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every year,” Adriana said, clutching her cup of
tea with both hands. “He's never found it in his heart to forgive
himself.”
               
“How--”
               
“Car accident,” she said, shaking her head and wiping a tear.
“Twenty years they've been gone...”
               
“Mr. Riv.. .Alex ... he would've been so young.”
               
“Six. And boy, was Alexander a special kid,” she smiled. “He loved
Christmas. He'd run through the house every night screaming let
it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow! It was never about the
presents with that boy. He was captivated by the magic of the
season... the thrill of having something to believe in.”
               
“Santa?”
               
“And flying reindeer,” she smirked.
               
“Of course,” I half-laughed.
               
“A traveling Christmas group came into town that year. They were
advertising a real-life nativity scene, holiday music, and a
petting zoo for the children; complete with every animal
imaginable, including Santa's nine reindeer.”
               
“Sounds wonderful--”
               
“Little Alex thought so too,” she continued. “He begged them to
take him. Of course, Mia was reluctant. There had been a heavy
snowfall the night before and she didn't want to risk taking the
boys on the road. Poor Alex just couldn't understand why his mother
kept telling him no. He cried for days. Finally, much to her
dismay, the boys' father packed him up on the final day of the
event. Mia and Esteban left the other boys with their grandfather;
Calvin had already outgrown the magic of Christmas and Blake was
still so tiny, just over a year old. The drive wasn't a long one,
but too long to risk in the treacherous weather. The snow kept
falling. The ice piled onto the road. Esteban must have known that
the trip wasn't worth taking. At some point, he turned around and
headed back toward the house.” Adriana buried her face in her hands
and cried for several long minutes. “Esteban and Mia never made it
home.”
               
“You don't have to talk about this,” I told her, taking her hand
from across the table.
               
“I'm sorry,” she dried her eyes. “I get so wrapped up in caring for
the boys that I almost forget to grieve for myself.”
               
“Because you lost your...”
               
“Son... Esteban.” She glanced at the clock hanging above the stove.
“I suppose I should check on Alex--”
               
“Do you mind?” I asked, quickly. “I'd like to talk to him.”
               
She nodded. “Sure. Don't be too long, sweetheart. He needs his
rest.”
               
I pushed myself away from the table and left the kitchen. I moved
quietly through the living room and to the furthest corner and
stopped outside the bedroom. I gently knocked and stuck my head
in.
               
“You're supposed to be resting,” I told him, stepping in and
shutting the door behind me. He was sitting up in bed, leaning over
a stack of papers, pen in hand, and looking like death.
               
“I needed to take my mind off-”
               
“I understand.” I took a seat on the corner of the mattress and
stared at him for a moment. “Listen...I know you're tapped out and
the last thing you need to hear is another lecture about how it
wasn't your fault. I just wanted to let you know that, if you ever
want to talk, I'm here.”
               
He leaned back and rested his head on the headboard behind him.
“Why are you so wonderful?”
               
“I'm not.”
               
“Matter of opinion, kiddo,” he said, biting his lip.
               
“And I'm right,” I teased, happy to see some of his original
characteristics shining through.
               
“Is there a