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Joe Morgan comes back to Cannon Shoals with a college degree, a life in New Orleans, and his fiancée Shanti. It was her idea, and Joe can't figure out if the town feels like home or like prison...

It's Christmas-time, and you know what that means! Some cheery, uncomplicated, feel-good holiday smut from Rob, who kinda has a thing for this time of year :) This time we're spending it in Cannon Shoals, where a bunch of familiar faces make an appearance. I hope everyone is having a wonderful time. Happy holidays to all of you! Thanks to Spudz for helping bring this to life!

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

"Home for the Holidays," by Rob Baird

---

"Of course I want to see your family," Shanti Hsieh repeated. He couldn't really blame her tone, nor the way the red panda's eyes rolled when she repeated it -- for the dozenth time, at least, since they'd gotten on the plane in New Orleans. For at least the fifth or sixth time since landing in Portland, and the four-hour drive towards Cannon Shoals, a little town on the Oregon coast.

Joe's rental car felt very tiny. It was a compact, sure -- they didn't pay adjunct professors very well -- but more than that the Border Collie felt a tightness in his chest that seemed to grow with every passing mile. Shanti, for all her pep and enthusiasm, just didn't understand very well. "I just don't want you to be disappointed," he said. "That's all."

There were no further opportunities to negotiate. The only thing before them was twenty miles of Oregon pine and then... home. For what it was worth. "It can't be that bad." Shanti leaned over, and patted his thigh. She never seemed to think things were that bad.

They were bad enough that he'd left his hometown fourteen years before and returned fewer than half a dozen times since. There was nothing in particular about it -- more the sense that it represented some point in the dog's past. Before the Army, before school, before meeting Shanti... "It's not bad, hon. It's just... well..."

Firstly it never changed. Ever. The sign at the edge of town was still rusted and worn; the supporting pole was still slightly bent where it had been straightened after an accident at least a decade before. The population count was different -- smaller -- but they'd just pasted a new number over the old one.

"Not too late to turn around," Joe said, pulling to a stop where Highway 520 and 101 met. On the other side of 101, 520 became State Street. He knew the cross streets, too: Monroe, Adams, McKinley, Washington. How do I still remember all this?

Shanti slugged his shoulder playfully, and flashed the irresistible grin that won every argument she ever started with him. "Not a chance. I want an authentic Christmas experience, darn it."

He stalled a little bit by pulling in to the IGA on the corner of Monroe and First and a Half Street. The grocery store's radio was playing Perry Como when he entered. There's no place like home for the holidays.

"Cute!" Shanti was investigating the tinsel, which had seen better days just like the rest of Cannon Shoals. The IGA was positively infested with it, though, and with colored lights -- these, at least, were modern LEDs.

The red panda, very modern herself, looked as a consequence strongly out of place. With a scarf twirled gaily about her neck and her trim wool coat, she could've passed muster in New York City, or Paris, or London... but here?

Joe had switched to a square flannel jacket for camouflage. The town, he'd warned her, had mixed feelings about outsiders. On the other hand, they weren't showing it: the IGA was mostly empty, but they'd picked up three 'Merry Christmases' from the employees by the time they found a bottle of wine and made their way to the checkout.

"Merry Christmas," he echoed. It was expected, at least; politeness.

The cashier took it as an invitation. "Sergeant Peak winery, huh? Merlot..." The bear, who pronounced it to rhyme with 'harlot,' took his wine and looked at it with a tilted head. "Any good, hon?"

"I don't know, actually... but I've heard good things about the Willamette Valley lately. I mean, for wine. It's a gift."

"Oh, sure. Trying something new?"

"That's right."

"You haven't been back recently, have ya?"

"Nope. Been a few years."

"Some big professor now, right?"

Joe blinked. He didn't know the cashier. "I wouldn't go that far..."

She grinned, and set the wine bottle down -- it had yet to even be scanned. "Well, now you just tell that to Rebecca. You're all she talks about."

"I bet that's not true..." The Border Collie felt his ears flattening, for undefinable reasons. Was it the strangeness of being recognized despite his time away? The good cheer with which the bear wore her snowflake earrings? 'Jingle Bell Rock' playing in the background?

The cashier giggled. "Well, okay, no -- it's not. I guess you know that girl better'n most, but goodness if she doesn't talk you up! Should I call you Doctor Morgan?"

"No. Uh. 'Joe' is fine. You're..."

"Jewel Ruckman! Gosh almighty, don't you remember? I used to be a life guard at the pool! Back when you and Rebecca were both little. Shame on ya!" He still didn't actually remember; fortunately the bear wasn't taking it particularly hard. "What about your friend here?"

"Shanti," the red panda said, waving her paw.

"Cute name! Now, you I haven't seen before. You're with Joe in, hmm... Nashville? Was it Nashville?"

"New Orleans," she corrected with a smile.

"Right! Well, now, welcome to town, right?" Finally she picked up and scanned the bottle of wine. "Picked a strange time for it, weather and all -- now would you believe they're talkin' about it might snow?"

Shanti's eyes lit up. "No... I've never seen snow, not really. It doesn't happen often?"

"Not hardly, it doesn't! But these days, it's like you can't trust anything. Credit or debit, hon?"

"Credit," Joe said. "Storm just last month, right?"

"Was there ever. At least it isn't supposed to be like that. Thank goodness. You're all set, you two!" Jewel bagged up the bottle, tucked the receipt into it, and handed it over to him. "Now you be safe in case you have to drive! And Merry Christmas, again!"

"Merry Christmas!" Shanti beat him to the punch -- which turned into a literal punch, when they were back in the rental car. "This is what you were warning me about? Joseph Vernon Morgan, you are a worrier."

Was he? Border Collies were supposed to be high strung, after all. His sister Rebecca channeled that into her incessant gossip. Joe did have a tendency to fret. He indicated his surrender, however temporary, with a kiss that muted the red panda's glare, and started the car again.

Nothing about the front yard had changed -- the same neatly trimmed grass and hedges, the same ageless arborvitae along the fence with the neighbors. Nothing about the house seemed to have changed, either. Before leaving for basic training, it was the only house he'd ever known and change seemed rather unthinkable.

The brass knocker was obscured by a wreath, and he had no reason to believe that the doorbell worked after two decades of silence. He knocked with his paw, instead, and waited. You do worry too much. Although it was not simply a matter of worrying...

It was a matter of everything that had happened in the last fourteen years -- and what had not happened. The rapprochement he had never managed with his father. The phone calls he had never made to his mother. The time spent in the Army and in Louisiana that felt more like self-imposed and rather pleasant exile.

And now here he was, back again and not certain what to expect.

"Well, you made it!" His dad had aged; his muzzle was whiter, and his paunch was a bit larger than the younger Morgan remembered. But his eyes were the same, and so was his tongue: "Didn't get distracted by your homework?"

"No," Joe said, rolling his eyes. So I see we're starting early. "I didn't. Is mom home?"

"Right here!" shouted a voice from further in. She bustled right past his father to give her son a hug that bordered on physical assault. "Oh, you! It's so good to see you! And you!" She let him go, leaving his jacket dusted with flour, and pounced on Shanti next. "It's nice to finally meet you!"

The red panda didn't have time to be taken aback. "Nice to meet -- you -- too," she gasped, doing her best to return the embrace.

"So, yes, this is Shanti Hsieh. Shanti, uh, this is my dad Gene and my mom Terri." Gene and Shanti shook paws; he'd never been much for hugging. "Dad, I didn't know how you were on beer so I didn't pick up any, but --"

"Gave it up."

"Which you'd know if you called more often," Terri chided. "It's not like wherever New Orleans is is that far away."

"Oh. Well I, uh... I brought some wine, but now..."

His mother's ears perked, and she took the bottle, stripping the paper from around it eagerly. "Oh! Perfect!" And then she was gone, racing back to the kitchen with the boundless energy he remembered so well.

"Doc said it wasn't good for me, you know? Know what else ain't good for a man? Standin' around with the door open, that's what; c'mon." Gene stepped back, and shut the door behind them. "Acting like you ain't had a cold snap before..."

"It doesn't get all that cold in New Orleans," Shanti pointed out. "But I tried to dress for it!"

Under the wool coat and scarf she had, at least, picked something conservative -- the skirt and blouse number would've done well at church, although the Morgans had never been much for churchgoing. Gene took her coat, and hung it on a rack made from elk antlers.

"Interesting decor..." Much of the decor was in the same vein -- rustic chic, perhaps. On the table by the door, the keys were guarded by a whittled sculpture of a feral bear, posed to attack. Antlers were tame by comparison.

"Shot that one myself, you know."

"You did not," Terri called from the kitchen. "That was Jake."

