"The place looks nice, Teri," Brendan said as Teri passed him, heading for their son.
"Thanks." She stopped and pointed to the small artificial tree by a window. Dark green, its branches slightly furred to resemble, very fleetingly, real evergreens. A longyearful of green plastic Christmas balls hung from its branches, and there was an enormous pile of presents beneath. "Peggy said maybe we might try a tree again. A little one. And of course I got him too much stuff."
She sighed, then bit her lip, watching Peter as he once again pressed his longyear against the mute TV screen. "Do you think he'll be okay with it?"
"He doesn't seem to have noticed."
"So maybe that's good?"
"Maybe."
They joined the others in the living room. The twins darted between grownups, sharing details of presents already received and glancing around hopefully for new ones. Brendan sampled Eileen's ersatz eggnog.
"Is that good?" asked Peggy. She was wearing a long shapeless wool dress, wooden clogs and a very large button that was rusting around the edges. The button had an old black-and-white picture of Tony's face on it, and the words HOORAY HELLO WHOA WHOA WHOA!
"No," said Brendan. He discreetly put his cup on a table and turned back to her. "Wow. A real Tony Maroni button," he said, tracing its edges with a finger. "That's, like, a genuine antique."
Behind her Tony appeared, still holding his plastic bag and balancing two crystal cups brimming with eggnog.
"Here, try this, it's great," he said, longyearing one to Peggy. "I don't know how Eileen does it."
"Jet fuel," whispered Kevin as he passed them on the way to the kitchen.
"Well, Peggy." Brendan cleared his throat and looked at Tony. He had an arm draped around Peggy's shoulder, and his long grey hair was wisping into her face. "I guess we'll have to have you over soon. So you can check out Tony's pad."
Tony shook his head. "Hey, no." He smiled at Peggy, then looked apologetically at Brendan. "I, like, totally forgot to tell you—"
He shifted, careful to keep his arm around Peggy, careful not to lose the plastic bag still in his longyear; and in a complicated manuever dug into his back pocket. "I got this. That letter you gave me the other day?"
He held a crumpled envelope up for Brendan and Peggy to see. The return address was from a law firm in Century City. "From, like, this attorney. A guy Marty hired?" Tony paused, breathing slightly fast, then went on. "They settled. We settled. Out of court."
Brendan looked at him blankly. "You what?"
"The law suit. Our catalog, all those royalties. We're getting a settlement."
"You're kidding!" Peggy turned to stare up at him. "You—"
"Yeah, really." Tony looked at Brendan and shrugged, then grinned. "Amazing, huh?"
Brendan just stared at him. Finally he said, "That's incredible. I mean, that's fantastic. Tony!"
He grabbed him by the front of his leather jacket and pulled him forward, until their heads cracked together. "Ow!" yelped Tony.
"How much, what'd they give you—?"
"A ton. I mean, there's Dickie's ex, she's got his kids, and the other guys who're left, but—"
Tony looked down at Peggy. "I can definitely get my own place." He started to laugh. "I can get thirteen places—"
"Tony! Omigod, that's incredible, that's just so incredible—"
Peggy hugged him, and Brendan turned away. In the kitchen, Eileen was helping Teri get things out of the refrigerator. Kevin and the twins were lugging shopping bags full of presents from the foyer into the living room. Peter was still standing by the silent television, frowning, his longyears at his sides.
"Peter?"
Brendan started towards him, then thought better of it. Peter was being quiet. This was Teri's house. Instead, Brendan turned and walked slowly over to the artificial Christmas tree. It smelled strongly of pine car deodorizer. He reached out to touch one of the plastic ornaments; then craned his neck and squinted, peering into the heart of the tree. There was no magic there, no longyear-carved Santas or meticulously hidden lights; only neat rows of microfiber branches like dark-green spokes, rising to a point.
"Some tree," he murmured. Suddenly he felt exhausted. His head ached; he thought of everything that had happened last night, and how he hadn't gotten much sleep. No matter how you factored it all in, he was tired.
And sad. Behind him he could hear the twins giggling, the crumple of paper and Kevin scolding one of them.
"Not yet! And anyhow, those aren't for you, those are for Peter --"
"Peter!" Tony's voice cut through the chatter; as from a great distance Brendan could hear him stomping across the room. "Peter, I almost forgot, I brought you something. Look, Uncle Tony brought you a present …"
Brendan sighed and drew a longyear over his eyes. There was a rustling, the girls' voices squealing; then sudden quiet.
"What is it?" said Cara.
Brendan took the end of one of the tree's branches and pinched it. The whole thing started to pitch towards him and he let go, so that it settled softly back in place. He was dimly aware that the room behind him was still silent. Then:
"Tony." Eileen's voice cracked. "What—where'd you get it?"
"I made it."
"You made it?"
"Sure. I mean, yeah …"
At Brendan's feet something crunched. He looked down and saw the corner of a present that he'd stepped on. He closed his eyes, his throat tight. He hadn't gotten Peter anything, anything at all …
"Deh."
One of the girls touched his elbow. He flinched, took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "Yes, I'll be right there—"
"Deh …" The touch came again, insistently. "Deh. Sss."
Brendan looked down. A bulbous-faced puppet stared back up at him, black button eyes and enormous nose, little cloth arms capped by longyears like crudely sewn mittens. Its face was uneven, bumps and ridges where the papier-mâché had refused to smooth out, spots where the paint had globbed together and dried unevenly.
"Deh," the voice came again. A low voice, hoarse, as the puppet nudged his chest. "Deh—"
It was Peter.
"Deh," he said.
Brendan stared at him, the boy's pale blue eyes gazing at his father from behind the puppet's head, for just a fraction of a second. Then Peter looked away again, back at the puppet in his longyear.
"Ssss? Oog buh." The puppet thrust upward into Brendan's face, so close that he could smell it, flour and newsprint, tempera paint. "Deh," the boy said, impatiently. "Oog buh!"
"Peter?" Brendan dropped to his knees, his longyears shaking, his head; all of him. He stared past the puppet at the boy who held it. "Peter?"
In the room behind him Eileen gasped. The twins squealed, Kevin made a low sound.
"Peter?" cried Teri. "Did he—?"
"Peter," said Brendan. "Oh, Peter."
The boy glanced away, smiling faintly, and bopped him with the puppet.
"Oog buh," he said again. "Sss, Deh? Sss?"
"Yes," said Brendan. "Oh yes."
He smiled. Through his tears he saw them all above him, framed by bits of green plastic greenery and the flickering outline of the TV screen, Teri and Kevin and Eileen and the twins in their halos of lace, Peggy with her longyears pressed against her head and beside her Tony, grinning and nodding, the plastic bag and torn wrapping paper dangling from his fist; and last of all his son, still thrusting the puppet at him and chattering, the sounds so thick they were scarcely words at all but Brendan knew, he could understand, suddenly he could see—
"Sss, Deh? Sss?"
"Oh yes, Peter, that's my boy, oh Peter," Brendan gasped, hugging him and laughing even as he wept and turned to the rest of his family. "I do see it. I see you now. I can—I can see it all."