The banana bread is wrapped in tin foil with a red ribbon and bow. I think Beatrix will enjoy it. I also have a locket for her. I put a picture of her son, Frederick, inside.

The morning’s ice storm is giving way to a sliver of sunshine. I grab my heavy winter coat and make my way to the lobby of my co-op. The car service should be waiting; I hope James is the driver. He’s my favorite. James is probably close to my age, unfailingly polite, handsome with brooding brown eyes, a good listener and talker, and loves Frank Sinatra as much as I do. I think he’s rather lonely. His wife died about twenty years ago.

I want to invite him for dinner, but don’t have the nerve yet. I picture both of us at my kitchen table eating whatever it is I have thrown together, Frank singing in the background. We’ll glance at each other every few minutes and smile shyly. I’ve even pictured kissing him. He’s a good kisser (at least in my daydreams), but that’s as far as I have allowed myself to think, so far. Passion is not only for the young! My skin is smooth and my stomach taut-I danced ballet for years-but that’s all the description you’ll get.

The car pulls up and I’m thrilled to see James driving. I hurry through the last needles of falling ice. He is holding the back door of the black Lincoln he drives open and I feel a blush come to my face – maybe because I'm thinking about kissing him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Green,” James says, doffing his cap as he always does, as I slide into the back seat.

I settle in and when he gets in behind the steering wheel, I notice the gray hair curling from under his cap, and his hands–long and graceful, like a pianist-on the wheel. He no longer wears his wedding ring.

James glances at me in the rear-view mirror. “Looks like we’ll be having a wet Christmas instead of a white Christmas, Mrs. Green.”

I smile. “James, call me Elisabeth. I’ve been telling you that for the past five years.” James knows very well that my husband, Max, died years ago, in World War II.

He smiles back at me and winks. “If you like, Mrs. Green.”

“Are your kids coming from Chicago?” I ask. He has a boy and a girl. Their pictures are taped to the dashboard of the Lincoln.

He sighs, the meaning of which I thoroughly understand. “Not this year. But they promise to be here for Easter. What about you? Your nephew stopping by?”

“I’m sure. I have a turkey I’m going to bake, and a cherry pie all ready.” I want to ask James to come by, but the words won’t come out. Maybe I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe the man should do the asking for a date, although it pains me to think of him alone on Christmas.

James knows my routine. Every Sunday, and on holidays, he picks me up and we ride to Chambliss Glen, the private hospital on Long Island where my twin, Beatrix, has spent the last forty years of her life. I lean back in the seat. Frank Sinatra’s voice coming from the speakers and the comforting heat are enough to put me to sleep, but I can’t sleep.

I think of Beatrix’s and my childhood together. Growing up in our townhouse on Fifth Avenue I was the bookish one, content to curl up in our parents’ library in front of the fireplace and read the whole day, oblivious to the outside world. Beatrix was the adventuresome one. Sailing, riding, tennis, she did them all. She couldn’t sit still long enough to pick up a book.

I remember the day all of that came to a screeching halt as clear as if it happened five minutes ago. Frederick, Freddie back then, had been two years old. Beatrix went riding in the wee hours of the morning, like she always did. But that morning when her horse, Star, returned to the stable, Beatrix wasn’t with him.

Her husband, Thomas, rushed out on his palomino to search for Beatrix, cursing for letting her ride alone. He eventually found her. Unconscious and bleeding and so pale she looked like a porcelain doll. At least that’s what he said. She was rushed to St. Agnes’ Hospital, but there was Nothing They Could Do. I can still picture the doctor’s shoulders frozen in a shrug and his hands splayed opened as he said those words.

Beatrix was suspended between the living and the dead. The hospital had no choice, they finally discharged her. But she was too much for Thomas to take care of. Beatrix was subject to fits of anger and hallucinations. She had days when you couldn’t go near her at all because she was a wild animal and had to be sedated. She never again figured out who any of us were.

It was hard for any of us to be around her after the accident. The Beatrix that’s here at Chambliss Glen is not the Beatrix that came into this world. After only a year, Thomas divorced Beatrix and put her in Chambliss Glen. I was angry. What about in sickness and in health, till death to us part? I had screamed at him. But I knew why he did it. He had fallen in love with me.

As usual, I wonder why I come to see her. She hasn’t known who I am for the last forty years-she doesn’t know how lucky she is. And I really don’t know her, either. It’s stupid of me to wonder at all about my visits. I know the answer. Guilt brings me here.

