"There'll be single women there." Mary elbowed Gerry aside to use the cash register. "You are coming to the Christmas party? It's at Louise and Elaine's place this year." In a whisper, she added, "All dykes, of course."

Gerry served a woman interested in children's watches. After she finished, Mary paused from wiping greasy fingerprints off the glass counter.

"Yvonne Cunningham likes you," Mary said. "She always asks after you. Okay, so Yvonne has some issues, but she's getting really good results from therapy. And she's into crystal healing now."

"Good luck to her."

As it had been doing since the day after Thanksgiving, the store's speaker system blared out a continual noise of Christmas songs . . . on the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me five go-old rings . . .

Gerry had already given Mallory a gold ring. That had been at their commitment ceremony eight years ago. This Christmas, it was to be asapphire pendant. None of the ones in the Target jewelry cabinets across the aisle looked nearly as nice as the one she'd selected from the display in Zales, the jeweler's in the mall. She'd go there during her lunch break to buy it.

When one of the alarm clocks went off, Gerry's attention jolted back to her own counter. The clocks ticked whether she watched them or not. You could take the batteries out, but you couldn't stop time. Even if joy had died, and the life left behind ceased to have any meaning, time kept ticking like the heartbeat of a cosmic organism that didn't notice the death of one tiny cell.

"Hey! I've just remembered." Mary dropped in the chair next to Gerry at lunch. "Elaine said there's going to be a new woman at the party this year. Fresh out of the closet. Or just moved to Indianapolis. Something like that. Her name is Shirley. Sounds nice, huh?"

Karen, a supervisor, looked up from her plate of fries. "Who?"

"This new woman who'll be at the party," Mary said. "Sounds perfect for Gerry, don't you think?"

"Hey, Ger, that's great that you're coming this year." Karen smiled.

"About time. It's been three years since Mallory--"

"I've got to go." Gerry stood. "I've a gift to buy."

"You sly thing!" Mary beamed. "You got someone without telling us?"

Gerry walked away from the look that passed between Karen and Mary.

The mall seethed with harassed, determined, cheerful, perplexed, and frazzled people and their squealing, demanding, crying, babbling, and sulky children. Gerry threaded her way through the shoppers. Like a salmon fighting the tide to the spawning ground, she shoved past the multitudes crowding around the large plastic Santa grotto and avoided being accosted by young women in silly elf costumes.

The bright lights in the Zales window display made all the gold, silver, and tinsel sparkle. Gerry watched the necklace rotate on its stand. The blue of the sapphire wasn't the exact color of Mallory's eyes, but Gerry could imagine the pendant lying against the curve of Mallory's bosom.

And Mallory's smile above it.

Gerry stepped into Zales. She didn't see the child until after she banged into her. She apologized, but the girl ignored her and rose on tip-toe to see over the counter.

The assistant smiled at Gerry. "What a pretty girl your daughter is."

"She's not with me," Gerry said.

"I want to buy that." The girl pointed back to the window display. "The blue one. For my mom."

The girl deposited a pink plastic Barbie purse on the counter. The assistant tried to extract the identity and whereabouts of the girl's mother from her.

"Blue is her favorite color," the girl said unhelpfully.

Gerry moved to the next counter when the assistant there came free.

"Would you like it gift-wrapped?" the woman asked.

"No thanks," Gerry said. "I like doing it myself."

Gerry slipped her credit card back into her wallet and buried her purchase deep in the pocket of her pants. She turned to see the other assistant still trying to deal with the girl.

"We need to find your mommy." The woman cast an agonized look at the customers waiting to be served. Gerry knew that feeling.

"I work here in the mall," Gerry said. "I could take her to the security station before I go back to Target."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. Her name is Brooke."

Gerry took the small, warm hand firmly in hers and guided the girl out of the store.

"I want to buy my mommy something pretty," Brooke said. "It'd make her real happy."

"I'm sure it would," Gerry said. "I bet she'll be even happier to see you again."

Gerry wedged a way through the crowd for herself and the girl. Brooke talked without needing much in the way of a response. By the time they reached the security station, Gerry knew that Brooke had a ten-year-old brother called Tony who liked doing horrible things to Brooke's dolls and eating icicles dipped in sugar. Confusingly, though, the mother who liked blue had just bought herself a red car and was teaching Tony about fixing engines and Brooke how to knit.

Gerry barely stepped inside the security station door when a woman rushed at her.

"Brooke!" The woman bent to wrap the girl in a fierce embrace. "Oh, baby, are you okay? Where have you been? Mommy's been so worried about you."

The security guard nodded to Gerry. Behind the woman, a young boy slipped from the plastic chair to go and finger the decorated tree near the counter.

