That's about 28 1/2 pages, all told. Interesting...
Meanwhile, David took the opportunity to try and escape what he assumed to be an unwelcome atmosphere. “Well, you should eat and, uh, I've got a thing I need to do, so...” he moseyed over to the table and casually continued speaking, “I guess I'll just be going. There's a whatchamacallit over at the–“ he suddenly yanked a chair out reached for the cat. She stopped stock still for half a second as she decided between dodging left or right. Left it was; she leaped off the seat like a gazelle. David snatched her right out of the air with a, “come'ere, you!” and pinned her against his chest. “Haha! Gotcha.”
The kitten meowed piteously, but he laughed. “Aw, you're just mad because your grand escape was failtacular.”
In the brief moment David had been distracted, Mom and Dad held a lightning-fast disagreement in total silence.
Mom made eye contact, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes slightly. She was not going to be ignored.
Dad pressed his lips into a firm line and narrowed his eyes. He wasn't about to let her overrule him for no reason.
Mom looked pointedly at Eva, the decorations, and Morgan's (empty) spot at the table, then back at her husband.
Dad half-closed his eyes, reconsidering... and finally nodded.
Mom's brief smile was a sight to warm the coldest of hearts.
“David,” Keith began.
The young man kept the kitten firmly clamped against his torso. “Yes, sir?”
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
David looked suprised, as though the thought had never entered his head. “I... I appreciate the offer, but I couldn't possibly–”
“I insist,” Mom interrupted. “Unless you'd prefer to be paid for your help with all of this. Will sixty dollars be sufficient?”
Dad's left eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing. David's mouth dropped open. “That's... that's way too much! All I did was hang a few lights...”
Mom's mouth curved upwards. She sensed victory. “And went into the spider-infested basement to help bring those heavy boxes up (don't try to tell me a box full of glass and packing peanuts is 'nothing') and found the candles (which have been missing for years, I might add) and helped Eva set the table, and withstood my sister's bad temper without a word-- shall I go on? I can tell how much you've done to bring Christmas into this house; I'm a mother. Now, will it be cold cash or a hot dinner?”
David hesitated, wanting to leave, not wanting to take so much money-- if it were only twenty bucks, and he'd have been out the door. Cleo meowed loudly in annoyance at her captivity. His stomach growled a moment later. Eva stared at him hopefully, willing him to hurry up and accept the invitation.
Grandmama came in impatiently. “The food is cooling. What's going on out here?”
“David can't seem to make up his mind whether or not to stay for dinner,” Uncle Calvin explained. Grandmama shook her head and took the young man by the shoulders, propelling him towards the dining room. “That's the silliest thing I've ever heard! You're as skinny as a rail. Come, sit, eat something! It's not healthy to be so thin! I've read it in a dozen magazines...”
Cleo came trotting back and thumped down in front of the fire. She purred loudly at first, then snuggled into the shag rug and pretended to be asleep just seconds later. Uncle Calvin chuckled. “Somebody's comfortable.”
Dad clapped his hands together. “All right, everyone; to the table!”
The table was rather quiet, awkward, and formal at first. But, with Donna's social expertise, the conversation gradually lost its stiffness and grew much more interesting and pleasant. By the time dessert was served, everyone had warmed up to David like Cleocatra to the fireplace. After the wine/champagne/ginger ale was poured, Eva had managed to convince Grandfather to play the piano so that they could all sing Christmas carols. Uncle Calvin was just shy of tone-deaf, Mom and Dad were decent singers, and Grandfather didn't bother to try. David was a very nice baritone, but Grandmama blew them all out of the water. Before she had met Grandfather, she had been a professional mezzo-soprano-- which is almost like a soprano, but less high-pitched and less obnoxious to the unrefined ear. When they'd had enough of carols, David taught them games he used to play with his siblings, such as the word association game and six-word stories.
Eva looked at the little white board admiringly as she stroked the kitty on her lap. She had been put in charge of keeping score for the two teams; Mom, Dad and Uncle Calvin on one, and David and the grandparents on the other. She hadn't thought six words could tell a story, but there they were. Several stories, actually.
Once a pauper, now a king.
The robot said quietly, 'I think.'
The singing appliances had had enough.
Where had my planet gone now?
'Sing!' the dragon demanded. She obeyed.
The last human bid time return.
The alien was enlightened before sunset.
David's team won, and he was teaching a new game now. Eva hadn't been listening, but she understood after it started.
“Christmas,” David began.
“Snow,” said Mom
“Icicles,” said Uncle Calvin.
“Black eyes,” Dad said, and elaborated, “An icicle gave me one when I was six. It was a miracle it didn't do more than that.”
