Strangers

Claus on them and lots of ribbons."
        For his part, her father was content to focus all of his discontent upon the huge tray of cookies on the kitchen counter. "These are all store-bought, Jorja. Didn't you make any homemade cookies this year?"
        "Well, Dad, I've been working a little overtime lately, and then there're the classes I'm taking at UNLV, and-"
        "I know it's hard being a single mother, baby," he said, "but we're talking fundamentals here. Homemade cookies are one of the best parts of Christmas. It's an absolute fundamental."
        "Fundamental," Jorja's mother agreed.
        The Christmas spirit had been late in coming to Jorja this year, and even now she had a tenuous grip on it. Subject to her parents' well-intentioned but infuriating nonstop commentary on her shortcomings, she might have lost the holiday mood altogether if Marcie had not put in a timely appearance at six-thirty, just after Jorja had slipped a fourteen-pound turkey into the oven for the big meal later in the day. The girl shuffled into the living room in her pajamas, as cute as any idealized child in a Norman Rockwell painting.
        "Did Santa bring my Little Ms. Doctor kit?"
        Pete said, "He brought you more than that, pumpkin. Look here! Just look at all Santa brought."
        Marcie turned and saw the tree - which "Santa" had put up during the night - and the mountain of gifts. She gasped.
        "Wow!"
        The child's excitement was transmitted to Jorja's parents, and for the time being they forgot about such things as dusty ventilation hoods and store-bought cookies. For a while the apartment was filled with joyous, busy sounds.
        But by the time Marcie had opened half her gifts, the celebratory mood began to change, and in crept a little of the darkness that would reappear in a far more frightening form later in the day. In a whiny voice that was out of character, the girl grumped that Santa had not remembered the Little Ms. Doctor kit. She discarded a much-wanted doll without even taking it out of its box, moving to the next package in the hope that it contained Little Ms. Doctor, clawing at the wrappings. Something in the child's demeanor, a queerness in her eyes, disquieted Jorja. Soon Mary and Pete noticed it as well. They began urging Marcie to take more time with each present, to get more pleasure out of each before rushing on to the next, but their entreaties were not successful.
        Jorja had not put the doctor play-kit under the tree; it was hidden in a closet as a final surprise. But with only three boxes left, Marcie was pale and trembling in anticipation of Little Ms. Doctor.
        In God's name, what was so important about it? Many of the toys already unwrapped were more expensive and more interesting than the play-doctor's bag. Why was her attention so intently and unnaturally focused on that single item? Why was she so obsessed with it?
        When the last of the gifts beneath the tree and the last of those from Mary and Pete were opened, Marcie let out a sob of purest misery. "Santa didn't bring it! He forgot! He forgot!"
        Considering all the wondrous presents strewn across the room, the girl's despondency was shocking. Jorja was disconcerted and displeased by Marcie's rudeness, and she saw that her own parents were startled, dismayed, and impatient with this unexpected and unjustified tantrum.
        Suddenly afraid that Christmas was collapsing into ruins around her, Jorja ran to the bedroom closet, plucked the crucial gift from behind the shoe boxes, and returned to the living room with it.
        With frenzied desperation, Marcie snatched the box from her mother.
        "What's gotten into the child?" Mary asked.
        "Yeah," Pete said, "what's so important about this Little Doctor?"
        Marcie tore frantically at the wrappings until she saw that the package contained the item she most desired. Immediately, she grew calm, stopped trembling. "Little Ms. Doctor. Santa didn't forget!"
        "Honey, maybe it's not from Santa," Jorja said. She was relieved to see the child she loved emerging from that strange and unpleasant mood. "Not all your gifts came from Santa. Better look at the tag."
        Marcie dutifully searched for the tag, read the few words on it, and looked up with an uncertain smile. "It's from… Daddy."
        Jorja felt her parents' staring at her, but she did not meet their eyes. They knew that Alan had