"Are you sure?" Gene grumbled to himself, and finally shook his head. "Well, whatever. It's 'bout time for dinner but your mom ain't really had much time and I ain't had much inclination, so thinkin' it's sandwiches. Sandwiches fine by you, professor?"

Sandwiches would have to be fine; there was leftover chicken and gravy and the effect was pretty much as Joe recalled it -- down to the spongy white bread. This drew a soft smile from Shanti, although Joe was the only one to notice. Authentic Christmas experience.

Terri brought the pitcher of water from the refrigerator and poured everyone a glass. "It really is good to see you, Joe. Tell me, how was your flight?"

Cramped and stressful, although it wasn't as bad as the C-17s he'd ridden a few times in the Army. His parents wouldn't have much context; neither of them really traveled. "It was fine, mom. The drive was fine, too. But somebody did tell me the forecast was for snow -- that right?"

"Doesn't it figure?" Gene said. "And we had a big storm just last month already. So much for all that global warming, huh?"

"Yes, dad. Two cases of severe weather on the Oregon coast pretty much completely overrule hundreds of scientific papers on climate change. I hear the president's calling a press conference."

"Oh, don't start -- either of you!" Terri gave both of the Morgan men a warning eye.

Now Shanti's hidden smile looked a little more teasing, but Joe swallowed his pride. "Sure. How's work been, then, dad?"

Gene was a foreman at Wilson Glassworks, close to the harbor -- like he had ever since environmental regulation shut down the logging industry that had built Cannon Shoals into the town it was. "It's been fine. Wish it was busier. Really could use to hire some of those guys they let go when the mill closed, except of course the governor won't let us expand the plant on some damn environmental-impact baloney."

"This whole town used to be timber and fishing," Joe explained to Shanti. "'Bout a year and a half back, the last big mill shut down. Hasn't reopened since -- remember I was telling you about those riots? It was about that."

"Oh. Ouch..."

"Yeah, but you can go hug a spotted owl if you want, now. It's almost as good as having a job." Gene Morgan scoffed, and bared his teeth instead of carrying on with the sandwich. "And if it ain't that, it's the goddamn Canadians..."

"We've got guests, dear; watch your language. I'm sorry, Shanti -- Gene can be very opinionated."

"It's alright, Mrs. Morgan. So can Joe."

"Yeah, he wrote a whole essay about his opinions," Gene said, with a snicker. "'What I did after pissing away my army career,' by Joseph Morgan. Age 27."

"It wasn't a career," Joe replied through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, and what do you have now?"

Joe's military record was a sore spot. Gene Morgan had tried to join up, even though it meant Vietnam, but his vision disqualified him across several attempts. He took his son's decision not to re-enlist as something of an insult. Which is why I don't call, mom, in case you're paying attention...

Gene had indulged other plans for his son's life, presumably, but 'adjunct professor of economics' was nowhere to be found in them. The derisive references to Joe's dissertation as 'an essay' or a 'book report' had started even before he finished writing it.

For Shanti's sake, to say nothing of his mother, he kept himself from answering his father directly. "It has been going fairly well. I'm mostly teaching younger students for now. I'm not a tenure-track professor like Dr. Hsieh here."

"Oh?" Terri folded her paws and looked to the red panda with what appeared to be genuine interest. "Are you a teacher, too?"

"I'm a professor at the same university, yes," Shanti said. "In chemistry, though, not economics."

"That's how you met?"

"Yes, Mrs. Morgan. I was TAing one of his required classes, and we started talking and... well, after that semester I decided I wanted to learn some more about, uh, new models for relating technological innovation and resource elasticity -- was that it?"

"Might as well be, like it means anything." Gene swallowed the last of his sandwich in an over-generous gulp. "Can make up whatever you want."

"Dear..."

"Don't blame me, Terri; it's true."

Terri sighed. "Of course, dear. So where are you from, Shanti?"

"My parents moved to New Orleans when I was fifteen. It's home for me -- have you been? It's nothing like they make it out to be. As Joe found out! I don't know hardly any voodoo, and I can't speak French to save my life!"

"Oh, yes, I see. Not New Orleans, though -- I mean -- where are you really from?" Terri pressed on. Her head had tilted, and despite the typically-Border-Collie intensity of her eyes the expression was rather grandmotherly.

"Well... my parents are from Marin, originally..."

"China?"

"Marin is by San Francisco, dad." Joe didn't know who he was really protecting Shanti from -- with her distinctive cinnabar-and-white mask and her oversized bottlebrush tail it was a conversation that occurred with some regularity. Something about the baldness of the question still rubbed him the wrong way.

"You're not from China?" his mother prompted.

Shanti took it in stride, giving a good-natured smile. "My grandparents were from western Sichuan, although I won't tell you what country I think it's in." Since neither Terri nor Gene picked up on the implication, she said nothing further. "But they never left when they settled in California."

"So can you speak Chinese?" Terri wanted to know.

"No."

"There's a Chinese restaurant here," Gene thought aloud. "We could take you sometime, if you want. I'm sure Joe is about to say it's not authentic, though."

"They serve their spring rolls with ketchup, dad."

"What did I tell you?"

"It sounds... unique," the red panda allowed. "I'm not sure it's an ordinary combination."

Gene was less willing to argue the point when it was Shanti on the other side instead of his son. They let the matter drop there, although as the evening wore on Terri did ask a few more questions about what life in China was probably like.

"Find out yourself soon enough, dear, the way the country's going. They're our president's best role model."

"Dad, for the love of -- what does that even mean?" Joe snapped.

"Calm down, calm down." His mother leaned over to pat his knee. "I think you're just tired -- it's been a long day traveling. Gene, you made the bed, right?"

"Made damn near everything here." The old dog grunted, like he was upset at being deprived of the argument that had been building. "But I also put sheets on it, yes, dear."

"Good." Terri got up, which was the signal that the rest were to do so as well.

Gene had been right about the bed in both meanings of the word "make." Before Wilson Glassworks, he'd been a lumberman, and then he'd worked at the mill in Oak Valley -- nearly all of Joe's life was redolent with sawdust.

He had something like an intuitive, close relationship with every type of wood. Carpentry was somewhere between a hobby and a lifestyle: he hadn't built the house, but he had built nearly everything inside it.

"This?" Shanti was pointing to the living-room table, at that moment, but the answer was just as true when she asked about the dresser, the nightstand, and the grandfather clock in the hall.

He hadn't built the machinery inside it, but Gene's handiwork was all over the carvings that decorated its beautifully varnished sides. "Yep. Tenth anniversary gift for the most beautiful woman in the world."

Terri turned, nuzzling the old dog's neck. "Show her the inside if you're gonna keep embarrassing me."

The panels on the inside that shielded the mechanism were also richly carved: a perfect copy of their wedding photo on the right side, and traced pawprints of the couple and their children on the left. "My goodness..."

"My best work," Gene nodded. "One of these days I should try making a real clock..."

"He's taking up locksmithing!" Terri added.

"Not really. I just designed the gun safe, that's all. Gotta get that one finished before they get 'round to repealing the Second Amendment. Right, Joe?"

"Right..."

He was too tired to argue; his mom was perceptive, it had been a long day indeed. Bed was a wonderful idea -- his childhood bed, although Gene had made it full-sized so that he'd have something for when he grew up. Every bit of every join in the wood was perfect.

Resting on it, he felt his youth coming back to him. Not just the sawdust, but everything else. Everything that a young Border Collie had predicted for his future: following in his father's footsteps, learning a trade, going to work at the mill or on a fishing boat. Meeting someone he would be as close to as his parents were.

Well, that's at least one thing...

Shanti snuggled up to him, and the closer she got the more everything else faded away. The red panda's thick, soft fur had a way of rendering all his problems small and inconsequential. "Are you having fun?"

The look in her eyes made the expression rhetorical. "Just seeing some reminders of why I left, that's all. Of course..." He shuffled so he could get an arm around her -- the density of her pelt had a way of hiding how diminutive she really was -- and hugged her tightly. "It also helped that I found something better."

He felt her ringed tail loop around his foot when she wriggled closer. "I don't want you to be stressed, that's all."

Could think of at pretty good way to relax, he thought; her sparkling eyes indicated a similar inclination. Joe took the fur of her sides in thick pawfuls. "I was considering that we might... look at getting a room somewhere?"

"Don't think we can be quiet enough?"

He nipped her mischievous little nose and shook his head. "Not what I meant... though that would be nice. But I don't know that I want to do another one of those dinners."

"Poor puppy." Her delicate tongue lapped his muzzle soothingly. "I guess it's not worth going crazy on. But I tell you what, hm?" She settled on his chest, like a fuzzy blanket, and nosed his folded ear up. "Sleep on it and decide in the morning."