"How could you take my child?"

Gerry blinked and found herself confronted by Brooke's mother.

"I've been worried sick wondering where she could be," the woman said. "All this time you had her. I should prosecute you, so that you don't do this to any other child."

"Look, lady," Gerry said. "You--"

"My baby." The woman herded Brooke away from Gerry. "Did anyone do anything to you that--Tony! Leave that alone. How many times do I have to tell you?"

The security guard shared a look with Gerry and shrugged. Gerry left them to it.

Gerry washed her dinner plate, dried it, and set it back in the cupboard. She started the bath running and carried the necklace to the table. She opened the case to admire it. She remembered Mallory's smile. Gerry carefully cut and folded the shiny wrapping paper. She tied gold ribbon around it and made a lop-sided bow. Finally, she selected a tag with a happy snowman on it. Mallory loved snow: throwing snowballs at Gerry, and wrestling to shove snow down Gerry's clothes, and making snow-women with big breasts to shock the people in the neighboring apartments.

To Mallory, with all my love for always, Gerry

Gerry set the glittering parcel beside the three others under the unadorned little fake tree on the coffee table. All the parcels were for Mallory. Mallory's photograph smiled at them.

Gerry carried a bottle of wine into the bathroom and sank alone into a tub large enough for two.

"H er name is Vicky," Mary said. "She used to date one of Sam's cousins. But that's over now. Callie says that Vicky would be just your type. And you know Callie got Laquita and Susan together. She--Hey." Mary dropped her voice. "There's a cutie. Don't look. She's at the other end of the counter. She's checking you out."

Gerry sighed and looked around. She saw a vaguely familiar, thirty-something woman wearing a worried frown.

"Go, girl," Mary whispered as Gerry stepped toward the woman.

"Perhaps I could show you something, ma'am?" Gerry said. "Are you interested in the underwater watches?"

"What? Oh. No. Look--" The woman glanced at Gerry's name tag. "Gerry? You probably don't remember me. I'm hoping you don't. But I had to apologize. I feel rotten for snapping at you yesterday."

Now Gerry knew her. She was the lost girl's mother.

"I'm really sorry," the woman said. "I know it's no excuse, but it was just one of those days. The crowds. Tony being a pain. And then I turned around for five seconds and Brooke vanished. I was frantic. I know I should've thanked you. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. You were worried. I understand."

The anxiety drained from the woman's face. She was, as Mary said, good-looking.

"I hunted everywhere before finding the security station. It was terrifying, not knowing where she had gone."

"She was at Zales," Gerry said.

"The jewelry store?"

"She wanted to buy you a necklace."

The woman shook her head. "Tony spends every cent he gets on junk food. Brooke always buys presents for everyone but herself."

"She's a cute kid," Gerry said.

Brooke's mother smiled. Yeah, Gerry thought, very attractive.

"Do you get a break?" the woman asked. "I'd like to buy you coffee or something by way of thanks and apology."

"Oh," Gerry said. "Um. I don't--"

"Yes, ma'am." Mary slapped Gerry on the back. "It's her break time right now. Off you go, Ger. I'll look after things."

Gerry shot her a look, which Mary countered with a grin and wink.

Gerry carried her flat white to an unoccupied table and waited for Brooke's mother to sit first.

"I'm Claire," the woman said. "Claire Campion."

"Gerry. Lawson. Thanks." Gerry lifted her cup and sipped. "Good coffee."

"It is, isn't it? I usually have to drink Coke at McDonalds, because I have the kids with me. It's nice to be an adult now and again. Not that I don't love my children. Don't get me wrong. It's just that I sometimes like them better when they're at school."

Gerry smiled. Claire smiled back. The seconds slid by a little faster.

When Gerry returned to work, ten minutes late, Mary beamed at her.

"Don't get any stupid ideas," Gerry said. "Claire has two kids. She's straight."

"Claire? You work fast. Get her phone number, too?"

Exasperated, Gerry strode away to serve an elderly gentleman.

That night, as she lay sleepless on the right hand side of the king size bed, Gerry realized that this was the first time she had looked at a woman other than Mallory. And she had found Claire attractive. Gerry scowled at the darkness hovering all around her. How could she be unfaithful to Mallory?

Gerry threw the sheets aside to get up and snap on the light. Mallory's portrait smiled back at her. Gerry sank onto the side of the bed and stared.

"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow," Karen said.

"I'm not going," Gerry said.

"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." Karen pulled up the noisy zipper on her coat. "Remember: no booze this year. Louise is finally on the wagon. And don't make me try to park in front of your building. I've just had the front fender fixed again. Stand near that tree."

