"Come on, Jake."

I groaned and rolled over, staring at the red numbers on my clock. It was barely morning.

Claire pounded on the door.

"Can you at least pretend you're still here?" she thumped the door again then went back downstairs.

I looked at the ceiling. I wanted to go back to sleep and wake up sometime in June. School would be over and I'd be past all the pain. They said time heals.

It seemed like a load of bullshit.

"Jake, Claire's already started on her stocking, get your butt down here," Mom called up the stairs, her voice tired. She had worked late but was still trying for Claire. She had given up on me. She found out about me getting suspended. I got a lecture then she had to go to work. I got to sit at home and do nothing. I slept a lot.

I pulled on a long sleeve tee and sweatpants, braced myself for the happiness, and went downstairs.

Christmas decorations were spewed around the house, the sound of Jingle Bell Rock echoed from a small c-d player. I don't know how Mom was able to get it all done, but somehow she had scraped the money together and found the time to create Christmas. The tiny tree in the living room was overloaded with ornaments, it looked like it'd fall over at any moment. Neatly wrapped gifts were stacked under its tiny branches and the stockings were busting at the seams.

I sat down on the couch and watched as Claire ripped through her stocking, pulling packs of candy and little trinkets from the wrapping paper. Mom sat relaxed in the recliner, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. She looked tired, seemingly permanent dark rings under her eyes. They hadn't been there before. She looked older than I remembered. A smile clung to her lips though, as she silently suffered through another holiday without her husband.

"Here," Claire said and tossed the hand-knitted stocking to me.

I tried to smile and numbly picked out the small packages. Unwrapping them I found underwear, socks, gum, a flashlight, and an assortment of other useless tiny things.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're just getting so hard to shop for, I never know what to get you," she smiled weakly.

"Good thing I'm easy to shop for," Claire added and picked up one of the few packages under the tree.

My mom laughed lightly and settled further back in the chair.

As Claire dug out the biggest gift she could find, I glanced towards Mom. She was watching her daughter with a sad love, the only life left in her family. The only good part of it left. The two men who had occupied her life were either dead or wished they were.

I headed to the kitchen to get my own cup of coffee, needing to get out of the living room even for just a few moments. I stood at the counter sipping the dark liquid, letting the steam rise in my face. The smell made the pain worse; fresh coffee on Christmas was tradition. The smell of the tree, fresh and woodsy, usually accompanied by right out of the oven coffee bread, surrounded by the tinny sound of carols on an old c-d player. We would be happy, joking, excited. Christmas was supposed to be all these things. Not this year.

There was no coffee bread this year. No happiness, no jokes.

No Dad.

The cup in my hands was empty when I looked down. I refilled it and headed back.

Claire had shredded the perfectly wrapped presents into balls of ripped paper and bows but was grinning from ear to ear. Around her neck was a necklace she had been whining after for weeks.

"Thanks soooo much, Jake! I love it!!" She grinned, "It's exactly what I wanted."

I stared at her. I hadn't bought any gifts.

"Yes, Jake, that's so very thoughtful of you," Mom cut in, "It is exactly what she wanted."

I got it. Mom had bought it for me, wrapped it herself, and gave it to Claire with my name on it.

"I'm... I'm glad you like it, Claire," I said weakly with a small smile.

"Thanks, I almost thought you'd forgotten about Christmas," she smiled. "I got you something too."

Crawling under the tree she dragged out a wrapped box and brought it to me.

I gently tugged at the wrapping paper, not really wanting to see what was under it. The paper fell loose, and my heart stopped.

Tears and anger and loss rose in my throat as I stared at the photos of the collage.

There was Dad and me with my red mustang, both smiling at the camera. Another one of us heading out for a fishing trip when I was ten. One of me in my football uniform, one of Dad cheering in the stands, one of me and Claire hiding in a cardboard box fort. There was Dad and me throwing a ball in the backyard, another one of us roasting marshmallows over a stove burner. The center photo was of all four of us, smiling at the entrance to a Patriots game. Everywhere I looked there was a picture of him, a picture of me, of Claire, of Mom. It was so perfect, all happy memories stacked into one. Everything that would never exist again.

Memories I didn't want came back. That fishing trip had been a bust, we came home with fish, but it hadn't been anything we'd caught. The river had seemed full of fish, but nothing wanted to bite. Before we got home Dad had swung into a market and picked up at least a dozen cuts of fish. Mom had never said a word, even though she must have known. The one of us cooking marshmallows happened because our backyard camping trip had been rained out. We had run to the safety of the kitchen, where Mom had turned on the stove.

Every photo brought back a memory too painful to be remembered.

I looked up from the photos and saw Claire and Mom staring at me, waiting. I looked back down, not wanting them to see my tear-filled eyes.

"You like it?" Claire asked cautiously.

"Claire, it's..." I trailed off, trying to find words, "Why did you do this? Why?"

"I thought you would like it, I thought it'd help you," Claire said quietly.

"Well," I struggled again for words, "Well, it doesn't, Claire. Why would you do this to me? Can't you see I don't want to remember?"

"I...I thought..."

"Jake, we thought this would be good for you," Mom softly whispered.

"Yeah, maybe next time you shouldn't think and just leave me and Dad out of it."

"Jake..." Claire whispered.

"Next time don't bring him back because nothing will. Next time just don't get me anything," I stood up, threw the collage to the floor.

Claire stared at me, tears falling down her cheeks, my mom kept her eyes on the floor. She was ashamed of me. Afraid for me, maybe even afraid of me.

"Next time just leave me alone and keep me out of whatever projects or other shit you do. I don't want to be reminded of what I did okay? Just leave me the fuck alone."

"Jake, baby..." Mom tried but trailed off. There was nothing she could say to make it better.

I left the room, grabbed a jacket, shoved my feet into shoes, and stepped outside. Mom tried to comfort Claire, telling her that I just needed some time to cool off, that I was just in a mood, sick, unstable. If she only knew how true that was.

Standing outside I realized how cold it was as the wind bit at my face. Forcing my hands into the pockets of the coat, I pounded off the porch and onto the sidewalk. Taking a right I started walking, having no idea where I was going. I walked with my head down, eyes focused on the ground. I turned when I felt like it, never looking up. It felt good to be numb, felt good to not feel anything at all.