"Jennifer . . . Jennifer, where are we going?" Jack asked again, a slight whine to his voice as he allowed her to pull him along. Thickly packed snow crunched beneath his feet with each precarious step he took as he bent over awkwardly to accommodate Jennifer's hands over his eyes.
"You're going to land me on that ledge again, aren't you?" he continued when she didn't answer him. "I knew it! We must be getting close to it by now. After all, we've been walking for miles."
Jennifer rolled her eyes and smiled at the same time. "Jack, we haven't even moved ten feet from the cabin."
"Yeah? Well . . ." He pulled the two blankets he had taken from the bed more tightly around his shoulders. "See what happens? I'm disoriented from not being able to see. Or maybe it's the hypothermia setting in . . ."
Jennifer rolled her eyes again. It was certainly not hypothermia. The still and silent air was strangely warm considering the vast amount of snow surrounding them. The sparkling alabaster surfaces seemed to absorb the light from the low hanging sun, insulating them from the frosty air frozen high in the trees.
"Ow!" Jack suddenly stumbled, though Jennifer's hands remained fixed over his eyes like magnets.
"What's wrong now?" she asked with a concerned frown.
"Something's attacking me," he asserted, trying to shake his leg free of the something. "I told you it was dangerous out here. Go. Save yourself." He waved a hand blindly in an unknown direction.
"Jack, it's just a tree root."
He stopped his frantic movements. "Oh. Well . . . it's still dangerous out here. I just hope whatever it is that you have in mind is worth it."
Jennifer paused for a second. "I'll let you decide," she responded with a sly smile.
"Oh, I've decided," he said, finally working his foot out of the tangle of root. "I like it much better inside where it's safe and warm and I liked what you were wearing in there much better and--"
Jennifer laughed, then dragged him farther forward. "Come on, Jack, where's your sense of adventure?"
"I do believe it's hibernating for the winter, just like I should be."
"Remember the last time we were stuck out in the snow together?" she reminisced cheerfully. "I know you enjoyed that, deep down."
"Ohhh, yes, that was so much fun. The only thing that makes this better is that now we have mad men after us. This is fun, all right. It's right up there on my list with getting shipwrecked on deserted islands and skydiving into foreign--"
"Jack," Jennifer suddenly stopped, leaning up close to his ear. "I missed you, too," she whispered breathily.
Jack sighed, a deep and surrendering sound, unable to find words to argue. He followed her along, more obediently. "How much farther?" he asked quietly after another few steps.
She stopped again, pulling her hand away from his face. "See for yourself," she announced, sweeping her arm out around them.
Jack blinked a time or two against the blinding white of the surrounding snow. He blinked once more, bringing his eyes into focus. He looked down, then at Jennifer, speculatively.
"Jennifer . . . what is this?" he asked in a cautious tone.
She smiled broadly. "It's Christmas. We had to have a tree on Christmas, right?"
"You call this a tree?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
She nodded eagerly. "What do you think?"
He sighed, dropped himself into a squat to examine her handiwork. The "tree" she spoke of was more of a bush, really. A short, spindly little thing that reached only a few feet in height and was missing all its leaves, courtesy of the winter wonderland around them. A thin piece of red yarn spiraled up through the bare branches, twisted around like garland. A few circles of aluminum hung haphazardly from some of the branches, attached by their pull tabs. Another top from an aluminum can was cut into the shape of a star and wedged into the top of the vertical branch that was holding all the others together.
"I think . . ." Jack finally answered, choosing his words carefully, "I think it has seen better days."
"I know. And this is one of them," Jennifer declared, her happiness evident. "I think it's perfect."
Jack was silent for a minute, glancing up at her face as she gazed contentedly at the tree. "When did you do this?" he asked, amazed.
"Early this morning. I couldn't sleep. I was excited, even being way up here. I woke up early, and you know how I get like a kid at Christmas."
"Yes, I certainly do," he said quietly, watching her.
Jennifer's smile faltered briefly and she gave an involuntary shudder as she remembered last Christmas. She hadn't been excited that day. She had woken up early. And she had cried.
"Anyway," she went on, pulling herself out of the bleak memory, "Do you like it?"
"Of course I do," he answered easily, never taking his eyes off her. "It's wonderful. I just can't help wondering, though . . ." he added hesitantly.
