The Tempest

the sequel to the Love'sLabours Trilogy

A Daria fanfic by E.A. Smith

I walked through the front door of my former home for thefirst time in months, my bag of clothes and necessities slung over my shoulder,and sighed in relief. My firstsemester at Raft was behind me, and I was glad of it; it had taken more of atoll than I had expected, for both personal reasons and academic ones, andhaving survived it relatively intact felt like a rite of passage.  Finals had been grueling - for the firsttime in my life I had actually had to study, in order to ensure I made itthrough the freshman weed-out classes with flying colors - and I felt drainedfrom the experience, even with the weight now off of my back.  I had never thought to be so relievedto see the inside of these familiar walls.

There was no one waiting to greet me, which I was a littlesurprised at; I had not been home since the beginning of the semester, havingstayed in Boston over Thanksgiving to catch up on all my assignments beforebeginning finals, and was I no more missed than this? I couldn't believe I was actually wishing to hear Quinn'sprattling or my father's ranting, but four months away from everything familiarwill induce some strange cravings. The person I missed the most was Jane, of course, but I didn't think Icould expect her home quite yet; her trip with her father would probably lastuntil she absolutely had to be back, if not a little bit longer.  Not from any parental bond reluctant tolet her go, but simply because her father probably would not bother to make hisway back to Lawndale until necessity demanded it. Even then, I was half-expecting Jane to show up right beforeclasses with a tale of skipping out on her father and hitching rides on railand road night and day to get to Boston in time. Either way, I doubted I would see her until January.  Until then, it was just my family andmyself, with no distractions. Godhelp me, what have I gotten myself into?

From where I stood, the house looked unchanged.  There was no reason it should not be,but so much had happened to me in the past few months, so many little andnot-so-little ways in which my outlook had changed, that it seemed thesurroundings I had so closely associated with my old life should have changedto reflect it. My view hadbroadened, my horizons had expanded, or I was at least working to make it so;shouldn't I be seeing everything with new eyes, finding new details in what hadonce been old? But everythinglooked as bland and suburban as ever. No new eyes here, it would appear.

I started to take my bag upstairs to my room, but then Quinnemerged from her own domain and walked down, conversation into the cell phonepressed to her ear never missing a beat as she made her way into the den.

". . . well of courseSandi looked great in those shoes I mean she's got great ankles even though herlegs are a bit too thin to pull of some of the heels she wears and oh hi Dariaand I really think that some of those would look much cuter on someone with better calves well thank you Tiffany I've always thought that I had goodcalves . . ."

A wave and a perfunctory greeting was all that I got out ofQuinn as she breezed past me towards the kitchen, no doubt going to check onsome low-fat chips or maybe carrot sticks. My own stomach rumbled, and shrugging my bag off onto thecouch, I followed her in. I placeda couple of sugar tarts into the toaster as she rummaged around the veggie binof the refrigerator. Seeing thepaper lying on the table, evidence of my father's former presence, I picked upthe arts section and, retrieving my snack, settled in for a quiet read.

I was lost in reading about the new Gary's Gallery locationopening in one of the ritzier sections of Lawndale, so as to make it easier forthe rich and tasteless to purchase artistic credibility, and being inevitablyreminded of Jane, when Quinn finally switched off the phone and joined me witha plate of celery stalks and low-fat dressing.

"I'm sorry, Daria," she said, and she sounded as if sheactually meant it, "I didn't mean to ignore you like that.  I wanted to say hi and talk andeverything, but I couldn't get rid of Tiffany."

"Because we all know what a chatterbox Tiffany Blum-Decklercan be." I had actually been looking forward to seeing her, and was a bitannoyed at having to play second fiddle to her sluggish friend.

"I really do want to talk, Daria," she continued.  "I mean, it's been months since I'veeven seen you. Mom and Dad weren'tvery happy when you decided to skip out on Thanksgiving."  I glared at Quinn, letting her knowthat the guilt trip was not welcome. I had heard enough when I had told Mom about my decision.  The truth was, I had needed time for myschoolwork, but I had also just wanted to be alone, to sort out some questionsabout my life, and I didn't feel like subjecting myself to family at thetime. But the time away hadworn more heavily on me than I had imagined, and now I found myself welcomingmy sister's company.

"So, how was college, Daria?"

"Just like school," I replied, "but with less Kevin.  I'd say that alone made it a positiveexperience. Plus, some of theprofessors actually know what they are talking about."  A slight understatement, that; Raft wasone of the finest non-Ivy League schools on the East Coast, and any comparisonto the teachers I had at Lawndale High was laughable. The sensation of actually being challenged at school was newto me, and a pleasant one, though I was still adjusting to it.

"Did you meet any cute guys?" Quinn asked, inevitably.  "I know it's a brain school and all,but they can't all be that bad, and you've got to have met someone who worksfor you by now." Quinn was eagerto hear my response, but I definitely did not want to discuss this particular topic, not with her, not yet. James was still a sore spot on myconscience, and while I was sure that Quinn would be sympathetic, I didn't wantto dredge it all up for her enthusiastic scrutiny.

"Actually, I'm already married," I replied.  "I was going to save the news for aChristmas surprise, but my enthusiasm is running over and I can no longercontain my happiness." I kept myvoice as flat as possible, and Quinn got the message.

"Okay, no boys then. Do you do anything outside of classes?" Quinn was starting to sound desperate.  I guessed that she had been waiting forthis conversation, a chance to catch up with her sister and get a glimpse intothe world she would be entering next year, and thanks to her unwitting blunders,I was giving her very little to work with. I sighed internally, and resolved to try to be a bit moreopen, within reason that is.

"Yes, I do things outside of class.  I read and listen to music.  I watch TV. I surf the web. I think about things. Ilead a very rich and fulfilling life." It sounded like sarcasm, and in a way it was, but it was also true, avery good summation of my life beyond school.

"Daria! Youknow what I meant. Do you doanything with people? You haven'tmade any friends there at all?" Quinn sounded surprised, and I was surprised myself at the apparentconfidence she had in me. Had sheassumed that making new friends would be that easy for me once I hit college?

"No, Quinn," I replied, and was dismayed to have to say it,the only answer I felt I honestly could. "I haven't really made any friends yet." True, in a way, but very far from the whole truth; I haddone things, once. "I've beenrather busy, with schoolwork."

"Gah, Daria, is that all college is, just studying?" Quinnwas horrified. No doubt she wasstarting to rethink her own application to Pepperhill in the light of thisdreadful new information.

"No, it's not," I reassured her. "There are lots of other things that students do, just notme. I'm sure you'll have plenty oftime for fun at Pepperhill. You caneven skip the boring parties if you want. There's even parties as Raft; I just haven't felt like going."

"You should try," she urged. "This is your chance to have fun, Daria.  If all of those other smart peoplethere can find things to do, can't you do it with them?  See, brains can have fun too."  I knew that she was trying to besisterly and nice, but this conversation had reached the limit of what I couldtake in this particular direction. I would enjoy myself plenty in Boston once Jane was there with me, anduntil then, I had devoted myself to more private pursuits; well-meaning as itwas, I didn't feel like listening to a lecture from Quinn.  She had obviously been spending toomuch time alone with Mom; they were starting to sound alike.  At least there was still one person inthis household on whom I could depend for a lecture-free conversation.

"Is Dad anywhere around, Quinn?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, looking disappointed in thesudden change in topic. "He wasaround when Mom was on the phone with Aunt Rita earlier, then hedisappeared. I thought he saidsomething about birds sleeping or something like that.  It was weird, but then Tiffany calledand I forgot all about it." I knewwhere Dad had gone, and was tempted to join him.

*  * * *  *

As I had deduced, I found Dad in the garage, preparing it tobe his hideout away from the coming apocalypse. He had cleared out a spot for a bed, and was dragging heavyblankets out of the boxes in the corner. When I walked in, he looked up and ran over to give me a hug; I wasuncomfortable for a second, but I quickly returned it.  I had missed him more than I hadrealized.

"Hiya, kiddo," he said enthusiastically, and the endearmentdid not sound as odious as it once had. "So you're back from college now?"

"No, Dad, this is just a holographic projection.  Help me, Obi Jake-enobi, you're my onlyhope." He blinked, but laughedafter a moment.

"That was a joke, wasn't it," he said, proud of hisachievement. "That was reallyfunny."

"Thanks," I replied, and disengaged myself from hisarms. I walked around, surveyingthe cluttered garage. There wereactually a lot of memories here, boxes filled with old books and games andtoys; I was tempted to start digging through to see what forgotten articles Icould find, maybe something to take back with me to Raft, but that wassomething for later. "So I presumethe Joseph of the Barksdale family is coming for a visit?  Is she bringing her Amazing TechnicolorDreamcoat with her? I don't thinkwe have the right kind of laundry detergent for it."

"Who's Joseph? Is that Rita's new boyfriend or something?" Dad was confused, but he had learned long ago to put suchstatements behind him quickly enough and go on with whatever he wassaying. "Since the last time theygot together ended so well, your mother thought it would be a good idea to askRita over for the holidays, to see if they could keep things going."  I was shocked.  I had assumed that Rita was involvedsomehow, but had thought that she had invited herself over, like lasttime. Mom was certainly beingoptimistic about the situation if she had initiated the whole thing.  What could have possibly given her thatidea? Apparently, Dad concurredwith my opinion. "It's crazy, Itell you, crazy! There's no waythey can stay happy with each other for that long! I didn't want to wait around until the shit really hit the fan. That shrink at the spa your mother took us to that one time told me Ishould be more proactive, so here I am, taking control of my life before Helenand Rita send it all to hell. Youcan be my contact, Daria. You cansmuggle me food and Christmas cookies, and let me know when it has all blownover, just like last time."

A part of me was tempted to consent to his plan, and even tojoin him, but I knew that I couldn't do that, especially not now. I am supposed to be working on beingmore open to people now, I thought. Admittedly, I hadn't thoughtthat would include people like Rita, at least not yet, but it looks like it'sgoing to be trial by fire for me. At least once you've made it through the inferno, everything else seemseasy in comparison. And it mightnot be all bad.

"Did she ask Aunt Amy too?" I asked hopefully.

"She did, but I don't think she's coming.  Your aunt's a smart woman."

So I guess it's up to me to supply the colorcommentary. Am I still allowed todo that? Just because I'm tryingto be less judgmental, does that mean I can't point out obvious idiocy when Ifind it? I have a feeling thisholiday is going to be very character building, and I mean that in the worstway.

"So, whaddya say, kiddo?" Dad asked.  "Keep your old dad stocked and informedduring Rita's visit?" He looked sohopeful, I hated to burst his bubble, but I had no choice.

"Sorry, Dad, you can't stay in here all Christmas.  Where am I supposed to store all thecrappy presents I get from Rita and Quinn if you're taking up all the space?"

"Oh, come on, Daria," he pleaded. "I can't take your mother and Rita fighting right now.  I've been really stressed at work andI'm not feeling all that great and I'm just not up to it.  I promise I'll make it up to you nextyear; I'll get you twice as many presents."

"I'm not going to help you," I replied with growingfrustration. "I've missed you, andI want to see you around during my break. I promise, you can have all the martinis you want, and if the fightinggets really bad, we'll go out for pizza or something."  He didn't look convinced.  I was going to have to pull out the bigguns. I steeled myself for whatwas sure to follow. "Don't youremember the year your father spent Christmas with his poker-playing armybuddies instead of at home? Wasn'the supposed to see you in that Christmas pageant that year?"

"Yeah, that's right!" Goal accomplished. "I wasplaying a shepherd, and the whole time we were supposed to be tending sheep Iwas searching the audience for him, but he never showed up!  'Men don't act in Christmas pageants'he said. 'Men don't wear towels ontheir heads and play make-believe'. Maybe if I had gotten a little encouragement, I could have been a greatactor, but did I ever get any? Didhe show up for any of my performances? No! Don't worry, Daria;your dad won't let you down. Iwon't be like he was. I won't letRita drive me away from being a great dad!" He jumped up from his pallet and ran out the garage door,while I watched, feeling very satisfied. Dad could handle it, I was certain.

*  * * *  *

". . . so Rita will be coming in tomorrow and staying untilNew Year's. Erin can't make it;she and Brian are in Vienna for the holidays. On Mother's bill, no doubt."

Mom's voice lost the forced cheer it had held whilediscussing her plans, and regained the irritation that had usually tinged it inprevious occasions when she was recounting her niece's activities.  Then she stopped cold and lookeddisgusted at her own lapse.

The four of us were sitting at the kitchen table, talkingover dinner - Dad's newest culinary experiment, some unholy combination of stirfry and pasta that Dad was insisting we try eating with chopsticks - and Momwas filling us in on the plans she and her sister had made for theholidays. The rest of us just satin horror, and it was an even toss whether the horror was greater over the newsor the meal. Tomorrow was the daybefore Christmas Eve, which meant that Mom and Rita would be trapped in thesame house for over a week; and if Mom couldn't even keep the bitterness out ofher voice for more than a few sentences . . . I was beginning to find some wisdom in Dad's earlier plan.

"Vienna? Thatsounds great," Dad exclaimed. "Maybe they can bring back some of those little sausages."

"At least they wouldbe something I could eat with these things," I muttered as I made anotherunsuccessful attempt to clamp down on a sliver of beef with the oversizedtoothpicks.

"Ewww, Daria." Quinn screwed up her face in disgust. "Don't you know what's in those things?"

"Pig snouts and cow hooves?"

"No," she replied. "Fat. And grease. God, Daria, your skin could use some moisturizing but that's not the wayto go about it." She slippedanother pea pod into her mouth; annoyingly, Quinn seemed to have no problemusing the chopsticks. One too manydates taking her out for Chinese, I presumed.

"Girls, please," Mombroke in. "And, Jake, Erin andBrian aren't going to bring us back any Vienna sausages; if you want them somuch, get them at the store yourself. Anyway, as I was saying, Erin and Brian are in Vienna through the NewYear, so they can't make it. Amyoutright told me that she didn't want to come, the stuck-up . . ." Once again, she cut herself off, andhad to pause momentarily to get the positive tone back into her voice.  "Anyway, it's just going to be Rita andthe four of us. I think we canreally make this a great holiday."