“Raccoons,” Grandfather continued. “I remember that. I also seem to recall that you told your friends they should've seen what you did to the other guy.” Dad smiled crookedly.
“Butter,” Grandmama said. “There was a raccoon on my Amish grandparents' farm. He tried to steal butter out of the churner, but he couldn't get his little fist out of the hole because of all the butter in his paw.”
“What's a churn?” Eva asked.
“Milk,” David said, then began to explain how a churn turned milk to butter...
Everyone was surprised to hear the clock struck midnight. Well, everyone but Eva. She was desperately trying not to yawn her head off, and Robbie had been put to bed hours ago. David rose and stretched, and thanked everyone for their hospitality. He was about to reach for the sleeping cat when Mom offered to let him sleep on the couch, just for Christmas Eve.
He declined with a smile. “I have a place to stay, and I don't want to intrude. You've repaid me several times over already, so–”
“Nonsense!” Grandmama said kindly. “It's Christmas Eve, for heaven's sake.”
“You might as well,” Dad said. “The women are just going to insist that you come back tomorrow.”
The polite disagreement went on for a while, but David was firm. Finally Dad offered to let him go, “If you accept a job as my personal assistant.”
In the stunned silence that followed, Dad continued, “You'll be working closely with my secretary, but you'll accept orders only from me. When I give you a task, whether it's to fetch my coffee or to organize an event for 200 people, I'll expect you to do so immediately and without question.”
He stood to face David and extended a hand. “Deal?”
David stared at the strong, square hand being offered to him... and shook it. Eva cheered, Uncle Calvin applauded, Grandmama spontaneously hugged him, Grandfather and Mom congratulated him all at the same time. He looked so shocked, and then so happy as he thanked everyone. Dad handed him a twenty-dollar bill for a cab, saying that it'd come out of his first paycheck.
David gently lifted Cleo from Eva's lap. The sleepy kitten complained, but nestled against his chest anyway. He hugged Eva with his free arm and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Eva.”
Eva hugged him back. “Merry Christmas,” she replied.
And this time, she meant it.
The end.
Epilogue:
That was the first Christmas David Valentin spent with the McKenzies.
Perhaps a little background will make things clearer to you than they were to Eva.
The fraternal twin sisters Donna and Morgan were orphans; their mother had been disowned and died of illness. Their father had never been around. They were raised by their great-uncle on their mother's side, who seemed to be the only one without ill will towards the two; he died when the girls were in their twenties and left them the house. Morgan married first and moved in with her husband, leaving Donna the home.
Calvin Sinclair and his new wife alternated Christmases and Thanksgivings with in-laws and family; the year David appeared, he'd spent Thanksgiving with his family. The next year, Thanksgiving was at the McKenzie household and Christmas with the Sinclairs. He loved his wife and, contrary to appearances, she loved him equally, if not better.
David was invited every year to spend Christmas with the McKenzies, and every year, he accepted. He had accomplished some enormous goal each year. He became executive assistant. He became a minor business partner. He bought a house. He fought in court for the right to become guardian over his siblings because his parents were unfit to raise children– and won.
But the fifth year, he never came.
He had been killed in a drunk driving accident on Christmas Eve. He had seen the car coming and knew that it couldn't and wouldn't stop for anyone. There had been children in the car next to him, directly in the path of destruction, so he had gunned the engine and rammed the side of the oncoming BMW, knocking it to the side and off-road. Thus, David was the only fatality at the scene.
Eva cried for hours. Donna comforted her as well as she could, but had her hands full with Grandmother's tears as well.
Grandfather came up to her room. She was sitting in the window seat, looking down at the street. It had been too warm for snow this year. He stood next to her and looked out at the falling rain.
“Do you remember the first time we met David?”
Eva didn't look at him, but nodded. She remembered. David's voice echoed in her mind as she recalled one of the things he had said. “Why should you be happy on your birthday? It's one year closer to dying, isn't it?”
“One year closer to dying...” she murmured inaudibly. “Are you happy on your birthday, Grandfather?”
“I imagine I am. With age comes wisdom. Why?”
“But you're a year closer to dying.”
“It's not as though I'm going to live forever. Any of us could die at any time, just like David; what's important is what you do with your life while you're here. Life... life isn't about a heartbeat or brain activity. Life is living. Growing. Doing. It's laughing with a friend, dancing in the rain, helping others when they need it. Some people live more in 20 years than others live in 60. David had a full, if not long, life. He died happy.”
They watched silently as raindrops hit the glass and trickled down like tears.
“That doesn't make me feel any better,” Eva finally said, trying not to cry again. Grandfather pulled her close.
“I know.”
