared in fluted AmStandard, "I am Blue, child of they who smote their enemies with such force that they never lived again, but lie buried, children and adults, in the sands of Eridan."

Marley gasped. Even through the party din, she could hear the swell of voices on the recording.

The President drew himself straighter. He put on his Commander-in-Chief look and glared at the aliens for a long moment. Then he said, "I am David, he who drove back the terrorists that now lie buried in the Eastern sands." As usual, he worked in having seen the World Trade Center collapse with his brother inside, his subsequent change of college plans to include West Point, his Middle Eastern war record, and his vow to defend America against all threats.

"All threats," he repeated as he glared at each alien. "No matter where they originate."

"It kept going downhill from there." Kevin sighed. "He never did want the Eridanians here."

"But he did! He insisted! He's tried to keep other countries off the FCT!"

"Only because he's Colonel Fordham, defender of North America, and he wouldn't trust anybody else to save us. Remember those first transmissions? Everybody's all excited about the first interstellar visitors on their way, and they start putting the First Contact Team together?"

"Yes." Marley felt tingly, remembering her thrill at being chosen.

"Well, they formed the Planetary Defense Team at the same time. Why do you think they based FCT in Houston?"

"NASA. Right? They'd been preparing for interstellar contact for years." Marley's voice wobbled under Kevin's derisive smile.

"Also, it would be easy to blast Houston into the Gulf if the visitors weren't friendly. It's a long way from the capital and all the important people. After all, they just got it rebuilt from the Aughties attacks."

Marley shuddered, remembering those fearful days. "But they've never made an aggressive move. They seem to like us."

"That's what Captain Cook's men thought when they met the New Zealanders. Had to send another group to clean up leftover body parts after the barbecue."

"That was a misunderstanding." Marley pushed forward close enough to see the tables, loaded with holiday bounty. Her mouth watered.

"I'll say. The natives asked for Crispy with Extra Spices." Kevin snapped the viewer closed and finished the last of his macaroons. "Anyway, if you can do something to help us get to the new year, better do it quick."

"Me?"

"Oh, and that liaison guy from Washington wants to see you. He's running around trying to put Band-Aids on the situation."

"Stephen Grimsky? He wants to see me?"

"Yeah, he was over by the Bugs. You know what he said? The President wants to see the results of my 'mind-reading' experiments. Mind-reading! I told him we're mapping brain functions and exploring emotional perception, so then he wanted to know if the Bugs ever get angry. I told him, 'Initial preliminary emotional data looks promising for correlation but must be confirmed by empirical analysis.' And this is how these people make decisions? About our lives, I might add."

Finally they had a clear shot at the food. Marley could almost taste the meatballs. She fumbled with silver tongs as she said, "At least your bosses don't want you to kill the aliens to get a closer look, like Martin Frobisher did with the Inuits."

"Yes, they do, but the President said to talk to them first." Kevin scooped up the meatball Marley was aiming for and waved to her as he slid back into the crowd.

A server swooped through and collected the meatball tray.

Marley slammed the tongs on the table and looked around. The other food lines snaked most of the way across the room. Her lip quivered. She moved away in the only direction without competition: towards the Eridanians. She understood the comments around her better now.

"They're probably bringing their army."

"You think we'll attack them on their planet?"

"The President must have been planning for this."

She smiled at Red, Green, and Blue, and they solemnly nodded back. They'd been drilled on nodding. An eddy in the crowd brought Marley a sight to gladden her heart: Stephen Grimsky, Special Attache to the President. A worried frown cut into his delectable brow, but he still managed to smile. Looking into his Caribbean-blue eyes, Marley forgot to breathe. It was amazing, too, how much better her legs felt, like warm honey soothing the veins. She wiggled her toes, happy to feel them again.

Stephen touched her arm to bring her aside. "The President is extremely disturbed. He's been cautious all along, but that hostile display earlier . . ." He ran his hair through his sculpted black curls. "He's never been completely convinced that those deaths during the landing were an accident, you know. And that speech . . . they've never talked like that before."

"I'm sure . . ." Marley stopped. She wasn't at all sure.

"The media's full of dire predictions and the usual conspiracy stories. They're wondering what the government's doing to protect us. Yesterday I saw a tabloid shot of Blue with the Pope, with the headline 'Can the Pope Save Us?' The President feels his responsibility keenly; he's the one who let them land. After Christmas, if they remain peaceful until then, he's going to insist that they leave unless he has some clear evidence of their good will. We're depending on all of you on the FCT for that. In the meantime, we're going to show them our strength and our good intentions. I understand they're interested in our 'winter festival.'"

Marley glanced at the trio. "Ever since they saw the decorations in August."

"I'm arranging trips to some traditional activities, starting tomorrow night. The Bugs have asked for you as interpreter."

"Why me?"

"They say you most nearly reproduce their language. Quite an honor, wouldn't you say?"

Marley's voice squeaked. "But my son's in a Living Nativity tomorrow night."

Stephen nodded. "That's a good holiday function. We'll put it first on the schedule." He clapped a hand on her shoulder and flashed a smile before he escaped into the masses.

A server passed by with several trays, and Marley grabbed an egg roll. She munched to "Deck the Halls Cha Cha Cha," as grease dripped down her fingers and onto her only silk blouse. "Happy Humbug," she muttered toward Stephen's broad back. The end of the world was coming, and she had to work overtime.

Marley drove home as fast as she dared, anxious to hold Curtis close. She turned on the radio in hopes of soothing music, but all channels were covering the President's first meeting with the Eridanians and his abrupt departure. The commentators had even less material than the party guests, but they had plenty to offer in past coverage of Colonel, later President, Fordham. His war record. His ending the war -- on American terms. The background of violence on home ground, shifting borders and allies, and a loss of faith in the West's supreme technology. The clamor for a forbidden third term.