"Honey, I don't know about this," Jake said.  "I know that the two of you made up thelast time she was here, but don't you think this is pushing it a bit?  Maybe you could start with somethingsmaller, like lunch."

"Dammit, Jake," Mom replied. "I'm trying to heal the wounds of this family, and yourdoubts aren't going to make it any easier. I need everyone to pull together on this."

"Sorry, Mom," I said. "I might hang together with you, but I draw the line at pulling.  Too much physical exertion."

"And you, younglady," she said, turning her evil eye on me, "I want you to be positive thisweek. No snide remarks, noinsulting comments. I don't wantyou making things harder."

Which, of course, was the heart of my own dilemma.  The problem was, Mom laying it down aslaw was just going to make it all the harder to resist my instincts andactually hold to my own resolutions. If I could figure out exactly what those resolutions were.

"Mom, I think it's great and all that you're trying to renewthe bonds of sisterhood, but shouldn't you wait until Amy and Erin cancome?" I could tell Quinn wastrying to ride that fine line between challenge and placation.  "Then you could do it all at once.  Like, the Fashion Club would have neverheld an important meeting when only two people could have come."

"Family isn't like the Fashion Club, Quinn.  We can't just break up whenever we gettired of each other." Mom sighed in exasperation.

"Why not?" I asked. "It's worked pretty well so far."

"Yeah, Daria's right," Dad jumped in.  "I haven't seen my brother in ages, andwe get along great!"

"Jake, never talking is not getting along great. Irefuse to set that kind of example for our girls. Daria's already off to college, and soon Quinn will be goneas well. What happens when we'regone and there's no more reason for them to get together on holidays? I don't want the last time they seeeach other to be at our funerals."

"That wouldn't be the last time, Mom.  We'd still have to meet at probatehearings." Actually, Quinn and Ihad gone a long way already towards avoiding the fate both Mom and Dad hadsuffered with their siblings. Westill sniped, but it was more old habit and mutual amusement than truehostility. I was willing to believethat there might come a time when we went out of our ways to get together ofour own free wills.

"Mom, don't say things like that!" Quinn protested.  "I don't want to think about it."

"Don't worry, honey," Dad said. "That won't be for a long time yet; we're both doing justfine."

"You want your stethoscope back?" I asked.  "I think we might still have theOperation game stored away in a closet somewhere."

"No, Daria, chrome wouldn't go with this top at all.  And Grandma said that it would be fineas long as I married a doctor. Areyou asking Grandma too?"

"No," Mom said, a little too emphatically.  "I thought we should concentrate onjust one side of the family at a time. Maybe next year." Dadlooked ready to say something, but Mom stared him down, and he went back topoking at his food with his chopsticks. "No more discussion. Rita'sarriving tomorrow and we will all be civil and hospitable.  Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Mom," Quinn said. "You know, wouldn't it be nice if Rita was to show up andsee me in a new outfit I bought just for the special occasion?"  I rolled my eyes, and Mom seemed toshare my opinion. Quinn wasn'tgetting the credit card today. Allof us silently returned to our efforts with the chopsticks.

*  * * *  *

The next afternoon, I was sitting on the couch, workingthrough a volume of Tolstoy's short stories, when the doorbell rang.  Mom had been in a frenzy of holidaypreparation all day, determined to transform the Morgendorffer household into aChristmas wonderland suitable for Rockwell-esque family gatherings andChristmas card photos. Holly linedthe walls, there were wreathes on every door, and even mistletoe hanging fromthe ceiling in the opening between the family room and the kitchen.  I had already pledged to myself to findanother doorway into supper, a window if necessary. Fortunately, she had wanted everything so perfect for Rita'svisit that she had not trusted me with anything, leaving my time free for moreenjoyable pursuits. Now, zero hourhad arrived.

"I've got it," Mom called out from the kitchen, where shehad been baking cookies - slicing roughly even pieces from the tube of dough,that is - and ran up to the door to pull it open.

"And here I was looking forward to resuming my doorman duties,"I muttered as Rita and Mom embraced, accompanied by a torrent of endearmentsand well-wishing. "I need the tipsfor pizza money."

"Daria, put down that book and say hello to your aunt," Momordered. "Jake!  Quinn! Rita's here!"

"Coming," I heard Dad say from upstairs, his voice strangelymuffled, as though heard through liquid. Quinn bounced down into the family room, and I slowly laid my book downon the couch beside me and went to greet the incoming disaster.

"Hi, Daria, Quinn," Rita said. "I'm so sorry Erin and Brian couldn't come, Helen, butthey've still got several days left in Austria and getting an early flight backwould be so expensive . . ."

"Oh, no, I completely understand," Mom replied.  "After all, I know they don't have muchmoney and who knows when they might be able to afford it again.  I wouldn't ask them to waste so much oftheir hard-earned cash just to make aChristmas visit to their relatives." Mom bit down on her bottom lip after that last line; the butter knife inher hands, with which she had no doubt been slicing the dough, was spinningthrough her fingers. Just then,Dad entered the room; his face paled as he sensed the already tighteningatmosphere.

"Oh, hi, Rita," he said nervously. "Merry Christmas." He seemed at a loss for what to say after that, so he just sat down onthe couch and fiddled with the TV remote. Mom looked more relieved than anything.

"Rita, Daria's in college now," Mom said. Let the kid competition begin, I thought. "She just finished her first semester at Raft, with honors.  We're so proud of her."

"That's great, Daria," Rita said, though she never oncelooked at me. "Brian just got anew job, too, with one of the biggest real estate agencies in Charleston."

And how's that raging case of herpes going? But Momwas having a hard enough time of it already, and I felt enough sympathy for hernot to say anything.

"I love what you've done with the place," Rita wassaying. "But where do you haveyour tree?"

"That's the big surprise," Mom said.  Everyone turned to look at her inconfusion. We had always used thesame tree, an artificial one we had bought shortly after I was born, and hadalways assembled and decorated it on Christmas Eve night.  Rita had never been here on Christmasbefore, so she couldn't have known, but what made it such a surprise?

"I want us all," she continued, "to go out and chop down atree together, as a family activity. A new Morgendorffer-Barksdale tradition." A collective gasp of trepidation filled the air.

"Ewww; a real, live tree?" Quinn wailed.  "The sap will get all over my clothesand in my hair and it won't wash out!"

"Mom," I said, "do you really want to hand an axe to anymember of this family? All workand no play makes Daria a dull boy."

"My father used to make me chop wood," Dad raved.  "'It builds muscles', he said.  'It'll turn you into a man, instead ofsome pansy-ass nancy boy'. Well,you know what, Dad? I've got areal job now! I don't need to chopwood to survive! I swore I wouldnever hold an axe again!" I tookthe remote and switched the TV to the Pigskin Channel, and the screen filledwith a picture of a bunch of tiny men wearing plastic slamming into each other.  "Hey, cool. The game's on!" He settled in to watch.

"Um, Helen, are you sure that's a good idea?" Ritaasked. "We've never done anythinglike that before."

"A little bit of togetherness is what this family needs,"Mom declared confidently. "Gettingour own tree will get us all in the holiday family spirit.  It's not like I'm asking you to gocamping or anything."

"Some of those berries might make the holidays go byeasier," I said. The only responseI got was the stare of death from Mom.

*  * * *  *

The wind was icy, and the few pitiful trees remaining at theChristmas tree farm did little to block its onslaught; my heavy jacket provideda little protection, but my face still quickly became numb, even with my hoodup. There was no snow yet, but therecent rains had left the ground muddy and half-frozen, and the effort it tookto trudge up and down hills with the earth underneath partially giving way withevery step soon left all of us short of breath and testy of mood.  It seemed an inordinate amount of workto put in for the privilege of cutting down a stunted, warped evergreen thathad never done any harm to us, and then carting it back home to be grotesquelyfestooned with garish decorations. And it wasn't making it any easier that Mom and Rita found it impossibleto agree on a single tree.

"And what's wrong with this one?" Mom was asking, while standing over a specimen of flora thatwould have looked sickly next to Charlie Brown's tree. It was one of the better choices on thelot.

"It's too short, for one," Rita replied, "half its leavesare gone, and its tip leans to the left."

"And you think the one you picked out was better?  Its base was all out of proportion toits tip, and half of the needles were brown!"

"Well, maybe we would be able to find a tree we both like ifyou were willing to pay for a better selection than this place has.  Last year, Mother bought us a gorgeoustree; it was perfectly symmetrical and had a base big enough for all ourpresents to fit under."

"That's easy for her to do; she no longer has a family tosupport with all that money, and it's not like she ever gives us any ofit." She paused.  "Look, Rita, I don't want to argue withyou about this. It's Christmas,and what's important is that we are together, not how perfect the treeis." I think I counted threedifferent shades of purple pass over Mom's face as she said this.  "If that last tree is the one youreally want, we'll get it."

As we turned around to head towards Rita's choice, Mom andRita plunged on ahead, and Dad fell into step beside me, while Quinn laggedbehind, muttering about the cold and chapped skin and freakin' mud on her shoesor something, I wasn't really listening.

"How ya holding up there, kiddo?" Dad asked with artificialcheer. I was sure he was asmiserable as I felt, though I didn't look directly at him to see.

"I'll be fine, as soon as Mom gives up on her Paul Bunyanfantasy and lets us all celebrate the plastic, artificial Christmas we'vealways had." I looked at the largesaw Dad was carrying; actually, more like dragging with one end riding along theground. "You aren't actuallyplanning on using that thing, are you?"

"You bet I am! I'll chop that thing down in no time, you'll see.  I'll prove my father wrong!  I can chop wood as good as anyman!" He would have gone on, buthis words were lost in heavy breathing. I turned to get my first good look at him since we arrived, and I wastaken aback by what I saw. We wereall a bit strained by the walking, but he looked as though he had just hikedten miles; his breath was coming in gasps, his face was more pale than itshould have been in the cold, and he looked as though he was having to forceeach step. He was dragging the sawhalf the time, and the rest of the time using it as a cane.  I almost tripped over my own feet inshock.

"Dad! Are you feelingalright?"

"Sure, kiddo, never better. I'm just a bit out of shape, that's all.  Nothing to worry about."  He grinned widely, too widely to begenuine.

Methinks he doth protest too much.  But what do I know?  I'm not a doctor, and maybe he's alwaysbeen this way, but I was just too accustomed to him to notice.  He took us out camping just two yearsago; was he struggling this much then? It's probably just stress. With Aunt Rita around, he's probably had adrenaline pumping through himfor hours, if not days, not to mention all the martinis.  Anyone would be feeling drained. But Icould not shake the feeling of unease the image had given me.

If anything was sick around here, it was the tree Rita hadchosen, though to be fair there were few better choices around.  Not all of us were so understanding,however.

"That tree's not cute at all," Quinn protested. "It's short, and not very pointy. Aren't real Christmas trees supposed to be pointy?"

"I would think you would be used to being around dull thingsby now," I said. "She has a point,though. It looks prettylopsided. I'm not sure beingcrushed by a toppling holiday decoration is the way I want to go."

"Helen, if you really don't want this tree," Rita snipped,"then just say so. Don't use yourkids to do your dirty work for you."

"Not at all," Mom reassured her. "I'm sure the tree is fine. Daria, Quinn, leave your aunt alone.  Hold the trunk while your father cutsit down."

"Why not? If Ilose my legs, at least I won't have to walk back." I reached through the branches and grabbed the trunk.  Quinn did the same, but screwed up herface as though her hand had landed on something truly grotesque, like a slug orout-of-season shoes.

"It's sticky," shewhined. "Ewww."

"Watch out for the bugs, Quinn. They love sap."

"Ahhhhhhh!" Quinn shrieked and yanked her hand out of the branches; she jumped atleast a couple of feet back from the tree and slapped at her hand in apanic. I smirked; at least I hadmanaged to get a little bit of entertainment out of this outing.

"Fine, Daria," Mom retaliated. "You'll have to hold the tree by yourself as your fathercuts. Use both hands; you don'twant to let it fall on him." Wordlessly, I placed my other hand on the trunk and held it steady asDad sawed through the wood. Sinceit was a small tree, he only took a couple of minutes, and it was light enoughfor the two of us to carry it together. I did my best to watch him for signs of strain, but since he was aheadof me, there wasn't much I could tell just by looking at his back; at least hewasn't staggering or giving any obvious signs of wearing out. He's probably feeling prettytriumphant right now, cutting down a tree without any help or ridicule from hisfather. Maybe that helped.

*  * * *  *

Late that afternoon, I lay on my bed facing the ceiling,trying to distance myself from the dysfunction below. Mom was trying, I had to give her that, trying to beforgiving and tolerant, trying not to dredge up the bitterness of the past atevery reminder, but she was failing. She would hold her tongue as long as she could, bite down on her lip andsmile, but eventually Rita would say one thing too many about Erin and Brian ortheir mother, and Mom would lose control and take a verbal swing back, and theywould be off. And, eventually,since Mom was determined to make this holiday a time for family healing, shewould retreat again and return to her forced hospitality.  She was attempting to deal with thepast by ignoring it, pretending it didn't matter, and it wasn't working.  And, in the meantime, Dad's martiniswere becoming a fixture in his hand, and Quinn simply watched in silenthorror. And I had retreated to thesolace of my padded walls, my own private decorator's nightmare, which were feelingmore fitting with every passing moment.

Mom's efforts were uncomfortably reminiscent of my ownrecent struggles. I had spent thelast few months in near-solitude while reevaluating my view of the world, thewalls I had erected between myself and the rest of humanity, in the wake of thedestruction those walls had wreaked on my first new friend since Tom.  I had considered the problem from allangles, trying to ascertain how to maintain my principles without using them anexcuse to lock away the world. Ihad evaluated my past relationships - familial, friendly, and romantic - tobreak down what had made the difference between my acceptance and my rejection,to spin my theories as to how to change my approach to make myself moreaccessible, less rigidly isolationist, for my own sake as well as for the sakeof others. But what if thosetheories didn't fit the facts? What if I couldn't just accept,merely by willing myself to do so? Mom was trying something similar, forcing herself to associate amicablywith her sister, and what was it getting her? Repressed bitterness leading to even greater outbursts,sabotaging whatever bridges she had built and traumatizing her family in theprocess. And, being a lawyer,where knowledge of how to manipulate people was more a requirement than just anasset, Mom was far more inherently diplomatic than I. If she couldn't bring herself to handle basic siblingrivalry, what chance did I have of completely changing a lifetime's worth ofbehavior? But what choice did I have? I had realized what my thorns wouldeventually cost me - every relationship I would ever have - and I could notlive with that high a price for their protection.

