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Rebecca stood and looked out the window that faced the driveway. Yep, two cars were turning into her driveway: one of the black hotel Mercedes, STARK 7, and a black Porsche Panamera. At least her brother had been smart enough to drive his own car.

“Shit,” Rebecca muttered under her breath.

She stepped out onto the back porch and gave the arrivals a closed mouth smile.

A moment later, her parents and her brother descended on the beach house.

A flurry of activity ensued as Rebecca stood back and watched. Finally, she claimed her favorite chair and wondered if she was in the middle of some strange live theater production of “Spring Up Christmas.”

These people looked like her family, but they were insane.

A small tree was erected in her living room, and boxes of ornaments were placed next to it.

Presents were stacked on chairs. Food in the form of large, foiled baking dishes were put in the oven, and timers were set.

Alex carried luggage to various bedrooms upstairs as if he were a very high-priced valet.

But when her mother arrived next to her chair with a tall glass of cranberry juice over ice and a vitamin, Rebecca lost it.

“Mom, what the hell is going on? What is this pill?”

“It is a prenatal vitamin. I wasn’t sure you were taking any.”

“Of course I’m taking prenatal vitamins.”

“Good dear,” Victoria said and walked over to the Christmas tree, reached into one of the boxes, and pulled out several strands of clear lights that she plugged in. She seemed delighted that they all worked as she started stringing them on the tree.

Rebecca watched as her father smiled to himself in her kitchen.

Then he poured a bourbon and coke into a highball glass and added a lime wedge.

She didn’t like bourbon, so she would never have bought it.

Besides, she was pregnant. She didn’t have booze in the house.

And she didn’t have any limes. He set down the bourbon next to three or four other bottles of booze.

In less than five minutes, her kitchen was a bar, and dinner was cooking in the oven.

“What is in my oven?” Rebecca asked.

Her brother appeared and smiled like a smug asshole as he said, “A bun.”

“Duh. The oven in my kitchen, smart ass.”

Victoria arranged the lights on one of the branches and said, “That is a prime rib. And in ten minutes, we will add the dish of scalloped potatoes.”

So much for her plant-based dinner. You didn’t stop the Stark train when it was going full speed. She took a sip of her cranberry juice and wished there was some vodka or gin in it.

“Well, it looks like you’re staying for Christmas,” she said. “Even though I didn’t buy any presents and asked that I be allowed to skip it this year.”

“Oh, but you did buy presents. And I really thought you did a good job this year,” her mother said with a wink.

Rebecca wanted to cry and relive all the Christmas pasts with Mitch.

Her family, specifically her mother, was not going to let her.

So much for sticking a fork in the middle of the French Silk pie and eating her way to the edge.

Damn it, her mother had also made a red velvet cake, Rebecca’s favorite.

After the prime rib, which she found she liked, to her surprise, they sat around and opened presents, as was their preference on Christmas Eve.

Alex gave her a sterling silver rattle from Tiffany’s that was engraved with “ Baby Wilder .” She teared up as she hugged her brother.

“And I picked it out myself,” he said proudly.

Her parents gave her a large, heart-shaped light green stone to wear around her neck.

Her mother patted Rebecca’s thigh as she stared at the large stone.

“It is really pretty. Is it beryl?” Rebecca asked. It would match the emerald. She might even call it a light emerald. Maybe it was a tourmaline.

“It is a rather rare, natural green aquamarine.”

Rebecca loved gems, so she knew it was in the emerald family. And it was just like emerald, but it had less chromium and a little bit of iron, which actually made it stronger.

Rebecca waited for the reason. With her parents and jewelry, there was always a reason, just like the emerald engagement ring.

Her mother looked contemplative and then said, “Mitch’s birthday was in March. It is his birthstone. I thought it seemed appropriate.”

There was the reason. This time, Rebecca did cry. She and her mother had been discussing the potential of a small memorial service on Mitch’s birthday to celebrate his life. She tried to put it out of her mind.

Rebecca had sent her mother photos of her ultrasound. The mother and daughter did think alike. Victoria and Garrison loved the framed photos of their first grandchild, which were in silver frames. Rebecca’s mother had gotten creative.

“Hells bells, what did I give you?” Rebecca asked her brother, Alex.

“Let’s find out,” he said as he reached for his gift “from her.”

Alex opened the box and sighed.

“What?” she asked.

“It is a bit of a hodgepodge,” he said, holding up a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms.

Rebecca didn’t think she would ever laugh, not today of all days, but she did laugh. She couldn’t help it.

“Mom, I’d have been much more likely to enter him into the bacon of the month club,” Rebecca said.

“Well, we will consider that for his birthday in June,” Victoria said.

“Gee, I even got a print and digital subscription to Playboy, Architectural Digest, and Oprah magazines,” he said.

“That seems like it will make you well-rounded,” Rebecca laughed.

“And, oh joy, what is this,” he said, holding up an envelope. Then he read what was inside and got a horrified look on his face. “I’m Bachelor of the Month? April?”