Not electing President Fordham would be like firing your father. As a small boy, Curtis had come home from an encounter with a school bully and sobbed, "I'm telling President Fordham!"

Fordham's mighty declarations -- "I renew the pledge I made to you when I took office: you will be safe in your home, safe in your work, safe in your play from any who dare to oppose us. Wherever Americans walk, they'll walk in safety" -- had the opposite effect on Marley, and she urged the old car faster. If the world were going up in smoke, she wanted to go out holding the only family she had.

Curtis wasn't home. Marley substituted the cat instead, clutching the old tabby in a vociferously unappreciated hug. In the ensuing struggle, she noticed her wrist phone glowing softly with a recorded message that she'd missed at the fear-soaked party. Her most dependable terror -- a call from the police -- flared. She held her breath until she heard, "Mom, where are you? If you're not here by the time the last parent's gone, Bob Chang will bring me in the church van."

She slapped her forehead. How could she have forgotten to pick up Curtis after the Living Nativity rehearsal?

When he'd announced last summer that he wanted to attend the Church of Light and Harmony with his friends, she'd rejoiced because (1) he had friends; (2) they went to church; and (3) though it was a far cry from St. Agnes Catholic Church, where she'd been terrorized into morality, at least it wasn't Church of the Satanic Vampires.

Deep in her conditioning lay the notion that families went to church together, so she went too, when she didn't have to work. The first week she'd heard a sermon on miracles being a shift in perception. When she'd asked Curtis the topic of his Sunday School lesson, he'd said, "The Force." In her mind, Saints Teresa, Francis, and Pio, their sweet stigmata dripping as they pointed accusing fingers, declared her a bad mother when she didn't ask again.

She made herself a cup of tea and forced her mind to things that had seemed important a few hours ago.

Christmas: Forget decorations. She hadn't been able to find them since the move, which seemed incredible, considering the tiny apartment's closets.

Presents: not a happy thought either. With credit cards still maxed out from the move and Curtis's various emergencies, she'd have to postpone shopping until the Christmas bonus showed up.

She hadn't written her court-required progress letter to Josh either. Maybe the Living Nativity would be something positive to mention. She didn't have much good to say. "Grades in tank. Attitude same. Prospects worse" about summed it up. She resented the effort she put into the probably-unread reports -- after all, Josh found writing a check too taxing -- but she kept hoping that something she wrote might make him want to know his son.

She collapsed in the once-velour-striped rocking recliner that Josh had given her on Mother's Day when Curtis was a week old. She pressed the hot mug against her forehead. She had been so sure that their lives would turn for the better with the move to Houston and her new job. Curtis had shared her excitement about meeting the first interstellar visitors, despite leaving the friends she was glad to get him away from. But what did it matter now, when her own country planned to scrub them off like a cosmetic blemish?

A shot rang out and she vaulted out of the chair. Tea poured into her lap. She tried to dance away from her dripping pants and peer through the vertical blinds at the same time. In the parking lot, Curtis climbed out of an ancient VW-e hybrid van with tie-dye colors splotched over rust stains.

Marley ran outside and threw her arms around him.

"Hey! Mom!" He shucked her off in embarrassment, looking back at the van.

A harassed man climbed out of the driver's seat and started to explain, but a bare spring from the car seat hooked into his jacket. The seat back fell into the parking lot. He scrambled to replace it.

Marley stared from the van to Curtis. "You're riding in that?"

The man pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Hello, Ms. Richardson. I'm Bob Chang, one of the youth counselors. The van's not too bad as long as you take left turns gently because of the axle. The internal alert signal never stops while you're driving, but it's just a short."

Three other fifteen-year-olds stuck their heads out the windows and sang, "Siii--"

"Beep!" chirped Curtis as the warning signal.

"--elent Niii--

"Beep!"

"--iight."

Bob frowned. "Keep it down, guys. People are trying to--" The scream of an ambulance cut him off. He tried to ignore the adolescent laughter. "And the brakes haven't hit metal yet. The backfire's annoying, but it doesn't --"

"But . . . so late . . ." Guilt of the forgetful mother froze her tongue. She muttered an obscenity in her private language.

"But, Mom, we had to stop by Quik Mart for Tina to get some diapers for her baby. Then the van wouldn't start and we had to push it until -- I gotta call Tina and tell her we made it." Curtis loped through the apartment door.

"Ooooooo, Teeeeeeenaaaaaa," shouted his friends.

Bob looked at his feet. "Do you want to pick up Curtis from now on?"

"Yes. Well . . . I'll try." Marley looked away. "I don't always know when I'll get off work. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I'd feel the same way if it were my boys." He whirled around to make a quick exit, but the door handle stuck.

Equally humiliated, Marley watched him drive away, his passengers caroling and beeping, this time to "We Three Kings." She looked up at the night sky as she went back inside. Where was a guiding star when you needed one?

Buried under street lights, business neon, airport signals, and the glow from the SuperAstroDome. She shook her head as she shoved the front door open.

Curtis emerged from the kitchen with his hands full. "Can we go to Bubba's All-You-Can-Eat Barn tomorrow night? You said I could pick."

Marley ran a hand through her hair. "Oh -- we can't. They changed my schedule."

"You promised! You said you'd come to opening night."

"Yes, I know . . . and I will. It's just that they'll come pick us up and take us, so we can't go out to eat, unless I can get off early . . ." She shook her head, not wanting to break another promise. Curtis snorted in agreement. "And I can't stay all evening. I'll have to go with the aliens to some holiday shows. I should be back in time to pick you up." Again her voice rose uncertainly.