The only relationship I had that gave me hope that matterscould improve was Quinn. Over thepast few years, we had moved from bitter rivals, viewing each other withgenuine suspicion and resentment, to more friendly opponents whose bickeringwas more habit and mutual amusement than real conflict.  But how had that happened?  Did it start two summers ago, whenQuinn had finally realized that she could actually be comfortable with her ownbrain, and so did not necessarily have to be ashamed of having a sister withone? Had it started with my ownact of mercy, holding back my most damaging piece of footage from that filmproject for O'Neill? Or was itsomething more gradual, a slowly-increasing dŽtente between us? And if that was it, what could I learn from it, if it was so gradual andnatural that I hadn't even been conscious of it as it was happening, wasn'teven certain of what hadhappened? I wish Janewere here. I always think betterwhen I can talk it through with her, and I'm certain she would have a fewinsights to offer on the issue. That, or an offer to immortalize my torment in art, probably somethingwelded and particularly dense. Rather like I feel at the moment.

There was a knock on my door, and Quinn's voice called in,wondering if I were here.

Think of the devil and you see her T-shirt. "I'msorry, but the door you have called is not in service at this time.  Please shut up and try againlater." As I knew she would, sheopened the door and entered at the sound of my voice, long inured to the actualcontents of my speech.

"Daria," she said hesitantly, "I was wondering if maybe youwould want to go see a movie or something tonight?"

"Are there none of the former Fashionistas around for you tohang out with?" Despite thequestion, I wasn't all that surprised by the request; in fact, I should havebeen expecting it.

"No; Sandi's spending the holidays abroad, Stacy is visitingrelatives, and Tiffany . . . well, Tiffany just isn't worth hanging out with byherself." She looked embarrassedat the confession. "C'mon, Daria,you aren't even reading or anything. Even you can't think that just sitting in here by yourself is fun."  She had that right; staying in herealone had not been at all fun, but I had thought that it was necessary.  And I needed to stay here a littlelonger, to work out these new pieces of information, before I could subjectmyself to the outside world yet again.

"Quinn, if this is about Mom and Rita's fighting, we've gonethrough this before. You don'thave to worry about us . . ."

"I know that," she interrupted. "I mean, I wasthinking about that, a little bit, but that wasn't all. I've missed you, Daria, really I have, and I haven't had thechance to even talk to you since you first got home. And I don'twant us to end up like Dad and Uncle Esau, never talking to each other exceptwhen we have to. I know that whenI go off to Pepperhill, I probably won't see anyone from high school muchanymore, but you'll still be my sister, and I don't want that to just mean thatwe have the same eye color and slim calves. Once you left, I felt like I had wasted seventeen years ofgetting to know you, and just when I was starting to maybe understand you alittle bit, you were gone."

I stared at her; she appeared to be completely serious.  I had realized these things myself, butI had not expected her to see them so clearly. I felt as though I were looking at a different Quinn thanthe one I had left just four months before. Had one little change in her life made such a bigdifference? Or had I just notnoticed it until now? Sure, I hadseen improvement even before I had left, but this was like a quantum leapforward from how my memory painted her; she was still Quinn, but a more matureversion of the child I had thought that I had left behind.  Maybe spending some time with her wouldnot be quite so strenuous after all. So long as such time did not involve burning Georgian cities and lovablerogues sweeping Southern Belles off their feet.

"Please, Daria. It's horrible down there. Mom and Aunt Rita are acting like two supermodels having to share thesame runway, and Dad is drinking and yelling at the TV or his father.  I really want to get away, but I don'tfeel like going alone."

That sparked a concern.

"Quinn," I asked her, interrupting as soon as she took abreath, "have you noticed Dad acting sick lately? Tired, out of breath, that sort of thing?"  She went a little pale.

"You saw it too? I tried to talk to him about it, but he said that he was fine.  Mom was too wrapped up in her plans forRita to even listen to me. What doyou think it is, Daria? Is Dadreally sick? Do you think he might. . . ?" She cut off inmid-sentence with a choked sob, but I had a good idea of what she was going tosay. I wanted to tell her that hewas going to be alright, to console both of us with meaningless platitudes andreassurances. But that was not myway; I had learned a long time ago that, in the long run. it was better to facereality. So I answered honestly,as was my wont.

"I don't know, Quinn." The fear shone from her eyes. "It might be nothing important, just a touch of the flu or somethingsimilar. Or it might be stress;Dad's on the edge of breakdown at the best of times, and this business withRita isn't helping. But it mightalso be something serious. Dadhasn't really done much to improve his diet or his habits since his heartattack, after all."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Not much that I can see." Again, I wanted to paint a more positive picture, but I wastoo familiar with our parents to believe in it. "Mom's too determined for this to work out to get rid ofRita, and she's already making her best effort not to fight.  We can't force Dad to change hisattitude. That has to come fromwithin." And I'm not even surehow to change it from there. "The best we can do is run interferencebetween Dad and the Hatfield and McCoy sisters." Maybe I should have left him in the garage afterall. It couldn't have been apermanent solution, but it might have kept him out of immediate danger.  Too late for that now, though.  Mom would search him out if hedisappeared now; it would be just a little too obvious.

"What does this have to do with that doctor from Star Trek?"

"Never mind, Quinn. Anyway, it doesn't sound like there is very much that we can do for themright now. If Dad's yelling at theTV, at least he's not concentrating too much on Mom and Rita, and that's thebest that we can hope for. Maybeit would be best for everyone if we did go out for that movie, on onecondition: I get to pick the film."

"Fine, Daria," Quinn replied eagerly.  "But can you at least pick one wherethe people have some fashion sense and talk in English?  Reading is not what I go to the moviesfor."

*  * * *  *

Quinn and I spent most of the next day doing our best tokeep the tension level in the house, and especially in Dad, as low aspossible. Quinn, being the onewith more experience in dealing with competitive women, was working as a bufferbetween Mom and Rita; reinterpreting their words to defuse the hidden barbs andsteering the conversation towards calming topics, along with interjecting somesuitably ingratiating comments to soothe egos and just generally keep them bothin a good mood. From what I saw ofit, it was a performance that could have kept the Beatles together, and I stoodin grudging awe of her abilities; Mom and Rita were not eating out of her hand,but neither were they at each other's throats, and that was all that werequired. And even that was amiracle; since we were not planning on decorating the tree until that night,there was little to occupy their time, and the idleness weighed heavily ontheir heads. Bickering was theonly amusement easily available.

In the meantime, I had to deal with Dad, keep him calm andaway from the Barksdale sisters, preferably with a low blood alcohollevel. This was not a simple task,since he had two pitchers of martinis prepared, and never wanted his glass anyless than full. My Dad with adrink in his hand was hardly an uncommon sight, and in all my life I had neverseen him more than tipsy; his resistance was uncanny. But now he seemed determined to achieve that elusive statewherein all rational thought was buried under a fuzzy carpet of alcohol.  And all he wanted to talk about was Momand her ill-advised attempt at family unity, despite my ever-more-desperateattempts to turn the conversation to anyother topic, so long as the subjects were not just a single room away.

"Dad, why don't you find a game on the television?"

"I was watching the game when your mother told me that shewas inviting Rita and Amy for Christmas. I should have put my foot down right then . . ."

"Dad, did you get any new clients recently?"

"If I had clients, I could spend all my time on the phonewith them, instead of listening to your mother and Rita.  Yesterday, I even faked a phone call,but she ordered me to hang it up and 'participate in the family discussion'. .."

"Dad, why don't you cook us supper tonight?"

"Noooo, your mother wants her and Rita to work on somethingtogether. They can't even bakecookies together . . ."

"Dad, what did your father think about Christmas?"

"He didn't like your mom, let me tell you.  Called her a hippie communistslut. God only knows what he wouldhave said about Rita . . ."

"Dad, look at how the light comes through your drinkglass. Isn't it pretty with allthe colors?"

"Daria, I don't know how much longer I can take your auntbeing here. Christmas is supposedto be my time to relax, but your mother and Rita . . ."

Eventually, I felt like yanking that glass out of his handand downing its contents myself. My limited experience with alcohol suggested that it would just comeright back up again, but maybe that wouldbe enough to distract my Dad. Until Mom found the mess, that is. No, better to just endure; that which does not kill you may make youstronger, but until it did, it just made you sick, or bored. This was definitely bordering on thetedious side, but as long as I resisted the urge to imbibe, I think I couldavoid the sick part.

After several hours, Quinn walked in from the kitchen, fromwhich I could hear voices disputing over the proper way to mix eggnog; shelooked haggard and on-edge, and her voice betrayed her weariness.

"Daria, I don't know how much longer I can take this."  She was whining, but since I shared thesentiment, it didn't bother me all that much. "I'm exhausted. I'm getting freakin' bags under my eyes, and I have to look cute for theChristmas pictures tomorrow. I'vedone everything that I can, and they're just getting worse."

I pulled Quinn aside so Dad couldn't hear us.

"If we're lucky, Mom won't be able to take it much longereither, and she'll send Rita away. I doubt we can expect Rita to leave herself; without a boyfriend, shehas no one else to spend the holidays with, and I think she'll take this hellover being alone. Of course, Idon't believe in luck, so we'll probably have to keep this up through NewYear's, but we can't give up. Dadneeds us." He wasn't pale anymore;his face was florid, with both liquor and rage, and I didn't consider this animprovement. He didn't have abulging eye, but there were tells nonetheless, and every sign I could read -his compulsive drinking, his obsessive raving - told me that he was reachinghis limit. I didn't want to seewhat would happen once he reached it; somehow, I felt that a hallucinogeniccamping trip would seem like a real vacation in contrast.

"Well, it's your turn to deal with Mom and Aunt Rita," Quinnsaid, with a note of vengeance. "It's time to decorate the tree, so you can see what I've been dealingwith for hours now."

Decorating the tree. A time for memories, nostalgia, and family communion.  Memories of childhood and giving andmothers. This wasn't a path todisaster. It was the highway toit.

"Quinn, do you know how to gird your loins?"

"Ew, Daria, I don't need a girdle!"

*  * * *  *

Boxes covered the floor, boxes filled with ornaments andlights and tinsel, all acquired with the expectation that they would give joyand peace and hope to those who would view them. All symbolic of a holiday imbued by our culture with thepower to bring together distant friends and even warring enemies; one Christmasin World War I, English and German soldiers called a cease-fire, playing gamesand exchanging gifts during the day, before trying to kill each other on themorrow. If the holiday could bringpeace, even brief peace, to a war-torn continent, why could it not soothe thegrievances of a regular, if slightly neurotic, American family?

"Rita, you have to distribute the ornaments evenly," Momsaid. "You have them all bunchedtogether at the center of the tree."

"So sorry if I'm messing up your perfectly planned tree,Helen," Rita responded. "You couldjust do all this yourself, then you could put everything exactly where you wantit. I'm sure all the rest of uscan do is mess it up."

"Oh, no, Rita, itwouldn't be Christmas without everyone participating. Put the ornaments wherever you want and I'll balance everything out."

"Helen," Rita said later, "where did you get theselights? They're kind of small, andwon't this brand all go out if one blows? Last year, Mother bought us some nice big lights to decorate the housewith; you could see us for miles. You should get some like that."

"Well, not all of us can have Mother looking out for us likethat; of course, not all of us need it." Mom didn't look away from the lights she was carefully laying on thebranches. "We get by on our own,without Mother's help."

"And just what are you trying to imply?  Mother likes to buy me things; I don'task her for them, and I don't need them to get by. You can't say anything. Did you even call her to wish her a merry Christmas?"

"Mom, Aunt Rita, please,"Quinn interjected. "Does it reallymatter what Grandma does? Why doyou have to fight over who gets what?"

"Let's not bicker about who killed who," I said in amock-English accent. Isn'tQuinn's argument a bit of the pot accusing the kettle of being a little toodark? But it seemed to work; Mom and Rita bit their tongues and went back todecorating. I joined insporadically, every now and then hanging a glass ball from a branch, whileQuinn tried to color-coordinate the ornament arrangement. Dad hovered on the edge of the group,trying to maintain enough of a presence to keep Mom satisfied while avoidingher active notice. His face was astudy in apprehension.

For a while, we actually worked in harmony, or at least inquiet; but soon I noticed that Mom was subtly rearranging the tinsel Rita washanging, while Rita was making faces at the older, shabbier ornaments.  They gradually became more and moreobvious in their efforts, until not even Tiffany could have missed theirbattle. Finally, the dam broke.

"Dammit, Rita, I can see what you're doing!  You know that you would be living in aslum if Mother weren't looking out for you. You can't look down your nose at us!"

"Oh, Helen's so superior! You always thought that you could take care of everything,that you always knew the best thing to do. Well, some of the rest of us can actually live without youradvice!"

"My advice?! All I ever wanted to do was help you to see the error of your ways, andall you ever did was ignore me. Iwas your sister, I just wanted to help you, and you just resented me forit! You even turned Mother againstme!"

"You did that yourself, always wanting to be the best, thebrightest, the most accomplished! Always hogging the spotlight! None of us could stand you, not me, not Amy, not even Father andMother!"

"Mom, please . .." "Mom, you're not helping . .." Quinn and I tried to break in,tried to calm things down, but they didn't even notice; all we could do wasstand by helplessly and watch the carnage unfold. There was a time I would have enjoyed it. Not anymore.

"How dare you say that, you bitch! All I wanted was for Mother to treat me the way she treatedyou. You were the one who took allof her attention, not me!"

"I was the firstborn! I should have been the one everyone thought was mature and special andthe leader, but as soon as you showed up, no one paid me any moreattention! You stole it!  All I had left was Mother, and youwanted her too?"

"All I wanted was to be treated the way Mother treatedyou. She bought you everything youwanted, bailed you out of every trouble you ever got in, and never once saidanything about your irresponsibility! She never once helped me out at all! I had to excel; it was the only way I could get by withoutany help at all!"