"What?" she prompted.
"Why this tree? There were plenty of trees around the cabin. I believe I even saw an evergreen through the window right outside."
She thought for a minute, absently reaching one hand out to touch a branch. "I'm not really sure. I just liked this one."
He accepted her answer, deciding not to argue with her unusual taste. After all, it had certainly benefitted him throughout the years.
"I see," he said. "Well, it's a good thing you staked your claim before the people from Rockefeller Center came looking for theirs."
"Jack, if you keep making fun of it, you're not going to get your Christmas present," she threatened, but with no true malice in her voice.
"I'm not making fun of it, I swear, I was just--" he started defensively until her words registered in his brain. "Present? You got me a present?" His surprised gaze fell downward, noticing for the first time the small package under the tree. There was a present there--a very small one--wrapped in heavy brown paper and tied with the same red yarn that hung in the tree. Jack exhaled a long breath and looked back up at Jennifer.
"Is that for me?" he asked, wonder in his voice. "Jennifer, you--you didn't have to do that," he said sincerely. "Besides, I believe you already gave me my Christmas present." He gave her a sly grin. "I can't imagine anything that would top that."
"We'll see," Jennifer shrugged, a confident smile on her face. "But before you open that, I want you to turn around."
"Turn around?" Jack asked, confused, before he did as she requested. He turned slowly, having no idea what he might see.
He saw a snowman. His eyes narrowed even further as he took in the tightly packed rotund figure, forked twigs protruding from his shoulders. Smooth, dark acorns dotted its face, serving as features. He recognized Jennifer's blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He didn't recognize the hat on top of his head.
"I was remembering that time you made me those snow people when we were lost in the woods," Jennifer was saying. "Do you remember that?"
"Ah . . . yes," he acknowledged, feeling very awkward. "Yes . . . Herb and Herbivore, or something like that . . ."
"Herman and Hermione," Jennifer laughed, correcting him.
Jack gave a low groan, his face contorted with a grimace. "That was not one of my better ideas."
"That's right," Jennifer replied, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. "I thought it was one of your best. It was very sweet, Jack."
Jack rolled his eyes at the sentiment. Leave it to Jennifer to think that, of course. He dropped his eyes from her uncomfortable stare and stepped around her, closer to the big being of snow. In the midst of his embarrassment, an absurd thought occurred to him.
Why was there only one? There should be two. Why weren't there two? It was ridiculous that the sight of that single, solitary snowman would have him so . . . concerned. But what if she was trying to tell him something? He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and swallowed hard.
"So . . . what's the story on this guy?" Jack asked, gesturing toward the snowman with his thumb. Trying to convince himself that the answer didn't matter that much to him. He steeled his spine.
"I'll tell you, Jack," Jennifer assured him, "But first I want you to open your present, okay?" Eagerly, she reached down for him and retrieved the small package from the snow under the tree. She handed it to him and he accepted it, looking skeptically at the gift. The brown paper it was wrapped in was darkened and damp along the bottom, wet from the cradle of snow where it had been resting.
Jack hesitated for a second, lost in the beaming excitement in her eyes, wondering slightly what could have her feeling that way. Hoping his reaction to whatever he held in his hand was the right one.
Slowly, he extended his fingers until they reached the tangle of red yarn tied at the top of the package. He tugged, freeing the knot in the center and pushing the yarn aside easily. He used both hands to tear at the thick, heavy paper. Once that was gone, he found himself holding a small box. He opened it, not even realizing that he hadn't breathed since she had put the package in his hands.
He froze, staring down into the open box, trying to collect his thoughts. Trying to free his forehead of the confused wrinkles that had appeared there when he removed the lid. He glanced up at Jennifer, trying to retrieve a clue from her bright, smiling face, but it was no use. He was confused.
"A lighter?" he ventured, hoping it would make sense if he said it aloud. He lifted the object from the box. It was the common variety disposable lighter. And he had no idea why she would give him one, but she was nodding her head so energetically that he knew she hadn't made a mistake.
"Isn't it great?" she gushed. "I found it in a drawer when I was looking for clothes for you."
"Great . . . yes, great . . . it is," he agreed with a robotic nod of his head. He suddenly paused and gave her a curious look. "You do know I didn't take up smoking when we were apart, right?"
"Of course I know that," she assured him with a laugh.