"It's sure not like Christmas used to be," Curtis muttered through a chicken leg. "I'll get my own ride home."

"Not in that . . ." Her voice trailed off helplessly. She blinked away visions of toddler Curtis cooing, clapping at the Christmas tree while she and Josh . . . She reached for something, anything, to say.

Curtis was gazing at her pants. "Have an accident, Mom?"

The mature discussion Marley intended to have with Curtis the next morning dissolved into a scattershot of grievances, ending with Curtis's theme song about things not being like they used to be (with door slam accompaniment). Wondering what right she had to call herself a communicator, Marley slouched through the work day, watching the team try to explain holiday customs to politely uncomprehending Eridanians. Asked about their own celebrations, the aliens recounted the days set aside to mark the devastation of the southern continent by their northern enemies and the remembrance of those who died in religious wars. It was a long list. Human faces grew pinched. Marley began to panic, more from the human reaction than the Eridanian stories. She tried to point out that Earth had plenty of bloody occasions that most people took lightly, but no one heard her. She vowed to talk to the Eridanians when she had them to herself that evening.

As it turned out, she had them to herself and three vans worth of military personnel. Curtis, his earrings swinging, affected an indifferent slouch as he climbed into Marley's van. She tried not to be embarrassed. He looked like any other teen. Introduced to the van's occupants -- two security guards, Kevin as driver, and three Eridanians -- he rasped and yipped what he thought was the traditional greeting. He came closer than the President had.

The Eridanians graciously replied. Curtis hunched down in standard sullen boredom, but his eyes kept darting towards the extraterrestrials. Saving up bragging details, Marley was sure.

On the drive to the strip mall, Marley explained the Living Nativity, skimming over religious elements while Kevin chuckled under his breath. She glared at the back of his head as she said, "The church youth have volunteered to present this pageant to raise money for a church building."

Curtis added, "Yeah, and the angels are gonna wear their nightgowns, and Tina Salera is back from having her baby, so they're going to be Mary and Jesus. She already looked pretty fine before, and now she's got boobs. And Keanu Jardine moved to the Lower Territories to get out of child support."

Kevin laughed. "Translate that, Mom."

As the government van slipped, sleek and silent, into a parking place, Curtis jumped out. Even unmarked, the vehicle radiated power. Next to it the tie-dyed van pulled up. It backfired with a lurch.

"Van fart!" shouted its adolescent passengers, streaming out into anarchy.

Besides the church, the strip held a Mexican restaurant, a thrift shop, a used media store, and a gym. The Nativity had been consigned to the far end of the lot to grant peace and parking to the other enterprises, but it was spilling over.

Nightgown-clad angels ran shrieking, throwing handfuls of hay at their pursuers, shepherds reaching with papier-mache crooks. Their neglected flock, goats with white bath mats tied around their middles, milled about moodily, terrorizing customers. An aerobics bunny from the gym screamed as the goats surrounded her. An adult who'd been nailing the beams of the stable together ran to help. His carpentry collapsed, to the cheers of the youthful congregation.

A Virgin Mary, looking more like Circe, stood apart, baby in arms. She nudged the manger with her foot and looked askance at the goats nibbling the hay. Despite her shapeless robe, every move emphasized the curves Curtis had admired. Marley shut her eyes in pain.

A family van pulled to the lot. Teen girls bounced out, carrying pizza boxes and waving pop bottles. A pro mom in uniform -- denim skirt and perky red Christmas sweater -- barreled out, bawling, "All right, settle down, round up these goats, get back on our side of the lot."

"This is winter festival?" asked Red.

"I'm afraid so." Marley sighed.

Dressed in traditional magi costumes handed down through the ages -- velour bathrobes with gold piping and paper crowns from a fast-food restaurant --Curtis and his fellow wise men erupted from the church. Marley noted cynically that the most exotic boys had been selected, to give the magi a foreign appearance. They King-Tutted to their "camel," a pony with a brown bolster pillow.

With a royal flourish, Curtis offered the pony a slice of pizza. "Whoa!" shouted his companions, laughing as the pony lipped off the toppings. "Let's try anchovy and onion on him!"

Blue asked, "Significance?"

"It's the pageant we spoke of."

"Pageant?"

"Um, play."

"Toy?"

"No. Um, they're acting out a religious story of a baby, a star--"

"And many animals," said Green, examining the piebald goat sniffing his robe.

Blue pointed. "Sitting on animals?"

Marley sighed. The Sri Lankan magus was trying to mount the bolstered pony. Curtis and his African counterpart helped. The pony ducked his head in apology but backed up in a definite negative. "Those are the wise men."

"We seek these." Red waddled toward them. Blue and Green followed after a few hoots that Marley didn't understand.

"Wait. They're not really--"

"Ms. Richardson, I still don't have permission slips from you." Bob appeared at her side.

"What? Oh." Marley squinted after the Eridanians. Bundled in coats, scarves, and hats, they could pass for humans. But could Curtis be trusted? What were the boys telling them? She looked for the security men; they were circling the area. Kevin was entering the Mexican restaurant.

The shepherds thundered by again.

"Are they all like this?" Marley covered her ears.

"I just started as a youth counselor, so I can't say. But my eldest was just getting to that stage when my ex-wife moved." Embarrassed, Bob ducked his head. "That's why I volunteered. Rev. Boehm thought it would help me stop feeling sorry for myself."

"Did it?" asked Marley, feeling the same need.

