Fading Star

* * *

"I'd sue them," Sally was screaming down the phone line. "I'd sue the pants off the bastards. To do that to you."

"I thought about it," Janice said. "But I don't think so."

It was night again and Janice was standing at the window beside the Christmas tree, now almost buried in Christmas wrappings. Dave and the kids were out in the kitchen making popcorn balls, something the family hadn't done for several years. Something Steve suddenly asked if they could do and Janice assented to if they could find the fixings. Obviously they had found what was necessary, because they were forming the balls and complaining good-naturedly at how hot the syrup was. Even Beth was so taken up in the activity that she didn't complain that she had been trapped in her high chair with only a candy cane sugar cookie for comfort.

"But why not? They didn't call you back, they just put it in a letter." Sally was saying, her voice still full of indignation. "They put you through all that worry and just sent a letter to tell you your X-rays had been mixed up with someone else's—that you didn't have any sign of cancer at all. I'd take them for all they've got."

Janice laughed. "I don't want what they've got, Sally. I want what I have. What I've always had and perhaps didn't appreciate nearly enough. I don't want to sue them. This mistake was probably the best Christmas gift I've ever received. Now, sorry, I wanted you to know, but I've got a family having fun in the kitchen and I can't stand them having fun without me. Not tonight. Not ever again."

Janice clicked off the phone. But she didn't move to the kitchen immediately. She looked up into the sky through the window. And she saw it. Her star. Burning as brightly as ever. How had she ever imagined that it had faded away?

"Carla," she called out. "Wash your hands and come here for a minute. I want to show you something."