"O-kay. Of course you know that," he repeated, lost in thought. "Oh, I know," he suddenly announced, gesturing toward the snowman. "You want me to burn myself in effigy. That's it, isn't it?"
Jennifer shook her head, clearly enjoying watching him fumble for an explanation. "No," she said. "That's not it. And that snowman isn't you," she added.
Jack would have been relieved if he wasn't so busy being confused. "Well I--I really appreciate the gift. It will come in very handy next time I go to . . . a concert. Thank you." He stared down at the lighter he was restlessly twirling in his hands, obviously still baffled.
Then an unhappy thought occurred to him, dragging his attention from the lighter in his hand. "Jennifer, I don't have anything for you," he said apologetically. "I mean--I do, actually. It's not much, but it's not here, and I don't have anything to give you right now."
"Yes, you do," she countered with a confident, tender smile. "Check your pants."
Jack glanced down nervously. "Um, well--you know--it's kind of cold out here, and--"
"No." Jennifer laughed at his worried expression. "I mean your pocket."
His pocket? He was confused again, but he did as she suggested and reached his free right hand into the pocket of his pants and felt around. Nothing. Next he tried his left hand, feeling his way inside his other pocket. He felt nothing, and was about to give up on that one, too, when suddenly . . .
His fingers closed around something. Something he recognized almost immediately, but he could barely believe it. He had to be sure, so he pulled his hand free from the hidden space, slowly, as if fearful his fingertips were inaccurately reporting to his mind.
But then he saw it in the daylight, small and round and perfect lying in the palm of his hand. The delicate diamond glistening more brilliantly than every shard of ice hanging from the trees. Almost more brilliantly than the drops of moisture that had collected in the corners of his eyes.
Her wedding ring. He looked up at her in shock, knowing he breathed only by the frosty cloud of white that suddenly raced into the space between them, hanging suspended in the air before dissipating into the clear winter solitude. He tried to form words.
"How . . .?" he began, dumbstruck. "I thought I lost it."
Jennifer stared back at him, her sparkling eyes sympathetic. "You didn't lose anything. It was only . . . misplaced for a while. I found it, when I was helping you with your fever . . . Jack, I can't believe you were carrying it around like that. It was so . . . sweet."
Jack flinched automatically at the word. "It was pathetic is what it was. But I don't I know, I just . . . felt better having it near me." He didn't know how else to explain it. The thing had been like a compass for him, pointing toward hope.
"Well, it worked," she said plainly.
He glanced up at her, then back down at the ring, shuffling nervously. "Promise me that if you ever come to your senses and decide to leave me, you'll send it back to me," he said, joking half-heartedly. "That way I'll know to come find you."
"Jack . . ." Jennifer warned, her tone clearly indicating she didn't find his joke funny.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's just that--wait a minute--" His head lifted in realization. "Are you saying that you would wear this again?"
Jennifer smiled at him. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
Jack breathed deeply. "Okay." He continued to exhale as if his lungs were filled with helium and he would fly away at any minute if he didn't expel it from his body. "Okay," he repeated like an idiot. His mind was racing. She would wear her ring again. It was the second best thing he could hope for. But now he could really hope, because if she was willing to wear the ring, then surely, someday, maybe, eventually . . .
"Come with me," Jennifer instructed, reaching out and pulling his hand forward. "It's time I introduce you to someone." Jack slipped the lighter into his pocket so he could hold onto the ring in his hand while he kept up with her. She dragged him two steps until he was face to face with the snowman. "This," Jennifer breathed happily, "This is Parson Brown."
Jack looked baffled, then he thought a minute, his mouth moving silently. Jennifer knew the second Jack remembered where he had heard the name before. "Well, I guess it's rather fortunate that he happened to be in town," he quipped.
Jennifer smiled a conspiratorial smile at him, then reached over and slid something up across the twig that was serving as the minister's arm. Jack's eyes widened when he realized what it was. It was his own wedding ring. He stared at it longingly, like an old friend. A best friend.
So that was it. He understood now. Jennifer wanted him to repeat his vows in front of this snowman. It was the silliest, most ridiculous thing he had ever considered doing.
He would do it, of course. If she was willing to commit to him, even symbolically, he would say anything to anyone she wanted. He would have talked to a snowball if that was what she wanted.