For her, he was willing to make the concession. Nodding, he gave her another hug and let her drift off; it was nearly half an hour, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, before he could follow.

And Shanti was up before him the next morning -- she tended to be a light sleeper. He found her in the kitchen, making tea. "Your mom has pretty good taste! Or quite a collection, at least."

"She never used to," Joe said, but the assortment of tea packets definitely argued that a change had occurred. "Did dad already go to work?"

"I think so. It was that or errands."

Joe nodded and, since nobody was around to notice, leaned in to steal a kiss from the red panda. Shanti giggled, reaching her paws up to circle the Border Collie's neck possessively.

"Your mom is taking a shower, you know..."

"She takes quick showers."

Shanti stepped away from him, nodding, and leaned over to remove the kettle from the stove. "So what did you decide? You want to stick around?"

"I want to at least see what our options are. Can we do that?"

It was really a roll of the dice as to which would be the best one. In the end he settled for Beachcomb-Inn, at the far southwest end of town, mostly because he knew the owner fairly well -- Clarence Leon had been a regular fixture in the local Scout troop.

Clarence wasn't in. His son Zach was manning the front desk, and chatting with one of his friends. He didn't know Zach particularly well; the squirrel was almost a decade younger, from a different generation.

On the other hand, he recognized the friend immediately. And she recognized him before Zach could finish his opening spiel: "welcome to the Beachcomb-Inn, how can I --"

"Joe?"

"Hey Joan." The Border Collie girl, who had always been a bit weird, was dressed in what he thought of as her uniform: the button-down shirt was at least a size too large and her jeans were ripped and slightly disheveled. She was wearing a hat, and neither the red knitted cap nor the white pom-pom did much to complete the look, conventionally speaking. "You work here?"

"No. I'm just here for the continental breakfast, 'cept it ain't being made available on account of somebody's still thinking the guests might show up."

"They might," Zach said.

"Unlikely. What about you, Joe? Haven't seen you back since... well, actually..."

Joe flattened his ears guiltily at the accusing way she trailed off. "I'm sorry I didn't make it out for uncle Jake's funeral. I had no money, and dad wasn't gonna help..." He hadn't been as close to Jake as to uncle Coop, who had also met an untimely end, in a train accident: the Findlay clan was no stranger to tragedy.

"It's okay. Terri said you'd talked about it. You're back now? You're not looking for a room, are you? I thought you'd left."

He gave a rueful laugh. "Yeah, I thought I'd left, too."

"This place is basically the Hotel California," Zach spoke up. "Nobody ever really leaves. You're moving?"

"No. Just home for Christmas and the New Year. But, well... I don't know how well you know my dad? It's a bit tough."

Joan's grin was inappropriately wide. "Yeah? You get the 'meddling-fools-in-Congress' talk yet?"

"Broadly. It's often more specific."

"The one about repealing the second amendment?"

"That one, yeah."

"The one about spotted owls?"

"Yeah."

"The one about how he wants to hire all the old Martin-Barlow guys and he would except for the governor?"

"Yeah."

"The one about how he heard FEMA was building concentration camps?"

"Not yet. Uh. He has it out for Canadians now, and he thinks global warming is a hoax."

Joan laughed. "That one's new. Aunt Terri says she doesn't notice anymore. I guess Fox News winds up being like white noise, 'cept maybe you ain't used to it yet? Poor guy. Plus, I guess there isn't much privacy for you two."

"That's a... secondary concern, yes," he allowed.

Shanti jerked her tail. "Secondary? Who says, pup? We could definitely use some." When Joan looked over, the red panda winked. "I'm only kinda kidding... mostly it is about his family. Although, I told Joe his dad seems like a nice guy."

"Gene? He's just weird, that's all. His wife helps... mom says Terri's the only sane Findlay anyway. Zach!"

The squirrel twitched at the abrupt shout, but returned it with equal volume. "Joan!"

"Got a room?"

"Well..."

The Border Collie girl stared him down as only a Border Collie could. "You do. I know you do! Besides." She flipped the pom-pom from one side to the other, and made her grin fractionally less toothy. "It's Christmas."

It seemed, strangely, to be the smile that had done the trick. Zach tapped at a computer so old the screen was in monochrome. "We could probably find a room, yes. Fifty a night."

"Zach. Don't be a Scrooge." Joan leaned over the counter, and went back to staring. She was, however, very close. Are they... Joe supposed there was nothing wrong with it -- he was engaged to a non-collie himself, wasn't he? Good for her, I guess?

The squirrel gave up. "You aren't gonna go all Keith Moon on me, are you?"

"He's one of us!" Joan protested. "When has a dog with Findlay blood ever done anything crazy?"

This time, Zach held his own. He raised his eyebrows: "You want me to get the book?"

"Fine. They'll clean up and do the laundry, 'cause I say so and even if cousin Joe doesn't have the time to come visit his family when one of 'em up and dies he'll still listen when I tell him that, won't you?"

Joe flinched. "Of course."

"Good boy." His cousin straightened up again -- a bit stiffly, he noticed, and there was a cane propped against the front desk. His mother had mentioned something about an accident, now that he searched for the memory...

How had he come to be so distant from them all? And why did it seem so easy to fall back in? The echoes of his previous life in the town were everywhere, and the more he looked the more things had changed. Little things, mostly, because it was still all so... familiar.

With the promise of a hotel room extracted, he took Shanti by the paw and walked up State Street, the business loop from Highway 101 along which the town's shops clustered.

"It seems like a nice place," the red panda said. She leaned on him, and with his arm around her Joe tried to see the street as she might've, with fresh eyes.

Most of the shops had been decorated -- Christmas lights strung along awnings and around windows, wreaths on every door and heartfelt if sappy messages tacked up to welcome patrons. It had a certain charm, in a rustic way; so did the sound of music, and the smell of cooking food.

If he looked longer, though, he came back to all the shops that weren't lit -- the ones that were boarded up and abandoned, left to the relentless coastal weather. There were stalls up, for tourists to buy their tchotchkes on the way to someplace better, and he even saw some shoppers, but the chestnuts were being roasted in the parking lot of a shuttered bank and the stalls only had room because there was nothing more vibrant to replace them.

He bought some chestnuts anyway, from a grey-muzzled old otter whose arms had the scars of a fisherman, because Shanti was after the authentic experience and he wanted something to distract himself.

"Is it starting to feel like home yet?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't know. All I see is the... dirt. I just see all the places where I want it to be better, or different. And I'm not really looking forward to dinner again."

"You're letting your dad get to you too much."

"I know, I know." He needed another distraction. The red panda always worked. He pulled her into his arms, putting his nose to hers so that he could focus on her eyes. They were always, always bright. How could she be so damned optimistic all the time? "What do you see?"

He felt her paw brushing down the fur of his neck. "I see a place that is home for a lot of people. And as much as you warned me, they don't seem like monsters. Maybe your dad is a bit of a grump, sure. But you know what, mister threw-a-fit-about-sulfates-in-his-shampoo? You have a grump side yourself."

It wasn't just about the sulfates -- there'd been the stress of his dissertation, too, and they'd just started living together and she'd offered to run to the store for the first time... "Maybe."

Shanti kissed him tenderly, her lips soft and warm in the winter chill. "But you're a nice guy, aren't you?"

He held onto her for a few more seconds, then finally let go. "At least I'm not Canadian. Could be worse for dad."

"Right?" With a giggle, the red panda prodded him in to walking again. "You could be from the Marin part of China, too."

Optimistic as she was, Shanti was pragmatic enough to agree that a few more hours spent in town was not a bad idea. She was also -- thank God -- smart enough to dismiss Gene's suggestion of trying out the Great Wall Kitchen.

They settled on a coffee shop, because it was warm and because it was packed. The notes of 'Jingle Bells' greeted them when Joe opened the door: it was not until they were inside that he saw the music was live. Shanti clapped her paws together, her tail curling excitedly. "Really?"

The performers looked like kids, probably from the high school. "Don't sound that bad, really..."

As good as you could be with just a trombone, a trumpet, a drummer, and two clarinets. "They don't!" Shanti agreed. A few of the more enthusiastic customers, singing along, smoothed out the rough patches anyway.

He made his way to the counter and looked over the menu. "Happy holidays," the young barista chirped -- her smile was so friendly that when he answered the same way he almost meant it sincerely. "Thanks! Whatcha having?"

"A coffee... maybe? What's good?"

The doe turned around so that she could see the menu behind her more clearly. "Well, the coffee's always good. But I bet you got a bit of a sweet tooth, don't ya?" She looked over her shoulder, catching Shanti's eye. "Does he?"

"Close enough," the red panda said.

"Well. I would recommend the peppermint latte. It's a very good way to warm up! You've had it before?" She turned back to face the pair.

