“I know.” Her voice was still choked as she reached up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just, I really had a feeling it had happened this month. Which I know is so stupid . . .”

“You’re not stupid,” Jamie said softly, smoothing a hand over her head.

“. . . but I just started thinking how great it would be to find out today and be able to tell you guys, and how it would be the best gift ever—” She drew in a long, shaky breath, her eyes welling up again. “But it didn’t happen. I’m not pregnant. Again.”

“Cora.”

“I know,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s Christmas, we have a wonderful life, roof over our head, things so many people want. But I want this. And no matter what I do, I can’t get it. It just . . .” She trailed off, wiping her eyes again. This time, Jamie didn’t say anything.

“Sucks,” I finished for her.

“Yeah,” she said, looking up at me. “It sucks.”

I felt so helpless, the way I always did when I saw Cora upset about the baby issue. It was the one thing that could take her from zero to emotional in less than five minutes, the single tender spot in her substantial personal armor. The previous month she’d finally agreed to a little pharmaceutical help, via an ovulation drug, which made her hot and emotional, liable to be sweating or weeping or both at any given moment. Not a good mix, especially during the holidays. And now, it was all for nothing. It did suck.

“We’ll just try again,” Jamie was saying now. “It was just the first month. Maybe the second time will be the charm.”

Cora nodded, but I could see she was hardly convinced as she reached up, running her finger over the gift I’d given her that morning: one of Harriet’s key necklaces, a silver one lined with red stones. I’d been strangely nervous as she opened the box, worried she wouldn’t like it, but the minute she slid it out into her hand, her eyes widening, I knew I’d scored. “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking up at me. “It’s like yours!”

“Kind of,” I said. “But not completely.”

“I love it,” she told me, reaching up immediately to put it on. She brushed her hair over her shoulders. “What do you think? Does it look good?”

It had, and did now, as she rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder, curling into him. She still had one hand around the key. The necklace looked different on her than on me, but you could see some similarities. You just had to know where to look.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Roscoe, who’d been snoozing at the foot of the bed, perked up his ears and let out a yap. “Was that the door?” Jamie asked.

“It was,” Cora said as Roscoe hopped down, bolting from the room. A moment later, we heard him barking from the foyer as the bell sounded again. “Who would show up on Christmas? ”

“I’ll find out,” I said, although as I quickly got up, heading for the stairs, I was hoping I already knew. The bell rang again when I was halfway down, then once more as I approached the door. When I got to the door and looked through the peephole, though, Nate wasn’t there. Nobody was. Then it chimed again—so weird—so I just opened it.

It was Gervais. Too short for the peephole, he was standing on the front step, in his glasses, peacoat, and scarf, with what looked like a brand-new scooter parked on the walk behind him. “Hi,” he said.

I just looked at him. “Hey,” I said slowly. “What are you—? ”

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, all business. “Can I come in?”

“Um,” I said. Behind me, Roscoe had stopped barking but was still trying to nudge past me. “We’re kind of busy, actually—”

“I know.” He reached up, adjusting his glasses. “This will only take a minute.”

I still didn’t really want to let him in. But in the spirit of the holiday, I stepped aside. “Shouldn’t you be with your family?” I asked as he shut the door behind him.

“We finished Christmas hours ago,” he told me. “My dad already took down the tree.”

“Oh.” Now we were just standing there, together, in the foyer. “Well,” I said, “we’re still kind of doing things, so—”

“Do you think you’ll be prepared for your next big calculus exam?”

I just looked at him. “What?”

“Your next exam. It’s in March and counts for half your grade, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“Will you be prepared for it?”

Upstairs, I heard Cora laughing. A good sign. “Define prepared,” I said.

“Scoring a ninety or higher.”

“No,” I said. Which was, sadly, the truth. Even with all my studying and preparation, calculus was still the one thing that could take me from zero to panicked in less than thirty seconds.

“Then you should let me help you,” Gervais said.

“Help me?”

“I’m very good at calculus,” he explained, pushing up his glasses. “Not only doing it, but explaining it. I’m tutoring two people in my class at the U right now. And that’s college-level calc, not that easy-schmeezy kind you’re doing.”

Easy-schmeezy, I thought. He hadn’t changed entirely. “You know,” I said, “that’s a very nice offer. But I think I’ll be okay.”