Adam glared while his mother draped a strand of gold tinsel along the edge of the display.
"Perfect." She stood back and admired the miniature village scene underneath the Christmas tree.
"Why did you put it up? I hate it!" Adam kicked one of the figurines off the glistening felt snow. It flew across the floor and cracked.
"Adam John King, pick that up!"
"I won't. It's a dumb village," Adam said, folding his arms. "How can we celebrate Christmas without Daddy?"
Tears welled in his mother's eyes.
"Daddy would want us to remember the wonderful times we shared with him, but go on. He loved you so much."
"Why did he want to go to Iraq then?"
"Sweetheart, Daddy didn't want to go. He went to help people and children over there who. . . "
"I don't care," Adam interrupted. "They killed him. I hate them. If Daddy really loved me, he wouldn't have gone. He would have stayed with me!"
"Sweetheart, we don't know wh-"
Adam burst into tears and ran to his room.
His mother picked up the broken boy figurine and placed it on the coffee table. She looked up at the dark haired man in uniform staring proudly back from the photo on the mantelpiece.
"Maybe it's a mistake, but I wanted to try and celebrate a little this year. You'd be proud of him, darling. He passed his first-aid course at the top of his class. If only you could hear me."
Taking the photo down, she kissed the cold glass. A tear fell on his face but she didn't wipe it away. "Now you're crying with us," she whispered.
Adam pretended not to notice when his mother pulled the featherdown quilt up and kissed him goodnight.
When he felt quite certain she would be asleep, he slipped out of bed. Taking a box from the hall cupboard, he padded through the darkened living room to the Christmas tree and its tiny village. Setting it by the twinkling tree, he reached for the first house.
"HEY! You there!"
Adam twisted around and peered down the dark hall. Shadows danced on the walls from the blinking Christmas tree lights.
"No, not down there, down here!"
Adam rubbed his eyes.
Underneath the tree, a tiny man waved one arm.
"Will you help me?" the man continued. "It's my son. He's over there on the table. I can't reach him."
Adam picked up the broken figurine. "This one?"
"Yes, that's him! Can you bring him to me?"
"Here you go," he said, handing it to the man.
The man took his son in both arms. "Thank you for bringing him home."
"What's going on?" Adam looked around. "I'm the same size as you," He pinched himself hard.
"You'll give yourself a bruise doing that if you're not careful! Ah, I see you brought a bandage. Thank you!"
"Huh?" Adam looked down at the gray bandage in his hand.
The man tilted his head with a jerk.
"Come on then, have some hot cocoa with us." He trudged through the snow toward one of the houses, past little figures singing Christmas carols.
This is really weird, Adam thought, following him. The scent of pine needles filled his nose as they walked into the house.
"I don't know if I can fix him," the man sighed, setting the broken boy down on a rough wooden table.
Adam stepped forward. "I can help. I passed my First Aid certificate."
"Are you sure you want to help us? After all, we're different from you."
Adam looked at the round little man, his rosy cheeked wife and the boy.
"Yes, I'm sure." He took the gray bandage, which looked suspiciously like duct-tape and set to work repairing the boy's arm. When he finished the boy jumped up and swung his arm around.
"Good as new!" he exclaimed to his parents. "Thanks Adam!"
"How'd you know my name?"
"We live here with you, don't we? But where's your father? I haven't seen him this year and last year nobody got us out of the box."
Adam frowned. "My dad died in Iraq when a roadside bomb exploded. They never found his body. He's what they call M.I.A. - Missing In Action."
"Then he might still be alive!" the boy exclaimed.
"No, he isn't. It's been thirteen months."
"There's always hope, Adam. You remind me of your father. Not everyone would have helped someone different from themselves," the mother figurine said.
"My dad did," Adam said. "That's why he went to Iraq. He said God loves everyone, so we should try to help each other. He is, I mean he was, a medic in the army." He hung his head.
"I'm sorry I hurt your arm," he whispered to the boy.
"I forgive you," the boy replied, swinging a drum over his shoulder and picking up two polished wooden sticks. "I've got to get back to work. See you later, Adam!"
The rosy cheeked wife gave Adam a kiss on his cheek. "Don't give up hope, child. Christmas is the season of lights and miracles. Look above the village here. See the stars twinkling up there? Perhaps one will grant your heart's desire in return for your kindness."
Adam shook his head. "Those are just Christmas lights," he said.
"To us they represent the universe, Adam. Our world is much smaller than yours."
Adam looked up. "They do look like stars."
"Exactly! Merry Christmas, Adam!" their voices chorused as they waved goodbye.
************
"Adam, wake up, honey," his mother whispered. "You fell asleep by the tree."
Adam sat up and looked around. A tiny figurine with a gray arm standing with his family, gave a quick little wave just as Adam's mother knelt and hugged him.
"You fixed the little boy's arm. I'm very proud of you." Placing a trembling hand on his head, she forced a smile across her wet cheeks.
"Adam." Taking a deep breath, she waited until he looked up at her. "Daddy's Unit Commander called this morning."
Tears filled her eyes as she blurted out, "Daddy's alive! He's coming home tomorrow. Merry Christmas, darling."
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