Gwendy's Magic Feather

46

GWENDY DOESN’T CHECK ON the button box the next morning, either. Another first for her.

Christmas dawns dark and gloomy with a suffocating layer of thick clouds hanging over Castle Rock. The weather forecast calls for snow by nightfall, and the town DPW trucks are already busy dropping salt as Gwendy makes her way down Route 117 to her parents’ house. Almost all of the homes she passes still have their Christmas lights glowing at ten-thirty in the morning. For some reason, instead of looking cheerful and festive, the dim lights and murky sky provide a depressing backdrop to her drive.

Gwendy expects to pass the day in the same blue mood she went to bed with but is determined to hide it from her parents. They have enough on their plate without her ruining their Christmas celebration.

But by the time the brunch table is cleared and presents are exchanged in the living room, Gwendy finds herself in a surprisingly cheery mood. Something about spending Christmas morning in the house she grew up in makes the world feel safe and small again, if only for a short time.

As they do every year, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson fret about Gwendy going overboard and spoiling them with gifts—“We asked you not to do that this year, honey, we didn’t have much time to get out and shop!”—but she can tell they’re surprised and pleased with her choices. Dad, still dressed in a robe and pajamas, sits in his recliner with his legs up, reading the instructions for his brand-new DVD player. Mom is busy modeling her L.L.Bean jacket and boots in the full-length hallway mirror. A stack of jigsaw puzzles, assorted shirts and sweaters, a TiVo so Mom can digitally record her shows, a men’s L.L.Bean winter jacket, and subscription gift cards to National Geographic and People magazine sit under the tree, next to Ryan’s unopened presents.

Gwendy is equally pleased with her own gifts, particularly a gorgeous leather-bound journal her mother found in a small shop in Bangor. She’s sitting on the living-room sofa, relishing the texture of the thick paper against her fingertips, when her father reaches out with a large red envelope in his hand.

“One more little present, Gwennie.”

“What’s this?” she asks, taking the envelope.

“A surprise,” Mrs. Peterson says, coming over and sitting on the arm of her husband’s recliner.

Gwendy opens the envelope and slides out a card. A glittery Christmas tree decorates the front of it. A little girl with pigtails stands at the foot of the tree, looking up with wonder in her eyes. Gwendy opens the card—and a small white feather spills out and flutters to the carpet at her feet.

“Is that—?” she starts to ask, eyes wide, and then she reads what her father has written inside the card…

…and she can no longer find the words to finish.

She looks up at her parents. They’re both sitting there with goofy grins on their faces. Happy tears are forming in her mother’s eyes.

Gwendy bends down and picks up the feather, stares at it with disbelief. “I just can’t…” She turns the feather over in her hand. “How did you… where did you find it?”

“I found it in the garage,” her father says proudly. “I was looking for a 3/8 inch screw in one of those cabinets you liked to play with so much when you were little, the ones with all the little drawers?”

Gwendy mutely nods her head.

“Slid out the last drawer in the last row, and there it was. I couldn’t believe it myself.”

“You must have hidden it there,” her mother says. “What? Almost thirty years ago.”

“I don’t remember,” Gwendy says. She looks up at her parents and this time she’s the one wearing the big goofy grin. “I can’t believe you found my magic feather…”