The clock on the mantel struck midnight and Pacey looked up at it, his blue eyes angry. “Rub it in, why don’t you?” He pushed himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen, leaving the mocking lights of the Christmas tree behind him.

Standing in front of the refrigerator, he grabbed the pen on the counter and marked off another day. December 24th, come and gone. Merry fucking Christmas. He wrenched open the door and grabbed a beer, snapping the lid off easily as he walked over to the kitchen table and sat down.

It was Christmas morning, for whatever it was worth. His wife was on a business trip. His family was hundreds of miles away. And he was alone.

“God, you’re pathetic this morning, aren’t you Witter?” He sneered at the beer bottle, his own reflection distorted strangely. “Just drink the beer, go to bed. At a reasonable hour, Joey will call you, you’ll talk dirty to each other, you’ll tell her you love her, tell her you miss her and then you’ll beg her to come home.”

He took a deep drink then leaned back in his chair. “And then she’ll tell you that she’ll be there as soon as she can and when she gets home you have a promise to keep in the bedroom.”

Standing up, Pacey headed for the stairs. He was depressing himself. Christmas lights, firelight…it didn’t matter without her there. She’d be home soon and they’d have their Christmas, made sweeter for not sharing it with anyone else.

He set the beer on the dresser, slowly stripping out of the day’s clothes. The bed seemed bigger and lonelier than it had a right to, especially since he’d been alone almost a week. She’d called every night so far, except this one, and he knew that she had a big dinner to go to. He wondered what she was wearing, if she’d chosen the blue silk or the black velvet. He wondered if she was wearing the diamonds she’d gotten as a college graduation present from Bessie, Bodie and Alexander or if she wore his pearls.

Lying across the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and berated himself mentally. Next time he’d insist that he go along with her if it was a holiday trip. He missed her too much. Although, if their fervent efforts to get her pregnant panned out, maybe some other sap would end up with her horrible schedule.

“I miss you, Jo,” Pacey whispered into the silent bedroom.

The phone rang and he scrambled for it, stretching out on her side of the bed.

“Hello?”

“Pace?” The sounds of a celebration were loud behind her.

“Hey, baby.”

“Merry Christmas!” She giggled softly, slightly tipsy. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“I was awake.” Missing you, he added silently.

“We’re celebrating. We got the new account, the one I was telling you about? We’re starting work on it the first of the year.”

“Long campaign?” He cursed himself for the question, knowing she’d know he was wondering if they’d miss another holiday, another anniversary, another moment.

“Typical for this sort of thing. Listen, I’m on their office phone so I can’t really talk. I just wanted to say Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Jo.”

“I gotta run!” She shrieked with laughter as she hung up the phone, leaving him alone in silence.

“Love you.”

“Yes, may I please speak to a Mr. Pacey Witter?”

“I’m Pacey Witter.”

“Pacey Witter, husband of Josephine Witter?”

Panic edged into his voice. “Yes.”

“Mr. Witter, this is Providence Medical Center in Beufords. Your wife was brought here after a traffic accident. You’re listed as her emergency contact person.”

“Is she all right?”

“I’m afraid I’m unable to give any medical information out over the phone. You’ll need to come to the hospital and speak with Doctor Taylor. He’s the physician in charge of your wife.”

Pacey hung up the phone, no longer chilled from the cold room. The chills that assaulted him now were fueled with fear, afraid for Joey. He ignored the shower, pulling on the clothes he’d worn the day before. He shoved his feet into his tennis shoes, grabbing his wallet and keys from the dresser.

He hurried through the house, grabbing his cell phone at the last minute before he slammed the door to his house behind him. He climbed in the car, heedless of the snow falling around him, and started it; pounding on the steering wheel as it sputtered to life.

As the car warmed up, he pulled out his map, trying to determine where he was headed. As soon as the car came roaring to life, he shoved it into gear and pulled out of his driveway, the only sound in the silence his engine and his muttered prayers.

Pacey rushed into the hospital, his blue eyes frantic. He looked around wildly until he saw a doctor. Rushing up to him, he pushed him against the wall. “Where is she?”

“She?” The doctor managed to force the word out of his cut off throat.

Two hours in the car had done nothing to calm Pacey. “My wife. Joey Witter. Where the fuck is she?”

“Mr. Witter?’ Someone set his hand on Pacey’s shoulder, pulling him away from the man he had pinned to the wall. “Mr. Pacey Witter?” When Pacey nodded, he continued. “I’m Doctor Taylor.”

Pacey’s fists unclenched slowly, his body rigid with tension. “Please, where’s Joey? Where’s my wife?” His voice was pleading, uncharacteristically weak.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Doctor Taylor suggested, motioning Pacey toward a group of couches. Pacey followed him slowly, sinking down across from him.

“Where’s Joey? I need…I need to see her.”