"BE QUIET!!!"

We all turned in shock as Dad exploded; he threw down theglass he was holding and stomped around the tree, waving his hands in the airas he ranted and raved.

"Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet! All you ever do is fight and I've had it!  'My mommy loved you better thanme'. 'You got all theattention'. 'You got all themoney'. At least neither of youhad a father who sent you off to military school just because you couldn't runa mile every morning in sub-zero weather! Or who locked you out of the house because your shoes weren't shinyenough, or who called you a girl any time you wanted anything that didn't fithis testosterone-crazed standards! Gahdammit, Helen, at least you can talk to your sister!  Our girls have never even met mybrother! Gah gah dammit - ow, myarm! It hurts!"

He clutched his left arm and his face screwed up in pain;before any of us could react, his breath caught and his eyes bulged, and hishand was clutching again, this time at his chest. He collapsed to his knees, and then to the floor,unconscious. After another secondof shock, all of us rushed to his side. My heart pounded and the blood thundered through my ears, along with mymother's voice.

"Jake? JAKEY!!!"

*  * * *  *

The emergency room at Cedars of Lawndale was chaotic as theywheeled Dad away, surrounded by a cluster of doctors and nurses starting IV'sand injections. Mom was sitting ina chair, working her way through a stack of admission forms, her only sign ofstress a vertical line between her brows. Rita was next to her, a bored expression on her face, probably wonderingif this inconvenient little incident was going to take too big a bite out ofher holiday. Quinn and I weresitting together a few seats away; she was crying into her hands, her sobsinterrupted only by the huge gasps of air she would suck in periodically.  I was doing my best to console her,patting her back in what I hoped was a sisterly fashion, all too aware of howstiff my motions were, my thoughts divided between wondering if there wasanything I could tell Quinn honestly that might make her feel better and worryfor Dad's wellbeing. When this hadhappened before, we had been quickly reassured that the attack had been minor,with little damage; there was no such comfort offered to us this time.

All that effort, all that worry, and we didn't change athing. Here we are, right where Ifeared we would be if I didn't act to stop it, but here we are anyway.  Damn you, Dad, Mom, Rita.  And damn me, for interfering in thefirst place; maybe if I had let Dad hide away, at least for a little while, hemight have been spared just enough of the stress and tension to avoidthis. All my actions were futile;would inaction have made a difference? And now it falls to me to comfort my partner in futility, but no Jane ishere to comfort me. I can't do itmyself; I can tell myself that everything is going to be okay, that Dad will behome by the strike of Christmas midnight, but I won't wholeheartedly believeit. Since when does life work outthat easily?

The cries of sick children and the wails of the woundedfilled the waiting room, the hurts of others intruding on my private pain.  Almost all the rest of Lawndale wasshut down for the holiday, but this place never slowed down.  The only concession made to the seasonwas a small Christmas tree in the corner, but even it looked cowed by whatsurrounded it. Peace on Earth andgoodwill towards men were distant concepts in this place of perpetualsuffering. Not that I had beengetting a lot of it before.

"Thanks, Daria," Quinn said as the wave of sobsreceded. "I'm sorry that Icouldn't keep Mom and Aunt Rita from fighting. It's my fault Dad is in here." I was surprised and rather ashamed to hear what I hadthought were my own personal recriminations coming from her mouth.  How selfish could I be, thinking that Iwas the only one feeling guilty?

"It wasn't you, Quinn," I said. "You did everything you could, more than I could have.  I don't think anything could havestopped this; it was going to happen eventually, and there's more than enoughblame to go around. At least youtried to do something about it."

"Do you think he's going to be okay?"

I sighed, as much to buy time as from despair, though thatwas certainly there as well. Thatwas the question I had been dreading. The only honest answer I could give was the "I don't know" I had toldher before, and now I had even fewer reasons to give for hoping for thebest. I tried as well as I could.

"He's made it through before. This one looked worse, but it may end up being not thatdifferent. Maybe this time he'llactually take the doctor's advice seriously and start to really change hislifestyle. We might start havingmeatless frozen lasagna for supper." That actually got a small smile from her, which made me feel a bit lessuseless.

"I'll make sure he does." Quinn's statement had the gravity of a vow.  "I'll learn how to make healthy mealsfor him, and Mom will be glad to let me do the cooking."  She paused, and the tears started torun again. "But, Daria, what if hedoesn't get better?"

This time, I had nothing to say. Fortunately, I was saved the uncomfortable silence I couldfeel coming; a chime sounded from Quinn's pocket.

"I'm sorry, Daria," she said, sounding truly contrite.  "I'd forgotten I still had it."  Her gaze swiveled from my face to herpocket; her hand moved towards the sound, then jerked back.

"Answer it, Quinn," I said. "It might help you feel better." To tell the truth, I was jealous; I wanted the distractionof a friendly conversation. Apparently, so did she, for she quickly yanked the cell phone from herpocket and flipped it open.

"Hello?" she said uncertainly. "Hi, Stacy . . . that sounds fun . . . um, well, I'm notreally happy right now . . ."

As Quinn filled Stacy in on what was going on, I returned myattention to the room surrounding me. Mom was standing at the admissions desk, and her conversation with thenurse receptionist was becoming audible even from the other side of the room.

"How long do you intend to keep us waiting here?  You've had my husband in there for overhalf an hour, and we haven't heard a thing! We have a right to know what's going on!"  There was a pause as the receptionistanswered at a much more civilized level, making it impossible for me tooverhear. "Don't try to give methe runaround. I'm a lawyer, and Ican make things very hot for this hospital if I think you're snowing us . . .Do you honestly expect me to believe that you don't have a single personavailable who can at least let us know how he's doing?! . . ."

If I couldn't stop Dad from having a heart attack, atleast I can try to stop Mom from having one too, I thought as I walked over to where she was berating the receptionist,whose near-infinite patience looked to be wearing thin. If this keeps up much longer,she's going to call security and Mom will really flip out. Ireached out and touched my mother on the arm.

"Mom," I said firmly, "there's nothing you can do.  They'll let us know as soon as theyhave any real news." I knew frompersonal experience that, completely against the Lawndale code, the Cedarsactually housed some competent professionals.

"Not now, Daria," Mom said, trying to brush me off.  "Trust me, I know how to handlehospitals. You can't get anythingout of them unless you hound them for it."

"Mom, if you don't calm down, the only thing you are goingto be getting out of them is a nice trip out the door, guided by big burly menangry at being called away from their doughnuts." I gave a slight tug on her arm, and tried anothertactic. "Mom, your family needsyou. Quinn's crying over the phoneto Stacy right now because you aren't around to comfort her."  Okay, maybe not strictly true, but she was talking to Stacy, and she had been crying, so it was close enough to be useful formy purposes. And it accomplishedmy purpose.

"Oh, my baby," sheexclaimed, and ran over to interrupt Quinn's conversation. I sent a mental apology to my sisterfor the annoyance my necessary manipulation would no doubt cause her, then putit out of my mind. Maybe I'd gether something disgustingly cute from the gift shop later.

"Do you have any idea how long it might be until we knowsomething?" I asked the longsuffering woman behind the desk.

"I'm really sorry," she said, "but the doctors are very busywith your father, and there's no way of knowing how long it will be until hestabilizes. If you keep your crazymother away from me, though, you'll be the first to know when there's anynews."

I thanked her, and returned to our little group ofworriers. Quinn was doing her bestto wave Mom away and keep up her conversation with Stacy at the same time; Ithought I heard loud sobs and a few hysterical shrieks emanating from the phonespeaker. She was able to convinceMom that she wasn't on the immediate verge of tears by the time I rejoinedthem, but the distraction was enough; Mom didn't return to the desk to harrythe staff anymore.

"I can't believe your husband had to go and ruin Christmaslike this," Rita was telling Mom. "I always knew this was going to happen. Jake's way too high strung, but he would have lasted theholiday if he had just kept his nose out of our business."  For Mom, this was the last straw.

"Don't you ever talkabout Jake like that," she ordered Rita, her voice dangerously low and grim. "Whatever may be wrong with him, he'sten times the man any of your husbands or boyfriends have ever been!  It's our fault that he's in here, because we couldn't behaveourselves and act civilized for even a few days! I at least wastrying, but all you did was bait me since the moment you walked through thedoor!"

"Bait you?" Ritareplied, feigning wounded rage. "The first thing you did when I walked through the door was brag aboutDaria, because you knew that Erin dropped out of school to get married. You know, Daria may be a genius, butgood luck ever getting hermarried off!"

"Like you got Erin married off, to some bum who can't keep ajob and who gave her herpes?"

"Helen!" Rita exclaimed with an indrawn breath.  "How dare you bring that up, and inpublic!"

"Mom," I hissed,trying to get her attention, but the security guard got it before I could.

"Ladies," he said in a calm voice that nonetheless made itvery clear who was in charge, "you're disturbing the patients.  If you don't quiet down now, I willremove you from the premises. Doyou understand?" He was a largeman and quite imposing, and I didn't think a lot of the weight had been put onby doughnuts. Mom and Rita bothnodded their heads and mumbled apologies, and he left.

"Rita," Mom said at a normal volume but in a steel tone, "Iwant you to leave."

"Fine," Rita responded, the picture of offendeddignity. "I'll be waiting for youback at the house." She stood up,but Mom wasn't finished with her yet.

"No, Rita," she said. "I want you to go home; your home, not ours. I don't want to see you, and I certainly don't want youaround when Jake gets out of here. And if you say one more word against my husband, I don't want to see youever again. You can keep Mom'smoney, she can buy you anything your heart desires for all I care; I'll stilltake my life, and my family, over yours any day."

It's a bit late to do Dad much good, but at least shefinally did it. She'll regret herwords later, of course, and she and Rita will go back to how they have alwaysbeen, but she did what she needed to do for right now.  I guess there are some people that youreally don't need to tolerate, people it is better to reject.  Letting some people in doesn't meanletting them all in. I met Quinn's gaze; even in the middleof her talk with Stacy, she had kept up with what was going on, and a smile ofrelief had broken through her worried mien. Now that she felt certain that she and I would not end uplike Mom and her sisters, she was glad to see Rita go.  I returned her smile with my ownversion; less evident, but still very much there. It was a small improvement to our otherwise grimcircumstances, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

After calling a cab, Rita stormed out in a huff, leaving thethree of us in relative silence, except for the commotion all around us, fromwhich I at least felt disconnected. Unlike my norm, though, I could not wholeheartedly welcome the silence;the fighting, as unpleasant as it had been, had at least been a distraction forall of us. Now both Mom and I hadto face our own thoughts, and there was only one possible subject for them.

"Daria," Mom said, her voice subdued.  "Is this all my fault?"

I was startled, even though I had heard her say somethingsimilar to Rita. Had Rita been theonly one of us who hadn't felt some measure of guilt for the event that had putus here?

"No, Mom," I said, absolving both her and myself with thethought. "This wasn't yourfault. No more than anyoneelse. You were doing what youthought was best for all of us; you might have carried it a bit too far, butthere was no way you could have foreseen this result. I think Dad was probably doing his best to hide his illness,maybe even from himself." Howmany times in the past few days has he said he was doing fine?  Was he in denial the whole time? "Dadcould have chosen a long time ago to handle these things differently from howhe did. He could have chosen tolive more healthily than he did. It wasn't you who put him in here."

"Daria, are you saying that it is your father's fault thathe is here?" She did not lookedpleased, and I feared that in my desire to help her to see the issue in alarger context, that I might have tread perilously close to the territory Ritahad been covering just a few minutes ago.

"It's no one's fault. We've all contributed to it, not justin the past few days but over years and years, but none of us hit the buttonthat said 'heart attack' and dropped him. You can't just blame yourself; if you have to blame someone, spread itaround. And you've taken steps tokeep it from getting worse; you sent your sister away.  You've done all you can do for rightnow."

She didn't look particularly convinced, but she didn't pressthe issue either; she did, however, start taking glances at the front desk, andI wondered what I was going to have to do to keep my end of the bargain withthe receptionist. I was sparedthat particular conundrum, however, when a man in a white coat began walkingtowards us.

"Are you the Morgendorffers?" he asked.  Mom gave no verbal response, but theintent gaze she immediately fixed on him was all the answer he needed.  I heard Quinn give Stacy a rapidfarewell and close up her phone, and all three of us focused on what he had tosay.

"I'm afraid the situation is not good," he started, with thekind of practiced sympathy doctors cultivate to the point that it is impossibleto determine if it is professional or genuine. "We've stabilized him right now, but just barely.  There's been a lot of damage to theheart; we're hoping to avoid a transplant, but he might need a new valve.  The muscle has been overexerted, and itlooks as though it has been under a considerable amount of stress for some timenow. That's the most immediate danger.  If we can keep it from just giving outover the next day or so, we'll be out of the worst of it.  I would say that the next twenty-fourhours are critical. If you want,you can stay here, but I would suggest at least taking the children home and lettingthem get a good night's rest. There's nothing any of you can do here."

"If it's all the same to you, we'll stay," Mom replied,after fielding glances from both myself and Quinn that made our desiresclear. "We want whatever news youcan give us, as soon as you know anything."

"We'll keep you informed," the doctor said, and walked backthrough the doors leading into the heart of the building.

Twenty-four hours, Ithought, and checked my watch. Itwas past midnight. MerryChristmas.

*  * * *  *

I awoke to a blurry shape filling my field of vision;fumbling for my glasses and settling them on the bridge of my nose, it resolveditself into a visage. Straight,jet-black hair framing a heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, and a mischievoussmile delineated in bright red lipstick.

"Jane! You're .. . you're here!" The smilestretched into a larger curve.

"Spending all that time with your family has done wondersfor your keen observational wit, Morgendorffer." She settled herself into the seat next to me as I tookinventory of the various aches in my joints and muscles, brought on by spendingthe night sitting up in an ill-padded waiting room chair.  My mind was foggy; my sleep had beenhaunted by disturbing dreams, all of them dominated by the image of my fatherlying on the ambulance gurney, helpless, while the doctors rolled him out of mysight. Repose had been fitful, atbest, but it seemed I was going to have to struggle to shake it off completely.

"When did you get back? How did you know to find us here?"