Joe shook his head. "No. I wasn't much for this place before I left..."

"You left?" The barista's eyes widened. "Well, then you're definitely going to have one of those! What about you?"

She had addressed Shanti, who looked at the menu and tilted her head. "Pumpkin?"

"Good choice! It matches your fur!" The doe laughed to her own joke and started ringing up the order. "Did you also leave? That is such a cute scarf, you know -- bet you didn't get that here..."

"No, as a matter of fact! This is my first time visiting."

"Hope we're making a good impression, then!" She took the bill Joe handed her and counted out the change even as she carried on. "I know it's not for just everyone, but it's a nice place! And it has the best coffee -- I'll come bring it to ya, so you just grab a place, huh?"

The band had moved on to an up-tempo rendition of "Silver Bells" by the time Shanti had gotten free of her scarf and coat and could watch them. Whatever they lacked in talent they were making up in enthusiasm.

The red panda reached across the table to take his paw, giving it a light squeeze. She was clearly entranced by the students: "Is it always like this?"

"I remember a lot of it, yeah." Cannon Shoals may not have had a big fishing fleet, and most of the factories might have closed, but they kept fiercely to their traditions. The Fourth of July parade, for example -- or the way the Scouts went to the cemetery to tidy the headstones of Shoals servicemen on Veteran's Day.

There was, from one angle, always something to look forward to, then. It broke the year up. Christmas was the town's last hurrah before the start of a new year, and from the lights on the windows to the big tree in front of 'city hall' they wanted everyone to know it.

The band was playing the same song from the IGA. He caught one of the other customers starting to sing along: "... 'cause no matter how away you roam, when you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze..."

For the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home.

Joe took a deep breath. "I didn't play in the band or anything, but I remember they used to go around the neighborhood and stuff... there's the charity drive, too... remember it used to be that Doug Collins used to fly this old plane of his real slow on Christmas Eve with just the red light visible and they'd tell kids it was Rudolph..."

"Do they still do that?"

He rubbed his fingers over the soft fur of the red panda's paw. "I don't know. When I left town all that kinda stuff seemed really... lame."

"And now?"

Much of it still did seem lame -- or, at best, some kind of artifice. On the other hand, Shanti enjoyed it and that counted for a lot, in his eyes. He was saved from answering by the appearance of their barista with a tray. "Hi, guys!"

"Hi..."

She set two mugs of coffee down. And then, she added two cookies. "I figured you might want something to eat, right? Okay, so um..." The doe closed her eyes, trying to remember: "The one on the left is a snickerdoodle. The one on the right is a... it's not gingerbread, it's a... springerle? Yeah, that's it."

Shanti eyed both hungrily. "Did you make them here?"

"We make everything here!" The doe nudged the cookies further onto the table between the pair. "So, uh, for you this is a welcome-back cookie and for you this is a welcome-for-the-first-time cookie. I want to know how you like 'em, 'cause the snickerdoodles are like... only my third time baking them, right?"

Shanti broke off a piece of snickerdoodle and popped it into her mouth -- following it with an appreciative murmur and a clear excitement in her eyes. The tip of her big, striped tail briefly made an appearance as it curled and wagged.

"That's a good sign! What about you, silent dog man?"

"Joe." Under the doe's watchful gaze, he took a bite of springerle. It tasted strongly of anise, and he was careful to avoid marring too much of the intricate decoration -- like a medieval woodcut had been stamped crisply into the dough somehow. "It's... huh. I've never had anything like this before..."

"I know!" She was fairly wriggling -- he had to wonder what the café had been dosing its employees with. "It was Shannon Booth's idea -- gosh if she doesn't have a lot of them. I want to start helping her with her radio show."

He took another piece of the springerle, waiting for his coffee to cool. "I don't really know who that is, I'm sorry to say..."

"That's 'cause you've been gone! Shannon Booth works with Sandra Callaway at KCNS -- she runs the cooking show. I like the girls; they're both really smart. Next summer I'm going to work here and intern over there. Say, I got your name, silent dog..."

"I'm Shanti." Taking the hint, the red panda set down her snickerdoodle and extended a paw for the doe to shake.

"That means 'peace,' doesn't it? That's a nice name. I'm Taylor Sutton." Introductions having been made, the doe squatted to put herself at eye level with the pair.

Sutton. Hmm. Before he could stop himself, Joe opened his mouth: "Like Eric Sutton?"

"That's dad!"

Holy Christ, Eric? Big guy with the dopey grin who pulled off that senior prank with Principal Carr's desk? Dating June Williams from over on Columbine Street? How had it all come back to him? The Border Collie shook his head. "He was at Rex when I was a freshman. I didn't know he had kids."

"Me and my sister, yep."

Almost as unbelievable as his recall was the bizarre realization that so much had transpired in his absence. He was accustomed to thinking of the town as static -- preserved in a dingy, salt-stained museum exhibit.

But Taylor must've been in high school herself. While he'd been in Afghanistan and Germany and Fort Carson, while he'd been earning his degree and defending his dissertation, Eric had gone from a goofy senior to the parent of someone old enough to drive.

Holy Christ, he thought again. "How is he these days?"

"Oh, ups and downs! His boat capsized and he was in the hospital and stuff, but... he's better now. Gonna head out again this spring -- I used to go with him, but now mom says I'm not allowed. For obvious reasons!" Although, having said it, she rolled her eyes at the implied slight to her maturity. "I'll say 'hi' for you, though."

"He probably doesn't know who I am. You could say I'm Rebecca Holloway's kid brother, if that helps."

"That'll do it!"

"Your sister knows everybody, huh?"

Taylor rolled her eyes again. "His sister -- no offense, Joe -- is so chatty she wears out the microphones at the drive-through. She knows more people than the phone book! I like her, though!"

"That seems to be a common theme..."

"I know! I --"

"Taylor! Get over here!"

He couldn't see who had shouted, but Taylor sprung to her feet immediately, using Shanti's chair as a pivot to vault in the direction of the band. She cleared the remaining distance in two bounds, and bent down to scoop up what turned out to be a saxophone.

The trombone went to work immediately, on the unmistakable opening notes of 'Sleigh Ride.' By a few shouts from elsewhere in the café, Joe supposed it was the group's signature number -- at least it sounded well-practiced.

Next to them, an older wolf started singing. "Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling, too..."

Shanti looked between the wolf, the band, and Joe. "There are words?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know that. You know them?"

He could see what was coming. "Uh, well..."

"Sing."

"Shanti..."

"Sing."

Joe furrowed his brow and tried to keep it sotto voce. "... We're snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be..."

The red panda grinned, and leaned across the table, clearly pleased with herself. "Louder."

"Let's take the road before us and sing out a chorus or two." His voice made for halfway decent harmony with the wolf, who turned and smiled his awareness of this fact. "Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!"

The wolf stopped, and so did the brass instruments. Taylor, who had been playing the counterpoint, hit the bridge by herself. In a larger ensemble the sound of a cracking whip would've been the percussionist's job -- here it was handled by a clap from the café's customers, who provided it with gusto.

The clap turned into general applause when the doe's solo came to a wailing finish. The band took up their instruments, playing the introductory rhythm politely until the cheering had died down -- but it started up as soon as they started the final verse, and in any case so many people were singing that it was hard to tell which was really louder.

In the ensuing commotion Shanti leaned across the table and kissed him deeply. He tasted peppermint and vanilla on her lips -- hell, he could practically see it in her eyes. She licked his nose when she finally drew back. "Not bad. I think you do enjoy this, Joe."

Or, at least, it was getting easier to find himself caught up in the spirit.

The warm glow lasted all the way through dinner; they'd retired to the living room when a knock at the door announced the arrival of more guests. Rebecca, his sister, looked like he remembered her -- chipper, tail always a-wag.

Her husband was a retriever named Brandon, who seemed to be relatively good-natured himself. He worked at the same glassworks as Joe's dad; that, Joe understood, was how he'd met Rebecca.

Gene and Brandon had the same kind of personality. "So you're from..."

"Marin," Shanti said.

"China, originally," Gene added.

"No." Joe didn't understand why the concept was so hard to grasp. "Not any more than you're from Scotland, dad."

But 'China' explained why Shanti didn't look like a dog or a bear or anything else they could really get their minds around, and Brandon cottoned to it. "That's pretty far away, isn't it? Do we got any here? Where's Yong from?"

"Yong's from Korea, I think," Gene said.

Yong Riley, one of the town's more notorious fishermen, had been born and raised in Cannon Shoals. His parents were from the east coast, somewhere; he spoke with a vaguely New England accent. "Yong is American." Joe didn't understand how Shanti put up with it, but the red panda was smiling.

