“I don't envy her what she'll have to go through,” Liz said sadly.

“You mean the delivery?” He sounded surprised, Liz had never complained much about childbirth.

“No, I mean giving the baby up. That won't be easy.” He nodded, sorry for her. Sorry for both of them for the pains they would have to go through, growing up, yet still envying them what they shared and had to look forward to, separately or together.

Liz lay close to John that night, as he slept, and Maribeth and Tommy sat and talked for hours in the living room.

They felt exactly what his mother had seen, closer, and more one than two. They were each more than they had ever been. And for the first time in her life, Maribeth felt as though she had a future.

The alarm woke everyone up the next day, and Maribeth showered and dressed in time to help Liz serve breakfast. Liz had arranged for Maribeth to take a special exam to skip the first half of her senior year. And Tommy had finals that day too. They talked about their exams back and forth over the table. The school was letting her take them in a special room, in the administration building, where none of the students would see her, and Liz was going to meet her there for the tests that morning. The school had been incredibly decent to her, they were doing everything they could to help her, thanks to Liz going to bat for her. And when they left each other outside the school, Tommy wished her luck, and then hurried off to his classes.

The rest of the week seemed to fly by, and the next weekend was the last before Christmas. Liz finished her Christmas shopping, and on her way home, she hesitated for a moment, and then turned around and decided to go and see Annie. She had been postponing it for months, because it was too painful for her, and yet today, she felt that she had to.

She drove through the gates of the cemetery, and found the place where they had left her and as she approached, she stopped and gasped when she saw it. She saw the little tree, listing slightly to one side, the ornaments tinkling in the wind, just as they had left them. She walked slowly up to it, and straightened it, tucking the tinsel in again, looking at the familiar ornaments Annie had hung on their tree only the year before. Her little hands had so carefully put them just where she wanted, and now her mother remembered every word, every sound, every moment, every silent agony of the past year, and yet suddenly it was a bittersweet kind of pain as she felt the floodgates open and engulf her. She stood there silently for a long time, crying for her little girl, and looking at the tree Maribeth and Tommy had brought her. She touched the prickly branches then, like a little friend, and whispered her name …just the sound of it touched her heart like baby fingers.

“I love you, little girl … I always will …sweet, sweet Annie …” She couldn't say goodbye to her, knew she never would again, and she went home feeling sad, and yet strangely peaceful.

No one was home when she got there, and she was relieved. Liz sat alone in the living room for a long time, looking at their tree, seeing the familiar ornaments there. It was going to be hard having Christmas without her. It was hard every day. It was hard having breakfast and lunch and dinner and trips to the lake or anywhere without their little girl. It was hard getting up in the morning and knowing she wouldn't be there. And yet she knew they had to go on. She had come to visit them, for a short time, if only they had known it would be that way. But what would they have done differently? Would they have loved her more? Given her more things? Spent more time with her? They had done all they could then, but as Liz sat dreaming of her, she knew she would have given an entire lifetime for another kiss, another hug, another moment with her daughter.

She was still sitting there, thinking of her when the children came home, full of life, their faces bright red and icy cold, full of stories about where they'd been and what they'd been doing.

She smiled at them then, and Tommy could see she had been crying.

“I just want to thank you two,” she said, choking on her own words, “for taking the tree to …thank you …” she said softly, and walked away quickly. Maribeth and Tommy didn't know what to say to her, and Maribeth was crying too, as she took off her coat and hung up their things. Sometimes she wished she could make it all better for them. They still all hurt so much from losing Annie.

His father came home a little while after that, his arms laden with packages, and Liz was in the kitchen by then, making dinner. And she smiled when she looked up to see him. There was more warmth between them these days, and Tommy was relieved to see that they weren't snapping at each other as much as they had been. Little by little, they were all getting better, though Christmas wasn't easy.

They all went to mass together on Christmas Eve, and John snored softly in the heat of the small church and the smell of the incense. It reminded Liz of when Annie had come with them, and often dozed between them, especially last year, when she was getting sick, and they didn't know it. When they got home, John went right to bed, and Liz finished putting out the presents. It was different this year, for all of them. There was no letter to Santa, no carrots for the reindeer, no delicious pretense, and there would be no wildly excited squeals on Christmas morning. But they had each other.

