"I think so," he answered. "I'm still in the trial, and the company has to make a decision. But I've learned a lot, and my supervisors say I'm doing good work." Emma looked at the little paper stars in her hands.
"What if they don't keep you?" she asked. Marcus knelt beside the tree so they were eye to eye. "Then we'll find another plan," he said. "We've done that before. You and I are not a plan that can disappear because a job changes."
She considered that, then handed him the largest silver star to put on top. "Okay," she said. "But I hope they keep you, because you don't look so tired all the time anymore." Marcus reached up to attach the star, blinking at the unexpected weight of her words. He had been measuring his new life in wages, schedules, and technical skills. Emma had been measuring it by the expression on his face when he came home.
That weekend, Marcus called Evelyn downstairs and asked whether she would come up for dinner. He cooked a large pot of vegetable soup and grilled cheese sandwiches because those were the meals he knew she enjoyed. When she arrived, she stopped beside the tree and admired the paper circuits, then glanced at Marcus as though she could see he had something on his mind. After Emma went to wash her hands, he quietly thanked Evelyn for helping them through the years when he was working nights.
"You paid me," she reminded him, not unkindly. Marcus shook his head. "Not for everything. You sat through fevers and read the same book six times because she was scared to sleep. You answered the door when the school called, and you stayed until I got home. A paycheck didn't cover that."
Evelyn's eyes softened, and she reached across the table to pat his hand.
"You didn't do this alone," she said. "No parent does, even when they think they ought to. Remember that when your life gets easier. Let somebody else have the help you needed." Marcus nodded, because the advice sounded simple and carried more meaning than a long lecture. Later, when Emma insisted Evelyn take one of the paper stars home, Marcus watched the two of them choose the best one together and thought about how many quiet people had held their family steady.
Natalie spent the holidays in an apartment that was beautiful enough to appear in a magazine and too quiet to feel particularly warm. Her younger brother called from Chicago, where his children were arguing over dessert, and asked whether she planned to take any time away from the office. She told him she would try, a phrase he recognized as meaning she probably would not. When she hung up, she stood at the window looking toward the river and considered how many years she had used work to avoid asking what she wanted from the rest of her life.