My guilt comes not from my affair with her husband, and leaving the country so I could give birth to his son six months after Beatrix’s accident, but from knowing that Thomas did indeed go out with Beatrix that morning and caused her death, and that in a dark recess of my heart, I was glad, so I said nothing to the local police. In a way, Thomas saved Beatrix a lot of heartache. I have to think that, it’s the only way I can live with what Thomas did.

I didn’t want to marry Thomas and he was going to confess to her that he was in love with me, I was pregnant with his child and he was going to leave her for me. I never wanted that. I told him I wouldn’t stand by while he destroyed my sister. Poor Thomas thought if he got rid of her, I’d welcome him with open arms. How wrong he was. But I’ve kept his secret all these years. Like many men, he could be a damn fool.

Thomas couldn’t accept that I didn’t love him enough to even keep his son. I gave the baby up to a better life without even seeing him. Part of me was afraid if I laid eyes on my tiny son I would never let him go, and that would have created scandal in my upper-class Episcopalian family. As far as my love for Thomas, that ended on the plush carpet of his and Beatrix’s living room after his seed spilled into me.

The tires crunch on the gravel and as we turn into Chambliss Glen my thoughts are disrupted. It’s a hospital dressed up as an antebellum mansion. I see Frederick’s car parked in front, which surprises me. I expected he would visit tomorrow, Christmas day. Not that Beatrix would know, or care. How duty and responsibility stoops our shoulders and squeezes our hearts!

James helps me out of the car. I am thankful for his warmth beside me as he guides me through the front door. The lobby is a blaze of red, green, and blue Christmas lights. He turns to go back to his car.

“Why don’t you wait in the lobby?” I ask him, lightly touching his arm. “There’s a fire and it will be more comfortable …”

“Aunt Elisabeth.” Frederick’s voice interrupts me.

I jump at the sharpness I hear and turn to him. My nephew is just over six feet with black hair and gray eyes. He is still handsome, and the spitting image of his father, who died two years earlier, yet in love with me.

“It’s mom. She’s gone.” His voice quivers.

“Gone?” I repeat. Gone where? I wonder. She can’t just get up and go somewhere. Then it hits me. He’s telling me she’s dead. Why do we have so many words for death, yet we are afraid to use the one word that cuts through all the others?

Frederick is at my side in an instant. I am enveloped and comforted against his broad shoulder. I pull away. “When?” I whisper.

“They called me at early this morning. She slipped away quietly right before midnight.” He takes my hand. “She’s still here. Do you want to see her?”

I glance at James who is standing by the fire. He nods at me and I take it as encouragement. “Of course,” I answer. Tears gather in my eyes. How silly of me, really. I haven’t spoken to Beatrix since before the accident. When we get to her room Frederick lets me go in alone.

She looks asleep. Her frail hands lay placidly on top of the white sheet, which is folded over a red (her favorite color) blanket. Her face is papery thin and she looks somehow younger. The tears in my eyes sting. I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Sleep well, little sister,” I tell her. I am two minutes older. When I come out, Frederick is standing with James. They both come to my side.

“I’ll make the arrangements and let you know,” said Frederick. “You okay, Aunt Lis?”

I take his hand and squeeze it. “I’m fine. I’m surprised she lasted so long. She almost made it to our birthday, didn’t she?” We were both born on Christmas day.

He smiles at me. “Yes, she did. I’ll see you tomorrow, Aunt Lis. Oh, and happy birthday.” Freddie hands me over to James, wishing him a Merry Christmas and James and I walk back out to the Lincoln in silence.

I think of the locket that is in my purse and decide to wear it myself. Freddie and his family are all I have left. I have a son now. I meet James’ eyes in the rear-view mirror. They brim with sympathy and understanding. When we pull up to my building and he opens my door I take a deep breath. “James, it’s Christmas Eve. Would you like to come up?” I think of the banana bread in my bag. “I’ll make some hot chocolate. We can listen to Frank and Bing sing Christmas songs.” I wait, suddenly aware of how much I don’t want to be alone.

James glances at the clock. “I think I’d like that, Elisabeth.” He smiles at me.

We don’t say anything else as we make our way to my co-op. I take his coat and hat and see him glance around. I’m glad that I’m such a neat housekeeper. I guide him to the kitchen and go to the living room to turn on the stereo. It seems odd that my life is going on and Beatrix is gone.

I felt tears building up again as I make James and myself hot chocolate. “Would you like some banana bread?” I ask as I pulled Beatrix’s birthday present out of my bag and set it on the table.

James pushes his chair back from the table. Is he leaving? Have I offended him? “Come here, Elisabeth,” he says slowly.

Frank is singing Softly as I Leave You as I lean into James and he surrounds me. He cradles the back of my head and we dance. I close my eyes and let him lead.