The Gift

“You'll see.” He got out their coats, and it was starting to snow as they went out to his truck, and he took the small box of decorations. The tiny tree was still in the back of the truck, and he put the box in beside it. She wasn't sure what he was doing at first, but as soon as they got there, she knew what he had come to do. They were at the cemetery, and he had wanted to bring a little tree to Annie.

He took the tree out of the back of the truck, and she carried the box of decorations. They were the smallest ones, the ones Annie had loved, with little teddy bears, and toy soldiers blowing horns, and tiny angels. There was a string of beads, and a length of silver tinsel. And solemnly, he stood the tree on the ground next to her, in a little wooden stand, and one by one they took turns putting on the decorations. It was a heart-wrenching ritual and it only took a few minutes to complete it, and they stood looking at it, as he remembered how much she had loved Christmas. Annie had loved everything about it. He had told Maribeth about it before, but this time he couldn't say anything. He just stood there, with tears rolling down his cheeks, remembering how much he had loved her, and how much it hurt when he lost her.

He looked up at Maribeth then, from across the tree, her huge belly swathed in her coat, her eyes so gentle, her bright hair peeking out of the wool scarf she wore. He had never loved her more than at this moment.

“Maribeth,” he said softly, knowing that Annie would approve of what he was doing. It was right to do it here. She would have wanted to be part of his life, and his future. “Marry me …please … I love you …”

“I love you too,” she said, coming closer to him, and taking his hand in her own as she looked at him, “but I can't …not now …don't ask me to do that …”

“I don't want to lose you …” He looked down at the small grave where his sister lay, just beneath them, next to the Christmas tree they had brought for her, “I lost her … I don't want to lose you …please, let's get married.”

“Not yet,” she said softly, wanting to give him everything, yet afraid to hurt him if she failed him. She was wiser than her years, and in some ways, wiser than he was.

“Will you promise to many me later?”

“I promise you solemnly on this day, Thomas Whittaker, that I will love you forever.” And she meant every word as she said it. She knew she would never forget what he had been to her ever since the first moment she'd met him. But what that meant, where their lives would lead, no one could promise that, or know now. She wanted to be part of his life forever, but who knew where life would take them?

“Will you promise to marry me?”

“If it's right, if it's what we both want.” She was always honest.

“I'll always be there for you,” he said solemnly, and she knew he meant it.

“And I for you. I'll always be your friend, Tommy …I'll always love you.” And if they were lucky, she would be his wife one day. She wanted that too, now, at sixteen, but she was wise enough to know that one day things might be different. Or maybe not, perhaps their love would grow in time, and one day be stronger than ever. Or perhaps like leaves, life's winds would blow them to the far corners of the earth and scatter them forever, but she hoped not.

“Ill be ready to many you, whenever you want,” he affirmed.

“Thank you,” she said, and reached up to kiss him. He kissed her, wishing she would promise him everything, but satisfied that she had given him what she could at the moment.

They stood silently, looking at the small Christmas tree then, and thinking about his sister. “I think she loves you too' he said quietly. “I wish she could be here and then he tucked Maribeth's hand into his arm, and led her back to the truck. It had grown colder since they had first come out, and they were both very quiet on the drive back to his house. There was something very peaceful between them now, something very strong and very clean, and very honest. And they both knew that they might be together one day, or they might not. They would try, they would be there for each other for as long as they could. At sixteen, that was a lot, more than some people had after a lifetime. They had hope, and promise, and dreams. It was a good way to start out. It was a gift they had given each other.

They sat talking quietly in the living room, looking at old albums, and laughing at baby pictures of him, and Annie. And Maribeth had dinner waiting when his parents came home from their trip. His parents were happy to be home and pleased to see them, and excited to see the Christmas tree, and Liz stopped and looked at it long and hard when she saw the familiar decorations, and then she looked at her son and smiled.

“I'm glad you put those on. I would have missed them if they weren't there.” It would have been like trying to forget she had ever existed, and Liz didn't want to forget that.