In response, Jane just jerked her head to the side; Ifollowed her gaze to find Quinn grinning at the both of us, with a verysatisfied air about her. She gavea little wave, holding her cell phone in her hand, before returning her attentionto the hospital's copy of Waif.

"She called me early this morning," Jane expounded.  "I got back last night.  I called you, but all I got was themachine. I guess she heard mymessage, and decided that this was worth disturbing my very well-earnedslumber."

"Quinn has been proving herself to be remarkably useful oflate," I said. Already, I felt theweight of last night's events lightening. "I've always wanted a gal Friday."

"Wouldn't you have to save her from cannibals or somethingfor that?"

"Well, I'd like to think my influence had a role inreleasing her from the Fashion Club; they're pretty predatory."

"They wouldn't go so far as cannibalism, though.  Human meat is mostly fat."

"What about supermodel cannibalism, then?"

"Maybe, if they could find any meat on the bones.  Or they could just break them apart andgo for the marrow."

"Ewwwww," Quinn broke in, her face screwed up to such anextent that it looked like it had caved in. "God, Daria, ifyou're going to be that gross, at least let me know so I can get awayfirst." She walked off, but I waspretty sure I heard a chuckle before she left. There might be some real hope for her after all. The oldback-and-forth with Jane felt good, but it felt even better to think that Imight have gotten Quinn to smile in the midst of all that was happening.

"So why are you back so early?" I asked Jane.  "I hadn't expected you to make it inuntil right before school started, if not a little bit after."

"It seems that the wandering Lanes are wandering for areason." She sighed.  "As it turns out, Dad and I don'treally have much of anything in common. We ran out of nice things to say to each other after about a day, andthen we ran out of mean things another couple of days after that.  Eventually, the silence became prettyawkward. I got tired of luggingaround Dad's cameras, and I wanted to get back to you and Trent for Christmas,so I used all the cash I had saved to ride road, rail, and mule to make it toLawndale in time. And here I am,on schedule, and you weren't even around to greet me. I feel so unappreciated."

"It's always about you, isn't it?" I paused for a second. "I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah, so am I. But I'm really sorry I have to come back to this.  How are you handling it?"

"I'm not completely sure." I tried to piece together the events of the last few hours,order them in my head into some kind of coherent narrative, try to figure outexactly what they had meant for me. "When we arrived, I had to comfort Quinn, then keep Mom from harassingthe staff, and then from killing Aunt Rita. I haven't really had much of an opportunity to sort my ownfeelings out, beyond the basics of wishing none of this had ever happened."

"Sounds like a good plan to me. Why don't we get something to eat, and I can continue todistract you. You'll have to pay,though; after making my way up from the wilds of the Amazon, I'm prettystrapped for cash."

"Me?" I replied with feigned indignation.  "I'm the poor college student.  What makes you think I have any money?"

"Here!" Quinn broke in, grabbing my hand and pressing a fewbills into it. "Go get somethingto eat. Mom's asleep right now,but I promise I'll keep an eye on her if she wakes up.  But get a bran muffin or some fruit orsomething non-fattening, Daria; you really need to get away from sugar tarts ifyou don't want that Freshman fifteen everyone talks about."

"Thanks, Quinn," I said. "I'll get rice cakes, or maybe just gnaw on some cardboard."

"I've heard they do wonders with plywood here," Jane said aswe walked off.

*  * * *  *

"So Daria Morgendorffer broke a heart.  That makes two in a row for you.  Are you trying to follow in Quinn'sfootsteps?"

"I'm trying not tofollow in my own." I stared downinto the bowl of cereal on my tray, already becoming soggy with milk. Filling Jane in on the events of myfirst semester at Raft, I had had little time to eat, and now my breakfast wasquickly becoming inedible. Itseemed fitting. "What happenedwith James gave me a vision of my future, Jane, and I didn't like it atall. I'm really scared of what Icould become if I don't make some changes, but I don't know how to dothat. I've spent the past fewmonths by myself, thinking, trying to puzzle out how to alter my outlook onpeople without completely changing who I am."

"By yourself? Daria, I'm not really sure that's how it's done."

"What else am I supposed to do? If I just went and started trying to make friends before Ihad figured anything out, I would have just repeated the same cycle.  Seeing what I had done to him . . .that was hell, Jane. I couldn'tbear to do that again."

"So, after all that thought, what did you figure out?"

I sighed, and to buy myself time, stirred the milk in mybowl around with a spoon. I hated uncertainty,hated feeling out of control, not of the world around me - which I had alwaysknown was out of my hands - but of my own life. The only other time when I had ever felt so lost was thesummer after Tom and I had kissed; thankfully, this time I now had Jane withme, had her own unshakeable self-assurance to guide me.

"Nothing," I finally said. "The sole conclusion I came to is that I can't seem to finda conclusion. The only method Icould think of was to do what Mom was doing with Rita these past few days, gritmy teeth and bite my lip and ignore all the things I can't stand for the solepurpose of avoiding something even worse. Just refuse to acknowledge idiocy and mediocrity when I encounter it sothat I won't drive everyone away, because eventually everyone acts like anidiot. Even me.  Especially me."

"There's no way you could do that, Daria.  It's not in you," Jane said with asardonic chuckle.

"Precisely," I said, relieved to be talking to someone whoknew me well enough to see where I was going with this.  "Mom couldn't last two days withRita. What makes me think I couldlast two minutes? I'd end up exploding,just as Mom did."

"Which is how you ended up here."

"I don't think my explosion would give anyone a heartattack, but I could end up doing damage of a different kind.  Like the damage Mom and Rita were doingto each other, right before . . ."

The nightmarish image of my Dad, clutching his chest andfalling to the ground, was burned into my memory, etched there as though by acid,and just as permanent. It hadhaunted my dreams, and now it intruded upon my waking; no matter how muchdistraction Jane may have provided, remembrance was never more than a singlethought away. I dropped my spooninto my half-full bowl and pushed my tray away, appetite vanished, and Islumped back in my chair with a sigh. I wished we were in Jane's room, far away from here; leaning back on herbed was much more therapeutic than these hard cafeteria seats.

"Dammit, I thought I was distracting you," Jane said,subdued. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," I said truthfully, "but it seems a bitridiculous to talk about anything else, like ignoring the eight-hundred-poundgorilla in the room. I just wishthat I knew what to say about it. Whatcan I say, except that I wish it hadn't happened, which is a given, and that Ihope that he pulls through, which is obvious? I could talk about how terrified I am that I might lose him,and of what might happen to my entire family if we do.  I could talk about how fucking tired Iam of having to babysit my own mother and father while I'm on vacation, and howfrustrated I am that nothing Quinn or I did seem to make the slightest bit ofdifference in the final outcome."

I could feel a convulsion of anger and fear and grief riseup inside of me as I said the words - as the words poured out of me - and allthe uncertainty and frustration of the past few days came rushing to the fore,but I held it back. Show somerestraint, Morgendorffer. Lookwhat happened when Mom let go, when Dad did. There are better ways of handling the situation withoutletting everything just pour out of you like water through a broken dike.  Maybe if you had been in a little morecontrol with James, you might have been able to call on him as well. But Iknew this was different; Jane would not be offended by my outburst, nor be hurtby it. If there was any time Icould express exactly how I felt with no fear, it was now.  She was sitting there across from me,not saying a word, eyebrow arched in tacit inquiry, encouraging me to goon. But my momentum was broken,and all I could do was just sag in my seat, a burned-out conduit for my ownemotions. In my exhaustion, I felta single tear spill from the corner of my eye. Jane noticed it too.

"Do you want to go someplace more private?" she asked,motioning with her head to indicate the well-populated eating area aroundus. Truth be told, I had forgottenthat we were surrounded by strangers, so caught up I had been in my own problems.  But I was over the outburst now, andthis was as good a place to stay as any. Unlike the waiting room, it at least did not scream "hospital" withevery glance.

"No, I'm fine now," I assured her. The corners of my mouth pulled upwards in an ironic grimace.  "I guess I'm not dealing witheverything as well as I thought I was."

"I think you're allowed a breakdown or two.  Maybe one of the doctors here will giveyou some nice, soothing pills. Maybe that cute one you had the last time you were here."  Jane wiggled her eyebrows suggestivelyand grinned.

"Are you sure you shouldn't be talking to Quinn?"

"Hey, Daria, give me a break; I've been in the Amazon formonths, my father the only male within miles. And I still need to find a partner for my move-in day sexromp."

"Remind me to nothelp you move in."

"I won't need your help; I'll have the guys lining up alongthe street to give me a hand. Andother things."

"Tramp."

For a while, the clouds receded.

*  * * *  *

Hospital time drags. Once the initial rush of events and adrenaline wears off, it becomes astruggle to not think about the one thing that you really have to think about,because there is nothing else to thinkabout. Then you reach a pointwhere even the recent emergency loses its power to consume your thoughts, andtime really begins to make its presence known. Other than an occasional bit of excitement from an enteringemergency, there are really no distractions, and the minutes and hours blendinto the white wall surrounding you. The day being Christmas, things were not as bad as they could have been;there was a quartet of Victorian-garbed carolers providing the requisiteholiday cheer to the subdued occupants. Things weren't as bad as they could have been; they were worse.

The various members of the Morgendorffer and Company partyfound their own ways to deal with the tedium. Jane had picked up a pencil and a pad of paper from the giftshop, and was sketching the carolers undergoing various old-style tortures,placing one into stocks, another locked in a pauper's prison, and thelike. Quinn was spending the dayon her cell phone, talking with Stacy and Tiffany; whenever one would leave toparticipate in some family holiday activity, she would call the other.  The phone bill was going to beastronomical - seeing as how it was near the end of the month, I could onlypresume that she had already used up her minutes - but I didn't think Mom wouldbegrudge her the money, this time. As for Mom, after pestering every passing doctor and nurse for a largepart of the night, one passing physician had finally given her a package ofsedatives, telling her that she had to either take one every few hours, or bethrown out of the hospital. Shehad resentfully complied, and now she was alternating between dozing on herseat and listening absently to the carolers. Every now and then, the doctor would give us news, but itwas never anything substantial; Dad was a little better, a little worse.  In the end, nothing ever seemed tochange; it was always a waiting game. I was really wishing that somehow, in all the commotion and panic ofgetting Dad to the hospital, I had had the foresight to snatch a book on theway out.

Finally, Quinn closed her cell phone and sat down next tome. She had kept a fa�ade ofcheerfulness while she had been talking with her friends, a plastic smile gluedto her face, but now that it was over, she looked worn.  Her lips sagged into a straight line,and she slumped in her chair. Ifone of the three J's had seen her at that moment, they might not haverecognized her. Her clothes hadnot been changed since yesterday, and they hung wrinkled and disheveled on herframe. Her hair was greasy andlimp, clumped together in thick strands, and save for a few runs of the handthrough its locks, was untended, tangled and unkempt. There was no makeup left on her face, and her normallybright blue eyes were dull with fatigue and worry. She was lucky that there were no mirrors within our line ofsight, but the amazing thing was that I didn't think she would care if therewere; she displayed no self-consciousness towards her appearance, making noeffort to hide herself from view, not fretting over what cute doctor might seeher in such a state. I felt closerto her already.

"Tiffany finally run out of new sentences and startrepeating herself?" I asked, but instead of the smile I was hoping for, I got asigh instead.

"I think she did that about two minutes after I met her,"Quinn replied. "God, Daria, I'm so tired of trying to talk to them.  All Stacy wanted to say was how sorryshe was and how she hoped everything would be fine, which was nice to hear andall but she never said anything else, for hours! When she wasn't crying, that is. Tiffany was just worried that Christmas dinner would makeher fat." She buried her head inher hands for a moment, not weeping, just exhausted.

"Daria," she said after a few minutes, and there was alittle choke in her voice, so maybe she had been crying silently afterall. "I know this sounds stupid,and maybe even selfish, but I can't believe this is happening onChristmas. From now on, everyChristmas we have is going to remind us of this. How can we ever be happy on Christmas again?"

"Quinn, Dad might still pull through this," I reminded her,but I couldn't fault her. Disturbingly similar thoughts had been running through my own head; theanniversary of a family emergency would be bad enough without having the entireworld around us celebrating during it.

"I know, but even if he does, we'll always be reminded ofwhat happened. It's never going tobe the same again."

"Well, it's not like our Christmases were ever that happy tobegin with." The moment the wordswere out of my mouth, I regretted them; I had spoken out of my own fatigue, outof my own bitterness over the situation. My ire was not aimed at Quinn, but she bore the brunt of it anyway.  She stared at me, stricken.

"Daria, what are you talking about?  I've always enjoyed Christmas!"

"I was just thinking about how we would fight everyChristmas. You'd make some remarkabout whatever book I had bought you, and I would say something about themakeup kit or the shoes that you had got me, and we would spend the rest of theday mad at each other." Saying itnow, it all sounded so pathetic, so trivial. Was this how we hadwasted our time together? Quinnlooked almost as guilty as I felt.

"I always appreciated your gifts, Daria," she said, "becauseI knew that they meant that you loved me, no matter how geeky I thought they were.  But it always seemed easier to complainthan to say 'thank you'. I'm notreally sure why. But I am reallysorry about that."

"It's not hard to figure out why," I said ruefully.  "As much as we took any opportunity tocut each other down, showing gratitude probably felt like a show ofweakness. I didn't want to showyou any vulnerable spots either. But, from now on, I promise that Christmas won't be like that anymore,not because of me."

Quinn looked thoughtful.

"I guess," she said after a moment, "it's like what that oldwizard guy said in that movie we went to see, about having to do your best withthe time that you are given, or something like that. I just hope that we're given more time with Dad."

"So do I, Quinn."

Now, she smiled.

"Thanks, Daria," she said, and leaned over, placed her armaround my shoulder, and squeezed. Though in normal circumstances I would have felt uncomfortable withthis, no matter how healthy our relationship was, this time it felt right,almost like a completion, staving off the encroaching sense of isolation andthe ever-present dread. Then shestood up and walked over to Mom, who was sitting quietly in her chair, headbowed; she looked calm, but the pills the doctor had given her had run out, andshe was methodically cracking every knuckle in her hands, I can only presumefor lack of anything better to do.

"That looked like it went pretty well," Jane said frombeside me, looking up from her latest sketch with a smile.  "Have you figured out your answer?"

