She called the grandchildren up one at a time.

The oldest cousin tore into a box and pulled out a gleaming new tablet and shrieked, and a younger one opened an identical one, and the teenagers slid thick folded stacks of cash out of their holiday cards and grinned.

The room filled with the good noise of Christmas — torn paper, happy shouting, the adults marveling at how the kids had grown.

Holly sat beside me in the gold dress Brandon had steamed that morning, her Mary Janes tucked neatly under her chair, her hands folded in her lap, watching the other children the way a child watches a party she has not quite been invited to, hoping.