On Saturday, Marge arrived at my house after art class the very same art class where unbeknownst to my sister, London had fashioned her Christmas gift to take London roller skating. Liz and I tagged along with them, watching from the gallery as Marge helped London inch around the rink. London, like most kids, kept trying to walk in the skates rather than glide, and it took a good half an hour before London began to master the motion. Had it not been for Marge holding both of London's hands Marge was skating backward my little girl would have wiped out at least twenty times.

However, by the end of the session they were able to skate side by side, albeit slowly, and London was visibly proud as she finally untied the laces with Liz's help and turned in her skates. I took a seat next to Marge while she bent over and removed her own skates.

"Your arms and back are going to be sore tomorrow," I predicted. To my eyes, she looked tired, but I couldn't tell whether it was because she was sick, or because catching London over and over before she fell was understandably exhausting.

"I'll be fine," she said. "London's not very heavy. But she is a chatty little thing. She talked and talked the whole time. She even grilled me on what my favorite color of fish was. I had no idea what to tell her."

I smiled. "New York will probably seem restful by comparison. You're leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah I can't wait," she said, perking up. "I've told Liz that our first stop is the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. I want to get in the spirit of the holidays."

"Text me some pictures," I said.

"I will," she promised. "By the way, I know what I want for Christmas," she said pointedly. "From you."

"Do tell."

"I'll tell you when I get back. But here's a little hint: I want to go somewhere with you."

"Like a trip, you mean?"

"No," she said. "Not a trip."

"Then where?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't be surprised."

"If you don't tell me, then how can I do it?"

"How about you let me figure that part out, okay?"

With her skates off and her shoes back on, I saw her cast a last, wistful look toward the rink. It was getting crowded now, filling with children, groups of raucous teenagers, and a few nostalgic adults. By Marge's expression, I knew she was thinking to herself that she was never going to have the chance to skate again.

Today, I realized, hadn't simply been about teaching London to roller skate, or making a memory that London might hold on to forever; Marge had begun the process of saying goodbye to the things she loved, too.

Marge and Liz were gone for six days. While they were away, I worked long hours, wanting to get as much done on the new ad campaigns as possible, but mostly trying to keep myself from dwelling on my sister. As promised, she'd texted me photos of the Rockefeller Christmas tree: one of her and Liz together, and another shot of her by herself.

I had the pictures Photoshopped, printed, and then framed, with the intention of giving one set to Marge and Liz as a Christmas gift, and keeping another set for myself.

Meanwhile, I was contacted by two more law firms, including a small firm in Atlanta that had stumbled across my recent work on YouTube. As I started to put together the requisite presentations, I found myself reviewing the past six months.

When I'd started my agency, it seemed as though all my worries were business- or money-related, and at the time, I'd found the stress overwhelming. Things, I'd thought, couldn't get much worse, yet I could distinctly remember Marge reassuring me that everything would turn out fine in the end.

She was right, of course.

On the other hand, she couldn't have been more wrong.

The holidays continued to approach.

"What are your plans for Christmas? With London?" Marge asked me. It was Sunday afternoon and she'd just woken from a nap, but still looked tired. We were on her couch, where she'd wrapped herself in a blanket, even though the house felt warm to me. She and Liz had returned from New York the day before, and I wanted to see her before London returned from Atlanta. "Have you and Vivian discussed that yet? Christmas is only two weeks away, you know."

As I stared at my sister, it seemed to me that she'd lost even more weight since I'd seen her at the skating rink. Her eyes had a sunken look about them, and her voice sounded slightly higher and thinner, somehow.

"Not yet," I said. "But again, it's falling on one of her weekends."

"Russ, I know I've said it before, but it's not fair for you not to have any holidays with London."

No, it wasn't. But there wasn't much I could do about it, so I attempted to change the subject.

"How was New York?"

"It was amazing," Marge sighed. "But the crowds... wow. There were lines down the block just to get into some of the stores. The shows were fantastic, and we had some truly unforgettable meals." She mentioned some of the musicals they'd seen and restaurants where they'd eaten.

"It was worth it, then?"

"For sure," she said. "I had the hotel arrange a couple of romantic evenings while we were there, too. Champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, rose petals trailing to the bed. I'd also brought along some new lingerie to show off my newly svelte figure." She waggled her eyebrows. "I think I blew Liz's socks off."

"Why didn't you want her wearing socks?"

"Really? That's your thought process?"

"When my sister starts talking about her love life, I choose to retreat into navete," I explained. "It's not like I share details about my love life."

"You don't have a love life with Emily yet. And if you ask me, it's about time you did something about that."

"We're in a good place right now," I insisted. "We talk every night on the phone, see each other for coffee. And we went out on Friday night."

"What did you do?"

"Dinner. And karaoke."

"You did karaoke?" That caught Marge by surprise.

"She did. Then again, it was her idea. She's pretty good, too."

Marge smiled as she burrowed deeper into the couch. "That sounds like fun," she said. "Not really sexy or romantic, but fun. Any bites on your house yet?"

"There have been a few nibbles here and there, but nothing official yet. My Realtor says that December is always slow. She wants to do an open house in January."

"Let me know when. Liz and I will come by as ringers, and talk up the place in front of potential buyers."

"You have better things to do than go to an open house."

"Probably," she conceded. "Then again, you always seem to end up needing my help in one way or another. I've had to take care of you my whole life." She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where Liz was preparing lunch. "I'm supposed to have more chemo this week. Next Friday, I think. I'm not looking forward to that at all." She sighed, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. She turned to me. "With that in mind, we should probably do our thing on Thursday."