"Now I feel sorry for myself because I'm a youth counselor." Bob shoved some papers and a pen into her hands. She signed as best she could as the pen sputtered. "This is a permission slip for me to drive him home, if you still want me to, and one for him to take part in the activity. An information form with his medical and insurance information, a hold-harmless agreement between you and the church and any church volunteer, a personal commitment form agreeing to have him here at the designated times, an agreement to support any disciplinary action that might be necessary (not to include corporal punishment), and--"

"Just for a Christmas pageant?" Rising on her toes, Marley tried to see the Eridanians.

"We have a lawyer on the executive board," Bob apologized. "And a goat rancher." He grabbed a runaway goat.

Marley almost escaped, but the professional mom accosted her.

"Marley Richardson? I'm Samantha Jacoby, your Prayer Angel."

"Prayer Angel?" Marley craned her head to look around Samantha. Curtis was making wide gestures for the Eridanians, and a couple of security men had discreetly closed in.

"I drew your name, and I'll be praying for you. At the New Year's Luncheon we'll talk about our blessings." Her face lost some of its brightness. "If we're still here on New Year's. With aliens roaming the earth, I mean. Did you hear the President's speech?"

"Roaming?" asked Marley in a feeble gasp. The aliens had hardly set foot out of the Wyndham-Mark until this week, and never without heavy security.

"Is there anything you'd like me to pray for? Any way you'd like your life to change?" Samantha hooked her bright smile on with an effort.

Wild desires tumbled through Marley's heart, including model sons and men with Caribbean-blue eyes, but as she made a break, she said only, "Just a miracle or two."

"You know what Rev. Boehm says about miracles," Samantha called.

The Eridanians waddled back. "Useful," chirped Red.

Bob came back with the bucking goat, and his eyes widened in recognition. Panicked, Marley herded the Eridanians aside. "It's about to begin. Let's go where we can see better."

The pageant's static nature gave Marley plenty of time to struggle with translating abstract and religious concepts into a language where she'd barely mastered concrete nouns and action verbs. Finally Kevin ambled back from El Periquito with a bag, adding fried grease to the animal stench. "Special holiday praline taco, anyone?" he asked between munches.

"Can we just get out of here while we're all alive?" Marley snapped. "Remember what happened to Captain Cook in Hawaii?"

"That was an accident. They weren't aiming at him."

"Ha!"

The rest of the evening's schedule called for a performance of "A Christmas Carol," a family version cut beyond the bone in deference to early bedtimes. Then they drove through the Candlelight Festival, since it was convenient to the new Hermann Park Theatre. During the drive, Kevin tuned in to a replay of the President's speech, a rework of one of his first campaign addresses.

President Fordham's deep voice flowed like black molasses. "I personally am monitoring all activity and negotiations with our interstellar visitors. We will not let the quest for knowledge override our first duty. You may continue with your daily tasks, your preparations for the holidays, secure in the knowledge that your defense from any menace, from this world or the stars, is my only priority. I pledge to you that this administration will never sleep, never relax its vigilance, never flinch from a hard decision when the safety of our nation is at stake. Wherever Americans walk--"

"--They walk in safety," chorused the men. Kevin mumbled a codetta: "Except possibly in Houston if we have to blow it up."

Marley's stomach twisted in knots.

At the Galleria they heard special music from local high schools and saw the Santa Claus village. Marley hustled them by a media store, where the wall screens displayed clips of the President's speech and party footage of the Eridanians. Hearing murmurs like "Blow them back where they came from," she worried about people recognizing the aliens as Bob had, but the shoppers plowed through everyone in a self-centered whirlwind. After the third body slam, Green asked, "What religion does this activity represent?" Marley thought it a fair question. Fortunately they were walking by Digital Dream, and the fleet of computers playing "Silver Bells" slightly out of phase made answering impossible.

Back in the van, free of the cacophony and rancid odors of Christmas bliss, she said with some anxiety, "Much of what we saw tonight is pretending. Not real. You understand that?"

"We perceive," said Blue. "People pretend happiness."

Marley's head had been pounding cruelly since Bellaire High School's rendition of "Little Drummer Boy," which they'd misread as "Little Drum and Bugle Corps with a Few Riffs from the Jazz Band." The headache dissolved on the soporific return journey, but the scent of roses and new car leather lulled her close to sleep. Maybe she could try again tomorrow. If they had a tomorrow.

The next few days combined the worst of holiday anticipation and stark terror. The anthropologists asked the Eridanians for more history, and all three described long-term wars and cruelties that made even the most hawkish humans blench. No one could help imagining what such beings might do when the President told them to leave.

Private unvoiced hells drove all departments to redouble efforts on their reports for the President. Everyone needed translation constantly. The linguists never had more than ten uninterrupted minutes to work on their own report. When Dr. Scofield pulled Marley off of High Eridanian qualifiers, she was sorry to be dropped back into the turf wars and shouting matches. Kevin ran about, clamping electrodes onto the combatants' heads to get good human readouts of strong emotion.

Even packed with multiple excursions for the Eridanians, the evenings brought Marley some relief. At least nobody shouted. They attended a Messiah singalong, hastily scheduled parades at military bases, a klezmer band playing the Nutcracker, a public Hanukkah candle lighting, and Carols on the Square.

They even visited the holiday display at the Space Center, where some impulse made her purchase a souvenir shuttle paperweight. It would probably elicit an "Oh, Mom" and rolling eyes, but Curtis as a small boy had loved rockets and spaceships. It might be his only present, with the bonus money still a theory. The cynical view held that the government hoped to delay paying it until they bombed Houston.

One night Curtis brought home a twisted pine spray. He said the nearby tree lot had given it to him. Looking at the brown-tipped needles drifting to the carpet, Marley believed him. She told him he was responsible for setting it up. "But not there!" she shouted when he filled the kitchen sink with water and stuffed his tree in the drain plug. When she came home the next night, she found it nailed, wildly askew, to the coffee table. Teenage accessories -- earrings and keychains -- dragged the drooping branches down further.