"Don't have any Chinamen here, then," Brandon decided. "Musta been there was, though, 'cause of Chinaman Creek."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Blackberry, you mean," Gene snorted. Chinaman Creek, which flowed into the Neatasknea River between Cannon Shoals and Oak Valley, had been renamed when Joe was in middle school. "Right?"

"Liberal PC crap," Brandon scoffed.

"Careful, my son the professor is a PC liberal. He's gonna give us some sensitivity training if we ain't careful."

Brandon looked at Joe skeptically. "Yeah? I thought you were in the Army?"

"I was."

"We're teachers now," Shanti added. "In New Orleans. That's where we were indoctrinated by Democrats." She was still taking it in good humor.

"Now," Gene held up a worn, white-furred paw. "It ain't Dems. Edith, now, she's a good Democrat. It's just people who gotta stick their muzzle in everything, that's the problem."

Edith Vogel was the town's mayor, like her mother Lilith had been before her. Nobody bothered to run against them; they kept the town in as good of shape as it possibly could be.

Brandon didn't seem convinced. "How do you go from the Army to being one of those college boys goin' on like we gotta coddle everybody, open the borders and all this crap?"

"I studied economics," Joe replied testily. "It's really hard to get a degree in political correctness."

"Yeah, I had to minor in it. Remember, Joe?" Shanti nudged him playfully, smirking. "It was hard to find time with all the illegal immigrants I was smuggling in, but I managed."

Gene failed to respond, distracted by the arrival from the kitchen of Terri and Sam, the Holloways' young son. He looked like a perfect mix of his parents -- his father's yellow coat and soft eyes; his mother's folded ears and feathered tail. "We come bearing gifts," Terri said. "Peace and goodwill and..."

"Cookies." Sam held the tray unsteadily, grasping it with oven mitts. "Mimi let me decorate."

"And cut them out," Terri added. The cutting had been done relatively effectively; the decorations atop the sugar cookies were copious and somewhat haphazard. Joe picked out a Christmas tree splashed with orange sprinkles, as though it had been vandalized.

Gene selected an angel -- a generic canine, with both sides of its face purple and a bare patch in the middle. The pup beamed: "Do you recognize it?"

"Should I?" In an instant the older Border Collie's mood had changed. Had the question been posed to Joe it would've been pointed and sharp. Now, even those two words had a mirth in them.

"It's you, Grangy!"

Generously, the color patterning fit. There was only one problem: "I ain't an angel yet, you know..."

"I know! But you will be."

"Gee, thanks, kid." Gene chuckled, and took a bite of the warm cookie. "What about you? Did you make one for yourself?"

"'F course not," Sammy set the tray down on the table, and hopped up on the sofa next to his grandfather. "They only make cookie cutters for old people."

"Sam!" his mother objected sharply.

"Mimi said!"

Terri laughed. "I told him that they we didn't have one for kid angels, that's all. I'm sure he knows that granddad isn't 'old people'..."

"Huh uh," Sam agreed. "Grangy can't be real old, I guess. How old are you, Grangy?"

"Ancient. You want to know how old, kiddo? Our television was black and white. People couldn't see colors back then. That's why I'm black and white, too. And why grandma Terri is grey."

"Wow!"

"And we didn't have seat belts. I rode in the bed of my dad's truck and nobody cared."

"Cool!"

"And we didn't have cell phones."

That was a bridge too far. "Grangy, come on..."

"We didn't. Cross my heart, kiddo. Mimi?"

"That's right. Even uncle Joe didn't have a cell phone. If he left the house and we wanted to get 'hold of him, I just had to shout really loud."

"And I didn't listen anyway," Joe added.

Sam still looked doubtful. "That's really old. It must've been before Pilgrims, even."

"Didn't I tell you I was ancient?"

"Are you younger than her?" The pup pointed to Shanti, who was leaning against Joe's side taking in everything with an expression that suggested she was close to melting.

"Aunt Shanti is a lot younger than me," Gene said.

"But her face is white like an old person..."

Shanti stirred to wiggle her white eyebrows. "That's just how my face looks."

"Is it 'cause you're from China?"

Gene tapped the pup between his ears. "People look different everywhere, kiddo. Just how it is. Ain't mean nothin' either way for you."

Sam took the lesson without objecting. A minute later he settled for pulling out some sort of handheld game, which he held so that his grandfather could see the screen.

Joe had never known his father to have any aptitude for electronics; they still had no computer, and getting satellite television set up was an ordeal managed entirely by Joe and Rebecca. But at some point, somehow, he had taught himself how to play whatever Sam had -- enough that they were clearly both engrossed in it.

He turned to look at Shanti, who met his gaze with a soft smile and tilted her head up for a kiss. "Kids," she murmured happily.

Sam's presence also kept any more heated discussions from evolving. Brandon asked about life in Louisiana and seemed even to be paying attention when they answered. Like many of them, the retriever didn't travel often -- and no further east than Wyoming.

"But you, you've been to... Afghanistan, you said?"

"In the Army, yeah. I didn't do much sightseeing."

"Okay over there?"

Joe had largely managed to stop thinking about it, at least on a day-by-day basis. He kept his answer mild, in line with the season. "It's probably better today. I was over in '02 and '04. Guess I wouldn't mind going back."

"What about you? You go to China?"

Shanti nodded. Still relaxed on her fiancé's side, the gesture rubbed her cheek into his shoulder. "Twice. For conferences, though; I don't have any family over there. It's pretty weird..."

"Don't they eat, like, chicken feet and rotten eggs and stuff?"

She laughed. "Not exactly..."

Rebecca tilted her head. "You sure? Didn't we see some documentary on that? Thousand year eggs? That reminds me, hon, we need to stop at the store tomorrow. Tommy was saying that he heard from Anne's boss the good eggs were going to be in. Not like Jessica would know, the way her son looks so bony? I don't think she ever fed him. I try to get him to order more food when he comes by, but he's so darn stubborn..."

Joe was surprised at how easily he followed the conversation. At least, he knew that Anne Thompson worked with Jessica Hayes at the Forestry office up north, and that Jessica's son was one of Rebecca's innumerable acquaintances.

Shanti was explaining that China was 'a pretty big country' and that Tibetan food was not the same as General Tso's when someone knocked at the door. With Shanti leaning on Joe and Brandon's arm around Rebecca, Terri got up to answer it.

On the other side, besides an unseasonable chill, were three men and two women -- an otter, a stag, and a few dogs. They were bundled up against the night wind, complete with theatrically applied scarfs and hats.

They took a breath in unison, and launched into the first verse of 'Deck the Halls.' By the time they'd finished everyone had gathered in the foyer to watch. 'Gloucester Wassail' was next; Shanti cocked her head and Joe realized the entire experience, down to the lyrics, was new to her.

It was not completely new to him. The stag was Mark Noyes, nephew to Father Noyes, the town's Catholic priest. Mark was a plumber, but he was active in the church -- and the singers were good enough that they probably came from the choir.

Listening to 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas,' which they sang in full, Joe became aware that it was a rather imperious tune. We want some figgy pudding, and then: we won't go until we get some.

But when they finished, and bowed, Terri stepped back to open the door. "Come in? It's cold out there."

"'Tis, milady," Mark agreed with a very bad English accent. "But we could stay for a minute here, I suppose..."

They were, indeed, from the church choir. The wassail was a bit of a Cannon Shoals tradition, at least in certain neighborhoods; sugar cookies stood in for 'figgy pudding,' and a 'cup of good cheer' was the mulled wine that had emerged from the bottle of Joe's merlot.

"You do this often? I'm new here," Shanti explained as an afterthought. "This didn't happen in my hometown."

Mark nodded. "We do! It's a good opportunity to get out and see our neighbors -- even in a small town, why, you wind up surprised at all the new faces you meet. Why not welcome them with a little good cheer?"

"And they're... okay with that? That's really... it's touching!"

"We visit some people on request," the otter added. "Some of the older folk don't get as many visitors as they might want. You know, with kids moving away and everyone being so busy..."

Terri laughed. "Wouldn't know anything about that. Not like it's Joe's first Christmas back here in more than ten years or anything, is it, son?"

Mark just smiled. "But that's alright. You're here today. We visited you on a suggestion, too -- it isn't just divine coincidence." The smile shifted into a friendly grin: "Your niece, Terri."

"Joan?"

"She said your son was back in town. We thought it would be nice. Unfortunately we can't really stay long -- but thank you for the food and the company, all. Merry Christmas, happy holidays; God bless!"

Shanti was still taking it all in. She brought it up to him that night, with her head resting on him and her fingers stroking his belly fur. "Did you know all of those people who came to the door?"

"No. Some of them, sure. Mark and Patty, I knew her. I think I used to see Kim around, too."

