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decorated the house in Germany from top to bottom. She’d started the day after Thanksgiving, finishing late in the afternoon on December 10, the day Logan chose for their annual Christmas party. Everything had been so festive and fragrant. She’d done it all and when each guest left at the end of the night, she’d handed them a gaily wrapped gift of homemade Christmas cookies.
    She’d been so happy that day. Logan and the children had been in exceptional spirits, and it had been contagious. She’d even gotten a new red-velvet gown trimmed in faux ermine, an extravagance she winced over from time to time, and a new hairdo and a cosmetic makeover. Logan had leered at her all night long. Like a silly schoolgirl, her heart had fluttered and pounded all night long at the thought of what would happen after the last guest left. Logan had always been an exceptional lover, but that night he’d performed like a master.
    Kristine shivered as she drew her sweater tighter across her chest. The fire was blazing in the kitchen, the heat was on full blast, and she was still cold. She looked down at the cold tea in her cup. Should she make a fresh cup? Did she even want more tea? Her movements were robotic as she filled the teakettle. The gas jet swooshed to life.
    She paced from one end of the kitchen to the other, her shoes making clicking sounds on the old Virginia brick, careful to avert her eyes from the calendar hanging next to the refrigerator. She knew every printed word on the calendar issued by the Reynolds Propane Company. She’d stared at it a hundred times a day, her eyes watering as she ticked off the days until Logan’s arrival. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone awry. There were three too many Xs on the calendar, which meant Logan was four days overdue. Christmas was five short days away. One letter and one phone call in thirty-four days had to mean there was a snafu somewhere along the chain of command. She tried not to look at the red X with the big red circle she’d drawn around December 16. Maybe there would be a letter in today’s mail. Her gaze swept to the kitchen clock. Thirty more minutes until the mailman tooted his horn out by the road. One toot meant no mail. Two toots of the foggy-sounding horn meant mail. She kept the house purposely quiet around this time of day, turning off the kitchen radio and the new television set in the living room to make sure she heard the horn.
    â€œLogan, I am going to strangle you when you get here for causing me all this worry. How much trouble is it to make one phone call, send one scribbled postcard? This is so unfair of you.” Damn, if I don’t watch it, I’ll be blubbering all over the place.
    Kristine continued to pace as she waited for the water to boil. She really needed to make a new one and this time put some creative effort into it. In a rush of something she couldn’t define, she picked up the dried-out Christmas centerpiece and tossed it in the trash can under the sink. Now, all she had to contend with was the calendar. She wished she could ignore it, but the propane advertisement drew her like a magnet. She turned away as she tried to focus on the old-fashioned kitchen. Everything now looked halfhearted. The red-checkered curtains were too short and too faded. The braided rugs were skimpy and looked out of place on the expanse of brick floor. The place mats that matched the curtains were wrinkled and tacky-looking on the claw-footed monster table. Now that the centerpiece was gone, the table looked forlorn. There was no life in this kitchen the way there always had been life and energy in her other kitchens around the world. The kids always did their homework at the kitchen table with hot cups of cocoa. Now they huddled in their rooms with the doors shut.
    Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to. A chill ran up Kristine’s arm just as the kettle whistled. At the same moment the kettle shot off