By Christmas Eve, Marley felt split, fried, and barbecued. Only last night the President had assured them:

"As I watched the World Trade Center towers collapse on themselves, I swore to end all terrorism on American soil. The attacks on our major cities over the next decade only strengthened my resolve. And I stand before you today as your President, the only President in fifty years to have served in the military, and I pledge to you that during my administration you will always walk in safety, no matter what the cost."

The media stories had tripled in hysteria afterwards, but their reaction seemed mild compared with FCT team's thrashings with their final reports. No one said out loud how final they might be.

After 3:00 p.m., Marley's eyes glazed over in after-school anxiety, relieved only when Curtis beeped her wrist phone in his afternoon check-in. She had hoped to leave early for some minor Christmas shopping, but Dr. Scofield planned for the linguists to outstay everyone else and work on their report then.

Someone brought in cold pitas for supper around 8:30. Marley tried to snag some minitubs of hummus, but two FCT staffers were standing in front of the tray and arguing over a letter from a Buddhist monastery thanking the Eridanians for their visit.

"They didn't go, did they?"

Marley tried to reach behind the smaller man, but he backed into her.

"How could they? They were here every day. Buncha cranks."

"Buddhist nuns?"

She snaked an arm between them to grab a handful of tubs. Then she searched for Kevin. She tracked him down in the hotel bar, where he was gulping Shiner Bocks faster than the bartender could clear them away.

"I've brought some food." She tripped over the door sill and muttered a private curse as she stumbled against the bar.

Kevin banged his mug on the counter. "What did you say?"

"You speak Arabic?" she asked, surprised.

"Shh! I can curse fluently in any number of languages, but that's not one I recommend admitting to. Particularly as authentic as you sound." He searched her face as though reading her DNA. "Where did you learn it?"

"From Sitti. It's been a long time." Marley set the containers down on the brassy bar.

"I thought your grandmother was Chinese."

Marley shoved the containers around and refused to meet his eyes. "Sitti was my friend Fariha's grandmother. She hardly spoke any English."

"She taught you to curse?"

"That was Fariha's big brother Ahmed. I used to stay with their family while my mother worked. Until 9-1-1-0-1. We watched the towers collapse. And the news. Fariha had to translate. She was only six and didn't understand most of it, but it made her cry. Us cry. And Sitti explained that no devout Muslim would take innocent life. My mother came home early to pick me up, and I tried to make her understand, but she wouldn't listen. I never saw Sitti again."

"I told you, you shoulda finished that doctorate."

"I was five!"

"Always an excuse. But switch languages, okay? The war hasn't been over long enough." Kevin tugged his already-wild hair. "And now we're gonna have another one. I wish these gov'mint folks would give us time to study. They think science is like a Vegas show." He raised his glass for another deep draught.

"What's wrong, Kevin?"

"I've got information that could get somebody killed. Maybe us. Or them." He took another swig with one hand and handed her his PDA with the other. "Tap through this slide show."

"It looks like brains. What am I supposed to see?"

"I've got yours and Red's on split screen. See? Yours is an excellent example of mad as hell."

"Thank you. I was thinking about my son and his efforts to pitch his life down the tubes. And his father."

"Now look at Red's as of this week. Eridanian parts aren't quite the same -- some things in different places, some different sizes, some I haven't identified -- but you can see the similarities. They've got an enormous limbic system--"

"Emotional center?"

"Right. Look under this basal ganglion. If she were a human, she'd be flaming furious, and I'd be ducking." He punched through the scans. "Makes you look like Mary Sunshine."

A thump behind them made Kevin and Marley jump. Stephen stood at the door, clutching several liters of pop, his face as green as the bottles. Another bottle rolled on the floor against the bar. "The President has to hear about this," Stephen whispered.

Kevin held up a hand and almost fell off the bar stool. "Whoa. Wait a minute. You can't condemn a whole race because one of them is in a snit. Maybe they had a fight over who gets the media control."

"I'm not condemning them, but I have to give the President any available data and warn him of possible ramifications."

"Then you have to give him everything we've got. The linguists don't think they're violent, do they, Marley?"

She hesitated. "Dr. Scofield hasn't finalized the wording of the report, but he doesn't feel that their language structure shows . . ." A glance at Stephen's face told her that language structures weren't going to cut it.

Kevin grabbed his arm. "Jeez, Steve. What do you want? We're trying to give definite answers on stuff that'll take years to sort through. Our best evidence that they're friendly is that they are. They cooperate with whatever we ask. Don't throw away this chance -- and possibly our lives --over paranoia."

"We can't make ourselves vulnerable to anybody, no matter where they're from," Stephen said. "The President is responsible not just for the safety of Houston and North America, but the whole world. If the Eridanians are as friendly as you say, they'll leave quietly."

"Will you evacuate Houston before you ask them? Do you have defenses in place?"

Marley dropped her gaze to hide a film of sudden tears. So this was how it ended, with the door slammed on visitors from the stars, like so many other doors slammed. She was surprised at how much even the best-case scenario hurt, with the Eridanians leaving quietly, never to return. The other possibilities tore her heart like a serrated knife. No rosy future with better jobs and more chances for Curtis, maybe not even the chance to grow up.

Stephen didn't flinch. "I'm willing to listen to any case you can muster. I don't want to make a mistake any more than you do. The future of the human race could depend on what we do."

In the silence Marley wiped a tear off her cheek.

Stephen's voice softened. "Maybe you could get some data together and meet me for lunch tomorrow. We could do Chinese."