"They just... go out and sing for people like that? I guess they sing for people in the church, too, but -- well." She laughed, and rolled over to lay atop him. "I didn't know that happened in real life."

"It's two sides of the same coin. They all know each other. But if you're an outsider... if you want to be a bit different? My cousin, say? Cousin Joan was always the weird one. She doesn't do so well here."

"Well enough to catch that squirrel's eye."

"They're both outsiders. Cannon Shoals is..." He tried to think of how best to put it, the tension between Brandon and Gene's casual xenophobia and how friendly they both could be in general. "It's like it's so small, there's no room for anyone who lives here to be an outsider. The town has a... an immune response."

"You say that, but it's not so clear to me."

"Look at my dad. Look how good he is with Becky's kid. And..." And then look at how he treats me.

Shanti scooted forward, so they could see eye-to-eye. For once her look was serious. "You know why that is, though, right? C'mon, Joe. Isn't it obvious? His whole life, everything he's done, he's worked with his hands. He's proud of that. He has a right to be! Look at this bed! We haven't really put it through its paces yet, but..."

"I'm not saying he can't be proud of it."

"No, no. But you took a different path. He doesn't know how to relate to you. You quit the service, you moved away -- you said he didn't finish high school, right? Got his GED? You turned your back on everything that mattered to him -- almost... like it was kind of an insult. On purpose."

"But it's not an insult."

She looked deeply into his eyes, all the mirth brought instead to crisp, deliberate attention. "It kind of is. You said yourself all you see here is the dirt. Sure, there's some. But when I asked you about the town, just right now, the first example you gave was your dad -- and you have this wall up, like where you came from is something to be ashamed of. Or like you think if I saw you enjoying it, I'd think less of you."

"No..."

She kissed the tip of the Border Collie's nose. "Why did you try so hard to keep me from coming here, then? And meeting your parents? If I were your dad, and I knew that..."

It was at least a point worth considering. The next morning, after breakfast, he tried to think of an excuse to speak to Gene in private. His mother intervened before he could manage, although it seemed to be entirely an accident.

"We're taking some things down to the donation box. Clothes and some food and things... plus, Sam wants to see Santa Claus. If you're interested."

"Ah... sure, mom." Shanti wanted to go, too; they pitched in to load up his dad's SUV. Joe volunteered to get the keys. When he reached for them, the sculpture by the door again caught his eye.

It hadn't always been there. He remembered its creation. Gene, who spent most of his free time woodworking, carved the bear with a blade Joe had knapped from flint as part of some merit badge or another. Might as well try, his dad had said.

To Joe it had always seemed merely rough-hewn -- brutal, even. Looking at it now he saw the more subtle signs that his father had known how expertly to use the wood. The way the bear emerged almost organically around the knots; the way the grain had been worked into its fur.

"Forget which one's mine?" Gene asked, leaning through the open doorway.

"You still carve, dad?"

"Not really. Ain't had a reason, an' I get more tired these days than I used to. You didn't care much. Becky neither."

"I should've," Joe admitted. He paused, with his fingers on the keyring, looking the bear over with new eyes. "I wish I had. Shanti was right; you're really good at this."

"Just a hobby."

The younger Border Collie nodded, and finally picked up the keys. "Sam would like it, I bet. I bet you could teach him. Heck, get a piece of flint; you could teach him to pressure-flake, too."

"You really think so? Not just humoring your old man?"

"I don't have a sense of humor," Joe said. Grinning, he tossed the keyring to his dad. "They don't teach that at college. Not PC enough."

"Bet it ain't..."

Every year for as long as Joe could remember, the town had a secular donation drive to accompany the ones that the two churches ran. This one was operated by the Cannon Shoals Police Department, who also used their station as a convenient home for Santa Claus.

Santa, a very busy man, could only spare a few hours in Cannon Shoals and the parking lot was already nearly full. Mayor Vogel, acting as Mrs. Claus, waved them into one of the few remaining places.

"People really go in for this, huh?" Shanti had either noticed the state of the parking lot, or that one of the open spaces was blocked off by a sign proclaiming it was reserved for feral reindeer.

Brandon and Rebecca were already waiting, and Shanti had her question handily answered by the energy with which Sam bounced and capered. The hugs he dispensed to the new arrivals were as brief as they were excited, and the pup's tail was a crazed blur.

As housing Santa inside the police station had troubling implications, he was sitting on the tailgate of a police truck, which had been liberally decorated with ribbons and sleigh bells. Terri consented to appearing in a picture with Sam and Mr. Claus -- which also meant that she consented to standing in the line that led to the truck, along with Brandon and Rebecca.

The task of carrying the boxes to be donated fell to Joe, Gene, and Shanti. They went to the back of the station; the door was unlocked by what Joe believed was intended to be a helpful elf. That was, at least, presumably, the goal of the startlingly green jacket and red tights. This effect had been undermined by the wearer, who while thin was also quite tall, and not what anyone would have described as elfin.

"These three boxes?" the elf asked.

"Yep," Gene confirmed. "Clothes, canned food, and, you know, kid's stuff. Diapers and formula -- guy at the IGA said you were asking for those. Careful, the canned food is heavy."

The elf, a brown-furred mustelid of some fashion, raised eyebrows over very sharp eyes. "Really Gene? Here I thought tin cans floated with Christmas magic when you donated 'em. I got it, don't worry." He took the box from Gene, nudged the door open with a pointy-toed shoe, and set it down amongst dozens of others in the station's garage.

Shanti looked a little bemused: "Are elves supposed to have such a temper?"

He took the diapers from her next. "Lady, I'm a grown man wearing a hat with a bell on it, these shoes wouldn't fit a real elf, and I've already had one kid bite me today for not taking him to the North Pole. It gives ya a bit of a temper, yeah."

Gene chuckled. "You pissed Clint off again, didn't you?"

The elf scowled. "That goddamn low-life... Yes. Also, if kids don't buy me as an elf? They sure as fuck ain't buyin' a two-hundred-fifty-pound jet-black wolf with a chopper and a loyalty card for an anger-management program. Flyin' reindeer ain't got shit on that suspension of disbelief."

If his appearance slightly undermined the costume, though, the costume made the elf's vitriol completely ridiculous. His hat jingled when he twitched and muttered; Joe could see Shanti starting to grin. "You work here, then? You're a cop?"

"Of course. You think they let just anybody dress up like a colorblind retard who's tired of getting laid?" The elf set the last box into place, and walked them back to the door. His bright-green shoes squeaked on the cement floor.

While the elf locked up, Joe glanced around. Above, the sky was growing dark and grey. Nothing had started falling yet. The Border Collie was considering inspecting the tread of his dad's tires when something else caught his eye -- an envelope, pinned between the tire and a storm grate. "What's that?"

"What's what? Ah... shit, I dunno. Trash."

"You're not curious?"

"If I bend over, these pants are going to castrate me. Pick it up yourself, Encyclopedia Brown."

The envelope was too thick to be a simple letter. Inside Joe found a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He leafed through them carefully, tabulating the amount in his head. "Thirty-four hundred dollars."

"Oh, fuck me."

"Donation?"

The elf shot Joe a heated glare. "You think we get many donations in unmarked bills?"

Shanti looked at the money warily. "Not drugs, I hope?"

"No. No, I know where it came from. It's uh... shit. Gene, who's that guy who works with Lamar at your shop? Manuel?"

"With the ratty Focus? Yeah, that's Manuel Baldera. I don't know anything about him, though."

"Very frugal, apparently. That's why he drives the beater. The money's for part of a downpayment on his daughter's... apartment, I think, in Utah. She's getting her own place -- it's a big deal for him."

Joe counted the bills back into the envelope, and closed it again. "How do you know?"

"Brilliant police work, of course. How the fuck do you think I know? He wouldn't shut up about it. Came by here like... an hour ago, sayin' he was flying to Salt Lake this afternoon. Shit. Ah, come on." He led them back inside and, grumbling, picked up a phone. "Hey. Yeah, ho ho fuckin' ho to you, too, Scout. I need a favor."

The flight from Portland to Salt Lake City was delayed by weather and would not leave for another five hours. The elf's partner, he said, was in Stayton -- but in the best conditions it was a four-and-a-half-hour round trip from that town, plus at least another hour to get to the airport itself.

"Well, doesn't have to be a round trip. I'll do it."

"Dad?"

Gene shrugged. He'd offered immediately, and showed no hesitation now. "Why not? If it snows, it'll be good to have the four wheel drive."

They started walking back to the door, and the elf shook his head in faint surprise. "Thought you said you didn't know the guy, Gene?"

"Don't have to know a guy that well to figure he's gotta be panicking right now. Can your partner meet me in Salem?"

