“I love you too,” she whispered to Tom. He was wearing the Cartier watch she had given him. He loved it. But most of all he loved her. It had been an amazing year for them both, from the San Francisco earthquake to Christmas.

Sarah dropped the children off with Seth on Christmas Day. He had offered to come by, but she didn't want him to. It made her uncomfortable when he came to her house. She still hadn't decided what to do. She had talked to Maggie about it several times. And Maggie had reminded her that forgiveness was a state of grace, but no matter what she did, Sarah couldn't seem to reach it. She still believed in “for better or worse,” but she no longer knew what she felt for him. She couldn't process what had happened. She was numb.

She had celebrated Christmas with the children the night before, on Christmas Eve, and that morning they had dug through their stockings, and opened the gifts from Santa Claus. Oliver just loved ripping off the wrappings, and Molly loved everything Santa had given her. They had checked, and Santa had drunk most of the milk and eaten all the cookies. Rudolph had gnawed on all the carrots, and two were missing.

It pained Sarah to share their familiar traditions with the children without Seth, but he said he understood. He was seeing a psychiatrist and taking medication for anxiety attacks he was having. And Sarah felt terrible about that too. She felt as though she should have been there with him, at his side, and bringing him comfort. But he was a stranger to her now, even if one she had loved and still did. It was an odd and painful feeling.

He smiled when he saw her standing outside his door with the children and asked her to come in, but she said she couldn't. She said she was meeting friends, and she was actually having tea at the St. Francis with Maggie. She had invited her there, as it wasn't far from where Maggie lived, although it was a whole universe away in spirit.

“How are you doing?” Seth asked her, as Oliver toddled in. He was walking now. And Molly dashed in to see what was under his tree. He had gotten her a pink tricycle, a doll as big as she was, and a stack of other presents. His finances were in the same shape as Sarah's, but Seth had always spent more money than she did. She was trying to be careful now, with her salary, and the money he gave her for the kids. Her parents were helping her too and had invited her to Bermuda for the holidays, but she didn't want to go. She had wanted to stay here, and keep the children near him. For all they knew, it might be his last Christmas out of prison for a long time, and she didn't want to deprive him of his children, or them of him.

“I'm okay,” she answered Seth, and smiled in the Christmas spirit, but there was so much wreckage between them. It showed in his eyes and hers too, so much disappointment and sorrow, and the force of his betrayal, which had hit her like a bomb. She still couldn't understand what had happened, or why. She realized now that once again there was a piece of him she just never knew, one that had more in common with people like Sully, and nothing in common with her. That was the scary part. There had always been a stranger living in the house with her. It was too late to meet him now, and she didn't want to. That stranger had destroyed her life. But she was rebuilding it quietly on her own. Two men had asked her out recently, and she had turned both down. As far as Sarah was concerned, she was still married, until they decided otherwise, which they hadn't yet. She was putting that decision off until after the trial, unless it came to her in a blinding flash before that. She was still wearing her wedding band, and Seth was too. For now, at least, they were still husband and wife, even if living apart.

He handed her a Christmas present before she left, and she had one for him too. She had bought him a cashmere jacket and some sweaters, and he got her a beautiful little mink jacket. It was exactly what she liked, and it was gorgeous in a lush dark brown. She put it on when she opened it, and kissed him.

“Thank you, Seth. You shouldn't.”

“Yes, I should,” he said sadly. “You deserve a lot more than that.” In the old days, he would have given her some huge piece of jewelry from Tiffany or Cartier, but this was not the year for that, and it never would be again. All her jewelry was gone. It had finally been sold at auction the month before, and the money frozen with the rest of their assets, as his legal bills mounted sky high. He felt terrible about it.

She left him with their children then. They were spending the night with him. He had bought a portable crib for Ollie, and Molly was going to sleep in his bed with him, since he only had one bedroom in the small apartment.

Sarah kissed him when she left, and had a heavy heart as she drove away. The burdens they shared now were almost too much to bear. But they had no other choice.

