Their Mysterious Ways
from a box of decorations. They were worn in places, their white trim dulled by all the Christmases they’d hung on our mantel. But the names still glittered. , mine . . . , my husband . . . , our daughter . . . and the smaller stocking the kids had made for our cat, Salem. Then I got to Bob’s. I froze. Salem stared up at me from his food dish, his yellow eyes seeming to understand.