"Look, I never liked parties. I don't--"

"This isn't just a party. It's the girls. Everyone asks after you all the time. Now, buy a bottle of fancy grape juice or something and be ready at seven-thirty."

Karen stomped out into the swirling snow before Gerry could attempt another denial. Her truck roared into life and she zoomed out of the parking lot. Gerry dug her gloved hands in her pockets and trudged out to begin the walk home.

At seven-twenty the next day, Gerry stood frowning at herself in the mirror in Mallory's half of the walk-in closet. Gerry couldn't remember the last time she'd been out socially. She worked long and late as often as she could. Not for the money. She did okay, even without touching one single cent of the insurance payments. Mallory was the social one. She picked out Gerry's clothes when they went out. Left to her own devices, Gerry lapsed into indecision. Black pants, white shirt, black leather jacket. She tied a necktie on, then pulled it off. The Doc Martens remained: Mallory had bought them for her. Gerry frowned even harder at her reflection. Mallory had bought every item of clothing she wore--including her boxers.

At seven-thirty, Gerry crunched across the salted parking lot to the tree where Karen's truck waited. She climbed in next to Chris.

Great to see you." Chris kissed Gerry's cheek. "Merry Christmas."

Karen had the good sense to merely smile and hit the gas.

"Karen tells me that Mary has been trying to fix you up," Chris said. "Don't let her bother you. I'll keep her off your back. You just enjoy yourself."

"Or sit in the back room petting the dog," Karen said.

"Yeah," Gerry said. It was probably what she would do.

"It's great to see you back in circulation at last," Chris said.

Gerry frowned and stared out the side window. She ignored Chris's pat on the leg.

Trucks and SUVs vied with eco-friendly hybrid cars for parking in Louise and Elaine's driveway. Laughter and kd lang rang from the house. A thousand blinking lights dripped from the trees. Gerry trailed Karen and Chris up the path. She had no idea why she'd come.

Gerry added her coat to the pile, lifted a hand in general greeting, and carried her bottle of grape juice through into the kitchen. Elaine looked surprised and hugged her, but tactfully didn't say anything.

Gerry found a corner near the dishwasher where she was out of the way.

After half an hour, Phyllis Mitchell sailed into the kitchen holding a platter of cheeses. "Elaine, darling, where shall I set these?"

"Fridge is over there." Elaine signaled with an elbow.

"Oh, no, darling," Phyllis said. "These need to breathe."

Elaine, looking annoyed, broke off her conversation to take the platter out to the table. Phyllis visibly checked the impulse to follow when she spied Gerry.

"I was devastated to hear about poor Mallory," Phyllis said. "DJ and I were in Europe, or we would certainly have attended the funeral. It's so heartening to see you recovered from the tragic business."

Gerry tried to offer thanks, however insincere, but the words lodged in her throat. Phyllis didn't notice. She patted Gerry's arm and moved off to tell people she'd brought the most divine cheese anyone had ever tasted--and from the most expensive gourmet store in Indiana.

Gerry wormed her way around the animated chattering clumps of lesbians covering the sofas, chairs, and Elaine's hand-made Guatemalan rugs. She paused near the den door when she whiffed the sweet smoke of dope.

"Ger!" Mary's voice boomed. "Shirley is here. Come and let me introduce her."

"I--um. Later. I've got to pee."

Gerry ducked into the bathroom. She locked the door and sat on the side of the bath. It was a long way, but she could walk home. When someone knocked with real desperation, Gerry left to find her coat and hat.

In the spare bedroom, Gerry discovered on the bed a chaotic pile of coats worthy of the worst ravages at Target's after-Christmas sales. She began sorting through them.

"Can I have that one?"

Gerry picked up the pale blue parka and turned to hand it to-- "Claire."

Claire Campion stood with her arm out to take her coat. "Gerry. I didn't know you were here."

"I thought you were str--"

"Elaine asked me," Claire said. "We work in the same building."

"Oh."

"I don't remember you at last year's party."

"Um. No. I--um--I'm not very social."

"Me either. But that's because the kids keep me so busy." Claire finally took her coat. "Are you coming or going?"

"Um. Going."

Gerry hurried on her coat and held the door open for Claire. Claire stopped near an old blue sedan with a faded Tigger in the back window.

Even in the flashing colors of the blinking icicle lights, she was a handsome woman. And a dyke. Who'd have guessed? Gerry's gaydar must have shut down when she and Mallory got together. She'd not needed it after that. She hadn't needed anyone but Mallory.

"Good night," Gerry said.

"Good night. Merry Christmas."

Gerry rammed her hands into her pockets and cursed herself for forgetting her gloves. She strode away leaving the laughter behind.

After passing the third lawn littered with plastic illuminated ornaments, Gerry saw a car slowly overtake her and stop. The passenger door opened. Claire leaned out.