Everett went to an AA meeting on Christmas morning. He had volunteered to be the guest speaker, and share his story. It was a big meeting he liked to go to. There were a lot of young people, some rough-looking types, a handful of affluent Hollywood folk, and even a few homeless people who wandered in. He loved the mix, because it was so real. Some of the meetings he'd been to in Hollywood and Beverly Hills were a little too manicured and polished for him. He preferred his meetings rougher and more down to earth. This one always was.

He shared during the regular part of the meeting too. He said his name and that he was an alcoholic, and fifty people in the room said “Hi, Everett!” at once. Even after nearly two years, it gave him a warm feeling and made him feel at home. His shares were never practiced or rehearsed. He just said whatever came to mind, or was bothering him at the time. He mentioned Maggie this time, that he loved her and she was a nun. He said she was in love with him too, was remaining faithful to her vows, and had asked him not to call her again, so he hadn't. He had felt the loss sorely for the past three months, but respected her wishes. And then, as he left the meeting and got into his car to go home, he thought about what he'd said. That he loved her as he had never loved any other woman before, nun or not. That was worth something, and he suddenly wondered if he had done the right thing, or if he should have fought for her. It had never occurred to him before. He was on the way home, when he made a sharp turn and headed for the airport. Traffic was light on Christmas Day. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and he knew he could catch a one o'clock flight to San Francisco, and be in the city by three. Nothing could have stopped him then.

He paid for his ticket, got on the flight, and sat staring out the window at the clouds and the countryside and highways below. He had no one else to spend Christmas with, and if she refused to see him, he hadn't lost much. Just some time, and a round-trip ticket from L.A. It was worth a shot. He had missed her unbearably in the last three months, her wise views, her thoughtful comments, her delicate ventures into advice, the sound of her voice, and the brilliant blue of her eyes. He could hardly wait to see her now. She was the best Christmas gift of all, and the only one he had. He had nothing for her either, except his love.

The flight landed ten minutes early, just before two o'clock, and the cab he hailed got him into the city at twenty to three. He went to her address in the Tenderloin, feeling like a schoolboy visiting his girlfriend, and started to worry about what would happen if she wouldn't let him in. She had an intercom and might tell him to go away, but he had to try anyway. He couldn't just let her slip out of his life. Love was too rare and important to throw away. And he had never before loved anyone like her. He thought she was a saint. Others said it about her too.

He paid the cabdriver when they got to her building, and he walked nervously to her front steps. They were badly battered and chipped. And two drunks were sitting on the stoop, sharing a bottle. Half a dozen hookers were wandering up and down the street, looking for “dates.” It was business as usual here, Christmas Day or not.

He rang her bell, and no one answered. He thought of calling her cell phone, but didn't want to warn her. He sat down on the top step in his jeans and heavy sweater. It was chilly, but the sun was out and it was a pretty day. However long it took, he was going to wait. He knew she'd turn up eventually. She was probably serving Christmas lunch or dinner to the poor in a dining room somewhere.

The two drunks on the step below him were still passing the bottle to each other, and then one of them looked up and offered it to him. It was bourbon, the cheapest brand they could buy, in the smallest size. They were filthy dirty, smelled bad, and both of them smiled toothlessly up at him.

“Drink?” one of them offered, slurring. The other one was drunker and looked half asleep.

“Have you guys ever thought of going to AA?” Everett asked amiably, declining the bottle, as the one who'd offered it looked at him in disgust and turned away. He nudged his buddy, gestured toward Everett, and without a word the two of them got up and walked away to another stoop, where they sat down and continued drinking while Everett watched. “There but for the grace of God go I,” he whispered to himself, still waiting for Maggie. It seemed like the perfect way to spend Christmas Day, waiting for the woman he loved.

Maggie and Sarah had a nice time having tea at the St. Francis Hotel. They were serving a proper English high tea, with scones, pastries, and an assortment of tea sandwiches. And they chatted easily as they both sipped Earl Grey. Maggie thought Sarah looked sad, but didn't press her about it. And Maggie had been feeling down herself. She missed talking to Everett, their laughter and conversations, but after what had happened between them the last time, she knew she couldn't see or talk to him again. She didn't have the strength to resist him if she saw him. She had gone to confession about it, and strengthened her resolve since. But she missed him anyway. He had become a treasured friend.