"Quinn's matured a lot from how I remembered her," Isaid. "She's actually almosttolerable now. What answer are youtalking about?"

"You were worried about how you should open up to people,but you seem to be doing a great job with Quinn. Doesn't that give you a clue?"

"But it took years with Quinn, and it probably wouldn't havehappened if she hadn't changed as much as I have. I'm not even sure what got us to this point to beginwith. It's encouraging, but notnecessarily the answer."

"Maybe that's part of it, just letting down your guard andletting things happen naturally. Like you did with me, and Trent, and Tom."

"Tom also took a while, if you recall.  This feels urgent to me."

"Like Rita felt urgent for your mother?"

Ouch.

"Jane, if you're saying that I can't rush this, that may betrue, but I can't just let it sit either. I have to take some action, or nothing will change."

"And sitting in your room thinking was action?"

"It was more than I had been doing before, though I'mwilling to admit that I might have taken it too far. Jane, what exactly is it that you recommend I do?"

"I don't know," Jane said with a shrug.  "Despite my aura of omniscient wisdom,I don't have all the answers; I was hoping that you would pick up onsomething. I just thought that Iwould point out how well you were doing with Quinn and see if you could figuresomething out from that."

"Jane, your confidence in me is overwhelming."

"But not as overwhelming as your B.O. right now.  You really need to take a shower sometimesoon." Leave it to Jane to nottake even the most solemn of moments too seriously. Thank God.

"In that case, I will remove my offensive self from yoursensitive nose," I said, and nodded to where Quinn and Mom were sitting.  Jane waved her hand imperiously.

"Off with you then," she said in a really bad Englishaccent. "Leave the Great One toher work."

I walked over to where Quinn and Mom were sitting, theirhands tightly clutched to each other. They were huddled in on themselves, as if by doing so they could keepthe evils of the world at bay, stave off the anxiety that had become constantin all of us.

"This is taking too long," Mom was saying.  "We should have heard something by now,something more than just 'we can't tell yet'. It's not a good sign. If there were any good news, they would have told us."

"Mom, you can't think like that," Quinn said.  "You're scaring me.  Can't you think good thoughts?"

"Oh, sweetie. I'm a mother; I have to think about these things, even when it's nothing,so that you don't have to. But please keep thinking good thoughtsabout your father, Quinn. We allneed them."

"I thought worrying was my job," I said as I sat down besidethem. Mom smiled sadly, or maybeit was more of a grimace.

"And you're very good at it, Daria," Mom replied, "toogood. You always saw too much tooclearly to be completely happy, but I always wished that you could be.  So, what do you see now?"

"That we don't know anything yet, either way."

"And that's why it's so hard, Daria.  I just wish there was something I coulddo."

But there wasn't, of course, and so the three of us just satthere, each of us silently assisting the others through their own privatedistress; Mom fighting the drive to act because there was nothing for her toact on, Quinn vacillating between hope and fear, and I facing the anxiety ofignorance that was so foreign to my nature. Every so often, Jane would cast a supportive glance my way,but this was a trial shared by the three of us alone, and though she was myclosest friend, she was left on the outside this time.  She understood that.

The sound of assured, heavy footsteps approaching drew ourattention. We looked out to seethe doctor standing in front of us. He didn't need to speak; the look on his face was unmistakable.  Mom sucked in her breath with a chokingsound, and Quinn began to wail.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We did everything we could do, but . . ."

So passed Christmas Day. So passed my father.

*  * * *  *

I sat in the viewing room of the funeral home, feeling numband empty, as I had been feeling for almost two days now, ever since the doctorhad delivered his final news. Itseemed to me that I should be grieving, sad, overcome with some gut-wrenchingsorrow, but all my emotions were walled away from me, cut off by a fuzzybarrier of disconnection. Myawareness floated above them. Itwasn't like I was drunk or high. Iwas in full contact with the world around me; it was myself that I had losttouch with.

One feeling that did make it through the barrier wasannoyance at all the people surrounding me. The room was crowded, filled with well-wishers, mostlybusiness associates of my parents; they would walk in, spend a few secondslooking at my father's body lying exposed in a wooden box, and then pass on totalk amongst themselves or to one member of my family or another.  Over time, two distinct groups haddeveloped. At the center of onestood my mother, clad in black, doing her best to carry on normal conversationswith the lawyers and clients that had gathered to watch her grieve; while shewas spared the odious task of having to appear happy, since no one expectedthat of her, she still forced herself to be pleasant and hospitable, to put ona strong face and a "life goes on" attitude. But I could see the strain of it in her eyes, the emptinessshe was feeling; none of them knew that she was crying herself to sleep atnight, alone in a bed now grown far too large for her.  And so they went away amazed at howstrong and resilient a woman was Helen Morgendorffer, never bothering to lookbeyond the surface.

At the center of the other group were Grandma Ruth and UncleEsau. This was the first I hadseen of my grandmother since she had arrived, and the first I had ever seen ofmy uncle. Grandma blamed my motherfor Dad's death, saying that if she had taken better care of her baby, then hewould have never had another attack; that was all that she had said to Mom.  She and Uncle Esau were staying at LeGrand Hotel, and would be leaving right after the funeral.  She was not angry at Quinn or myself,so I could have talked to her, but I didn't feel like it; she might have notbeen angry with me, but I was very unhappy with her. As I had told Mom earlier, she bore no more blame for Dad's attackthan anyone else, and to see my grandmother hit her right on her mostvulnerable spot, at a time when she needed support the most, infuriatedme. Maybe I could have excused itaway, say that her grief was such that she could not be held responsible forher actions, but when I felt anger at her at least I was feeling something, andI wanted to feel something right now.

Then there was Uncle Esau, the elder of the Morgendorffersiblings, and a man molded by Mad Dog into his own image, the man he had attemptedto mold my father into as well. His face was stern and hard, carved from ice; his military uniformlooked less like a badge of honor than a warning sign, like the bright coloringof a venomous animal. He was a manof few words; at least, he was at present. He had shaken my hand when he entered the room, and hadaddressed me in a tone that had much politeness but little warmth.  Now he was standing at Grandma Ruth'sside like a sentry, ready to catch her should she faint with grief or withsimple overexertion.

For all the people in the room, the area around me wassurprisingly clear. I had tried tobe as courteous and friendly as I could when people, most of whom I had neverseen before, had stopped to offer me their condolences; but it must have beenquite apparent that I mostly just wanted to be left alone, free from irritatingintrusions into my own private desolation, and I could only assume that theword had spread quickly. I did notwant insincere consolations from people present only because their businesswith my parents demanded it, and at any rate, it took too much effort for me totalk. My tongue, indeed my wholebody, felt weighed down. The onlyperson within comfortable speaking distance of me was Jane, who sat next to meon the bench and quietly people-watched. Her presence was welcome, and for now, her silence even more so.

Stacy and Tiffany were standing next to the coffin withQuinn, looking down onto my father's painted face.

"They really did a great job with the makeup, Quinn," Stacysaid with forced cheerfulness. "And the suit looks really good on him. And this coffin is really nice and padded; I'm sure he'll bevery comfortable in it." Stacy waswringing her hands together, and her voice cracked nervously on the last word.  She was clearly way out of her depth,but still doing her best to give what compliments she could, her way ofhonoring the dead and comforting the living. Quinn gave a sad nod in return, and a quiet "thank you".

"Heeee loooooks sooooo naaaturaaaal," Tiffany drawled.

No, he doesn't, you moron, my mind snarled. Helooks overly made-up and still, and he feels stiff and cold.  Does that seem natural to you? For amoment, anger bloomed inside me, and I welcomed it, but then it faded backbehind the wall. Oh,hell, I can't be angry at her. She's just repeating what she heard some other idiot say at some otherfuneral, in some other attempt at meaningless consolation.  She's trying, at least, like Stacy, tohelp Quinn feel better; misguided or not, I can't fault her for that.

"Eeeeewwwwww, Quiiiin, yoouuuuur eeeeeyes . . . theeeeeey'reaaaaalllll reeeeeeeed." And Iwanted to strangle her again.

"Miss Blum-Deckler is sounding particularly perceptivetoday," Jane said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm waiting for her to tell Quinn that black isn't hercolor," I replied, but my heart was not in the quip.

"Suits you pretty well, though," Jane said, eyeing the sablegown Mom had insisted that I wear. It was choking me at the neck, and the hose kept riding up my hips, butthese were distant irritations, unworthy of notice. I simply nodded, and we returned to our silence.

A familiar voice sounded above my downturned eyes.

"Hello, Daria."

I looked up to find Aunt Amy standing in front of me, a somberlook replacing her usual amused expression. I stood up to greet her, and she enveloped me in a quickhug, which I found to be more comforting than I would have thought.  She let me go and sat down beside me,then turned her head to view her sister, surrounded by sympathizers.

"I'm guessing that you must be Jane," she said when sheturned back to us. She extendedher hand to my friend and Jane briefly took it. "Your mother appears to be handling this calmly enough.  Which one of you slipped her the tranquilizers?"

"I've been pumping my excess paint fumes into her bedroom,"Jane said, before I felt the need to reply.

"Good idea; Helen could probably use a nice high rightnow." Amy turned her gaze back toMom. "I've got to give Jakecredit. He stuck with her allthose years. Remarkablefortitude." Her mouth curved infond remembrance, and I knew she meant no harm, but Amy's jokes were actuallygetting on my nerves. Had all thehumor just been squeezed out of me? What kind of state had I come to when I couldn't even appreciate aharmless jibe? My feelings musthave been written on my face, for when Amy turned back to me, her attitudechanged completely. "I'm sorry,Daria. You know I didn't mean anyharm; I'm just not very good at these kinds of situations.  Didn't I tell you once that sarcasm wasa great way to deal? It is, butnot in every circumstance. Ishould know better, too. I wasolder than you when my father died, but not that much older, and I remember howmuch it hurt; and we knew for a while that it was going to happen, so we wereat least prepared, or as prepared as anyone can be. At the time, I probably would not have appreciated someonemaking jokes at my family's expense either. So, how are youfeeling, Daria?"

"Sick of being asked that question," I responded sharply,the words spilling out of me before I realized they were there.  But I didn't want to alienate thisparticular comforter. "Amy, I'mnot really feeling anything, except feeling that I should be feeling something. And the rare times I do feel something, it's anger orirritation, never the sadness that I think should be there.  Mom and Quinn have spent a lot of thepast few days in tears, while I've just stood there silently.  Mom hasn't said anything, but I'm sure thatshe thinks I'm being callous, and maybe I am. There are times I've felt that grief is about to breakthrough, but then it goes away again. And that scares me. I wasmore worried about my own problems a few days ago than I am sad about a veryreal tragedy that's happening right now. But I loved my father, I know I did. Why is nothing coming out of me?" Then I was feeling something, but it was not the sorrow thatI craved; it was pure frustration. I felt Jane's touch on my shoulder.

"Oh, Daria," Amy said, shaking her head sadly.  "I understand completely.  Don't worry about it, though I knowthat you are going to. I know thatyou're not cold, and so does Helen. Your feelings will come in time, I guarantee it.  Some of us just take a bit longer toget in touch with them. When mydad died, I didn't cry or anything like that for days; I felt sorry that he wasgone, but it didn't really hit me for real until several days later.  Rita felt it immediately, of course;your mother held it in until she was alone, and then let it all out.  She kept me up at nights; I could hearher through the walls, crying when she thought no one could hear.  We all react differently, you see."

"Or I can make you feel something right now, if you want,"Jane said. "I could call up Trentand ask him to sing you a love song. Think that would do anything?" It had been ages since Jane had threatened me with her brother, and thejoke brought back a flood of old memories of the days she and I would sit backand watch the world go by us, commenting on anything and everything that caughtour fancy, never thinking that such fun would fall out of our favor.  For a moment, I was some other time andother place, and the relief - however momentary - was very gratefully received.

"It looks like you're in pretty capable hands here," Amysaid, and shared a satisfied nod with Jane. "Good thing, too, since I'm probably going to have to startmaking the rounds here soon. Idon't see Rita anywhere; has she not arrived yet? Not that I'm complaining too much, you understand."

"Rita wasn't invited," I said. "She and Mom had a fight, and they're not speaking to eachother right now. They might not bespeaking to each other ever again."

"My God, what happened?" Amy was shocked. "I thought Helen was trying to patch things up with her for good."

"She was," I replied wearily. These were not memories I wanted to dredge up, and knowingthis, Jane took over.

"They were fighting when Jake had the heart attack," shesaid. "Then they fought again whenthey were in the hospital. Helenthrew her out of the house."

"I . . . see," Amy said, eyes wide.  "It's too bad I wasn't there.  Maybe I could have done something."

"No, you couldn't," I said. "Trust me."

"Amy, you're here," Mom interrupted, walking up to us.  Amy stood up and the two embraced.

"Oh, Helen, I'm so sorry," she said, with no trace of ironyor sarcasm in her voice.

"Thanks, sis," Mom said. "You've been keeping Daria company?  I'm glad to see that; I think she needsall she can get right now." Momturned to me. "Honey, are you sureyou don't want to come with me for a while. It might do you good, being with people." Might help me act more normal, youmean. Actually, I would have welcomed Mom's company, or Quinn's, but I couldn'ttake being in the middle of the press of people. I shook my head in denial. Mom looked saddened and frustrated, but she respected mywishes, and she and Amy walked off by themselves.

She was soon replaced by Quinn, who sat down next to me witha slight sound of relief. She wasdressed and styled perfectly, leaving behind the unkempt look she had in thehospital, but her expression was haunted. As Tiffany had observed, her eyes were red and puffy, with dark bagsbelow them; her skin looked grey. Thelife that had animated her features looked drained away, and her natural,effortless beauty with it. ThisQuinn looked old.

"I'm so tired," she said, and her voice sounded it.  "I just want to get out of here.  This is just creepy, all these people comingin to look at Dad like that." Sheshuddered, and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "Why do they do this, anyway? I would rather remember him as alive, not like . . . that."

"I don't think this is really for us, Quinn," Ireplied. "I think this is to makeeveryone else feel better, so they can feel they've done something for us byshowing up."