“Let me tell you what happened, Mr. Witter. Apparently, your wife was driving and was hit at full speed by a drunken driver.”

“Please, Doctor Taylor. Where is she? I need to see her.”

“With the reduced visibility due to the weather conditions, there was really no way she could have avoided being hit and I…”

“Tell me she’s okay?”

Doctor Taylor took a deep breath, looking directly into Pacey’s tortured blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Witter.”

“No.” Pacey shook his head violently, unable to comprehend the simple words. “No.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Witter.”

“I have to see her.” Pacey stood, his eyes wild. “I have to. Please?”

Doctor Taylor stood as well, gesturing down the hall. “Come with me.”

As they walked down the hall, Pacey folded his arms across his chest, closing in on himself. “She was on a business trip.”

“Pardon?”

“Joey. She was on a business trip.”

“Business?” Doctor Taylor stopped in front of a small room. “She’s inside.” He opened the door and gestured inside. “The police would like to speak to you when you’re finished.”

“Sure.” Pacey walked into the room and shut the door behind him. He took a tentative step toward Joey, praying the entire time that it was a hideous mistake. Her skin, normally such a golden brown was pale, standing out from even the whiteness of the sheets. There were cuts and abrasions everywhere, her beautiful face marred with a deep gash. The sheet covered her and his hand trembled as he lifted it, bracing himself for whatever he might find.

Her body was wrecked, ravaged by the impact of metal on metal. He dropped the sheet, unable to really see anything through the blinding tears in his eyes. He looked away, hating himself for not having the courage to keep looking at her. His whole body shook as he stumbled to the lone chair in the room. It was covered in cloth and he picked it up, recognizing the black velvet of her dress. Blood matted the normally soft surface as he lifted it to his face, burying his tears.

His sobs filled the room as he sank to his knees, the dress against his face. It smelled like her, the faintest traces of her perfume, of party smoke, of champagne. It smelled sexy, slightly sweaty, reminding him of her body poised above his, naked and hungry. It smelled like fear and like blood.

Pacey dropped the dress back in the chair and forced himself to his feet, making his way back to her. Her hand was above the sheet and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing it softly, watching as the loose bracelet slid down her arm. He unlatched it carefully, tucking it in his pocket, not wanting it lost. He would bury her in her mother’s jewels.

He lifted his eyes to her face, memorizing her, remembering her. His heart pounded hard and heavy in his chest, fighting for air against the deep, wrenching sobs he heard but could no longer feel. The necklace was on the bedside table, cut in two. There was a thin, deep red line around her neck that matched its pattern, down to the four pearls that had cut into her delicate skin.

Without thinking, Pacey took the necklace as well, placing it with the bracelet. “Joey,” he whispered brokenly. “Baby…”

“Mr. Witter?” The words were soft and unassuming. Pacey turned slowly to face the police officer that stood uncomfortably in the door. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” Pacey admitted, tears falling freely down his face. “Not even close.”

“Can we speak with you? Or do you need a few more minutes with your wife?”

“I need a lifetime,” Pacey stated sadly, turning back to Joey’s still body. With a shaky sigh, he shook his head. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. I just need…I’ll be right out.”

He stared down at her for a long moment, stroking her dark hair away from her face. She was bloodied and broken, nothing of the Joey he’d known and loved left in her, just a shell.

And yet for all that, she was still his wife, still his love, still his life. He kissed her lips, cool and still. “I love you, Joey. Forever.”

Pacey left the room in silence. He looked up at the police officer who was standing outside the door and managed a weak smile. Pulling the jewelry from his pocket he held it out to him. “These were my wife’s. I didn’t want them to get lost. She’ll want…I’ll need them for the funeral. I just wanted someone to know that I took them.”

“We’ll get a nurse with the paperwork to clear all that, Mr. Witter.” He was no older than Doug, not much older than Pacey. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I imagine that would be infinitely better than falling down, which I’m likely to do.” Pacey made his way over to one of the chairs and sank into it. After a moment of silence, he forced his eyes up to the officer’s. “The doctor said there was nothing Joey could have done?”

“The driver of the other car was well above the legal alcohol limit, he was driving recklessly, still drinking and using no precautions whatsoever in light of the snowfall. He plowed into your wife’s car head-on. There was no warning, no chance for her to save herself.”

“And the other driver?”

“He died as well. Instantly.”

“And Jo…Joey?”

“She asked for you, Mr. Witter.”

Pacey let loose a hollow sob before collecting himself again. “Wh…what did you need to talk to me about?”

“We just need to clear up a little information on her next to kin, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Pacey nodded. “Look, I can’t…I can’t do this. Would it be possible for you to contact the police station in Capeside, Massachusetts? Speak with Officer Witter or Sheriff Witter. Tell them that I asked them to handle it? Joey’s family lives there. Other than myself, of course. They can answer any questions.”