"Can I give you a ride?"

"Um." Gerry's breath puffed out around her face. Her fingers were going to freeze before she got halfway home. "It's probably out of your way."

"Hop in."

Gerry eased into the seat. Their fingers accidentally brushed when they hunted for the seat belt. Uncomfortable, Gerry let Claire find it for her.

"Where to?" Claire slipped the car in gear.

"Twenty-first and Post is close enough," Gerry said.

Claire actually pulled the car to a complete stop at stop signs. She didn't exceed the speed limit once in half a mile.

"Turn left here," Gerry said. "Isn't it hard to get a babysitter at this time of year? Kids want to be out partying themselves, don't they?"

"I'm the only woman I know who has no trouble. My girl knows I'm always home early but pay her the full amount."

As they drove along East Washington, Gerry racked her brain for a polite way of asking how Claire had two children. Heterosexual relationship? Adoption? Sperm bank?

"You made quite an impression on Brooke," Claire said. "She talked about you at breakfast yesterday."

Startled, Gerry said, "Me?"

"She said you bought what she wanted. She asked me if I could find you to offer her purse to you. And she said you have a nice way of holding hands."

"She's a nice kid. And cute."

Claire smiled. "I like to think so, but, then, I'm hardly objective."

"Does she take after you?"

A flush of color darkened Claire's cheek. She checked the rear vision mirror, then glanced sidelong at Gerry and smiled. Gerry belatedly realized how her comment could have been taken. After two blocks of squirming, she realized that it didn't matter. After all, Claire was cute and nice.

At the traffic lights a few blocks from Gerry's apartment, Claire suddenly interrupted their conversation about cheesy Christmas songs to ask, "I don't suppose you'd like a drink?"

"Um."

"There's a Starbuck's just down the street. But we could go to a bar if you wanted."

"Coffee's fine."

Gerry held the door open for Claire and followed her to the counter.

"I have a confession to make," Claire said. "I'm very relieved that you didn't want to go to a bar. I haven't been in one for years. The idea of being surrounded by bright, drunk, young things has very little appeal. And I like being able to hear what you say."

Gerry smiled. Claire smiled back. Time gave a little skip as it slid by.

Gerry didn't have to ask about the children. Claire broached the subject as she toyed with the froth on her second coffee.

"Part of the reason I was so crabby and horrible the other day," Claire said, "was because I'd had a call from Jennifer that morning. She's decided, after all, that she wants to take her turn at having the kids for Christmas. Apparently her mom is visiting her, so Jennifer wants to make a family affair of it."

"Jennifer?" Gerry said.

"My ex."

"Oh. Sorry."

Claire shrugged. "I wasn't. Not when I found her in bed with another woman."

Gerry looked outside to see snow falling steadily. Big heavy flakes drifted down through the outside lights. Just like on Christmas movies. Mallory would've loved it.

"When we split," Claire said, "we had some horrific arguments. I mostly won. But no matter how much I dislike and mistrust her, she is also their mother. And they miss her." Claire sighed. "I've been trying desperately not to think about it, but it's going to be a miserably quiet Christmas for me. How about you?"

Gerry drained the last of her cup. "Yeah. Quiet."

Claire studied her. "You can tell I don't get out much. I just made a huge blunder talking about my ex, didn't I?"

"Doesn't bother me. Can I get you another coffee?"

"Not for me, thanks. But you go ahead. I'm quite happy sitting here and just talking."

Gerry hadn't intended to have another drink, but she didn't think she could not get one now. Socially, she was every bit as hopeless as Claire professed to be. Gerry hadn't been out with anyone other than Mallory for over nine years.

"Thanks," Gerry said as the car pulled up to her apartment building.

"I was going to thank you," Claire said. "I enjoyed myself far more than I expected to this evening. Can I give you my number?"

Claire opened the glove box. Toys, half-eaten candies, and screwed up Kleenex tumbled into Gerry's lap. Apologizing, Claire helped Gerry clear it away. She wrote her phone number on the back of a business card for an orthodontist, which she found in her purse. Awkwardly, Gerry offered her own number in exchange. Claire smiled. Gerry smiled back.

In her apartment, Gerry hung up her coat, turned up the heating, and sat in the dark. She could see the black outline of the frames of the pictures of Mallory, and her and Mallory, but not the images. Her memory filled in the blanks.

"A very quiet Christmas," Gerry said.

. . . jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way . . .

As the tinny tune blared from the overhead speakers, Gerry pulled out a magic marker and added another tick on the scorecard beneath the till.

Now she was three points ahead of Mark, who had bet that the store would play "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" the most times, and ten points ahead of Mary, whose choice was "Snoopy's Christmas."

