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changed everything for me,” he told the people in the room. “And for that, I’m grateful. I’ll remind myself of this in the weeks to come. Because something tells me I’m going to face some challenges. I always do, this time of year.”
    “Thanks, Eddie,” the chorus murmured, and they went on to the next speaker.
    His life had really begun the night it had almost ended. That was when he finally had to admit that drinking wasn’t working for him. He’d had to transform himself entirely. Music was still his life, but now he worked behind the scenes, a composer and producer, and he also volunteered for an after-school music program for at-risk kids in Lower Manhattan. Life was good enough for him, under the radar like that.
    His ancient but still-in-effect contract with the production company had limited his earnings from the movie to a pittance. To this day, he had no idea why his parentshad allowed it. That same contract called for him to participate materially in promotion of the movie—which meant he had to appear in DVD extras. Creating those segments earlier in the year had reminded him of the things he disliked about fame—knowing he wasn’t the person everyone saw and loved on screen. Having to hide who he really was.
    Being a composer kept him involved in music, though by choice, he was mostly anonymous, creating sound-tracks and jingles to order. It freaked him out that people recognized him, and that interest was renewed thanks to the DVD. He only hoped it would blow over soon.
    The part of him that still loved to perform found satisfaction, as well. He visited Avalon frequently to play with a group of his friends in a band called Inner Child, and they had the occasional gig at local festivals or a neighborhood club. This year, he agreed to be the guest host for a local radio show, “Catskills Morning,” consisting of news, talk and music of his choice, five days a week. The regular host was on maternity leave.
    His life was a far cry from the orgy of fame and fortune he’d once pictured for himself. But it was a much better fit.
    The meeting ended as it always did, with the serenity prayer and a quick cleanup of the coffee service; then Eddie prepared to head home for the evening. He stopped at Wegmans and treated himself to his favorite take-out dinner—a pimento cheese sandwich, a big fat dill pickle, a bag of chips and a root beer soda. On the way out of the store, he encountered one of the earliest signs of the season—a Salvation Army bell ringer.
    The insistent clanging of the bell was both annoying and impossible to ignore. Scrounging a crumpled billout from his pocket, he stuffed it into the painted red bucket.
    “Thanks,” said the bell ringer. He was young, just a boy, really. Something about him was familiar in a vague, distant way. The teenager reminded Eddie of some of his students, back in the city—hungry but proud. Maybe the kid had been in previous Christmas pageants. But no. Eddie was pretty sure he would remember that long, dark hair and soulful eyes, the slightly bemused smile.
    “I’m Eddie Haven,” Eddie said.
    He gave a nod. “Jabez Cantor.”
    “New around here?” Eddie asked.
    “Kind of. I’ve been away for a while. Just got back to town.”
    “Hey, same here.”
    Another kid came out of the store, staring down at a handheld game as he walked, oblivious to everything. By the time Eddie realized where he was headed, it was too late. Both he and Jabez said, “Watch out,” at the same time, but the kid had already crashed into the tripod holding up the collection bucket, knocking it to the ground with a clatter.
    “Sorry,” he said, stuffing the handheld into his pocket and dropping down on his knees to retrieve the spilled coins. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
    “It happens,” said Jabez, stooping down to help.
    Eddie pitched in, too, scooping coins from the pavement. He couldn’t help noticing the scars on Jabez’s hands. They had the taut