"Okay," he agreed eagerly. "Let's do this, then." He reached in front of the snowman for her hand and opened his mouth. "Uh . . . you start," he said after a moment's hesitation.
"All right," she agreed, then her face fell. "Wait."
"What?"
"We can't do this."
"Why?"
Jennifer continued to frown, then leaned in closer to the snowman as if he was whispering in her ear. She nodded a time or two, as if in understanding.
"What is he saying?" Jack asked, almost impatiently, and Jennifer loved him with all her heart for playing along. She pulled away from the snowman.
"He said he can't marry us," she announced in a fatalistic tone.
"He can't," Jack repeated, a line of concern crossing his brow. "Why not? Is he not licensed in this snow bank?"
Jennifer shook her head. "No, it's not that, it's . . ."
"What?" he asked worriedly.
"We just forgot something. Something important."
Jack watched curiously as Jennifer reached into her coat pocket. She extracted a folded up set of papers and handed them to him. He accepted them, his eyes scanning the typewritten pages in disbelief. Then in remembrance.
He exhaled deeply, feeling as if all the happiness inside him had just been deflated.
Had she really been carrying copies of these papers around? Was she really giving them to him now, just when his hopes were the highest? To remind him of how much he was hurt her? Jack continued to stare down at the papers he held limply in his hand. It wasn't that he didn't deserve this, of course, it's just that it was unlike Jennifer to be so . . . cruel.
He masked his features carefully before he looked back up at her. "Yeah, I guess I do see why we can't go through with this."
"Jack--"
"No, no, really. I understand completely. No amount of wishful thinking is going to undo the past, is it?"
"Jack--" she tried to interrupt again.
"It's okay. It is." He waved his hand at her, pacing several steps in one direction before turning back in the other. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think we could ever forget what I did. Especially when there are carbon copies to remind us."
"Jack, if you would just listen to me--"
"I know. I know," he said, feeling her hands pull on his blankets but refusing to meet her eyes. "You want to tell me how much I hurt you. You want me to relive the moment I had some lawyer draw these up and--"
"Barrett."
"How I signed them without even--" He stopped, meeting her eyes for the first time as his mind raced to catch up to her softly spoken word. "What did you say?"
"Barrett," she repeated again. "That's the lawyer's name, isn't it? A nice man, even if he is getting along in years?"
A number of expressions danced across Jack's face, each one a varying form of confusion. "Well . . . yes. But how could you possibly know that?"
"I have been trying to tell you, Jack, if you're finally ready to listen to me."
"I have been listening," he argued defensively. "You're the one who likes to keep people in suspense."
Jennifer inhaled that familiar sense of exasperation. The one that made her know she was really breathing. "Okay, Jack. The reason I know about your lawyer is because your friend Gabe brought these for you while you were missing. And when he couldn't find you, he gave them to me."
Jack still looked confused. "But why would he come all this way just to bring me a copy of these?" Especially when a souvenir copy was the last thing he would ever need. Or want.
"Those aren't copies," Jennifer answered plainly.
Jack's expression still reflected his complete sense of bafflement. "I don't understand," he said. "Of course they are. How else could I be holding them?" he tried to reason.
"Because they were never filed," Jennifer explained. "Not properly. There were some legal technicalities that kept them from being valid."
Jack swallowed hard. "So what you're saying is . . ."
"I'm saying that until those papers are sent to a judge, they're meaningless. We're still married," she said softly.
Jack exhaled a slow breath, still staring down at the papers. Then his knees gave way.
"Jack! Jack, are you okay?" Jennifer cried worriedly, rushing over to where he had collapsed and was now sitting in the snow.
But he didn't hear her. He didn't feel the cold dampness seeping into the lower half, either, as he sank further and further into the snow bank beneath him. His hands moved frantically, tossing aside the first few pages of the papers until they came to the important one. The defining one.
He found his name. His signature, etched darkly and starkly against the white landscape. It was hanging above hers, which was rounder. Smoother. More resigned.
It was the first time he had seen their names together on the page like that. Fixed. Unmoving. So close together, but without touching. Like some permanent parallel purgatory.
But it was not the sight of them he had been searching for. Hesitantly, he slipped his fingers under the page, gliding them along until he felt it. An indentation. A heaviness weighing down his identity. And hers.
It was true.