"Did I tell you that I talked with Ronnie last night?" Mary asked. "She said that Yvonne mentioned you when they were at the bowling alley."

"Uh huh," Gerry said. "I'm taking my dinner break now."

Gerry strode out of the store, feeling that familiar sense of release and relief that the crowds pouring into the store would not be her problem for thirty minutes. The mall was crammed, as you'd expect so close to Christmas. The fast food area was insanely packed. Gerry threaded her way toward the line at Pizza di Roma. When she finally had her pizza, the prospects of a table looked slim to none.

"Gerry!" Claire waved from a table a few feet away, where she sat with her children. "We have a spare chair."

"Um. Thanks."

Claire introduced Gerry to Tony and Brooke. To Gerry's surprise, Brooke remembered her.

"We're going to our other mommy in Texas," Brooke said. "Would you like to come?"

"Um. I can't," Gerry said. "I have to work. But thanks."

"It's their last dinner with me before they fly out to Jennifer's," Claire said. "I asked what they wanted to eat and--"

"McDonald's burgers are best," Tony announced. He squeezed sachet after sachet of bright red ketchup onto his carton of fries.

"So, you're drinking Coke," Gerry said.

Claire smiled. Gerry smiled back. Time slipped by so quickly that Claire looked startled to discover it was ten after seven.

"I have to be at the airport in thirty minutes," Claire said. "Tony, take this trash to the bin." She leaned across to wipe Brooke's face.

When Gerry returned to Target, Mary teased her for being unpunctual. Gerry had no idea that children could eat so much ketchup. Six minutes later, Claire leaned against the counter looking as frantic as the first time Gerry had seen her, but this time she had both kids in tow.

"I've got a flat," Claire said. "I can't figure out what to--"

"Where's your car?"

Gerry strode out from behind the counter, with a passing comment to Mary to hold the fort. She was glad that she didn't see Mary's expression.

"I'm so sorry about this." Claire opened the trunk. "I guess I could've found a security guard. I didn't think."

"No problem." Gerry handed the lug wrench to Tony to hold while she uncovered the spare. "When was the last time you checked the inflation on this?"

"The what?" Claire said.

"I see."

"God," Claire said. "Something else has gone wrong, hasn't it?"

Gerry dropped the spare to the ground and pressed a thumb against the tread. "Nope. This one will fly."

Gerry had to squeeze down between the sedan and a Buick to loosen the lug nuts. At least Claire hadn't parked next to a Lincoln. Despite the blanket from the backseat that Claire insisted that she kneel on, Gerry's pants were wet from the snow, she was freezing, and she had skinned her knuckles by the time she let the jack down. Claire bundled the kids into the car while Gerry heaved the flat into the trunk.

"I'm so incredibly grateful," Claire said. "But I have to run. I'm beyond late. I'll call you. You're marvelous."

Gerry watched the tail lights curve out of the parking lot to be lost in the traffic. It had been a long time since she'd been useful to anyone. And years since anyone had thought she was marvelous. Three years, five months, and eighteen days.

Gerry let herself in the apartment. She poured a glass of wine from the open bottle in the fridge and sat with a book in her lap. The phone rang.

"You saved my life," Claire said. "If you hadn't--Hell. I'm sorry. I've just noticed the time."

"I just got home from work. Did you get the kids on their flight?"

"I missed it and had to put them on a later one. It didn't leave till nearly ten. Jennifer has promised to call me when she picks them up at the airport."

Claire's voice sounded thick and shaky. Still, she'd just sent her kids off to Texas a few days before Christmas. It was a wonder the woman wasn't a complete mess.

"You okay?" Gerry asked.

"Yes. No. I'm sorry. Look, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciated what you did. I had no right to just barge in on you like that when you're at work. I owe you big time. Thanks."

"Um. Look, you want to talk?"

After a pause, Claire said, "I'd love to. I'm sitting here alone and I hate it. This is embarrassing to confess, but I'm hugging one of Brooke's dolls. I'd really like to see you. But it's so late. I can't ask--"

"I offered."

"If you're sure . . ."

"Yeah. I am."

"I'll make you my special hot chocolate," Claire said. "Or I have a bottle of scotch."

"I can't get to your house. I don't have a car. I don't drive any more. How about Steak 'n Shake? There's one on Post near the intersection with 25th street. Close to the I-70 off-ramp."

"Sounds good. Need me to pick you up?"

"I'll meet you there."

Gerry was careful to nurse one cup of decaf, because she'd been too wired to sleep after the last time. Claire looked rough, and kept fiddling with her cup, the sweetener sachets, and her cell phone. But she didn't cry, which Gerry had half expected. Inevitably, Claire talked a lot about her children, and, eventually, her break-up. Gerry found it interesting, because, she realized, she wanted to know about Claire.