"Yeah. Of course. Straight shot up I-5, then. Shit, even Scout can't fuck that one up. If you're in, it'd be a big help, that's for fuckin' sure."

"You'd have a couple hours to spare, too. Yeah, I'm in. Pretty good luck you knew who it belonged to..."

Outside, where flakes were beginning to come down, another policeman was waiting -- a cougar, wearing a much more standard uniform with only a candy cane tucked into his pocket serving as acknowledgment of the season. "Oh, little elf..."

"Fuck off. What do you want?"

"Just got a lost-and-found call in."

"Manuel Baldera?"

"How did you know?"

The elf grinned -- it was a feral grin, with very sharp teeth, that left Joe wondering if Santa had a workshop or a work-release program. "Goddamn Christmas miracle, ain't it? Call the bitch an' tell him Scout'll be in touch. We got this taken care of."

"Sure."

"An' I fuckin' know because I --" He caught himself abruptly; Rebecca and Brandon and Terri had come around the corner, with Sam in tow. "Ah. How do you think I knew?"

The cougar, on his way into the station, paused at the door. "No clue."

"I work for Santa Claus. He knows everything."

"That's not Santa Claus." Sam clarified his objection with a shake of his head, pointing back to the front of the station. "That wasn't."

"Sure it was."

"Was not."

The elf cocked an eyebrow, bending over carefully -- mindful of the pants -- to be closer to the pup. "Yeah? What are you, the Santa Claus union rep? Of course it was. Chief Pacheco told me, and he don't lie."

"He doesn't have a sleigh. Santa Claus has to have a sleigh."

"Look, pup. Let me tell you the truth about Santa Claus. If you can handle it. Can you handle it?"

Getting the truth about Santa Claus from a surly stoat of an elf in an ill-fitting green tunic would've been a warning sign for most people, but not Sam. "Of course."

"Santa's been around for a while, right, so he's old but he ain't, like, dumb in the head. Sleighs need snow. You see any snow?" A thick flake pasted itself on the pup's nose. "Ignore that one."

"His sleigh flies."

"It used to. A lot of airspace stuff changed, you know? New FAA rules, war on terror, stuff like that -- look, my point is, he finds the best way to get around. That's why we give him a ride when he's down here. You gotta step up sometimes, right? Ask yer grandpop about that."

On the walk back to the house, Joe meditated on what the elf had said -- and on how quickly his dad had volunteered to go to Salem for a man he barely knew. Gene turned down the offer of company; in exchange, he told his son to hang the Christmas lights.

The Christmas lights had been a source of contention. Joe found them rather tacky -- especially the way his parents decorated not just the house but the tree in the front yard and the walkway. 'Las Vegas Strip' had been the metaphor the younger Border Collie used. They were all so much conspicuous...

Conspicuous what? Seasonality? Neighborliness?

To the backdrop of heavier snowfall and a darkening sky he put the strands up one by one, testing each in turn to make sure that it worked. Bit by bit the house became brighter, sparkling in defiance to the December night. It does have a sort of charm to it...

Shanti was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder when he finished. "Must've been a lot of work, huh? You did a good job..."

"Thanks. Looks kinda pretty, yeah." He folded the ladder up and replaced it in the garage before turning to the red panda. The same sort of happiness she'd felt all along now thoroughly soaked him; impulsively, he took her in his arms and rubbed his soft nose to hers. "What about you?"

"Baking," she said. Her arms circled him, and she stood on tip-toes to lock their muzzles together for a moment. "Pumpkin pie and something called pecan squares?"

Joe nodded lightly, nuzzling closer to her. He could taste it on her lips, anyway. Of course she would've gotten into baking with his mother. They shared the same outlook on the world. He was so lucky to have her in his life. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Shanti licked his nose back, and the answer had to wait. The kiss was tender, but soft as it was the heat built quickly -- her tongue met his when he slipped past her lips to seek out her warm muzzle, and the cold air made swirling puffs of her pleased gasp. "Have an idea..."

"Do you?"

"Well... your mom's asleep..."

And his bedroom was not so far away. He didn't need any further reason to take her paw and pull her along with him into it, locking the door behind them and killing the lights. "Though, uh..."

"Uh?" She wiggled her eyebrows and twitched her whiskers.

"We can be quiet, right?"

Shanti giggled, and stretched herself up to kiss her fiancé again. "Can we?"

He was willing to find out, at least. The first step was removing her blouse to go after the deep, soft, charcoal pelt underneath it. The outfit became less conservative with every opened button.

The Border Collie slipped it from her, at last, along with her bra, and with a herding dog's decisiveness he leaned her back and onto the bed. Shanti relaxed, her smile dreamy and broad. He lapped down from her neck to her soft-furred breast, flattening his silky tongue against the nipple to lap it stiff and pert. "Joe..."

He sucked on it until he heard her sigh catch into a half-stifled moan. Her stocky back arched a few degrees, giving the dog an opportunity to slide his paws underneath her.

He knew every inch of the red panda's frame by memory, even if he couldn't see her lustrous ruddy fur that looked conditioner-model soft in the right light. Pulling her skirt down, he stopped to squeeze her soft rear in both paws: she moaned a second time, and he had to work at pretending it was a problem.

"Quiet, remember?"

"Then don't do that again," she breathed.

But he did anyway, and went back to teasing her breast for good measure. The days of abstinence had taxed both of them -- he couldn't help himself. Nor could she -- as soon as she felt that her clothes were off she slid backward on the bed so that he had no choice but to follow her.

"Hurry up," she whispered. Her glinting eyes narrowed, and surprisingly sharp claws tugged him close enough for her breath to fill his ear. "I need you in me, babe."

"Can I -- mmf -- take off my shirt first?"

"If you're quick." She let go, and he did the best he could -- haphazardly; it caught on his nose and the resulting grunt was very undignified. By the time he'd thrown it to the side, she had his pants open and a quarter of the way down his legs.

He helped her with the rest and settled between her legs, in the thick, plush valley formed by her black thighs. She wiggled her hips until he felt the pointed tip of his shaft bump up against nice, wet warmth. "Quiet," he repeated.

And so as not to take chances he dipped his lips to hers, catching her moan when he slid forward and sank his length smoothly inside her -- gasping himself, shuddering into her muzzle as her soft folds embraced him. When he tried to pull back, the claws reappeared. "No. Stay..."

So he did -- letting the warmth of her body suffuse him, feeling every pulse and twitch of her tight womanhood clinging to him. Until at last she relented, whispering huskily that she loved him, that she'd missed him; that she needed him -- and he started to thrust, slowly, lingering on every second.

Joe's hips swiveled and bucked slowly between her thighs as the Border Collie made sure that every stroke left him hilted -- left Shanti feeling her dog's smooth cock pressing deep, the tapered end nudging up against her the way it always did, bringing the mewling squeal of pleasure he knew perfectly.

Quiet. But 'quiet' was up against a hunger he'd been suppressing since New Orleans. The mutter that hissed through her nose when he filled her was quiet enough. But the rhythmic squeak of the mattress was a telltale -- so were his muffled groans, and the delighted whimpers that she gave in reply.

They were growing in volume, too, like they came from behind a stone wall that was steadily being battered down -- like at every new thrust they were closer and closer to breaking into something far less restrained. Joe shut his eyes and tried to pace himself, but she was so tight around him, so achingly warm...

And when he sped up, Shanti began to tremble. Her legs locked behind his to keep him from going anywhere. When her feet dug in it was though he had been spurred: the dog grunted and gave up whatever resolve he had left. Whatever patience, whatever restraint...

In silhouette he saw her arch, and bite down on her lip. When she let go it was to beg for him in a thin, urgent whisper so breathy it might well have been telepathic. Don't stop. She squirmed and rolled her hips, humping up to meet him as he drove himself into her swiftly, to the thumping creak of the bedframe. Don't stop babe, do it, let me have it all...

Then it was a swift, frantic dance, all instinct and energy. He had to tie her -- hell with quiet, and the pounding thrusts certainly made enough noise, to say nothing of the red panda whose lover's canine shaft was spreading her wider and wider with every desperate plunge.

When he claimed her at last the price for her silence was the sharp claws that clenched fiercely at his side, and teeth digging in to his shoulder. Joe barked hoarsely, feeling her muted wail timed to the sharp bucks of a dog right at the precipice of his endurance, consumed by the need to rut himself deeply into his mate's womb.

The last few were shaky and erratic -- release hit him with a mix of euphoria and electricity and blissful relief, his tension ebbing with each rope of hot, fertile seed that he spilled inside her. The quick, pulsing splashes spread into her swiftly, helped by the canine knot that ensured he was buried all the way inside and they had nowhere else to go...

