"I'm so close, DeAnne."
"All right, suit yourself," she said, and she closed the door.
Step sighed and got up from the chair. When he reached the hall he heard her saying to Stevie, "Go ahead, apparently males in this family don't eat anymore."
"DeAnne," said Step. "It's bad enough when you sound like your mother, but now you're sounding like mine."
She looked annoyed for a moment, but then decided to take it as a joke. "That's fine with me," she said. "I like your mother. And she likes me. In fact, she likes me better than you."
"Better than I like you? Or better than she likes me?"
"Both," she said.
"Impossible." He was now at the end of the hall and he nuzzled her and held her close and whispered in her ear, "Let's forget these kids and go make us another baby."
"It's too soon," she said. "I haven't forgotten how much it hurts."
They both remembered Zap's troubles and her words took on a second meaning, and now when he kissed her it wasn't romantic, it was tender, consoling.
Then he opened the door to the boys' room. Stevie was lying on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Come on in to dinner, Stevie."
"I'm not hungry, Dad," he said.
"I didn't ask if you wanted to eat," said Step. "It's Christmas Eve and we need to be together."
"I think he's sick," said DeAnne. "Maybe he's got whatever Zap had a couple of days ago." She pushed past Step into the room, heading for Stevie. And then, to Step's amazement-and DeAnne's too, of course-Stevie sat bolt upright and shied away from the edge of the bunk, looking fearful. "Don't touch me!" he said.
"Well, I've got to touch you," said DeAnne. "I've got to see if you have a fever."
"I just want to be alone in here for another little while," he said.
"Stevie," said DeAnne. "Just let me see if your forehead's warm."
"I'm fine," he said.
"DeAnne," said Step. "Please, let's not make a quarrel of it on Christmas Eve."
"But if he's not well I can't just leave him in here ..."
"He looks fine," said Step, ushering her out of the room.
"Suddenly you're the miracle doctor who can diagnose people across a room?"
As soon as they were out the door, Step pulled it shut and said, "DeAnne, didn't you see the look on his face? He was absolutely terrified."
"I know, Step. That's all the more reason to think he might have a fever. He didn't seem rational."
"His face wasn't white or flushed, and he always gets one or the other when he's sick. He's really upset, but listen to what he said. He wants to be alone."
"On Christmas Eve, and that's sad." Then she realized what Step was thinking. "You mean-without his imaginary friends."
"Have you seen him playing with the Atari in the last couple of days? At all?"
"You mean he might be going through some kind of withdrawal?"
"I don't know, but it's a sure thing he's really edgy right now, so let's go in and eat and then I'll come back in and talk to him, or you can, and we'll see if we can calm him down. He's not going to want to miss the ceremonies, right? He's the one who remembers things best, he always likes to tell the stories. He'll come around, if we don't make an issue of it right now."
DeAnne sighed. "Whenever you get so patient and understand ing with the children it makes me feel like I must usually be a shrew."
"So what do you feel like when I yell at them?" asked Step.
"Vindicated."
After supper, Step brushed his teeth and then went to Stevie's room to try to persuade him to eat something.
Stevie wasn't in his bed; DeAnne must have talked him into the kitchen.
Step meant to join the rest of the family, but he paused by his office door and thought, If Stevie's eating that'll take a while and so I've got a few minutes and that might be time enough to finish. He resumed where he had left off.
He didn't know how long he had been working when there came a knock on his door. He turned around.
DeAnne was standing there, leaning on the doorknob. She looked a little wobbly, as if she might need to sit down. "What is it?" he asked, concerned.
"Step, Stevie has his friends at the door. He wants to invite them in for Christmas Eve."
Step's heart sank. Stevie wasn't coming out of it after all. He'd tried but then he couldn't let go of this fantasy world. Maybe because the evil hadn't gone out of Steuben yet. Maybe he couldn't let go until they caught the serial killer. Or until the family moved again.
"Maybe when I finish this program we should move," he said. "Get Stevie away from here for good."
"No, Step," DeAnne answered. "I mean his friends are at the door."
Now it sank in. Why she looked so weak.
Had the power of Stevie's imagination finally overpowered DeAnne? No, that couldn't be, she was far too strong.
He stood up, meaning to put an arm around her, steady her. But the moment she saw he was standing up, she moved away from the door, and when she walked he could see that she was steadier than he had thought.
He followed her. It wasn't the front door, apparently, because she didn't go to the living room, she went into the family room. The back door was standing half open, even though the air was bitterly cold and the room was getting very badly chilled. She stood well back from the door, looking through it. Step walked straight to the door and opened it wider.
There in the back yard stood Stevie. Grouped behind him were seven boys, ranging in age from perhaps five to ten or so. A couple of them were dressed for the cold, but the others were in t-shirts and shorts, and one of them was wearing a tank top.
"Dad," said Stevie. "Can they come in? I told them you'd let them have Christmas Eve with us. That's what they miss the most."
Step could feel DeAnne put her arm through his and take hold of his hand.
"Of course they can come in," said Step. "We've been wanting to meet them."
It was one thing to say it, another thing to watch them walk up the stairs, one by one, and come on into the house. DeAnne, who had a better memory for names and faces, was picking them out from the newspaper photos. "Van," she said.
One of the boys smiled at her.
"Roddy. Peter? David. Jack. Scotty."
One by one they grinned at her and then looked at each other as if to say Hey, she knows us, she knows us.
"Sandy," she said.
Step closed the door.
"I wish," said Step. "I wish I could have seen you before."
"We tried, Dad," said Stevie. "I knew they could do it, I knew they had to show themselves to people or nobody'd ever believe me, but they just couldn't figure it out till I showed them how."
"We believed you, son," said Step. "We always knew you weren't lying to us."
"But you thought they were pretend, Dad," said Stevie. "And they're not pretend."
Then there was a moment's silence, and one of the boys, in a soft, faint voice, said, "Merry Christmas."
"Yes," said Step. "Yes, Merry Christmas. Please, come into the living room. That's where the tree is. We were just about to put out our presents and ha ve our ceremonies, and we'd love to have you with us."
The boys smiled. And Stevie-ah, Stevie smiled! Step had almost forgotten what a glorious smile he had. It had been so long.
Stevie led the way into the living room, the other boys trooping silently after him.
DeAnne still held to his arm. He heard her murmur, "Showed them how."
But he couldn't think about that. It was Christmas Eve, and Stevie had brought his friends home at last.
He and DeAnne followed the boys into the living room, and then she said, "I've got to get Robbie and Betsy and Zap," and she left him there.