It wasn't that she feared going home, but rather something about her relatives made her feel distasteful about herself. On her arrival, her mother unlocked the door wearing a baggy button-down men's shirt over skintight pants. For the holiday her mother had curled her salt and pepper locks, but not combed out the curls.

"Hi Mom," said Charlotte at the doorway, arms loaded with presents for her family. Her mother didn't return the hello, but rather looked at her briefly and then sauntered out of the living room and back into her bedroom, closing the door with a resounding click.

Glancing over the living room, dining room, and kitchen area, Charlotte studied the unchanged areas of home, the walls in a light shade of violet, the plants gangly and yellow leaved, the shelves dusty, the lopsided couch pocked with holes where the foamy yellow cushion oozed out. Beside the fireplace was a dirty stack of wood and newspaper. The entertainment center was strangled in its silence.

Assuming she was the first to arrive on this Christmas Day, Charlotte kicked the snow from her boots hastily on the rug and removed her presents from the bags to slide among the handful of other gifts in faded red and green Christmas wrapping. Where was everyone, anyone, she thought. Her sister had indicated the family was to have a Christmas dinner together, yet here it was three in the afternoon and no one was here. The stove was cold and the fridge almost bare. Charlotte began to doubt herself. It was Christmas, right?

As she poured herself a cup of tea, Charlotte surveyed the outdoor landscape of broken crops under snow. A fence of twister wire enclosed the neat rows. Cats in the shelter of the porch kneeled in tight furry balls.

Charlotte heard her mother's door open and her tread along the carpet. Charlotte turned to watch her unchanging façade. For the holiday, she had painstakingly put on lipstick and make-up.

"I don't know why you're here so early," her mother said.

"Am I early?" responded Charlotte.

"Your sisters are out," her mother said and placed the teapot back on the burner.

"It's probably still warm. I just made a cup," Charlotte said. But her mother ignored her, getting out a cup, a tea bag, and milk. She pulled the canister of sugar from the lazy susan. "Where is everyone?"

"Your sister went to a movie."

"Theaters are open on Christmas Day?"

Her mother frowned.

Charlotte swirled the escaped tea leaves in her mug as she considered hugging her mother, but decided against it. "Mom, it's good to see you. When is Christmas dinner?"

Her mother carefully poured the hot water into the steaming cup and unwrapped the tea bag to let it stew well beyond the three minutes. Her mother liked the tea bitter. "Char, I didn't have the money to get you anything this year. Bob and I had to get a new bed this year and there's your sister in college and with the..." Her mother didn't finish, but gulped at the ersatz sweetened tea.

"It's okay," I hurried. "I don't need anything."

The line between her mother's eyes deepened. Her mother turned and disappeared. From the kitchen, Charlotte could hear the muffled sound of cable television and the creak of the bed. She made another cup of tea and waited. As she sat, she could feel the dust settling on her arms and legs. She leafed through dated magazines until her sister arrived.

"Hey, you're early," said Keri, the youngest sister.

"That is what I've been told," said Charlotte.

"You brought presents," she said, glancing toward the tree.

"Of course. Aren't we going to exchange gifts?"

Her sister kicked the snow from her shoes. "I just saw this terrible movie," she said, ignoring Charlotte's question. She pulled back her long hair from her shoulders, damp along the ends where the snow had fallen. Giving Charlotte a crooked smile, she headed to their mother's bedroom. She heard her mother's door opening and closing, then the sound of voices.

Alone again, Charlotte pretended to read the magazine. Her eyes felt hot. To herself she chanted: I will not cry.

Her youngest sister appeared and sat next to her. "What are you reading?"

"Not sure," Charlotte said, "I just found it lying around. With mom in the bedroom and all, and you gone, I wasn't sure what to do. I thought we were having dinner this afternoon."

"Well," said her sister and trailed off.

"Tell me, is everything alright?"

"You know how it goes," said her sister.

"No, tell me," Charlotte said, rolling the folding the corner of the page into a fan. "You're the one who's close. I'm in Los Angeles. I call and no one picks up. I e-mail and never receive a response." She didn't understand why no one would say it, why no one would talk about the one thing between them all now.

"Char," said Keri pausing to listen to the sounds in the hallway, "you know how mom is with the phones. I come down here every weekend and still I don't know everything." Keri's face paled as she quieted Charlotte's hands by collecting the magazine and setting it on the coffee table.

"He is back there, right?"

"She's wherever he is. They kept him in the hospital for a week at the first of the month. I had to force her to come home to bathe." Glancing towards the hall, she said, "Just don't say anything tonight. Mom's in denial or whatever step of grief they call this. I think she's been saving pills."

"Pills?"

Keri placed her hand on Charlotte's as she shushed her. At that moment, the bedroom door opened and their mother appeared. At once the three women in silence began chopping vegetables and getting out pots and pans. Their mother spat orders. Shortly, mashed potatoes, oven-roasted chicken, and a large salad were ready. Keri and Charlotte sat at the dinner table as their mother disappeared down the hallway with only one plate of food. After the door closed, Keri explained, "He's being fed by a tube."

Charlotte scratched at the dishwasher-dried flecks of food on the fork tines. She listened to her sister eating, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Both drank fully from the goblets of red wine. When Keri finished, Charlotte said, "She could get herself arrested."

"I don't think she cares at this point." Keri refilled their glasses. "He's down to a hundred and twenty pounds, less than me." Charlotte's chair grinded against the linoleum. She slid the butter knife into and out of the potatoes. The house was silent. And then what sounded like a muffled scream rose from the back of the house.

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