His Christmas Bride. Dana Corbit

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      The tree looked like a little girl playing dress-up with the contents of her grandma’s jewelry case. Okay, an especially tall little girl, Dylan decided, one who wore more strands of lights, glass balls and novelty baubles than any child needed. If that wasn’t enough, tinsel clung to the branches like some sort of icing explosion. Despite his determination to enjoy tonight’s festivities, Dylan winced at the sight.

      After cleaning up dinner together, their families had taken on the challenge of decorating the huge Scotch pine in the living room. Now, as Bing Crosby crooned in the background about the white Christmas they seldom experienced this far south in Indiana, the tree’s branches drooped with so much finery he was surprised none of them had broken. After he’d spent the morning with a family who’d lost everything, the holiday display felt like a symbol of excess.

      “Isn’t it beautiful?” Lizzie stared up at the monstrosity with awe on her face.

      “It sure is, honey.” Amy gave her granddaughter a squeeze.

      “It’s amazing, that’s for sure.” Matthewbacked down the ladder he’d used to place the angel on top of the tree.

      Dylan tilted his head, trying to see the display from a child’s perspective. What kid could resist all those pretty ornaments and lights? He hadn’t been able to when he was a little boy. Even now he could pick out a few ornaments that he and his brothers had made in Sunday school or bought for their mother by pooling their quarters. Those pieces represented happy memories, even if they were buried beneath tinsel in the chaos of extremes.

      “Well, that’s done.”

      His mother’s words brought Dylan back to the present. He turned her way as she brushed off her hands.

      “Now we can draw names for the gift exchange,” Amy added. “I was thinking we could—”

      Dylan held up a hand to stop her. “Wait, Mom. I thought we were going to focus on the Dentons’ Christmas, instead of ours. You know, sacrifice a little.”

      “Believe me, we already have.” His mother lifted out her chin, looking offended.

      “Sorry, Mom. I know how important all this is to you.”

      “Do you?”

      The sharp question and the frown came from his mother’s best friend. Usually Dylan appreciated Mrs. Scott’s undying support for his mother, but this time he felt his mother needed to get her priorities straight.

      Leaning against the fireplace, Mrs. Scott crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you realize she turned in her third-row Nutcracker tickets so they could be resold?”

      Dylan coughed into his hand. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t realized.

      “She plans to use those proceeds to add to our project fund.”

      Jenna spoke up before Dylan had the chance to recover. “That was so nice of you, Mrs. Warren. I’m sure the Dentons will appreciate every sacrifice any of us make.”

      “Sure glad you think so, Jenna,” her mother said. “Because Amy and I returned most of the Christmas gifts we bought for you kids. We have some mall vouchers for you and Dylan to spend when you buy holiday gifts for the Dentons.”

      “That’s a great idea.” Jenna looked at Dylan. “I bought mine in Detroit, but most of those stores will be in the mall here, too, so I can return mine. What do you think, Dylan?”