"Jack, are you okay?" Jennifer asked again, watching him carefully. She heard a strange, strangled sound come from the back of his throat, one that fell somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "Jack?" she asked again.
"I never wanted this," he said, shaking his head emphatically, still tracing the angles of his name as he stared downward. "I never wanted this," he repeated again. "You have to know that."
"I do know that, Jack," she assured him. "I do."
"No," he tried again, more passionately. "You have to understand. You have to know. Being married to you . . ." He sighed in frustration, not able to find the right words. None that were adequate. Not any. He took a breath and tried again. "The day I signed these . . . it was the worst day of my life," he said. "By far, the worst day of my life." He looked up at her for the first time, giving a wry smile. "And you know my life. There are a lot of contenders for that position."
"Jack . . ."
"I need you to know that I only signed these because I thought it was best for you. I never wanted it this way," he insisted, his breathing heavy and labored. "They didn't change anything, not for me. Everything I said on our wedding day . . . still stands. And it always will. As far as I'm concerned," he added weakly, growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her sparkling gaze, staring down at him. He dropped his eyes awkwardly from hers.
"I never wanted it, either," she agreed softly. "Never. So why don't you make it right?"
He glanced up at her in question. "How?"
She reached down, pulling on his arm until he stood up next to her. "You're the creative one. You think of something."
He looked down at the papers in his hand. "Well, I suppose . . . I could tear them up . . . if it's okay with you?" he asked hopefully.
She shook her head. "No. I don't want it to exist, even in pieces. I want them to be gone permanently. Will you burn it?"
"Burn it," Jack repeated, his thoughts spinning wildly. "Burn it. Sure. I can do that," he said with more confidence than he felt. He tried to remember if he had seen any matches lying around inside the cabin. Damn it, why didn't he prepare himself better for wilderness survival? As often as he was faced with it, one would think he would have learned better by now.
Suddenly, he remembered. The fireplace. He became animated, pulling on Jennifer's arm. "I know," he announced. "We can go back to the cabin and light another fire. It should only take a few minutes, and then--"
He stopped, looking back at her. Wondering why she wasn't following him. Wondering why she was just standing there, looking at him expectantly.
"Jack, I don't want to go back right now," she said. "Think about it. Isn't there any other way?" she asked pointedly.
Jack thought another minute and then realization dawned. He shoved one hand in his pocket. He pulled out the lighter, the one she had given him. "There is a way," he said excitedly. "Wow, it's a good thing you gave me this."
"Yes, Jack, that's really a lucky coincidence," she said dryly, loving that he was so addled. Loving that she understood why, and how overwhelmed with happiness he was. Just as she was.
He held one shaking hand up, rolling his thumb until a small flame flickered upward. And then he stopped, looking at Jennifer, his expression worried.
"Jennifer, are you sure? Are you sure this is what you want?"
She nodded her head. "I'm positive."
He raised the lighter to the papers once more, then stopped again. "But I hurt you," he argued. "I hurt you so much."
This time she shook her head. "Living without you hurt me. Please don't make me do it again."
He breathed deeply in response to her earnest words, then lifted his hand again, releasing the flame inches from the papers. Then dropped it again. "I'm just concerned that you might change your mind, and maybe we should wait until you've had some time to--" He stared dumbly as she grabbed his hand, forcing it up to meet the papers.
They caught fire, shriveling up and in and slowly disappearing, inch by inch. Each awful word turning to black ash before their eyes. Fading into a distant, unpleasant memory. When the fire neared Jack's fingertips, he dropped the remaining piece into the snow. They watched it continue to curl and burn, until all that remained was a soot-smeared fingerprint on the white canvas of snow at their feet. And then even that dissolved with a kick of Jennifer's foot.
Jack still struggled to breathe, looking at Jennifer, who just smiled and pulled him back toward the snowman. "Now he's free to marry us," she announced happily.
"I thought we just established that we were already married," Jack responded, still in a daze.
"Technically, yes," Jennifer said. "But I want it to feel real."
"It has always felt real to me," Jack said quietly. "Always."
Jennifer looked up at him, lost for a second in the truth-filled depth of his eyes. "Me too," she agreed. "It's like I always knew, somehow. Or at least I always felt that way. But I need to be sure you know it, too."
