A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

drove to the library. He read magazines until closing, putting off the return to his parents’ house as long as possible. He read through the newspaper, too, looking at apartment listings and fantasizing about renting his own place.
    Ultimately, his mother’s pull was too strong. Over the fifty-two years of his parents’ marriage, the family magic had mostly shifted from his father to his mother, since she wanted and used it more. A constant bond between two people was also a conduit for power; it ended up going both ways if it lasted long enough.
    “Is that you, Leo?” his mother called from the living room as he came in the front door. Even the foyer was somehow pillowy, maybe because she had hung pastel quilts on the walls. That lavender scent was heavy all through the house.
    “Who else?” Leo said. He sighed and stepped through the foyer.
    Father was in his study with the door closed, but Mom was in the living room watching the Food Channel and lying in wait. He wished he’d never moved back in. A week he could stand, but months.…
    In the living room, his mother, trim and gaunt-cheeked, stiff in her beige Nordstrom’s loungewear, sat upright on the couch, slippered feet together, back straight, though the cushions slumped behind her, inviting relaxation.
    She muted the TV and said, “I made dinner. I set a place for you. If you’re going to miss dinner, you need to tell me.”
    “Mom, you knew it was my afternoon with Piper.”
    “Afternoon ends before eight-thirty, Leonard.”
    “We ate at Applebee’s after the movie.”
    She breathed out loudly through her nose, then said, “Well, now that you’re home, we can have checkers.” She flexed her family magic, crushing his resistance.
    He spent the rest of the evening on a frilly chair at the game table in the living room, losing every game.

    Sunday, he stopped by Melissa’s house to pick up Kaylee, his eleven-year-old daughter, and Riley, his fourteen-year-old son, who both wanted to go to the Natural History Museum. They were on the sidewalk in front of the house when he pulled up. Kaylee, short, blond, and blue-eyed, expressionless in a way he wasn’t used to, was bundled up in a big bone-white sweater, jeans, and fleece-edged brown Ugg boots. Riley, taller, thin, with shaggy blond hair and clear brown eyes, wore jeans and a black hoodie with white skeleton bones on it. His shoulders hunched.
    Leo put his fist to his chest and let himself connect to his kids. They came to the car and climbed in, Riley in the front seat next to Leo, and Kaylee in the back. She always rode in the back, it occurred to him. He watched her in the mirror, and felt her in his chest. She seemed to have a big square box inside her, with a tight shut lid that she guarded. He glanced at Riley and listened to what his connection told him about his son. Riley was mixed up, full of something he wanted and feared to say.
    If Leo pushed energy through the link, he could get his kids to open up. In the past, he hadn’t hesitated. This time, he held back.
    They had visited the Natural History Museum countless times. Kaylee’s favorite exhibit was the bird nests, old glass-topped cases in a huge room with many, many bird nests in each, most with eggs in them. She loved the different colors of the eggs, some blue, white, yellow, teal, some with spots and freckles, some plain. There was a hummingbird nest on a loop of rope, and some of the shorebird nests were just a couple twigs on a flat rock. Kaylee could contemplate nests for hours. Leo listened in just a little. She imagined herself inside the eggs, with a giant, feathered mother or father resting against her and keeping her safe and warm.
    He had heard this fantasy before. Today it was louder and sharper.
    “Dad,” said Riley.
    “Riley.” He turned to his son as Kaylee wandered farther away.
    “I have to talk.”
    “Let’s sit down.” They walked to a bench against the wall and sat where he could keep an eye on