The officer stood and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Pacey nodded, waiting for him to leave before getting to his own feet. The noises of the hospital were just beginning to penetrate the hazy fog that surrounded him as he walked back toward Joey’s room. He opened the door and started in, freezing mid-motion as he looked up.

Pacey let loose a sound, half-laugh, half sob.

The man standing beside Joey’s bed turned and faced him. His face was cut and bruised and he wore a hospital gown. “Pacey.”

Oh God. He had to explain all this to Dawson? Pacey started at his friend, worry and guilt clouding his expression. “Dawson? How did you find out so quickly?” Slowly Dawson’s attire began to sink in and Pacey swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in a car accident.”

Pacey looked him over, noting the bruises and lacerations that decorated Dawson’s body. His words sank in slowly and Pacey’s hand on the door tightened until his knuckles were a brilliant white. Understanding, deeply unwanted and embittered understanding lit his eyes. “You were with Joey.”

Dawson’s hand was on her hair, stroking the silky strands. He was staring down at her, not watching Pacey’s painful reactions. “I was with Joey.”

“How?”

Dawson looked up, his hand not stilling on her hair. “I’d been with her all week. She spends all her holidays with me.”

“She was on a business trip,” Pacey stated flatly.

“She called you just after midnight last night from the company Christmas party. She told everyone she had to call her best friend. And then she called you, Pacey. You see, to everyone outside the local office, you’re her best friend. And I’m her husband.”

“Why are you doing this to me, Dawson?”

“I’m not doing anything other than telling you the truth, Pacey.” Dawson’s eyes were serious as he met his. “Joey was with me last night. And the five other nights before that. She spent her Christmas Eve with me, kissing me under the mistletoe, making love to me. And this morning, I asked her to marry me.”

Pacey stood rigid, his eyes burning holes in Dawson’s skull. “She’s already married.”

“The business trip ended last night. This morning, after we made love, I asked her to marry me and she said yes. So we got out of bed, got dressed and got in the car, heading back to your house to tell you the truth.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie, Pace?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Joey was in love with me. We’ve been together the entire time you’ve been married, even longer, actually. She loved you. I won’t deny that. But what she and I had was too strong to break. Too strong even for you.”

Pacey’s gaze locked on Dawson’s hand, gently stroking Joey’s hair, her cheek, her skin. “I just lost my wife, Dawson. I don’t know what you hope to gain by these lies, but you can’t hurt me any more than seeing Joey lying there already has. Using Joey’s death like this…”

“I’m not using her, Pacey.” Dawson’s voice was calm and collected, tinged by grief as he looked quickly at Joey. “I was in the car with her. You can find that out for yourself. I’m just trying to prepare you for the truth. Because it’s going to come out. And unlike the way you and Joey handled your relationship in regards to me, I didn’t want you to be the last one to know.”

Dawson walked out of the room, brushing past Pacey’s still form. Pacey closed his eyes for a moment then looked over at his wife.

No wedding ring on her finger.

He wondered briefly how they’d known she was married.

Pacey stared at the box on the table, which had gone untouched since he’d brought it with him from the hospital. He’d come straight to Capeside, staying with Joey’s family until the body could be delivered and the funeral arranged. Bessie and Bodie were in the living room, the soft sounds of their grief and comfort doing little for him. He touched the hard plastic container and swallowed hard, forcing himself to open the lid.

Her dress was on top, the material far beyond ruined. Lifting it out, he set it aside, unable to look at it for too long. She’d been with him in that dress; if what he had said was true. She’d danced with him, kissed him, loved him, lied with him, lay with him. She’d betrayed him in the dress he’d bought her.

If what Dawson had said was true.

Underneath her dress was her purse, the silver handle snapped during the accident. He took it out of the box and sat down, opening the broken clasp. So many things broken. He upended it, spilling the contents onto the table. Her small wallet with her license, a few credit cards and her insurance card. Her work notebook that she took to every function, just in case. Lipstick. A comb. And her wedding ring. It tumbled to the table last, clinking on the hard wood before bouncing into the air and landing somewhere on the floor.

Pacey set the bag down and tilted the box, surveying what remained. A few business cards that had scattered when her purse had gone flying and nothing more. No written confession, no heartfelt apology. Nothing that would tell him if Dawson was lying.

Or telling the truth.

He looked over at her suitcase. The police had wrenched open the trunk and dug this out for him. Hating his own reluctance, Pacey knelt on the floor and lay it out, opening it slowly. The zipper seemed thunderous in the quiet room, drowning out everything else.

Business suits, skirts, blouses, her blue silk dress. A small jewelry box with her diamonds safely inside. He’d give them back to Bessie, give her something tangible to remember Joey by. A T-shirt that she always wore to bed when she was alone. His heart seemed to soar at the sight, beating normally for a few moments. Nylons, bras, panties, a slip.

