The Cottage on Juniper Ridge. Sheila Roberts

would normally have left.

      “It’s Christmas Eve,” she’d reminded him—repeatedly.

      “I know,” he’d said, “and most of us have to work the day of Christmas Eve.”

      Okay, she’d thought, but you’d better not be working on Christmas.

      She made the rounds, hugging everyone. “Sorry I’m late.”

      “You’re not late. You’re right on time,” her mother assured her, offering her cheek for a kiss.

      “What can I do?”

      “I think we’ve got it all under control,” Mom said.

      But she always helped. She couldn’t just do...nothing.

      As if reading her mind, her mother added, “How about dishing up the mashed potatoes?” She pulled the gravy pan off the burner. “Gravy’s done. You can dish that up, too. Then I’ll take out the roasted vegetables and the seafood lasagna and we’ll be good to go.”

      In a matter of minutes the food was on the table. The revelers were summoned and everyone gathered around and waited for her father to say grace.

      “Well,” he said, smiling at each of them, “here we are, all together for another Christmas. Some of us have faced challenges this past year.”

      Toni smiled encouragingly at her cousin Jimmy, who’d lost his job three months earlier and was still looking for employment. She glanced over at Aunt Aggie, wearing what she called her half-and-half bra—one half held a real breast, the other a prosthetic breast form. Toni felt the prickle of tears as she took in the smiling faces around the table. All these people were so precious to her.

      Her gaze drifted to where her children were sitting. Her sweet babies. They were growing up so quickly. They were...texting!

      Well, one of them was.

      “Let’s pray,” said Dad.

      They all bowed their heads. Except the texting culprit. And Toni, who was now shooting daggers at her daughter.

      “Dear God, we’re so glad we can be together at this wonderful time of year.”

      There was one “we” who wasn’t exactly together with everyone else. Toni stepped out of the circle and began to move to where her daughter stood.

      “Thank you for each one here,” Dad continued.

      One of them may not be here much longer because I’m going to throttle her.

      “And thank you for the joy of the season.”

      And for texting. Someone’s joy was about to come to an end. Toni slipped behind her daughter, reached over Jordan’s shoulder and snatched her cell phone.

      Jordan gave a start. This was followed by a guilty look over her shoulder, almost penitent, until she realized it was Mother the Enemy taking away her phone. Then she scowled.

      “Close your eyes,” Toni hissed.

      Jordan closed her eyes and clamped her lips into a thin, angry line.

      “May we always remember to be thankful for our blessings and thankful for one another.”

      Toni doubted her daughter was sending up prayers of thanks for her right now.

      “In the name of our Lord, Amen,” Dad concluded. “And in the words of Tiny Tim, God bless us, every one.”

      “Amen,” everyone echoed.

      “Amen,” Toni said, and smiled sweetly at her pouting daughter.

      “Can I have my phone back?” Jordan demanded.

      “Yes, once you’ve remembered how to respect the people you’re with.”

      Anyone seeing the expression on Jordan’s face would have assumed she’d gotten horrible news that the Grinch had kidnapped Justin Bieber. “Mom!”

      “Sorry, sweetie,” Toni said sternly, “we’re here to be with our family.”

      Jordan hurled herself into her chair and glared at her plate, and Toni returned to her seat at the table, her holiday spirit as good as smothered. Christmas was supposed to about togetherness. Even if children got sucked into their phones and their games during the rest of the year, this one day should be a time of interacting face-to-face with the people in their lives.

      And, of course, her daughter would so want to interact with her now. Her mother, who was seated next to her at the end of the table, gave her arm a pat. Naturally Mom had seen. Heck, all sixteen people squeezed around the long table (plus the little ones at the kids’ table) had seen that lovely mother-daughter moment.

      Jen shot her a sympathetic look from across the table.

      “This, too, shall pass,” Mom whispered, and handed her the basket of French bread slices.

      Jordan made a concentrated effort to enjoy her misery for the rest of the evening. She pouted through dinner and, later, refused to sit with Santa.

      “That’s okay, little girl. I know your mama told you never to talk to strangers,” joked Santa, aka Uncle David.

      “You’re strange, all right,” cracked Uncle Dennis.

      Their comic interchange lightened the moment, and the party went on without Jordan, everyone playing Dirty Santa, a game that involved stealing presents back and forth, and singing Christmas carols while she sat in a corner like a miniature Scrooge in drag.

      “What’s wrong with Jordan?” Wayne asked as the family indulged in a raucous debate over whether or not angels could actually sing, as the old Christmas carol suggested.

      “She’s mad,” Toni replied.

      “I can see that. Why?”

      “You didn’t catch that little scene at dinner?”

      “I saw her acting like a stinker.”

      “I took away her phone.”

      “Whoa. You cut off her lifeline.”

      “She was texting during grace.”

      Wayne frowned. “Oh.”

      “Yeah, oh. I think she can live without her phone for a few days.”

      “That’ll be a merry Christmas,” Wayne predicted.

      Sure enough, as soon as they were out the door and going down the walk, the fun began as Jordan demanded the return of her phone.

      “You can have it back after we’re done with Christmas.”

      “What!”

      “It won’t hurt you to spend some face time with people.”

      “That’s not fair!”

      “Well, you know, it wasn’t exactly fair to be texting while Grandpa was saying grace,” Toni said. “In fact, it was downright rude.”

      “I was just finishing telling Sarah something.”

      “Good. And now you’re finished telling her something until after our family Christmas tomorrow.”

      “I hate you,” Jordan grumbled.

      Ah, the power children had to hurt their parents with their careless anger. Not for the first time, Toni remembered every mean and snippy word she’d hurled at her own mother when she was a girl. What goes around comes around, she thought sadly.

      “Yes, I know,” she said to her daughter. “But I love you.”

      And maybe come Christmas morning, when Jordan found the American Eagle handbag she’d been drooling over, along with the clothes from Abercrombie & Fitch, she’d have dialed down the emotion from hate to strong dislike.

      Meanwhile, next to Jordan, Jeffrey