"They're not all like that, Daria," she protested.  "Stacy and Tiffany really wanted tohelp me feel better, and Jane really wants to be here for you.  And it was nice to see them."

"But it would be nicer to see them somewhere else."  She couldn't deny that.

"Yeah, it would be." She was quiet for a minute or so. "Daria, how do you do it? Ihaven't been able to stop crying for the past few days, except for every nowand then, and I hate it. It helpeda little at first, I guess, but now it just makes me feel even worse.  I know you're sad, Daria; how do youkeep from crying all the time?"

If you only knew. Here you are trying to find out my secret, but my only secret is thatI'm envying you. Before, I hadwalls that held out other people; now that I'm trying to tear them down, I seemto have developed walls to hold out myself. Which is worse, I wonder? And can I ever really do anything about either?  But it helps to know that she doesn'tbelieve that I'm cold; she assumes that I'm sad, even though she doesn't seeit. She has that kind of faith inme. That's something, at least.

"It's nothing, Quinn," I said aloud.  "Nothing you could replicate, andnothing you would want to. Be gladthat you can cry; I feel like I never could."

"You can cry, Daria," Quinn said, sounding quite certain ofherself. "You're not a badperson. You'll cry when you feelready, I'm sure."

"You and Aunt Amy think remarkably alike, Quinn."

"I thought that you were the one who thought like AuntAmy. I guess I really am smartafter all." Her mouth curled intosomething that came closer to a smile than I had seen on her for hours, if notdays.

"I'm starting to feel inferior, sitting with all you smartMorgendorffer women," Jane said.

Quinn sagged onto my arm, resting her tired frame, whileJane and I sat and watched the people pass by, the three of us defining a spaceall our own.

*  * * *  *

I was in my bed a few hours later, unable to sleep.  My guilty conscience would not let up,berating me for my lack of feeling, my inability to grieve my father's death,and the voice in my head made repose impossible. I tossed and turned for over an hour, then reluctantly gaveup on the effort; the deathly silence of the house made the voice in my headfar too loud to ignore. If I weregoing to gain any respite, it would have to be some other way.

I hauled myself out of bed and over to my bookshelf, lookingfor the volume of Tolstoy I had been reading before . . . everything hadhappened. It wasn't in its usualspot, nor anywhere else I usually kept whatever book I was working on at thetime. I strained my fatigued brainto remember where it might be, and I remembered the last place I had readit. On the living room couch,right as Rita had walked in the door for the beginning of her visit. I guess I must have gotten caught upin all the commotion and left it there.

I made my way down to the family room, walking as softly aspossible to avoid disturbing anyone; they needed their rest.  As did I, but one takes what one canget. I found the book shovedhalfway underneath the couch, but with no real damage inflicted, and ratherthan drag myself back upstairs, I sat down where I was to begin myreading. Then, to my surprise, Iheard voices coming from the kitchen; after a second, I could tell that it wasMom and Amy, having a late-night talk. At first, I ignored them, but then I heard the mention of my name, andby instinct, my ears pricked up.

". . . Daria told me in the hospital that I shouldn't blamemyself," Mom was saying. "That Iwasn't any more responsible for Jake's death than anyone else, but I just can'tabsolve myself that easily." Hervoice was flat, broken. The maskwas gone. "Dammit, Amy, I couldhave done better. If I had justhad a little more self-control . . ."

I wanted to console her, to reassure her once more thatDad's blood did not lie on her hands. But that impulse felt wrong to me; this was a moment between sisters,and I had only recently begun to realize just how special those moments couldbe. So, amazed at my ownbrazenness, I eavesdropped.

"Come on," Amy responded, "you know what Rita is like.  She would try the patience of a saint;and you, Helen, are no saint."

"I don't need you to tell me that. She's horrible, I know, but I should have held myself backmore. Not that I'll probably everneed to worry about it again; after the things she said at the hospital, it'llbe a cold day in hell before I'll want to hear her voice."  Mom's voice sounded aggrieved.  "And she's not even the worst one;Mother's coming in just in time for the funeral tomorrow, and then she'sleaving right after! Has to beback to see Erin and Brian in from their flight tomorrow night.  Can't let them think she's forgottenabout them, after all. And here Iam, a grieving widow . . . Oh, god, Amy, I hadn't used that word before.  I'm a widow, a widow with two teenage daughters!  How am I going to handle that?"  Her voice began to rise before sheforcibly lowered it again, no doubt to avoid waking Quinn and myself.

"Helen, you don't need to worry about that," Amy said insoothing tones. "Daria's growninto a wonderful young woman, really, no matter how she may scare you attimes. And Quinn's really growinginto herself as well. You'vealready done a good job with both of them. And very soon, Quinn will be away like Daria, and your jobwill be done."

"Oh, Amy," Mom said, and I could almost see her shaking herhead at her sister. "I don't thinkit works that way; you don't stop being a mother just because your childrenmove away and grow up. But I don'teven know how to deal with them right now. Quinn spends her time crying; that tears my heart to pieces,but at least I can understand it. Daria, though . . . I'm really afraid for her. Ever since Jake . . . passed on, she's just been in a shell.  Her eyes look dead to me.  I'm so scared that this might havepushed her over an edge."

"Helen, trust me on this. Daria's going to be alright. Remember how I was after Father died?  She's dealing with this in her own way,and she'll show her grief eventually, in her own time.  Don't worry about her, just be therefor her." When she had told methis earlier, it had been nice to hear; but this time, maybe because I knew shewasn't just saying things to make me feel better about myself, it had the ringof truth. It was no guarantee thatthis cursed numbness would ever give way to anything more comforting, but itwas at least a reason to believe it might.

"I hope you're right, Amy. And thank you, for everything you said about both Daria and Quinn. They've both turned out better than I could have imagined, and soonthey'll both be gone, and then it will just be me here."  The voice cracked.  "I don't know if I'll be able to handlethat, Amy. It's hard enough now,when Daria and Quinn are still around to occupy my attention, to make the placeseem a little less empty. But Ialready can feel the hole. Nooffense to you, sister, but you can't understand what it's like to lose someonelike this, someone you've lived with, loved with, for over twenty years.  He became a part of me in a way that Inever knew could happen with another person, and now that he's gone . . . it'slike a part of me has beenstripped away. Not a part of mybody, but of whatever it is that's inside that body. He's gone, and I don't think I can ever feel whole again."

For a minute, there were no words.

"Amy, I know you never understood why I married him . .." Mom's voice was hoarse.

"Helen, don't . . ."

"No, it's okay. I know that you and Rita and Mother never really got what I saw inhim. There were times I didn'teither." A pause, as if to collectherself or her thoughts, then, "but . . . he was a good man, Amy. He had such a caring and loving heart, such a passionate heart.  That was something I needed.  Admittedly, sometimes that passion wasmisdirected, expressed as rage against his own father or his military school;but he also loved our girls fiercely, and was completely committed to us as afamily. I knew there was nothinghe wouldn't do for us, nothing that would stand between him and our happinessand welfare. It was when I sawthat side of him that I knew I could not have chosen a better man with which tohave children, or spend my life."

I sat there, silent and amazed. I had never known that Mom had seen that in Dad, never knownthat the trait that could drive us all crazy was also the very reason that shehad loved him. Indeed, there weretimes I had wondered what had kept themtogether all these years. This wasseeing my father through new eyes indeed.

"Plus," Amy's voice added, "the sex was pretty good, too."

"Yeah, there was that . . ."

I beat a hasty retreat to my room.

*  * * *  *

I stood beside my father's grave, staring down at the earthbelow me, as the minister read empty words of comfort from his little blackbook. The hollowness inside me hadnot yet passed, and so I found myself wishing that this ritual would just end,that we could bypass this absurd attempt at hope and just commit my father tohis final resting place, where he would stay for as long as I lived, until oneday I joined him. A part of mealmost longed for that, an eternity of feeling nothing with no guilt attachedto the lack; as opposed to the nothing I felt now that tormented myconscience. Even more so now, whenI was surrounded by people visibly mourning a loss I should have felt morekeenly.

On my left side stood Mom, her face impassive, but her handsclutching at her skirt, as though by holding on to her clothing she could holdon to her control. She was wearingthe face she always wore in public since Dad's death. There were no tears on her cheeks, no heaving in her chest;but her body was trembling slightly, a constant tremor like a man having tocarry a weight that was a little too heavy for him to bear.  I doubt anyone sitting farther awayfrom her than I could have even noticed. I didn't know whether to be proud of her control or fearful that itmight eventually slip.

To my right was Quinn, who had no such conundrum toface. Her face was wet, her makeuprunning down her cheeks, and every now and then her body would convulse withanother sob. Her appearance andgeneral demeanor had improved little from the day before, when we had all satin the viewing room together, though she was crying less now.  There had been few words exchangedbetween us since then, though I had several times held her wordlessly as shecried, and even now her hand would occasionally reach out and briefly clasp myown. I wished I had more andbetter solace to give her, but the little I had been able to provide had seemedto be of benefit to her, and had become my one assurance that I might not yetbe completely hardened. Now shewas drinking in every word that the minister was saying, staring at him asthough he were a man offering her water after a long sojourn in the desert, andso I had to concede that even if his words meant nothing to me, they might be ofsome use after all.

Arrayed throughout the small gathering around therectangular hole in the ground were several other familiar faces, and some thatwere not so familiar. Aunt Amy wason the other side of Mom from myself, and Grandma Barksdale next to her.  Grandma Ruth and Uncle Esau faced usfrom the other side of the coffin. Grandma looked frail beyond human endurance, and Esau was holding herup; otherwise, it looked as though she might stumble into the hole before her,and maybe not by accident. Esauwas impassive, his only apparent concern being the welfare of the old womanbeside him. From the little I hadheard, he had been the favorite of Mad Dog, while Ruth had favored my father,but he seemed to hold it against her far less than Dad had held Mad Dog'sfavoritism against him. But then,I found it hard to believe that the inequalities in Grandma's treatment hadbeen nearly as severe. Or maybe itwas simply the military training, discipline above all else, certainly overpersonal feeling.

Further down from me, on my own side of the gathering, wereJane and Trent, each clothed in what passed for them for solemn attire.  Every now and then, Jane would catch myeye, conveying a silent offer of support, or an inquiry into my condition.  I did my best to let her know that heroffers were appreciated, but that there was little right now that I needed thatanyone else could provide. Myfather's empty body lay not five feet in front of me, shielded from human viewby a wooden shell, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.  I longed to mourn for him, but theredid not seem to be anything that could be done about that, either.  So I just kept staring at the groundbelow me, and waiting for it all to end.

The minister had ceased his reading about the valley of theshadow of death, and commenced his eulogy for my father.  He praised him for his devotion to hisfamily, for his goodness and his passion for life. For his love for his fellow man. The very vague, general nature of the speech revolted me.

I can count on my fingers how many times we've gone tochurch, how many times I or my father has ever seen this man.  And now he thinks he has the right andthe experience to tell me the kind of man that he was, to act sorrowful asthough he had lost a dear friend, when to him Dad might as well have been astranger off the street? A fewChristmases and Easters spent in this man's captivity does not make him anexpert on my father's psyche, no matter what kind of collar he wears.  What arrogance it takes for him to dothis!

And how are you any different? The accusing thought,from some buried part of my own mind, nearly staggered me. You spent eighteen yearsliving with the man, breathing the same air, sharing the same food,experiencing the same family turmoils and strifes, but how much did you reallyknow him? Time after time, youturned away, frustrated by his rants and annoyed at his childishness, and younever even bothered to push through that to find the man underneath. Unnoticed by me at the time, a tear rolled down my cheek.  When you did have the opportunity, youturned it into a joke. When hemade the effort, however uncomfortable and uncertain, to reach out to you, yougave him your shoe size in return. You were amazed when you found out why your mother loved him, becauseyou had never found out for yourself. You loved him as a father, but did you ever value him as a man? Anothertear, a twin to the first, emerged from my other eye.

Oh, god, what have I done? I've had a lifetime of opportunities, chances to learn whomy father was, chances to see beyond the exterior and truly know his innerself, and I wasted almost every one. I distanced myself from my family, and especially him, because I feareddisappointment, feared that he would make too many demands, take too muchwork. I was frightened by hisrages, frightened that whatever tolerance I may have had would be shattered ifI got too close, and so I never saw him as much more than a caricature. My facewas slick with salty water. Iloved him, but only as a father; I could never have loved him as a person,because I never knew him as a person. And even as I have worked recently to let others in, I never reallythought about letting him in. Itwas always and forever the same with us, doting but unhinged father and lovingbut distant daughter. And that'sall that it can ever be now.

I heard a sound; a sniff, followed by a stuttered gasp.  It took a few moments before I realizedthat it was coming from me. It wasfollowed by another, and another, and almost before I could realize what washappening my eyes were streaming with tears and my breath was coming in sniffsand broken by catches in my throat. It felt miserable; it felt wonderful. And then an arm was around my shoulder, and I was leaninginto my mother's coat, face turned into her body to hide the tears from theprying eyes I felt on me. As theminister droned on, Mom made quiet, comforting noises, reassuring even thoughthey made no literal sense. Another, smaller set of arms encircled me from behind.  Quinn. She said nothing, but I felt comforted nonetheless.  All the emotion, the grief, the sorrow,that had felt so distant and unreal before now flowed through me in a cleansingwave, leaving me feeling hollow and drained, but whole.  My father was gone, and I would neverhave the chance to make amends for a lifetime of dismissal; wisdom, as is fartoo often the case, comes too late. And I wept for the loss, both of my father and of time itself.

Slowly, the tears subsided, and I untangled myself from theweb of limbs holding me upright. Isaw the minister stepping away from the grave, and my father's coffin beingslowly lowered into the hole. Itsunk further and further away from me, but the distance seemed not to be somuch physical as spiritual; I could feel my father's presence becoming evermore distant, and soon his physical remains would be covered in earth, and thatpresence would be gone forever. Never before had I encountered such certain and total loss, and nolonger did it seem unreal.

As I stood there, I felt a new presence next to me, and Ilooked to see Jane standing there. She said nothing, but placed her hand on my shoulder.  Mom took her handful of dirt and tossedit into the grave, her movements slow, fully aware of the weight of symbolismbehind her action. As she walkedaway, the crowd dispersed as the professional gravediggers took over.  Most people headed quickly back totheir cars, anxious to escape this reminder of mortality.  A few hung around to exchangepleasantries and condolences. Momand Quinn and Amy and Jane stayed close to me, and Trent walked up to join us.