He reached out, fingering her check reverently, then leaned down to meet her lips with his in a soft kiss.
"Jack," she chided after a minute, pulling back. "It's not time for that yet."
"Well, you know . . ." he explained unapologetically, "Timing was never my forte."
"Come on, Jack," she said. "You know how this goes by now. I'll show you." She took hold of his hand, pulling his closer as he stared down at her in awe.
"I, Jennifer, take you, Jack . . . knowing everything that could possibly go wrong. Knowing how empty and hurtful love can be. Knowing . . ." She looked up from his hand, meeting his eyes. "Knowing that I will never, ever be as happy as I am when I'm standing here, next to you."
He breathed lightly, slightly in a daze as he stared at her while she continued to enchant him with her words.
"Knowing that you're never going to be able to find your keys in the morning. Knowing that I'm going to fall asleep every night to the voice of Ted Koppel. And then, when you think I'm asleep, you're going to stop looking at the T.V. and start watching me instead." She ignored his startled look and continued. "Knowing that our daughter is going to grow up feeling like the luckiest girl in the world because you are her father . . . Knowing that as long as I live, I'll never, ever be sorry for the day I married you . . . I would like to take you, Jack," she finished, holding up his hand and carefully sliding his wedding ring along his cold, shaking fingers. Jack felt a rush of contentment feeling it find its place again, back where it belonged.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved her ring, holding it up near her extended hand that he held in his own, his fingers trembling.
"With this ring," he began, " I, Jack, take you, Jennifer . . . knowing that your idea of fun is talking to imaginary snow creatures." He looked around, gesturing with his eyes, ignoring the glare she gave him. "Knowing that you are going to send out dozens of trite, sappy greeting cards with my name inside them every year to all your legions of relatives, even if I've never met them. Knowing I'll be forced to watch any number of feminine-type films at your request, only to have you fall asleep halfway through them. Knowing that I'll never know who's going to be at our dinner table when I come home at night. Knowing . . ." he sighed deeply. "Knowing that I'll never know what to expect when I wake up in the morning. And that somehow, each day will always end up being better than I expected. All because of you. Knowing that you make me happier than I ever dreamed, and I want nothing more than to make you happy, too, this time . . . I would like to take you, Jennifer."
He looked down, slipping the sparkling circle of diamonds over her delicate finger, stroking the skin of her hand tenderly. "Uh . . . 'Til death do us part, I guess," he added as an afterthought. "Isn't that how it goes?"
She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Not even that." She grabbed his lapels forcefully. "Because you are not leaving me again, Jack Deveraux. Do you hear me? Not even death is going to keep us apart. I don't care if I have to hunt you down myself and bring you back to life, I will find you no matter where you are. Do you understand me?"
"Ah, loud and clear, yes," he said weakly.
"Good," she said sweetly, releasing her chokehold. "Now you can kiss me."
"Oh, I can, huh?" he responded, smoothing down his collar. "Now I have permission, I see. What if I had more to say? You never know, I might decide to compose a sonnet to--" He broke off, stopped by the welcoming feel of her lips against his, stealing his words. And his thoughts. And his breath.
Eventually, she pulled away. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Deveraux," she whispered, gazing up into his eyes. He sighed deeply.
"Merry Christmas . . . Mrs. Deveraux," he said meaningfully, caressing her face, tracing the corners of her lips when they lifted into a happy smile. Releasing another sigh, he dropped his face into the crook of her neck. "Now . . . if you would like to retire out of this infernal snow," he whispered, running his lips along the bare skin he found under her ear. "I'll take you back to the cabin and show you my list of naughty and nice," he said, hearing her giggle in response. "You'll want to pay close attention to the parts that overlap . . ."
"No," she said suddenly, her face falling. "Jack, we can't."
"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling back.
"Jack, I just realized . . . it's Christmas. This is my grandmother's first Christmas without my grandfather. And if she has to worry about us, too, and wonder if we're okay . . . Jack, everyone's Christmas will be ruined."
He put one finger over her lips. "Say no more. I understand." He glanced around. "I'm sure there's a reindeer wandering around here somewhere that I can hook up to a sleigh . . . or a fire truck or something."
Jennifer grinned at him. "Or something, I'm sure."
"So what do you say? Do you want to go home?"
"Yes," Jennifer's eyes shined happily. "Let's go home."
******
