"It is smoking."
Claire flipped it too late.
The underside was nearly black.
Sophie pointed at it. "That one is yours."
Ryan laughed from the coffee maker.
Claire looked offended. "I am improving."
Sophie examined the next pancake as Claire poured batter. "You are getting better at Christmas."
Ryan looked across the kitchen at Claire.
She understood exactly what Sophie meant.
Nobody used the word mother. Nobody tried to replace Emily. Nothing important happened all at once.
At nine they drove to Saint Anne's Community Shelter. Martha greeted them at the door and put Claire to work before she could remove her coat.
This year Claire knew where the plates were stored. She knew Leon took coffee with too much sugar. She knew the youngest volunteers always fought over who got to hand out wrapped toys.
Ryan watched her carry a tray into the dining room and realized she no longer looked like a visitor trying to understand what to do with her hands.
Sophie noticed, too.
"She knows where stuff is now," she whispered.
"Terrifying."
At the craft table, Sophie made paper stars with three children from the shelter. She cut one from yellow paper and colored the edges blue, almost exactly like the star from the year before.
She brought it to Ryan and Claire together.
"This one is for home," she said.
Claire looked at Ryan before taking it. "Both of us?"
Sophie sighed. "Yes. That is why I brought it to both of you."
Ryan accepted the correction.
They stayed until noon, then drove to the cemetery.
This part of Christmas belonged to Emily, too.
Ryan had worried about bringing Claire. He raised the question days earlier, and Claire told him she would go only if Sophie wanted her there.
Sophie did.
Snow covered the grass around Emily's marker. Ryan brushed it away with a gloved hand while Sophie placed a small evergreen branch beside the stone.
Claire stood several feet back until Sophie reached for her hand.
"Mom liked Christmas," Sophie said.
Claire nodded. "Your dad told me."
"She would have fixed your pancakes."