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else now. It pains Ma, I can tell.
    The nurse comes over and suggests we wheel Grandma around the nursing home so she can see the decorations in the dining room and parlor. It gives us something to do. Ma and Aunt Hettie stay in the reception room to talk, but Dad pushes Grandma’s wheelchair, and us kids troop along.
    Becky’s got the idea that we come to see Santa, and now she spots some old man with a beard sitting at his window.
    â€œThere’s Santa!” she yells excitedly. The man turns and laughs.
    â€œCome here, sweetheart,” he says, holding out his arms, and I take Becky inside his room to say hello. She sits on his lap and tells him what all she got for Christmas, and he’s so tickled. Becky don’t even notice he only has one leg.
    But Grandma wants to go. “That man is no good !” she says to Dara Lynn. “He stole my change purse.”
    â€œMother, your change purse is right there in your pocket,” Dad tells her as we start off again, and Becky waves to the man with the beard.
    But Grandma goes on about how she lives in a den of thieves and liars, and how if Dad really loved her, he’d get her out of this place.
    It hurts Dad, ’cause it was more than Aunt Hettie couldmanage to care for Grandma at home, and it’d be even worse for Ma, with a family to look after, too.
    â€œI ever get old and crazy, just shoot me,” murmurs Dara Lynn.
    After we tour the whole building and take Grandma back to her room, we read the Bible together and then we all sing “Silent Night.” For the first time, Grandma gets real quiet—studies us hard while we’re singin’—and I see tears in her eyes, like maybe for the first time she remembers who we are.
    But by the time we get our coats, she wants to roam around in her wheelchair again. She’s got her new robe over her shoulders like a cape now, won’t let nobody touch it, and says she’s got to go see the man with the beard and get her change purse back.
    The attendant winks at us. “You go on,” she says. “I’ll handle this.”
    So we go back out to the Jeep, and spend the rest of the day at Aunt Hettie’s. Becky takes a nap on her bed, and Dara Lynn and me put together a jigsaw puzzle of a pepperoni pizza, and I’m thinking how Dara Lynn and me are getting along fine right now, why can’t we get along like this all the time? I wonder does it have anything to do with Shiloh being my dog, when all the while what Dara Lynn really wanted was a kitten?
    We have a light supper before we leave—cold roast beef sandwiches—and then we set out. Sky’s almost dark, but the snow gives off light so it don’t seem as late as it is. Starts to snow some more, too.
    Ma says, “It’s always hard to visit Grandma and it’s always hard to leave.” Her own ma died a few years back, so Dad’s is the only ma she’s got.
    We see we left the lights shining on our outdoor Christmas tree when we pull in the drive, and it’s a welcome sight, but I’m lookin’ around for Shiloh. Usually he’d be dancin’ down the drive by now, head goin’ one way, tail the other.
    â€œWhere’s Shiloh?” Becky asks, missing him, too.
    â€œProbably running around with that black Labrador, I’ll bet,” says Ma. “Nice that he’s got a friend.”
    I’m thinking, though, that it’s not often our whole family’s gone the way we were today. Usually Ma’s home while Dad’s at work and we’re in school. But this time we’ve been gone from almost eleven in the morning to eight at night, time enough for a dog to wonder if you’re ever comin’ back. Go lookin’ for you, maybe.
    We walk inside and turn on the TV to get the last of the Christmas music we’ll hear all year, and when my Steelers watch says ten o’clock and Shiloh’s still not back, I put on my boots