"What thing?"

"Our trip, remember?" she said. "My Christmas present?"

"You do realize that I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"That's okay. I'll pick you up at seven. Liz can get London ready for bed, if that's all right with you."

"Of course," I said. She stifled a yawn and I knew it was time for me to go. "I guess I should take off. I've got a ton of work I want to get done before London gets home."

"Okay," she said. "I'm looking forward to Thursday night. Make sure you dress warmly."

"I will," I promised. I rose from the couch, hesitated, then leaned back over to kiss my sister on the cheek. Her eyes were closed. "See you later."

She nodded without answering, and by the sound of her breathing, I knew she had fallen asleep again, even before I'd reached the front door.

Vivian delivered London around 7:00 p.m. that evening. While the limousine idled out front and London was in the bath, we spoke briefly in the kitchen.

"About Christmas," she said, cutting to the chase. "I think it would be best if we spend it here. For London, I mean. It'll be her last Christmas in this house. I can just stay in the guest room, if that's all right with you." She reached for her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. "I've already bought some things, but it might be easier if you picked up some of this other stuff, so I don't have to haul everything back here. I made a list. Just save the receipts and we can split it all up at the end."

"Whatever's easiest," I agreed, thinking back to what Marge had said about the holidays, knowing she'd be pleased. "I saw Marge today," I said, leaning against the counter.

"How's she doing?"

"She's already beginning to sleep a lot."

Vivian nodded, lowering her gaze. "It's just awful," she said. "I know you think Marge and I didn't get along that well, but I always liked her. And I know she doesn't deserve this. I want you to know that. She's always been a great sister."

"She still is," I said, but even as the words came out, I wondered how much longer I'd be able to say them.

After school on Wednesday, Emily and I planned to take the kids out to a Christmas tree farm, where you could choose and have your own tree cut down. Much of the place was decorated like Santa's village, and kids could meet Santa before visiting his workshop, where hot chocolate and cookies were served. Even better, the farm would deliver and set up the tree in its stand, something I needed since I suspected that my Prius would otherwise be crushed beneath the weight of the tree.

When I mentioned the plan to Marge, she insisted that she and Liz meet us there.

It was nine days until Christmas.

In the gravel parking lot, Marge emerged from the car. When I hugged her, I could feel the sharp ridges of her ribcage, the cancer slowly eating away at her from within. She seemed to have more energy, however, than she had just after she returned from New York.

"And this, I take it, is Bodhi," Marge said, shaking his hand with touching formality. "You're so tall for your age," she remarked, before proceeding to ask about his favorite activities and what he wanted for Christmas. When the kids became visibly antsy, we let them run off toward the farm, where they were quickly lost between evergreen triangles.

Emily and I trailed after them, strolling with Marge and Liz.

"How is your holiday season shaping up, Em?" Marge asked. "Are you going anywhere?"

"No," she said. "We'll just do the family thing like we usually do. See my sister and my parents. Ever since London learned to ride a bike, Bodhi's been begging for one, so I guess I have to get him one even if I'm not so confident about my ability to teach him to ride."

"You'll help her out, won't you, Russ?" Marge said, elbowing me.

I grimaced. "Marge has always been good at volunteering me for things."

"I seem to recall that," she laughed. "Russ said you had a good time in New York?"

The two of them fell behind a bit, engrossed in their conversation. I looped my arm through Liz's, and followed the path the kids had taken.

"How's the schedule working out with Mom?" I asked.

"It's working, I guess. I cut back to three days a week at work, so your mom is going to come on the other two weekdays."

"Marge seems to be doing well today."

"She was a little fatigued this morning, but she perked up on the ride over. I think doing things like this makes her feel like there's nothing wrong with her, if only for a little while. She was the same way when we were in New York."

"I'm glad she wanted to come. I just don't want her to get run down."

"I've said the same thing to her," Liz said. "And do you know what her response was?"

"I can't imagine."

"She told me not to worry so much, because she 'still has something important to do.' "

"What does that mean?'

Liz shook her head. "Your guess is as good as mine."

As we stopped and waited for Emily and Marge to catch up, I pondered my sister's cryptic words. She had always been one for surprises, and I wondered what last mysteries she had up her sleeve.

The next evening, Marge and Liz arrived at my house at seven on the dot. As soon as Liz walked through the door, London took her hand and led her up to the bedroom to show her the aquarium.

Marge was bundled in a scarf and hat, despite the relatively mild temperatures. She also wore gloves and the oversize down jacket I'd brought to the hospital.

It seemed impossible that less than three weeks had passed since she'd been rushed to the hospital.

"Are you ready?" she said impatiently, clearly ready to leave.

I grabbed my jacket and dug out a pair of gloves and a hat, even though I couldn't imagine needing them. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," she said. "Come on. Before I chicken out."

I was still mystified, but as we began to turn down roads I recognized, I suddenly understood what she had in mind.

"You're not serious," I said as she pulled up to the gates and shut off the engine.

"I am," she said firmly. "And this is your Christmas gift to me."

As I looked up, the water tower loomed impossibly, immeasurably tall.

"It's illegal to climb the water tower," I said.

"It's always been illegal. That never stopped us before."

"We were kids," I countered.

"And now we're not," she said. "You ready? Get your hat and gloves. It'll probably be windy up top."