At exactly 8:47 a.m. on December 25, Lorraine began passing out presents with the air of someone conducting a ceremony rather than opening gifts with family.
She called the grandchildren one by one.
One cousin tore open a box and found an iPad.
Another child received the same thing.
The older kids opened shiny cards and pulled out thick envelopes containing cash.
There were excited voices, torn wrapping paper, people reaching across the table, and adults commenting on how much the kids had grown since the previous holiday.
Then Lorraine looked toward Zia.
Her expression changed only slightly.
“Oh. Zia.”
She reached beside her chair and lifted a thin drugstore gift bag with a crooked bow attached near one handle.
“This is for you, sweetheart,” she said. “I didn’t want you to feel totally left out.”
I felt Travis shift beside me before Zia even touched the bag.
Our daughter accepted it with both hands because that was the kind of child she was, careful even when someone else was being careless with her feelings.