"At first, the last thing I wanted was another relationship," Claire said. "And the kids soaked up every waking moment. It was hard for them, too. So, I didn't even try to get out. Then, by the time I got around to liking the idea of adult company, I realized I'd lost my confidence. And it wasn't as though I'd ever been very good at dates. Actually, I'm lousy. And who'd want to go out with a woman with two kids? Lesbians are supposed to have dogs and cats, not children."

"I think your kids are nicer than any pets."

For the first time that evening, Claire smiled. Gerry smiled back.

When Claire's cell phone rang, Gerry went to the bathroom to let her talk to her ex and kids in private. Claire was brushing away a tear when Gerry returned, but she had relaxed a little.

It was nearly two o'clock when they trudged out into the frozen night. Gerry accepted a ride home. The car started easily but when it began rolling it made an ominous thump-thumping noise. Gerry climbed out and saw the front tire on her side was flat. There was no way Claire had had time to get the puncture on the spare fixed.

"Shit," Gerry said.

"What's wrong?"

"You won't believe this. You've got another flat. I don't suppose you're a triple-A member?"

Claire shook her head and swore.

Gerry looked up and down the street. Workshops would be long closed.

"You can't get this fixed tonight. But there's a place half a block from here where you can get both tires repaired in the morning."

Claire pulled her cell phone out of her purse. "Hell. I don't even know the number for a taxi. Do you?"

"I never use them. Sorry. Um. Look, you can sleep at my place, if you like."

Claire's expression was too complicated for Gerry to decipher all the elements, but gratitude and relief were major parts.

By the time Gerry unlocked her apartment door, she was cold and Claire's face had lost its flush of exertion to look unhealthily pale.

"Wow." Claire looked around. "This is the tidiest home I've ever seen. Easy to see you don't have kids."

Gerry smiled and turned the thermostat up ten degrees higher than usual. When she took Claire's coat to hang up, she noticed Claire shiver.

"I'll fix a warm drink," Gerry said. "Would you like a shot of whisky in it?"

"Yes, please." Claire's teeth chattered.

Gerry fetched her one of the spare blankets to wrap around herself and turned up the heating a few more degrees. "Maybe you'd be better off taking a long, hot shower. That'll warm you up."

"Would you mind?"

Gerry found clean towels and smiled when Claire marveled at the pristine state of the bathroom.

"I--um--I don't have much in the way of pajamas, but you're welcome to use this." Gerry offered a long football shirt.

Hearing someone in the shower gave Gerry a nasty moment of flashback. She reminded herself that it was Claire, not Mallory, who would walk out. Claire.

Gerry paused as she reached for the bottle of whisky. She had someone in the apartment who was not Mallory. A stranger. Well, not a complete stranger. But another woman.

Claire emerged looking tousled and pink. She wore Gerry's shirt, which stopped mid-thigh. She was taller than Mallory. And had larger breasts.

"That was great," Claire said. "And I didn't even miss standing on Mr. Froggie."

Gerry smiled. Claire smiled back. Gerry's pulse did a little skip out of time.

Claire cupped her mug in both hands. "This is yummy."

"Better than Coke?"

Claire laughed. "I owe you again, don't I? I actually had two minutes there when I wasn't fretting about the kids."

Gerry shrugged. "What are friends for?"

"You know, I feel like we are friends. I'm glad you feel that way too. Some people get all hexed about having to know someone for years before they feel they know them, but I disagree. Time doesn't make any difference. If you connect, hours or weeks or years don't matter. Do they?"

Gerry lay wide awake. In the next room, Claire made no noises, but Gerry was acutely aware of someone else in her home. The train of events that led to Claire's presence had been so natural and inevitable that she couldn't see how it wouldn't happen the same way again. What really worried her, though, was that she liked Claire. A lot. And she had noticed her physically. That should be wrong, but it didn't feel wrong.

"I love you," Gerry whispered to Mallory's photograph. "I always will."

The alarm woke Gerry at nine. The bedding was neatly folded on the sofa and a cup and plate sat in the dish drain. There was no sign of Claire. Gerry found the note on the table.

I hope I didn't wake you. You have a very comfortable sofa. I owe you a lot--including a bagel and a cup of coffee. I'll call you later to thank you properly. You saved my life again. Love, Claire.

Gerry sat touching the note while she ate breakfast. Love, Claire. The words had an uncomfortable effect on Gerry. She got up to put the bedding away. She found herself holding the shirt. The memory of how Claire filled it sprang vividly to her mind's eye.

"Shit."

Gerry dropped the shirt on the bed and stared at Mallory's picture.