Marley tucked her head even more to hide her flushed cheeks. In the midst of disaster, a small present. She raised her head to say that tomorrow was Christmas and why didn't he come over. The words choked off when she saw that no one was looking at her. Kevin still gripped Stephen's arm, but tenderly; Stephen had covered Kevin's hand with his own. The gaze between them would have melted an ice cap. Marley stepped back and turned away.

A commotion at the elevator just outside the bar grabbed her attention. At first she saw just a surging crowd of security, but she gasped in recognition when the shouts penetrated to the bar. She lurched forward.

Kevin grabbed at her sleeve. "Marley, that's not something you run towards."

As the guards parted, she faced her last nightmare: Curtis held between them as he raged, thrashing from side to side in handcuffs.

Something inside Marley shattered and strengthened her in the breaking. She'd listened too long to verbal attacks and suspicion. It would not happen to her son. She would not permit it. Her stumbling steps turned into a march; her shoes slapped the tile.

She saw the dangerous young man, out of control, tall and powerful as his captors. But other images overlaid the present like a kaleidoscope: Curtis at all ages, wide eyes embracing the world, ready to give, ready to join, until biology and the move to Houston twisted him into something more complex.

She halted in front of the struggling procession, stopping it cold as she glared up into the ranking officer's eyes. Capturing his attention against his will, she demanded in a voice that silenced the lobby, "What is the meaning of this? What are you doing to my son?"

"Mom, they--"

"Quiet, Curtis." To the guard, she said, "Explain yourself."

The guard blinked. The others stiffened in place. "Your son was apprehended in a restricted area, heading for the aliens' quarters."

"And why wouldn't he be if he were looking for me? I work with the Eridanians, sometimes in their rooms." She shoved her badge in the man's face, so close he had to cross his eyes to see the dancing authorization symbols.

"No one is allowed in that area, and we have orders to treat any trespassing as an act of aggression."

"Aggression! A fifteen-year-old boy looking for his mother on Christmas Eve?" Finally she looked at Curtis.

"Mom, they stole Tina's baby!" His eyes pleaded with her to make it all right.

"We have to take him--"

"You'll take him nowhere. I don't know the time in Europe; his father may still be in International Court, but we'll have him pulled out if necessary." Court had adjourned for the holidays and Josh had been on the beach for a week with the latest Little Ms. Understanding. He'd probably say, "Curtis who?", but there was no point calling yourself a communications specialist if you couldn't lie when necessary.

A hand pressed Marley's shoulder. She flinched.

"I'm Stephen Grimsky, Special Attache to the President. Does this concern the First Contact Project?"

The guards attempted to repeat their orders and their story. Marley interrupted. "Stephen, this is ridiculous. What harm do they imagine a child could do?" Before the guards could respond, she snapped at them, "Was he armed? Did he have anything on him that could possibly harm anyone?" She looked at Curtis again, willing him innocent.

"He didn't have--"

"You searched him without my permission? Without his attorney and his doctor?"

"Not a cavity search, ma'am."

"Stephen, if we are not allowed to leave immediately--"

"I think this incident has been blown out of proportion," Stephen said. "We're all a bit nervous these days. I'll take responsibility for the boy's release, and we know how to contact Marley if the need arises." He looked at each guard. "There seem to be quite a few of you here. I trust you haven't neglected to lock down the area. That was also part of your orders, I believe."

Marley threw an arm around Curtis's shoulder and marched him to the parking lot stairs. By the time they reached level ground again, she was leaning heavily on him; her legs trembled.

"Mom, could you come talk to my English teacher like that? She is so wicked unfair."

Marley unlocked the car with shaking hands. She slid in and leaned against the steering wheel while Curtis pulled on the door that always stuck. Rubbing her forehead, she tried to organize the rest of the night. She'd have to drive him home and get back to help with the report.

"Mom, are you okay? We have to go see Tina, to see if they found her baby yet. Please, Mom, it's not far."

"Tina's baby? You said somebody stole her."

"When Tina went inside to the bathroom. Amy Burzak was supposed to watch Carissa. But Amy started talking to Jabar and when Tina got back, the baby was gone. Bob called the police, but they acted like Tina did something to the baby. The Bugs were there, Mom. It had to be them. I was going to pretend to be from the cleaning staff and see if they had her."

"Oh, Curtis, you can't get in at this time of night as cleaning staff. You'd need a badge and a uniform--"

"Wow, Mom! You know how to break into a hotel?"

Marley coughed -- with dignity, she hoped. "I've certainly heard. But you must be wrong about the Eridanians, Curtis."

"It couldn't be anybody else!"

"Curtis, the guards are there to keep them in as much as to keep people out. They weren't scheduled to go anywhere tonight. You're accusing them just as unfairly as the guards accused you."

"Mom, we've got to do something." His voice cracked.

Marley put her arms around him and stroked his hair, like she did when he was six. She hated this part of parenting, when you couldn't make things better. That's when they turned to you, of course. They never said, "Mom, if you don't translate this passage of Virgil into Eridanian, my whole life will be ruined." Always the unfixable. "Make my kitten live again." "Make Daddy come home." And now, "Find my girlfriend's baby."

You did what you could. Marley started the car. To hell with the report. If the world were to end next week, she knew how she wanted to spend the time left. "Where does Tina live?"

Curtis jumped out of the car as soon as it pulled into the driveway. Tina stood in the doorway, a man behind her. Marley recognized Bob as she picked her way along the crumbled path.

Relief flooded Bob's face. "Ms. Richardson, I'm so glad to see you."

Tina huddled on the couch with Curtis, whispering. Her puffy eyes leaked tears; her swollen breasts, milk, splotching the faded "Happy Holidays" on her T-shirt.

