Once Upon a December: A Holiday Short Story Collection by Sydney Logan Page A

better than letting him freeze to death!”
    “The lantern kept him warm.”
    “Lanterns run out of oil, eventually.”
    “Some do, yes.”
    I angrily rip the lantern out of his hand. “He's just a little boy, and you should have helped him.”
    The old man smiles, but this time, his face is peaceful.
    “I did help him,” he says quietly. “Granted, it took some time. I didn't think you were ever going to leave your office. The snow helped.”
    My eyes narrow. Was the old man a stalker?
    “I did help him,” the man whispers, placing his hand against my shoulder. “And I helped you . Merry Christmas, Justin.”
    A gust of icy wind blows across my face, and I close my eyes to shield them from the cold.
    When I open them again, the old man is gone.
     
    One year later
     
    “Shall I play for you?” Luke asks me. His smile is bright and his eyes are clear and happy as he sits down at the piano.
    It’s amazing the difference a year can make.
    It’s Christmas Eve, and our family dinner party is in full swing. Megan and Luke spent the day baking cookies and pies. For the first time, she allowed me to call a caterer for everything else. Juggling motherhood with her job at the law firm had been an adjustment for Megan, but the happiness that glowed from her beautiful green eyes assured me that she wouldn't want it any other way.
    It had taken several heartbreaking months and endless mounds of paperwork, but this Christmas, Luke is officially our son.
    As we had feared, his parents had succumbed to the harsh winter, and their bodies had been identified one week later at the county hospital. The only other family we found was a cousin in St. Paul—a mother of five who made it clear that the last thing she needed was another mouth to feed.
    After that, the paperwork had moved right along.
    Luke's fingers sail seamlessly along the keys of the grand piano, filling the air with the sounds of Christmas. We had finally convinced him expand his musical horizons for something a little less deafening, and he had taken to the piano like a fish to water.
    Our son is amazing.
    He is now seven years old and in the second grade. We had considered having him repeat first grade, but his teachers felt that, with a little encouragement over the summer, he would be more than ready to keep up with his second grade classmates. Megan had taken a leave of absence from the firm in order to work with him, and by the time school began in September, our son had been doing multiplication—a skill his classmates wouldn't be learning until later in the year.
    Needless to say, Luke is now a little bored at school.
    He has piano lessons twice a week and karate lessons with his Uncle Paul every Friday night. He is well-adjusted, healthy, and happy, and the absolute joy of our lives.
    The nursery had been quickly converted into a “big boy's room,” and the books which had lined the shelves for so long are now read each and every night. Sitting on top of his dresser is the lantern and his old snare drum.
    He couldn't bear to part with them.
    Neither could we.
    So much has changed, and I can’t imagine life can get much better.
    And then it does—with one last Christmas gift from my wife.
    “I didn't see this under the tree.” I grin as she hands me a small package.
    It’s late on Christmas Eve, and our family has finally headed home. Luke is asleep in his room, and Megan and I are getting ready to arrange the gifts from Santa around the Christmas tree.
    “I know,” Megan says. “I didn't want you to open it in front of everyone else.”
    Intrigued, I raise the box close to my ear and shake it gently.
    It rattles.
    Interesting.
    “Just open it,” Megan whispers, her eyes filled with tears.
    Very carefully, I pull the ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside the gift tissue is a shiny, silver rattle.
    I look at her with wide eyes as tears stream down her face.
    “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
    Words fail me, but none are really needed. I just lift