Mallory smiled back as if Gerry had not been guilty of thinking about another woman.

"Yes," Claire said when Gerry phoned her. "I guess I looked the pathetic female because I had a hairy mechanic acting the knight in greasy overalls for me. He fixed both tires. I was only an hour late for work. The really sad part is that I wouldn't have known where to get it done if you hadn't told me. I'm hopeless. In case you hadn't guessed, Jennifer used to deal with all things mechanical."

"I--um--I used to take care of that stuff for Mallory."

After a pause, Claire said, "Can I make you dinner? I'd offer to take you out, but we're neither of us social butterflies, are we? And I can cook. I'm free every evening. When is your day off?"

At six-fifteen on Thursday, Gerry stood in her boxers staring at a pile of her clothes on the bed. Mallory's picture smiled at her from the wall.

"I shouldn't be doing this," Gerry said.

Mallory continued to smile.

By the time Claire knocked, Gerry was dressed and holding a photo of her and Mallory. Gerry carefully replaced the picture beside the small Christmas tree. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and went off to dinner with a woman who wasn't Mallory.

Claire lived on the west side. It was a typical family suburb, with kids throwing snowballs under the glow of colored Christmas lights. Claire's house had some lights decorating the front porch. Inside, it was cozy and lived in with an armchair that didn't match the other chair or the sofa. Pictures of the kids adorned the walls. Over-sized stockings with the names "Tony," "Brooke," and "Mommy C" sewn on them hung from the mantle. A large tree, heavily over-decorated and with a Barbie as the angel on the top, twinkled in the corner. A pile of presents spilled from under it.

"I should've sent their gifts with them so they could open them on Christmas Day," Claire said. "But I couldn't. It's something for me to look forward to when they get back."

Gerry didn't know how to offer appropriate sympathy. She opened the wine.

"Much, much better than Coke," Claire said.

Gerry smiled. Claire smiled back. They clinked their glasses together. It sounded like the chime of an ethereal clock.

A loud sizzling sound hissed from the stove.

"Hell!" Claire dashed into the kitchen.

Gerry followed but stopped abruptly in the doorway. Claire was bent over wiping something off the floor. Her pants stretched tight over her backside. Gerry couldn't stop staring. She blushed when Claire rose and turned.

Claire had set the table formally, including a couple of candles. Dinner was the best that Gerry had eaten in three years, five months, and twenty-two days.

One or twice, their fingers brushed. Gerry's heightened senses were aware of Claire's knees close to hers. Every accidental contact set Gerry's nerves jangling. By the time they retired to the sofa with the last of the wine, she seethed with indecision.

Claire handed Gerry a parcel wrapped in Christmas paper. It felt yielding, like a piece of clothing. She sat close enough that their arms touched. Gerry's skin was hyper-sensitive to the contact.

"Merry Christmas," Claire said. "Promise me you'll keep it under your tree and not unwrap it before the twenty-fifth."

"You--you shouldn't have. You don't owe me. Not really."

"I do, actually. But I bought this because I wanted to."

"Um. Thanks."

"There's something else I want to give you," Claire said.

The husky undertone in her voice made Gerry look sharply at her.

Claire's intense stare flicked between Gerry's eyes and lips. Gerry's pulse skipped a beat. Time stood still as she sat immobile and let Claire gently touch her face with warm fingertips. Gerry shuddered.

Claire leaned forward and kissed her mouth. Soft, moist and hot, it aroused strong sensations deeply buried. Gerry closed her eyes against the painful surge. Confused and dazed, Gerry pulled away when Claire attempted to repeat the kiss.

"I'm--I'm sorry," Claire said.

Gerry shook her head. So much was happening inside. Too much. Part was searing, naked desire. But part was also shock and disbelief--at her own feelings, not at Claire. A large slab of it was horror at her betrayal of Mallory and the willingness of that infidelity. Underlying it all was fear.

"Gerry?"

"Look. Um." Gerry rose. "It's--it's not you. I--um--I'm sorry. I'd better go."

Gerry strode to the door.

"Gerry! Wait. I have to drive you. And you need to put your coat on."

Feeling stupid on top of everything else, Gerry grabbed her coat and avoided eye contact with Claire. In strained silence, they began the drive back to Gerry's apartment. Less than halfway there, Claire pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked.

"I know about Mallory," Claire said. "I asked Elaine about you."

Gerry frowned down at her lap.

"I'm really, really sorry about coming on to you like that," Claire said. "The very last thing I wanted was to send you running. Gerry, I like you more than I ever have anyone. And I never dreamed I'd feel so . . . well, that anyone would ever interest me after Jennifer."

