The Leftovers

So that’s what he gets. For birthdays and Father’s Day, too. And he always seems perfectly happy with them.” She released the tie, then glanced up at Nora. There was a sweet look on her face, affection and resignation and amusement all mixed together. “God, he’s so boring.”
    “He’s not boring,” Nora said. “He’s just…”
    She faltered, for lack of a better adjective.
    “Boring,” Karen said again.
    It was hard to argue with that. Chuck was a good provider, a solid, colorless guy who worked as a Quality Assurance Supervisor for Myriad Laboratories. He liked steak, Springsteen, and baseball, and had never once expressed an opinion that Nora had found remotely surprising. Always a dull moment with Chuck, Doug used to say. Of course, Doug was Mr. Unpredictable, charming and quirky, a new passion every month—Tito Puente and Bill Frisell, squash, libertarianism, Ethiopian food, sexy young women with lots of tattoos and a flair for fellatio.
    “It’s the same with everything,” Karen said, examining a wide red tie with a mix of black pinstripes and wider silver stripes. “I try to get him to think outside the box, to wear a blue shirt with his gray suit, or God forbid a pink one, and he just looks at me like I’m crazy. You know what, let’s just stick with the white. ”
    “He likes what he likes,” Nora said. “He’s a creature of habit.”
    Karen stepped away from the clearance table. Apparently the red one was a keeper.
    “I guess I shouldn’t complain,” she said.
    “No,” Nora agreed. “You really shouldn’t.”
    *   *   *
    ON HER way to the Food Court, Nora passed the Feel Better Store and decided to check it out. She still had twenty minutes to kill before she was supposed to rendezvous with Karen, who had slipped off for a little “private shopping time,” family code for I’m going to buy you a present and need you to get lost for a while.
    Her heart was still racing when she stepped inside, her face hot with pride and embarrassment. She’d just forced herself to make a solo circuit of the big Christmas tree on the main level, where all the parents and kids were waiting to meet Santa Claus. It was another holiday challenge, an attempt to face her fear head-on, to break her shameful habit of avoiding the sight of small children whenever possible. That wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to be—shut down, defensive, giving a wide berth to anything that might remind her of what she’d lost. A similar logic had inspired her to apply for the day-care job last year, but that had been too much, too soon. This was more controlled, a one-time-only, bite-the-bullet sort of thing.
    It actually went okay. The way it was set up, the kids lined up on the right, met Santa in the middle, then exited on the left. Nora approached from the exit side, walking briskly, like an ordinary shopper on her way to Nordstrom. Only one child passed, a stocky boy talking excitedly to his goateed father. Neither one of them paid the slightest attention to her. Behind them, up on the makeshift stage, an Asian boy in a dark suit was shaking hands with Santa.
    The hard part came after she looped around the tree—there was a giant model train set running in a frantic circle around the trunk—and headed in the opposite direction, walking slowly along the entire length of the line, like a general reviewing her troops. The first thing she noticed was that morale was low. It was late; most of the kids looked dazed, ready to collapse. A few of the toddlers were crying or squirming in their parents’ arms, and some of the older kids seemed on the verge of making a break for the parking lot. The parents mostly looked grim, the invisible cartoon balloons above their heads filled with thoughts like, Stop your whining.… We’re almost there.… This is supposed to be fun.… You’re going to do this whether you like it or not! Nora remembered the feeling, had the pictures to prove it, both of her kids sitting teary-eyed and forlorn in the lap of a defeated Santa.
    There must have been thirty children in line, and only two of the boys reminded her of Jeremy, far fewer than she’d expected. There had been times in the past when almost any little boy could tear her heart out, but now she was pretty much okay as long as he wasn’t blond and very skinny with toy soldier spots on his cheeks. Just one girl made her think of Erin, and the resemblance wasn’t really physical—it was more something in