And as she turned to leave the room, Liz saw Maribeth lumbering down the hall, with her arms full of gifts for them, and she went to help her. She was so awkward now, and definitely slower. She had been uncomfortable for the past few days, the baby was very low, and she was glad that her exams were over. Liz suspected that the baby wouldn't wait much longer.

“Here, let me give you a hand,” she said, and helped her put the presents down. It was hard for Maribeth to bend over.

“I can hardly move anymore,” she complained good-naturedly, as Liz smiled. “I can't sit down, I can't get up, I can't bend over, I can't see my feet at all.”

“It'll all be over soon,” Liz said encouragingly, and Maribeth nodded in silence. And then she looked at her. Maribeth had wanted to talk to Liz for days, without Tommy or his father.

“Could I talk to you for a few minutes?” Maribeth asked her.

“Now?” Liz looked surprised. “Sure.” They sat down in the living room, near the tree, within arm's length of all of Annie's decorations. Liz felt better about them now. She loved seeing them every day. It was like seeing her, or something she had touched not long ago. It was almost like a visit from Annie.

“I've done a lot of thinking about this,” Maribeth said anxiously. “I don't know what you'll think, or say, but … I … I want to give you my baby.” She almost held her breath after she said it.

“You what?” Liz stared at her, as though she didn't absorb it. The enormity of what she had just said defied the imagination. “What do you mean?” Liz stared at her. Babies weren't something you gave away to friends, like Christmas gifts.

“I want you and John to adopt it,” Maribeth said firmly.

“Why?” Liz was stunned. She had never thought of adopting a baby. Of having one, yes, but not adopting one, and she couldn't even imagine John's reaction. They had talked about it years ago, before Tommy was born. But John never wanted to do it.

“I want to give you the baby, because I love you, and you're wonderful parents,” Maribeth said softly. It was the ultimate gift she could give them or her baby. She was still shaking but she sounded calmer. She was completely sure of what she was doing. “I can't take care of a child. I know everyone thinks I'm crazy to give it up, but I know I can't give it what it needs. You can. You would love it and be there for it, and take care of it, just like you've done for Annie and Tommy. Maybe I'll be able to do that too, one day, but I can't now. It wouldn't be fair to either of us, no matter what Tommy says. I want you to have it. I'd never ask for it back, I'd never come back to bother you, if you didn't want me to. … I would know how happy the baby was with you, and how good you were to it. That's what I want for my baby.” She was crying then, but so was Liz, as she reached for her hands and held them.

“That's not a gift you give to someone, Maribeth. Like a toy or an object. It's a life. Do you understand?” She wanted to be sure she understood what she was doing.

“I know that. I know all of it. It's all I've thought about for the last nine months. Believe me, I know what I'm doing.” She sounded as though she did, but Liz was still shocked. And what if she changed her mind? What about her son? How would he feel if they adopted Maribeth's baby, or any baby for that matter? And John? Liz's mind was whirling.

“What about you and Tommy? Are you serious about him?” How could she even know at sixteen? How could she make that kind of decision?

“I am. But I don't want to start off like this. This baby was never right for me. I don't even feel like it was meant for me. I just feel like I was meant to be here for it, for a time, to bring it to the right place and the right people. I'm not the right one. I want to marry Tommy one day, and have children of our own, but not this one. It wouldn't be fair to him, even if he doesn't know that.” Liz agreed with her, but it impressed her to hear Maribeth say it. She thought they needed a fresh start one day, if it would ever work for them, and there was no way anyone could know that. But starting at sixteen, with another man's child, was a tall order. “Even if we got married, I wouldn't try to take the baby away from you. It wouldn't even have to know I was its mother.” She was pleading with her, begging her to take her child, to give it the love and the life it deserved, and that she knew they could give it. “I feel like it was meant to be your baby, that that's why I came here, because it was meant to be …because of what happened …” She choked on the words and Liz's eyes filled with tears, “because of Annie.”