That, at least, Gerry could understand. She loved Mallory, and she always would. Claire wasn't Mallory. But she liked Claire and wanted to be with her and . . . and she wanted her.

"I can't undo what I did," Claire continued. "But I want to patch things up so that this doesn't send you off into the night without ever coming back. What I can do?"

Gerry wanted to say something, but she could barely think for herself, let alone someone else.

"God." Claire set her elbow on the windowsill and rested her head against her hand. "I can't believe how badly I've screwed this up."

"It's not you."

After a long pause, during which Gerry felt Claire watching her, Claire said, "I can't possibly make this any worse, so I might as well tell you that I'm in love with you."

Startled, Gerry turned to her. Of all the expressions she might have seen on Claire's face, desperation pierced Gerry's inner maelstrom.

Nothing could've been less like Mallory--nor provoke more powerful primitive protective reactions in Gerry. The desire to wrap her arms around Claire to keep her safe cut through everything else and made Gerry realize that she didn't want to run away from Claire completely.

"I--um--maybe we could talk at my place," Gerry said.

They barely spoke all the way to the apartment. Gerry made coffee. When she carried it into the living room, Claire stood looking at the framed photographs.

"She was beautiful," Claire said.

"Yes."

"You look very happy together. A good-looking couple."

"Yeah."

"Has there been no one since?"

"No." Gerry sagged onto the sofa. Mallory was not a topic likely to calm her emotional turmoil.

"Are you still in love with her?"

Gerry swallowed hard and looked across to the picture of her with Mallory leaning against her, laughing.

"At first," Claire said softly, "I wished Jennifer had died rather than stopped loving me. But I'm actually glad she didn't."

"She just left one morning," Gerry said. "For work. As usual. She didn't come home. The cops came instead."

Claire lowered herself beside Gerry.

"It was a car accident," Gerry said. "A pile-up on I-74. Eight cars and a semi. A girl in a Jeep was talking on her cell phone. She didn't see the car in front of her brake. The truck driver tried to swerve around the collision, but lost control and crashed through the on-ramp barrier." Gerry swallowed with difficulty. She kept her eyes on Mallory's laughing face. "Mallory never had a chance. She was coming down the ramp. She hit the truck. The cars behind hit her and rammed her car under the trailer. She was--she was dead before the fire broke out."

"Oh, God."

"The girl on the phone walked away without a scratch."

Gerry looked down to see Claire holding her hand. Gerry tightened her fingers.

"I never saw her body," Gerry said. "We had a funeral. But none of it seemed real. The casket. The service. Nothing about it proved that Mallory was dead. And that she wasn't going to come home one day and life would go on."

"Gerry--"

"I need a drink."

Gerry fetched the bottle of scotch. Her hands shook so much that Claire took the bottle from her and poured.

"I can't ever forget," Gerry said. "I won't. And I can't stop loving her. She was everything."

"No one expects you to forget."

"But--but--" Gerry struggled with bands holding back something both terrifying and wonderful. She looked at Claire. So different to Mallory in so many ways. "But I--"

Claire stroked Gerry's hand.

"You make me feel alive again," Gerry said. "That scares the hell out of me."

"Because I'm not Mallory? And I might die?"

Gerry nodded.

"I'll never be Mallory. I wouldn't want to be. And I don't want to take her away from you. But I'd love a place of my own in your life." Claire clasped Gerry's hand between both of hers. "I don't know when I'm going to die. I hope it's not for a long time. But I can't give you any guarantees. You know that. But would you rather not have loved Mallory, and not have had those years with her, just so that you wouldn't have had to miss her afterwards?"

"No."

Claire smiled gently and touched Gerry's cheek. As if something snapped inside, Gerry sagged against Claire and clung to her--a warm, soft body that she wanted to bury herself in. Claire slipped the glass from Gerry's hand, set it aside, and held her.

Gerry woke on the right side of her bed. Claire slept on the left side.

The alarm clock radio burst into life.

". . . clearing in the afternoon. Now, all you parents out there this Christmas morning, listen to--"

Gerry turned the clock off. She eased out of bed and made breakfast. She carried the tray into the living room, then stopped. Gerry set the tray down and lifted one of Mallory's pictures. Mallory was still smiling.

Whatever Gerry did, Mallory would still smile at her.

"I love you," Gerry whispered. "I always will. Do you mind that I also love Claire now?"

Mallory continued to smile.

Gerry kissed the glass before replacing the picture. She turned to the Christmas tree. Every year, she'd bought Mallory a piece of jewelry. This year was the sapphire necklace that Mallory would never wear. Blue, Claire's daughter had said, was Claire's favorite color.

Gerry picked up the shiny parcel, removed the tag, and carried it into the bedroom.