Doreen fretted as she cleared out Desiree’s closet. In accordance with their lie, she and Phillip were doing their best to act as though their daughter really was dead. Part of supporting that lie meant donating most of her clothes to charity, especially anything that would stand out, anything one of a kind, or that could spark a memory for someone else. Instead, Doreen divided the clothes into three piles—plain shirts and jeans to send to Desiree in Colorado, items for donation, and finally a very small handful of things she’d save in the closet for sentimental reasons. Desiree’s prom dress made it into this latter pile, and Doreen paused only a moment to reminisce.

“Almost done?” Phillip grunted from the doorway.

“Yes,” Doreen said. She closed the lid on the two bigger boxes and labeled one for the charity house and then addressed the other one to Reese.

“I hate this,” he muttered, and slunk away.

“Yeah, like I love it,” she murmured, irritated. She lugged the box to Reese out to her car, then followed suit by dragging the charity box out to the front porch for later pick up. Impulsively, she decided to drive to the post office that moment. She grabbed her keys and her purse and shouted to Phillip that she’d be right back. The sooner she got this stuff taken care of, the better. She didn’t like things hanging around, a reminder of work to be done.

Once the package had been mailed, Doreen drove home again and holed herself up in the den office, making lists on the computer. Now that the crisp air of fall had revitalized her, Doreen could slip easily back into her classic patterns. While some people, her husband included, could happily wait until Christmas Eve to make a mad dash for all shopping needs, grabbing items haphazardly, and assigning them as gifts even more arbitrarily, this system was not for Doreen. Each year, well before Thanksgiving, Doreen began her lists. The lists detailed family and close friends they would buy personalized gifts for, the second string of family and friends they kept in contact with but were not particularly well-acquainted with, and the people with whom they exchanged holiday greeting cards and nothing more. She would start by counting the number of recipients on the card list, then finding appropriate stationary to convey exactly her ideal wishes of good cheer and the like. Once the cards had been ordered, she would move on the second string gift list. Everyone on this list received identical gifts, typically in the form of specialty foods from a trusted company. These gifts would be ordered no earlier than December first so that delivery would not be delayed past Christmas despite virtually any possible occurrence. That left only the last list, the close friends and family for whom she would painstakingly scour the stores to find exactly the item that would be most needed, most cherished, or most appreciated. She prided herself on her excellent gift-giving skills, and in fact, derived the old cliche joy from giving more than receiving.

The phone rang, interrupting Doreen’s blissful list-making.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom.”

“Hi, honey! I was just thinking about you,” Doreen confided, setting her pen and paper aside. “How are you? How’s Colorado?”

“Oh, fine. Cold. Like, really, really cold.”

They both chuckled, then Doreen worried aloud, “Do you have a heavy coat?”

“I borrowed one of Reese’s old ones,” Desiree’s voice crackled through the line.

“Oh, good.”

“I’ll eventually want to get one that doesn’t have huge gorilla arms,” Desiree grumbled good-naturedly, “but I can wait till I get a job.”

“What are you planning to do?”

Desiree sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose I need a serious change from waitressing.”

“Yes,” Doreen agreed, biting her tongue against remarks against prostitution; presumably her daughter didn’t need to be reminded of that part of her life.

“Reese told Jenny that I want to study dental hygiene,” Desiree snorted.

“Oh, really? Are you considering that?”

“I don’t know, Mom. I mean, it’s sticking my hands in gross people’s mouths. I don’t know if I want to do that.”

Doreen laughed. “Yes, I suppose it’s not for everyone.”

“Well, I’ve got a paper, so maybe I can find something. Reese said I could always go to a temp agency.”

“That’s a good idea,” her mother replied. “I’m certain you’ll have no trouble finding something.”

“I hope,” the soft voice sighed again. “Well, I better quit running up Reese’s phone bill. I just wanted to say thank you again, Mom. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“Oh, baby,” Doreen said, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too.”

The phone clicked off and Doreen smiled to herself. Things weren’t so far off track, she thought. She may have to pretend her daughter was dead to the majority of the world, but that just made her all the more grateful that it wasn’t really true.