He fell on her with his hips still gently grinding against hers and his shoulder wet and warmed by the lovely red panda's helpless panting. Half a minute passed before she let go. "Good boy," she whispered.

"Shanti... God, I love you..."

"Love you, too, puppy. Even if you do get a bit... wild. Hope your mom's not a light sleeper."

"Me too." He dropped his head onto her chest and sighed happily. "I seem to recall so."

"Good." She stroked his ears, and when he rolled onto his side she wrapped her leg around him to keep their bodies close. "So this means we're on Santa's list, right?"

"Mm?"

"Making a list, checking it twice?" Her tongue bathed his ear teasingly. "The one where he knows if you're knotted? We are nice and knotted."

"We are." He nipped her neck for the joke. "But it's naugh_ty_."

"We did just fuck in your childhood bed with your mom sleeping in the next room, didn't we?"

"True. Maybe we are on the list."

She giggled softly. "Try again to be sure?"

As his knot slowly softened, though, the desire melted into a need to simply be near to each other. Outside they could see the snow falling thicker and faster; she insisted that she would have to see it in person -- but later.

Until then they snuggled up, under the sheets, and it was hard to deny just how right it felt to be with her then and there, sheltered from the storm and... home. "Is it?" she asked, when he said that aloud. "You think?"

"It's... hard to explain..."

It was comforting -- like the whole of the house, the whole of the town was as warm as the down blanket and the red panda beneath it. Whether he could explain it or not, the sleep that finally took them was more pleasant than he'd known was even possible.

For once, he was awake before Shanti. In fact he seemed to be awake before all of them. He donned his boots and jacket and went to the garage to plug in the outdoor lights.

Although the sun was up, the morning was soft and grey, filtering through heavy snow. Three or four inches had already fallen, sticking to the driveway and the road beyond; it covered the lights that bounded the yard and reduced them to a diffuse glow.

The first thing he noticed was the silence -- a perfect, nearly unbroken hush. The Border Collie had to strain his ears before he heard the first birds; the first call of the distant foghorn.

Snow had taken the edge from the town, and smoothed it into something fresh and beautiful and new. No cars or feral animals had left their tracks in it yet; no soot or dirt had colored the immaculate white. It was up to anyone to make a first impression.

Although there had been no need to use a snow shovel for years, his father's sense of organization meant it took him only a minute to find it, brushing cobwebs away with his gloved paws. He grasped the wood firmly and set to work.

It was work, indeed, to shovel the driveway clear, and the snow was still coming down hard enough that by the time he'd finished the task a new layer had settled down on it. But it was a good start; he went after the path to the front door next.

Presently the door opened, and his father emerged. He hadn't bothered with a jacket, but Joe had the sense that even the flannel shirt he wore was enough. His father had always been able to take on anything he wanted.

"Still comin' down, huh?"

"Yeah. Hasn't even lightened, I don't think."

"Radio said six inches." Gene clicked the door shut, and made his way down the walk to the driveway. "Not bad."

"I figured I'd try to get ahead of it."

"Hard to do. You know, your girl said she never saw snow before? Was gonna say somethin' about it, but God knows, I ain't seen it come down like this since I was a kid. Must be all that global warming."

"Must be."

"Drive back from Salem was already pretty intense. Hope his flight made it out on time, though."

"You know, I still can't believe you just up and... went."

His father smiled. "You would've done the same thing."

It was something in the way he said it -- how quick it had come to his lips -- that drove home the realization that Gene actually meant what he'd said. And Joe knew that Gene knew he was right. "You taught me well, I guess."

The old dog just laughed. "Well, and you know a thing about up an' travelin' on the holidays, don't you? Did come from further away."

"Should do it more often."

"Should do. It's tough on your mom, havin' you so far off. Aw, hell. It's tough on me too -- but I can't blame ya for it. Used to, on accountin'a... I stayed, and my dad stayed, and his dad stayed. But somebody must've moved, 'cause it wasn't like we're some damn indians or nothin'. Came through Ellis Island, once upon a time. And anyway you're busy."

"With the book reports?" Joe teased.

"Yeah, your mom told me to knock it off. I don't get it, the book stuff. Always figured I didn't want that for ya. Wearin' a tie every day, stuck indoors -- hell ain't much better'n bein' some damn businessman always bowin' and scrapin' to his middle management like the suits at Wilson gotta do."

"I never was going to be as good of a carpenter as you."

Gene grunted. "Did well enough. Bed held up to you two, didn't it?"

Was he home? I thought... "Oh, hell. We didn't, uh..."

"Wake me? Naw." He chuckled, and thumped the railing with his paw to knock some of the snow off. "I was just guessing. 'Cause if you two haven't yet, well, then maybe there is something wrong with ya."

"Shanti's okay by you?"

"Bit book-learny, but I'll live. Thought about that on the drive back yesterday -- guy had a busted tire an' I stopped to help him. He's some wimpy cat thing, didn't know one end of the car from the other. Figured like, I wanted you to be able to change a tire if it came to that. Help folks out and all?"

"I'm not that bad."

"I know. I know. He was a... accountant? Figured like... you know, I got to ponderin'. Your book reports and all... 'cause you teach folks. You an' her, too. Means like there's somebody gonna do somethin', figure somethin' out, and he'll think to himself hey, I read that in a book by Joe Morgan. Or Doc Morgan taught me that."

"Hopefully."

"Could be worse. You turned out okay." Abruptly, like he'd forgotten something, Gene followed the admission by glancing behind him. "Cold, though. Gonna head back in. Holler if ya need somethin'." He turned away before either could see the other's expression.

Joe's was the grin of startled epiphany. He started whistling, the notes spilling from his lips in little clouds like a steam locomotive. Before he knew it, there were words, too, punctuated by the shovel grating against the sidewalk and the exertion it took to clear the snow.

"I met a man who lives in Tenn_essee; he was headed for -- Pennsyl_vania and some homemade pumpkin pie... from Pennsylvania folks are trav'lin' down to Dixie's sunny shore..."

He licked away the snowflakes from his muzzle, and tossed the next shovelful in a broad arc that spun the flakes out so they fell a second time, soft and dreamlike.

"Oh there's no place like home for the holidays! 'Cause no matter how far away you roam, if you want to be happy in a million ways, for the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home!"

"Ain't that the truth?"

He turned to see one of their neighbors, having made the trek to the mailbox. Joe waved, and the dingo -- Rose Larkin, a sewing acquaintance of his mother -- waved back. "I tell you, I wasn't expecting to be shoveling snow when I came back..."

"You don't have to tell me that!" Rose slipped a few letters into the mailbox, closed the door, and lifted the flag -- an expression of optimism if ever there was one. "After the big storm last month, I'm starting to think granddad should've stayed in Australia. You just back for Christmas, Joseph?"

"Fly out just after the New Year, yep. Back to New Orleans with me."

"If this keeps up, your parents are going to ask you back more often. It's good to have some strong young man to come by and clear the walk. Bet you'll do the gutters, too, in fall!"

"They've got Brandon, right?"

Rose grinned. "If he's anything like my son-in-law, they'll want a backup plan. Oh, well, what can you do -- I've gotta get something out of the oven, but it was nice seeing you! Merry Christmas, Joe."

"Merry Christmas!" He watched the dingo pick her way back through her footsteps to the house and then, when the door had closed, started shoveling the Larkins' sidewalk, too, for good measure.

Thirty minutes later he was clearing the freshly fallen snow from the driveway when Shanti appeared around the corner. "So this is snow, huh?" Her scarf had been wrapped nice and snug about her neck, and she'd added a pair of mittens.

"Pretty much..."

The red panda's tail swayed and curled and wagged. She stuck out her tongue, catching a snowflake on it, and twitched her whiskers. "It's just water."

"Pretty much," he repeated.

It fell thickly enough that soon she was lightly dusted with it; it fell from her ringed tail when she waved it, and dappled her nose. For being unfamiliar precipitation, she learned quickly -- no sooner had he heard a curious "hm!" from the red panda than he turned to find her pouncing the front lawn.

She spun onto her back and sprawled out, in the center of a snow angel. "For it being your first time, you know..." He couldn't help but note it -- with the snowflakes whitening her woolen jacket and clinging to her whiskers and the fur of her mask. "You look an awful lot like you belong."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's funny."

He dug the shovel in and leaned on it, watching her tail as it carved a widening track through the snow. "Yeah? Why?"

Shanti sat up, planting her mitten-covered paws behind her and regarding her Border Collie intently. It was true what he'd said; there was nothing particularly funny about it. She did look like she belonged.

He was about to ask again when he caught the look in her eyes. That warm, soft gaze, the one he'd fallen in love with waking up next to. The expression said volumes... and then she smiled, gently, and her voice was just as tender:

"So do you."