“It’s good, it is for charity, for homeless pets,” their mother said.

“You will be purchased at the luncheon of The Ladies Auxiliary of Portland in April. The charity has already been picked. You know how I feel about animals. The person who buys you will have you for the day. I’m told they really like landscape work because the average age of the ladies is something like seventy-five, and it hurts their knees to bend down.

So, remember to wear something you can use to weed the flower beds, but don’t be surprised if they have a garage or an attic for you to clean out. ”

Rebecca couldn’t stop laughing, but when she met her brother’s horrified stare, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you some spider repellant for the garage and attics.”

“I don’t know how to weed. That is what you hire gardeners for,” Alex complained.

“Victoria, really, that seems even harsh to me,” Garrison said and then to Alex, “Don’t worry, I’ll lend you a gardener from the staff.”

“You will do no such thing. I think it will be good for him. I mean, come on, he got a subscription to Playboy. I’m not heartless , ” Victoria said innocently. “But it is important to me that my children are well-rounded and can get their hands dirty once in a while. Alex is a little spoiled.”

“Thanks Mom. Care to explain this?” Alex said, holding up a final box within his gift.

“You’ll like what is inside of that,” Victoria said.

“Cannot wait,” Alex said and then opened the box.

He held up a blue sweatshirt with red letters, ironically the colors of Wharton Business School, but it was still something he’d never be seen in. In big letters, it read: #1 Uncle.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “I love it.”

***Mitch***

All Mitch did was wait. He counted the minutes.

Hell, he counted the seconds. He could bear weight on his broken leg, so they had moved him from what he called the “hospital” tent to some structure that reminded him of a Quonset hut.

It stank of stale death and body odor. And unlike some odors, he never got used to it.

Then he wondered if he was smelling himself.

He hadn’t had a shower in months. He had a cot and a little space to himself behind a locked door.

There was a hole in the floor that served as a latrine.

Strangely, they didn’t chain him up like they had before.

Well, the place he was in now felt much more secure.

He didn’t want to think of how many had come before him.

And he didn’t want to examine the strange stains on the floor too closely.

Mitch tried to bring order to the information he had.

He was captive for ransom. They had all of his identification, knew he was American, and probably by now had a good idea why he’d been in Iraq.

Mitch presumed they were holding out for the big bucks.

If Rebecca knew where he was, she’d get her father to fund the ransom. He was sure of it.

When he was at his most desperate, he thought of Rebecca.

Her gorgeous hair, mesmerizing eyes, cute little nose—and by now, her pregnancy would be showing, that was if she hadn’t lost the baby, their baby, whom he was sure was a little girl.

He longed to be there with her, to see her belly grow with their child.

Mitch prayed she was okay and hoped once again the military was looking for him.

He was pretty sure he was the only survivor, though no one told him for sure.

Why wasn’t his ransom getting paid? Who were they talking to?

Sometimes, his captors fed him, sometimes they didn’t.

It was part of their torture. And when they did feed him, he tried not to look like he was ravenous, although hunger never left him.

Curry seemed to be the meal of choice for prisoners.

He no longer cared that he didn’t like it.

He needed to survive. He would also get a single bottle of Volvic water each day.

Sometimes it was still sealed; sometimes it wasn’t.

And when it wasn’t, he wondered if he’d be dead after he drank it.

Then he rationalized that if he was dead, his suffering would be over, but so would his hope of ever seeing Rebecca again.

No, they’d probably just shoot him if they wanted to end it.

Mitch thought it had been weeks, if his count was right, at least six since the photo of him with the paper.

But it was hard to tell not only how many days he’d been held but also whether it was day or night.

He tried to keep track of the different guard shifts, which he thought happened every six to eight hours.

They’d taken his watch in the beginning and his wedding ring at the time of the photo, so he had no way to measure time.

The groove that was starting to develop on his finger from the ring was gone.

He touched the place often. The thought of that made him very sad.

He thought of Rebecca all the time . I’m alive, baby. Don’t give up hope.

The slot of his door opened, and this time it was more rice and curry sauce, but also some kind of dark meat that he would have said was goat.

He doubted they would give him anything as good as a goat.

Then the guards talked too fast for him to understand anything, but he was able to pick up one word, “Chellah.” It was what Persian cultures celebrated near Christmas: Chellah Night, the celebration of Winter Solstice.

He’d been a captive for almost four months.

He had to get out of here somehow. Mitch couldn’t count on them releasing him.

They had to have received the ransom money by now, making him wonder if they were asking for more or if they were asking the right people.

They probably had no intention of letting him go free.

It was then Mitch realized if he wanted to live, it was up to him.

And that’s when he decided it was time to get serious.

Mitch needed to get his strength back.

He got out of bed and knew what he had to do. He dropped to the filthy floor and did one hundred pushups, then one hundred sit-ups. Then he repeated the action.

He was going to get out of there or die trying.