Bob jerked his head toward the kitchen.

Taking the hint, Marley followed him, saying loudly, "I'll fix some tea."

"Not for me," said Tina. "The caffeine's not good for the baby." She began to cry again. Curtis put his arm around her.

Bob said in a low voice, "She wasn't gone five minutes. There were lots of people around; I looked over at the wise men for a minute, thinking I'd seen the, the people who were with you the other night."

"They were really there? That's impossible!"

"I thought I saw someone bundled up like they were, but it was so crowded. And then Tina was screaming that Carissa was gone. I called the police, but they didn't find a trace. I brought her back here, but her father's in rehab, and her older sister left this morning on a Christmas cruise with her boyfriend."

Marley went back into the front room.

Tina was sobbing, "I prayed and prayed before she was born. My whole family said get an abortion, but I thought God told me to have her, and I promised to be a good mother, so why--" She gulped. "My sister said I was so stupid."

Marley sat down on the other side of Tina and for the second time that night held an almost-grown child close. Maybe the first comfort was the only one life could offer. Wondering how she'd ever seen the girl as anything but desperate, Marley pushed back Tina's tear-soaked black hair.

Curtis tugged Marley's sleeve. "Mom, I told Tina she could come home with us."

Marley drew in a breath. "Of course she can." She turned to Bob. "We won't be having much of a Christmas, but why don't you join us tomorrow, if you don't have other plans?"

Bob flushed and looked at his feet. "Thanks. I don't, no. My boys aren't coming to visit. Janet . . . my ex-wife . . . I hope she lets me see them again someday."

Marley reached out a hand, but didn't quite dare touch his arm.

Curtis tugged again. "Mom, can we have Christmas like we used to?"

Marley tried to smile. "I don't have the presents you asked for."

He shrugged. "Sure, I want the stuff, but that's not really Christmas."

Curtis led Tina down the hall to gather her things. "Me and my mom used to have the best Christmases when I was little. We'd clean the cages at the animal shelter and walk the dogs. Then we'd have our presents and fix dinner just for us and go see my granddad at the nursing home, sing with the old people and all. You shoulda heard Gran do his reggae Jingle Bells."

Marley stared after him. "I always thought he meant the wonderful Christmases when his father lived with us." She smiled at Bob. "Maybe they're right about miracles."

Marley gently shepherded the teens home and to bed, though Tina proclaimed she was going to pray all night.

Some hours later, Marley started awake. The thin window shade glowed bright, but when she pushed the shade aside, she saw lights from the kind of businesses that never sleep: Memorial Hospital, Dell-Digital, Amalgamated Microchip. Exhausted, anxious, disgusted, she flopped back on her pillow. A rare morning to sleep in, and she was up before dawn.

At least she had time to think, or at least run thoughts in a mental squirrel cage. Should she evacuate? When? Where? Back to Colorado? Marley rubbed her forehead as though to scrub out the worries. Now, she thought, was the right time to sneak in with the hotel staff. For centuries, the wee small hours had belonged to those who stood and waited on others.

She stiffened, as though struck. After all, she already had a badge.

Silently, she crept out of bed. Tina, despite her brave intentions, didn't stir from her place in Marley's bed. In sleep, with her hair spilling over her candy-striped nightshirt, she looked even younger.

Marley wrote a note in case Curtis and Tina awakened and tiptoed out the front door.

She was so busy rehearsing stories to tell the guards that she almost didn't see the lone figure in the outdoor parking lot. She slammed the brakes and zoomed backwards to take a good look.

"Blue?" It couldn't be.

He faced her. "Greetings, Marley. I wondered how to call for your assistance."

"And I wanted to ask you a question. But what are you doing out here?"

"Your stories mention following stars. How do you accomplish that?"

"The custom has fallen into disuse lately. But I meant the guards; how did you get around them?"

"It is one step only. Tell, Marley, what do human babies eat? How?"

Trembling with confirmed fear, Marley gestured to her chest. "Females provide nourishment."

Blue nodded. "Will you come nourish an infant?"

"I can't, not any longer." She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to force moisture into her dry mouth. "May we return the infant to its parent, who is capable?"

"We would do so, if we were sure of its safety. Your sages informed us that the infant now celebrated will be sacrificed next season. Green and I reflected what this might mean, but Red, who is too young for reflection, became angry at your crime. She returned by subterfuge and removed the infant. She sought only to save it from its fate, and we to protect her and our mission here, but we are forced to conclude that, despite research, we do not understand the infant's needs."

"Is -- is she well?"

"Judging from the volume of her language, which we do not understand, I believe so, though I do not know how to interpret her odor. Will you come?"

"Yes, but--" She thought of trying to get past the guards, of the political ramifications.

She punched Kevin's number into her wrist phone. "Kevin, do you know how to find Stephen?"

"Mmm. Minute."

A different voice came on, mumbling through a yawn. "Grimsky here."

"Get down to the hotel. Now. I need your authorization to get into their quarters. We have to resolve an incident."

"Marley? Marley?"

"I'll meet you in the FCT rooms."

They had just arrived in the FCT conference rooms when Green raced in, so fast that he seemed to fly. The two aliens consulted in high Eridanian. Marley gave up trying to understand and let her gaze wander. When she looked down, she saw Green's feet dangling several inches above the floor. She blinked in surprise.

The door opened, admitting Stephen and Kevin, the latter fumbling his camera into action.

Marley blinked again. Nothing made sense tonight. "That was quick."

"I'm staying at the hotel," said Stephen. "We went to the penthouse first, to make sure the Bu -- Eridanians were all right." He stared at Green. "We were just talking to you there. You said--"

Kevin whisked in to settle his electrodes on Blue's skull. "We don't have any scans of you, just Red."

