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Rose climbed onto the obligatory scale. “I have to weigh for Maxalt?”
    Chuckling, Lana jotted Rose’s current weight on the chart. “Are you dieting?”
    “Me?” She laughed. She could eat anything that didn’t eat her first and never gain a pound. “I forget to eat most days.”
    Lana sobered. “I know we’re all under a lot of stress this time of year. You need to get plenty of rest and eat healthy. It’s important to take care of ourselves. Makes those trips to the doctor further apart and your Maxalt last longer.”
    Dr. Reel breezed in, greeting Rose warmly. She had been his patient since she was much younger, and he knew the origin of every nick and abrasion on her. “Rose, Rose, hair of blonde,” he teased as his eyes scanned her chart. “You’ve lost five pounds since your last visit. Why is that?”
    She smiled and shrugged, bracing for the lecture. “I’m too busy to eat.”
    “Still doing all that volunteer work?”
    “Some of it, yes.” What was this? Had Joey called him? No. He wouldn’t have a way of knowing she would stop by today. It had been purely a reflexive inquiry.
    Dr. Reel shook his head. “There’s only so much one person can do. Set your limits and stick with them. Slow down, write yourself notes about eating, and hang them around your neck.” He winked. “You’re ten pounds below the norm — don’t lose anymore. Now, Lana tells me you’ve used all of your Maxalt — when was your last refill?”
    “Two weeks ago.”
    He shook his head, doing a basic examination of the type doctors are required to do.
    “Migraines getting worse?”
    “Not worse, but more frequent.” Lately it seemed she was threatened with one every day.
    “Got to slow down, young lady.” He patted her knee and sat down on a rolling stool.
    By the time she left, Rose had something to get her through the headaches until she could refill her present prescription.
    “These pills are no substitute for rest and setting a slower pace,” Dr. Reel told her. “I’m suggesting relaxation exercises and a multivitamin to nudge your appetite.”
    On the way out, Rose stopped Lana and thanked her for getting her in so quickly.
    Humming “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” Rose tooled home down the freeway that was heavily congested with rush-hour traffic. Call Sue! Her mind instructed her. She could multitask, and if she called now, she wouldn’t forget it. She fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. Her groping fingers found her wallet, notepad, pen, flashlight — a flashlight? Why would she have a flashlight in her purse? Frustrated, she upended the purse, dumping the contents onto the seat. A quick glance at the mess — and that’s what it was — revealed the phone, and she snatched it up, then swerved back into her own lane. Traffic was moving fast and she had to keep up with it. It was dangerous to take her eyes off the road.
    What was Sue’s number? Four, seven, six, no that wasn’t right. The car in front of her braked for a turn. Rose slammed on the brakes, dropping the phone. She leaned over, stretching for it, her fingers barely brushing the smooth metal. Just a tiny bit further. Her head dipped below the dash for a second and her hand closed around the phone, just as squealing tires and blaring horns jerked her erect.
    She whipped the wheel sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding sideswiping an oncoming car. A cacophony of bleating horns and rude gestures confronted her. She quickly hit the blinker and eased to the shoulder.
    Shaken, she rested her hand on her hammering chest, appalled at the highway disaster she’d nearly created. The pain in her head kept sync with her pounding heart.
    Braking in the garage fifteen minutes later, she bowed her head. Thank you, God, for watching over me . Motorists were nuts! What was it about the holidays that brought out the crazies? Present company excepted, of course.

FRANCE
Joyeux Noël
    The crèche (manger scene) occupies a place of prominence
in