Renderosity name : SusiQ Word count: 847 A Special Christmas Eve. The yawn took me by surprise. I was not that old, barely forty-five. Though the holiday did tend to drain energy as fast as we replenished it. I gazed around the room that was glowing gently in the firelight. The shadows of each family member flicked softly on the decorated walls, echoes of life. There was Grampa cuddled in his favorite stuffed chair. He made sure he was the closest to the warmth. His bones were old and achy. A red Christmas hat was perched on his bald head, the bell tarnished with age, just like Grampa’s skin. I frowned at Tiger, our new kitten, perched on the chair, batting at the tinkling bell. Grampa needed his snooze, it was going to be a long day tomorrow. Christmas day always started early. The two ten year old girls were quiet at last. Their fingers tangled in the furry rug on the floor as they lay sleepily murmuring bits of nonsense to each other. My heart overflowed with love for my two daughters, Liz and Lauren. Bless their hearts. They had finished tucking Granma in bed then came to spend time with us. Fingers squeezed mine gently. I snuggled closer to my husband, Joe, and ran my hand across the woolen sweater over his chest. “Are you happy?” His voice was lazy and content. I smiled and nodded slowly. “Yes, love.” I tilted my head upwards to meet his glowing brown eyes. “Content.” Pine and apple aroma filled our little home. The tree was sparkling, twinkling at the family, lighting up what the fire missed. My stomach was still fill with the famous tasty apple pie Granma had skilfully directed the girls in the making of. That was one of our family traditions, apple pie on Christmas Eve. Granma’s grandmother had passed it on. Liz and Lauren were happy to continue it. The phone rang. A soft groan accompanied my gathering of energy to rise. I reached for the receiver. “Hello?” Static filled my ear as I listened closely, straining to hear. “Hello... the line is bad. Try and speak a little louder..... Hello?” A cold click sounded as the line cut off. I turned and frowned at Joe. “That’s funny. I wonder who could be trying to get through?” “They’ll call back again. Don’t worry. Bring the phone here and come snuggle again.” I looked at the girls and noticed their eyes shut, not stirring. “Leave them honey. We’ll get them up in a while. Come sit.” He patted the couch and moved the blanket over for me to sit next to him. I sighed and placed the phone on the table by the couch. As I moved my hand away, the sudden ring made me jump. I picked up the phone again. “Hello?” Static again. My eyes closed in concentration. “Mom? Mom, ...you hear…?” The faint voice sent shivers through my system and I dropped the phone in shock. It couldn’t be! “Jean, what’s the matter? Who is it?” His hand reached to the floor, picked up the phone and put it to his ear. He frowned at me. “It’s dead.” My hands covered my mouth to hold back the sobs that were rising from my chest. Joe put the phone down and tugged me into his arms. “Who was that, Jean?” I shook my head unable to talk just yet. The girls were awake and came to join the hug. “Mom? What happened?” I took a deep, shaky breath, “I must have been mistaken. Don’t worry, probably just a crossed line.” I gently pulled away and fussed after the girls to go to bed. Half an hour later I was back on the couch with Joe. “What happened?” “It was Luke.” “Not a chance, honey. You know that. It’s been eight years. Don’t do this to yourself.” His voice was a mixture of love, exasperation and pain. Our son had been missing since his plane had crashed in the mountains. He was presumed dead shortly afterwards. We had searched long after the rescue team had stopped. Eight years, three months, and five days ago. He would have been 26 now. The phone rang. I stiffened and hugged my arms to myself. Joe reached out and answered it. “Who is this!” I watched as shock drained the color from his face. His eyes focused on me and I saw them fill with tears. “Where are you?” My hand gripped his arm as I struggled with sheer disbelief, hope and excitement. “I’m coming to get you.... we’ll be here.... no!... You too, son...” His voice got sharp “Luke?... hello?... Luke? Damn!” Joe put down the phone and held my arms. “He’s alive, honey. He’s coming home. He’s flying.... he’s flying home.” “When?” I shook Joe slightly. “He said he will see us the day after Christmas. I lost the call.” Tears overflowed. “He’s alive, honey. He said Happy Christmas.”