"How are you feeling now, amiga?" Jane asked in the quiet tones one naturally adoptsat a funeral. The small upturn onone side of her mouth showed that she had already guessed the answer.

"Better, I think," I said, my voice still rather thick.

"That's good, honey," Mom said, her voice sounding not verydissimilar. "I was beginning toworry about you."

"I wasn't," Amy declared confidently.  "I knew she would be fine, given time."

"I was worried too, Mom," I said, surprised at how mucheveryone else seemed to have picked up on what I thought was my privatefear. "But, I feel better now, insome ways." In other ways, Ifeel worse; but that is my own fault, my own shortcoming, and something I willhave to work on myself. No reasonto burden all of them with it. "And how are you doing, Mom?"  Amazingly, I didn't think I had askedher this question in days, so wrapped up I had been in my own guilt.  But after last night, I was worriedabout her as well.

"I'll be okay," she said, "in time.  It will be a while before things areback to normal for us, but we'll get there eventually."

A little overly optimistic, possibly, and maybe justbravado on her part, but I hope that it's true, whatever 'normal' meansanyhow. But if that means thingsjust going back the way that they were, I don't think I want to returncompletely to 'normal'. I've hadone missed opportunity made all too obvious to me; how many others have Imissed and never even noticed? Ican't just close my eyes to them anymore. Is this possibly the real first step towards tearing down my wall, justbeing aware of the possibilities for relationships that pass me by because I'mtoo aloof or afraid to pursue them? And if I am aware of them, don't I have to try for them as well?  Maybe Jane was right, and that tochange things, I'm going to have to act first and think later.  Some of the time, anyway.  That's a scary thought; isn't that whatI've always despised the most in other people, the lack of thought that goesinto their actions? But maybe ithas its place, so long as it doesn't completely take over my life.  Dad, if I can do this, then I'll do itfor you. My memorial, to treatothers as I should have treated you. God, I hope I can.

We left the land of thedead, and went home, to face the world of the living.

* *  * * *

A few nights later, I layon my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Save for me, the house was empty. I hadn't seen much of Mom since the funeral; she had buried herself inher work, leaving early and coming home very late, sometimes after I hadalready retired. I wished that shewould spend more time at home, but I understood her reasons why; work was herdistraction, the panacea she needed to get through the day, to push to the backof her mind the image of the empty bed that lay ahead of her every night. And so she was doing now.  I could only hope that she would notcompletely lose herself in her work, that when the necessity for continualdistraction eventually faded, she would return to her normal schedule and theremaining daughter who needed her presence at home.

And Quinn needed someone; she had become the ghost haunting the hallways,doing little but sitting alone in her room or watching TV.  But I did see one cause for hope.  She and I had only had a fewconversations in the last few days, at her lead never venturing beyond themundane, but she seemed to have enjoyed them; they were the only time I hadseen her even remotely approach the animation with which she had formerlyembraced her entire life. But Iwould be departing for Boston tomorrow morning, leaving Mom the only one in thehouse with her. She still had herfriends - she was out with them even now - but it seemed to me that she neededmore now. She needed family, andin Lawndale, Mom was all she had.

I myself had spent a gooddeal of time at Jane's, reacquainting myself with this vital presence in mylife that had been too long absent, her companionship beginning to heal thewounds I had suffered. I had toldher about what had happened to me at Dad's funeral, the realizations I had cometo there; she had listened, sagely, and encouraged me, and made a joke whenevershe felt it was time to lighten the mood. But we had done normal things as well, chatted about Sick, SadWorld or her newest artworks, and listened toTrent and Jessie jam in the basement as they tried to put together a sound forwhatever new band they might start, since the Spiral had recentlydissolved. We had talked about theupcoming semester, and made plans for living together in Boston. Though thoughts of Dad were never farfrom my mind, I found that they did not always have to be in the forefront;there were times I could forget myself in what Jane and I were doing, and for awhile it would be as though nothing had ever happened.  And when those thoughts did rise up,Jane was there for me. But, as mydeparture time had drawn closer, I had spent more time at home, unwilling tojust abandon my family before leaving; though I missed the time with Jane,after seeing what even those little talks had done for Quinn, I did not regretmy decision. And now, for thefirst time since I had come home for the holiday, she was out with friends; Ihoped she would be able to take comfort from them as well.

Which is why I was sosurprised when there was a knock on my door, and Quinn's voice, subdued butclear, asking for admittance. Iwas so surprised, in fact, that for the first time I could remember, I gave hera simple "Come in", with no joke or quip attached.

Quinn opened the door, andshe looked as tired as she ever had, as tired and as lonely. I sat up as she walked over to the bed.

"Daria," she asked, "doyou mind if I sit in here with you for a while?"

"No, that's fine. What happened with your friends?"  Quinn's shoulders slumped, and she satdown on the bed beside me.

"It just wasn't the same,"she replied, "or maybe, it was exactly the same, but I was the one who hadchanged. Sandi said that she wassorry for me, but soon all she wanted to talk about was Europe, all the cuteguys she had seen and the expensive clothes she had bought. Of course, Stacy couldn't say no toher, and Tiffany just went along with them. And there's nothing wrong with that, and Sandi should beexcited about her trip, but it all just seemed so stupid to me. There just didn't seem to be any point in it anymore.  Compared to Dad . . . what does any ofthat matter? And I really hate tosay that, because they're my friends and they're just doing the same thingwe've been doing for years, but the whole time I couldn't stop thinking that Iwished that I was with someone different." She paused, and looked right at me.  "Daria, I was thinking that I wanted tobe with you."

"With me? Instead of the Fashion Club?"  I couldn't believe my ears.  Yes, we were closer now than we hadever been, but I would usually choose Jane's company over hers, and even whenshe had wanted to do something with me before, it was because all her friendswere otherwise engaged. When had Ibecome the most important person in her life?

"Former Fashion Club," she corrected.  "Daria, you're my sister, and I want usto start to get to know each other like sisters should.  I remember I had friends in Highlandwho had sisters, and they were best friends as well, and I always enviedthem. I didn't think you and I couldever be like that. But now, after. . . finally, I'm starting to feel like that's what we're becoming, and Ireally like that feeling, Daria. And I hate that you're leavingtomorrow, just as I'm beginning to figure this out. I know that I'll see you again, but I don't want to have towait that long." Quinn looked solost and abandoned that I wished that I could just stay, forget college and behere for her; I wanted to do my best to fill the hole that we all felt, notcreate a new one. But, of course,the world does not work like that.

"Quinn, I want that too,and I promise you that we will do that, the very next time I come home."

"And when will that be?"she demanded, and for a moment her grief-induced lethargy gave way toanger. "Another few months,another semester? Daria, I want tosee you before that; I missed youbefore, and I'm going to miss you even more now. Can't you come home before the summer? I know you're working hard at school,but can't you get some time off? Even though I could understand why youwould want to stay away." The lastsentence shifted her mood back, and she made a gesture that took in all oursurroundings; I knew it was intended to encompass even more.

"Quinn, I don't want tostay away," I said as tenderly as I could. "I want to get to know you better too, and seeing you wouldfar outweigh any sadness I might feel being here. It's a six-hour drive from here to Boston; that's a bitawkward, but it's doable every few weekends. I promise I won't stay away that long again." This is one opportunity that Ididn't miss. Somehow, even aftereverything we've done to each other, I didn't let this one go.  Or she didn't let me go.  Her, and hopefully Mom as well.  I will not pass them by.

* *  * * *

I stood at the front doorof the Morgendorffer household, bag slung over my shoulder, ready to make the tripback to Boston, with Mom and Quinn there to see me off. Mom's presence encouraged me; she hadskipped work to be here. Sheshowed up for this, so she's not completely gone. I can only hope she remembers what she told Amy, that Quinnneeds her presence every day as much as I want it right now. Quinnwas trying her best to be brave, to look cheerful instead of forlorn, andthough she had very little success at it, I loved her for the effort.  I once again felt guilty about leavingher almost all alone in this house of memories, and it was possible that Raftwould have allowed me to take the semester off, but I felt that it wasnecessary for me to move on with life; the world does not stop for thetragedies of its inhabitants. Staying at home would do me no good, I was certain.  And now here I was, ready to drive off,first to pick up Jane, and then to the apartment in Boston she had found forboth of us.

"Be careful on the roads,"Mom was saying, "and drive carefully. Don't be talking to Jane the whole time and ignoring the cars in frontof you. And call me when you makeit; I want to know you're okay. Just . . . be safe, Daria." She stepped forward and hugged me tightly, clutching me as if frightenedthat if she let go, I would float away forever. It felt . . . good, comforting, safe. I realized how much I didn't want toleave either of them, how much I would miss them when I was gone.  Before, I had been too consumed with myown problems to think much about my family; those days were gone.

"Mo-om," Quinn said, after Mom had held me for over aminute, "you're hogging her. Letme have her for a bit." Mom handedme over to my sister, and Quinn's embrace proved even firmer and more desperatethan my mother's. "Remember yourpromise, Daria," she said into my ear. "Promise you'll come see me; I want us to hang out like sisters."  So do I, Quinn.  Just like sisters.  Like friends.

I had to pull myself outof the hug before I was able to respond.

"Don't worry, Quinn," Isaid, and to my embarrassment I found I had to clear my throat before I wasable to speak clearly. "I'll comehome soon. And you can always comevisit me, you know. I want youto."

"I'll do that," she said,and I knew it was a promise.

But the pick-up time forJane was fast approaching, and farewells to loved ones could not lastforever. I said my good-byes,swore that I would come back soon, and then I was out of the house. The door closed behind me with amournful thud.

* *  * * *

The apartment in Bostonwas small, but there were two bedrooms, and enough space for us to fit our mostcrucial possessions. Certainly, itwas better than the dorm in which I had spent my first semester at Raft; Janewas lucky, as she would be starting BFAC without ever having to go through thatparticular hazing ritual. But thecollection of boxes and odd furniture we had scattered about was familiarenough, and already I could feel myself settling back into the college mindset,finding the holiday and all that had happened during . . . not behind me, butat least in less of my conscious thought. The mindless work of unpacking, started the morning after we arrived,helped as well, as did the friendly conversation during it.

All this was interruptedby a knock at the door. I lookedup in surprise; no one in Boston yet knew where we lived, and while I hadinvited Mom and Quinn up for a visit, I was pretty sure they would not havetaken me up on it this quickly.

"Who could that possiblybe?" I asked Jane rhetorically, and was again surprised to see a too-knowinggrin on her face.

"Why don't you answer itand find out?" she said with noticeable glee. "Better hurry, before they think no one's home." I hesitated, but she waved me on withsuch urgency that I moved without thinking, all the while wondering what Janecould possibly have up her sleeve.

I opened the door to findJames standing behind it.

For a few uncertain,unstable seconds, neither of us spoke; I looked at him in utter shock, while hestuck his hands in his pockets and made awkward shuffling motions with hisfeet. Finally, he took in a deepbreath, and looked me straight in the eye.

"Hi, Daria," he said,simply enough, though his voice trembled. He was nervously pale, bringing to my mind the time when I hadreciprocated his dating invitation, but since this time he was the one showingup unexpectedly at the door, he looked a little less befuddled. Only a little, though.

"How . . .?" was all Icould say at first, then the answer became very clear. I turned to find Jane standing behindme, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and about as mischievous.

"Hey, you're collegestudents," she said, as though that made it obvious. "No information about you is private. Or me, either, now, I suppose."  Jane looked to be nearly jumping forglee, though I couldn't tell if she was laughing with me or at me.  With me, I hoped, though I wasn'tlaughing yet.

"Jane e-mailed me," Jamessaid, "which I must say was quite a shock." He chuckled nervously. "Anyway, she told me what had happened with your father. I'm so sorry, Daria; that's reallyhorrible."

"Thanks," I mumbled, butwas too blown away by the suddenness of it all to say more than that.

"She told me I should comeover," he continued. "I have toadmit, I didn't want to at first; I was pretty mad. But as she filled me in on everything that happened, all myanger started to seem really . . . petty. It was all so insignificant compared to what you're going through, and Ifelt like an absolute jerk trying to find excuses to stay mad at you. By the end, I was more worried that youwould be mad at me for how I acted, too mad to want to be friends again.  And I really think that I'm ready to beyour friend again, Daria. I want to be your friend again."

I looked back and forthbetween Jane and James, and then Jane mouthed one word at me, beforedisappearing into her room. Opportunity. And Isuddenly realized what she was doing. She was showing me that, while I had been mourning missed opportunities,not all of those opportunities had to stay missed. Here was one where, thanks to her, I had the chance to pickup those pieces and glue them back together; it might be a while before theglue dried, and until then it would probably be fragile, but I had a chance tomake this relationship whole again. Here was my first step towards tearing down that wall, staringexpectantly at me from across a doorframe; my first opportunity regained.

Lose a father, but gain afriend. It wasn't a fair trade,not even close. But it didn't haveto be; James was not intended to be a replacement for my father, not some weakattempt at consolation, but a whole new relationship to be explored, if I hadthe courage to pursue it. I wasfrightened, terrified that I would screw it all up again and inflict more pain;but James seemed willing to take the risk, and I realized that this was one ofthose times where I would have to act first, and worry later.

"So, can I come in?" heasked, uncertain and apprehensive of my reply.

I waved him through thedoor. I waved him back into mylife.

Dad, maybe you don't have to worry about me anymore.  Thank you for everything.  I love you.

The End

Acknowledgements: I would like to thank everyone who commented on this fic at PPMB: Ranger Thorne, Mr. Orange, RLobinske, TheAngst Guy, Gregor Samsa, Decelaraptor, MrMagnum, Steven Galloway, Mike Nassour,ipswichfan, Sleepless, james_anatidae, and Scissors MacGillicutty. An extra-special "thank you" to Kara Wild, whose many excellent anddetailed critiques improved this work considerably.

And, of course, my biggestthanks to the creators of Daria. Ihope I have lived up to your legacy.

Legal Blather: Dariaand all associated characters are the property of MTV.  This story is my own.