"That doesn't matter now," Marley objected.

"Science always matters." He tapped at the controls. After a moment, he whistled. "This can't be right."

Blue sat down in the chair Red normally took. "I will do science while you return to our rooms with Green."

"What's wrong?" Stephen asked Marley.

Kevin responded before she could frame a statement. "It's so different from the other one. If this were your brain, you'd be seeing God and talking to angels."

"Angels!" gasped Marley. "Roses. Levitation. Healing. Bilocation -- they did visit the Pope and the monastery -- that's how they get around so fast. They're not warriors; they're saints!"

"Saints." Stephen gulped. "The Pope sent a Christmas message, calling for peace. He sounded like he'd talked to them. I thought it was a bad translation."

"Maybe we ought to take them to the Dalai Lama," said Kevin.

"Maybe they've already been," retorted Marley. "And we've got more problems than that. Acting on . . . a misunderstanding, they . . . rescued a baby."

Stephen sat down and clutched his forehead. "Stealing babies. This kind of publicity could--"

"Save us, if it's publicity our way," said Marley. "Right, Kevin?"

Red was desperate enough to climb into the van with only a little reassurance from Marley, who changed Carissa's diaper and poured a few sips of formula into her mouth. Everyone sighed when the van gently rocked the child to sleep. Kevin drove slowly to counter the lack of an infant seat.

"In the pageant, the young people were acting out a story from long ago," said Marley. "This baby isn't the same one in the story."

Blue looked at Red, then back at Marley. "Teaching story. You tell it to remind that such things must not happen again. As we do with stories of our ancestors. Even after our peace of ten thousand years, we must not forget what we are capable of."

"Ten -- ten thousand?" said Stephen. "You never mentioned it."

"You requested our stories of shame," Green said.

Marley shook her head. "You told us your worst; we misunderstood why and showed you a lot of faked merriment. But the sages were not real sages. They were young boys, pretending."

"Wisdom must first be pretended," said Blue. "We ask indulgence for our young."

Green said, "Naturally children do not perceive as adults. They have not the same abilities. Releasing dimensions is long and painful, though necessary for maturity. We hope to see Red move lightly through the universe, with every place step away."

"She can't . . . move like you do? How did she get to the church?" Kevin called back. "And past the guards?"

"Watch the road," snapped Marley. "Not you," she told the obedient Blue and Green. Red stayed slouched down, and Marley noted that some body language crossed cultural boundaries.

Blue answered, "She used subterfuge to escape and 'call a cab,' I think you say. Many youth now say they will not mature. They wish to avoid pain. In seeking you, so like our young, we sought to better understand them. We need to know if cultures of those not matured can succeed."

As they crowded through her door, Marley worried about so many people in the tiny rooms. But when the Christmas cooking aromas -- apple cider, baking cookies, and stuffed turkey -- brought smiles to the human faces, she knew everything would be fine.

Bob was leaning over the oven. "Hi, I hope you're ready for an early lunch. It'll be done in an hour."

"Already?" asked Marley.

"It's tofu," he said. "I'm vegetarian."

Curtis and Tina sat by the gnarled excuse for a tree, listing farther off-center than ever with new burdens of hair ornaments and beads. Curtis was setting a foil star on top. He'd tried to twist it so that "Big Tex Burger" didn't show.

Tina looked up and burst into tears. She sprang to her feet, tripping over the offended cat. "Carissa!" she sobbed, cradling the baby against her cheek.

Curtis's eyes widened as he took in the Eridanians, Kevin, Stephen, and security guards. "Better get out the SPAM too."

They weren't reduced to that, though probably everybody would have an early supper. Kevin recorded the happy meal and presents under the tree as the Eridanians gathered close. Marley nearly cried over the bubble bath Curtis gave her. "You need to relax, Mom."

He exclaimed over the space shuttle. "Mom! You remembered!" He was still reciting space statistics when Kevin herded them into one last group shot.

"Just wait till they see this one," Kevin muttered as he posed Tina kneeling by her baby's makeshift catfood-box crib. Curtis stood proudly over them. "Trust me, it's traditional," he assured the visitors. The humans stood close, with the adult Eridanians hovering slightly above. Red knelt in front of the crib to place the diapers and formula she'd bought. The cat moved in to sniff the formula.

Stephen smiled, relieved. "This should just about fix everything."

Kevin murmured as he packed his camera, "You know, Drake and the natives of Nova Albion got on famously when they met."

Marley smiled. "Paul Gauguin lived over ten years in Tahiti, his longest stint anywhere. And you know what an idiot he was."

"Now that is a miracle."

The next day, Marley sat at the kitchen table, remembering. They'd taken the Eridanians to the animal shelter and then to a nursing home to sing carols, with Kevin duly recording.

Later, Bob had offered the teens his car and babysitting if they wanted to go to a movie. Curtis and Tina protested, "Not on Christmas!" and made all of them sit down on the couch to watch a suitable family movie, about miracles and angels. The President interrupted the broadcast with soothing holiday greetings. He forecast the dawn of a new era of "peace on earth and beyond." Some of Kevin's clips and stills followed.

Now Marley smiled, remembering Bob's leg pressing against hers. He was coming over soon, Curtis and Tina having accepted today's offer of a car. Tina had insisted on taking Carissa; Bob was bringing his son's old car seat.

Tina and Curtis had their heads together by the window, carrying on a low-voiced discussion about the best film for a six-month-old infant.

Marley smiled and turned to her PDA. "Dear Josh," she entered, "I'm so proud of Curtis . . ."

Copyright (c) 2001 Madeleine Rose Reardon Dimond