And a negligee.

His heart stopped once more, and he closed his eyes. For everything he found to the contrary, he found something to support Dawson’s hateful words, something to make him doubt her.

“Pacey?”

He looked up at Bessie, trying to smile. “Just…just going through her things.”

“I could do that for you.”

“No.” He held out the jewelry box. “She’d want you to have this.”

Bessie opened it; tears coursing down her face as the diamonds glinted in the kitchen light. “I couldn’t…”

“You gave them to her. She’d want you to have them. Wear them. Maybe have a little girl you can give them to someday.” Pacey’s voice hitched, tears threatening again. “Besides, they’d look pretty ridiculous on me.”

Bessie laughed through her tears, sitting on the floor next to him. She picked up the wedding ring that had fallen and held it out to him. “Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?”

“No.” He straightened. “I should put this in the car. I’ll take it all home and donate all her stuff to charity. She’d…she’d like that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Bessie wrapped her arm around him, hugging him tight. “You want me to come back with you? I could help?"

“I don’t…I think I need to do it, Bess. Thanks, though. I just…” The tears came again and he pressed his lips together in an effort to hold them back.

“It’s okay,” Bessie pulled Pacey into her arms, hugging him to her. Her hand stroked his short hair as he cried, losing himself for a moment. “It’s okay, baby.”

“It hurts so much, Bessie. I miss her. It hasn’t even started and I miss her.”

“We all do.” Pacey jerked away from Bessie, his eyes narrowed from something more than grief. Dawson stood in the doorway, his own smile weak. “Bodie said it was okay to come in.”

“Of course, Dawson.” Bessie got to her feet and offered him a hug, comfort similar to what she’d offered Pacey. “Can I get you anything?”

“No,” Dawson said softly, his eyes still on his best friend. “I just came to see how Pacey was doing. If there was anything I could do to help.”

“You’ve done enough.”

Dawson raised an eyebrow and turned to Bessie. “I just wish I would have been the one, you know? I mean, I should have been driving, should have been behind the wheel.” Tears stood in his eyes before spilling over. “Why couldn’t it have been me?”

Pacey clenched his fists, his anger swelling. “I’m going to take this out to the car.” He shoved the suitcase closed, zipping it quickly. The lace of the negligee caught in the zipper and the sound of it ripping seemed to fill the room. He lifted the case as he stood, grabbing the rest of Joey’s things, leaving the room, leaving behind Dawson’s grief.

He opened the trunk and slipped the suitcase inside it. The sliver of lace fluttered in the icy breeze, taunting him. He placed the box next to it, hiding it from his view. The business cards lay on top of the box. He picked them up, glancing through the names and titles. Vice-President in charge of acquisitions, Photo Editor, Campaign designer. People who knew Joey through work. People who had been at the Christmas party.

People who would know Dawson.

Or wouldn’t.

People who might have an answer to his questions, to his pain.

Slipping the cards in his pocket, he turned back to the house. He could see the shadows of Bessie and Dawson in the kitchen still, the twinkling lights of the tree in the living room. Turning from the house, Pacey walked to the dock and climbed in the boat, sitting in the partially frozen water.

He felt that way – partially frozen. Not quite human, not quite alive. Joey was gone. He’d lost his wife. And perhaps, if Dawson was telling the truth, he’d lost much more than that.

Pacey sat in his car, his hands shaking. Beside him, on the seat, lay four business cards and a receipt. He picked up the yellow receipt and stared at the words, digesting them slowly. The funeral home had given it to him in exchange for the jewelry he’d given them for Joey to wear. He’d watched them slip the necklace on, adjusting it to the right length, then pinning it to her skin to keep it from moving. They’d done the same with her bracelet, anchoring it to her too pale skin. Then they’d slipped the ring on her finger, a mockery of his gesture at their wedding.

It seemed loose on her hand to him, but he said nothing, not wanting to watch another pin pierce her flesh. She looked cool and beautiful, complete inhuman as she lay there. Tomorrow they would view her and the next day they would bury her.

Happy New Year, Jo.

He set the paper down and picked up two of the business cards. Both of the people worked in this building and he’d made appointments with them both. He had to know. Had to know if he was lying or if she’d lied to him. Had to know if he’d lied to himself.

The elevator ride seemed to last forever as he headed for the fifteenth floor. The noise hit him as the doors opened, the rush of an office loud and abrasive. He walked to the secretary and smiled, wondering if he looked as fragile as he felt. “Hello. My name is Pacey Witter. I have an appointment with Mr. Dunbar.”

“Of course, Mr. Witter.” She buzzed an intercom of some sort and a young woman came from the door behind her. “This is Ms. Wilcox. She’ll take you to Mr. Dunbar.”

Pacey fell in step behind the woman, his eyes sweeping over the office. Was this where she’d been when she’d called him? Would this woman know his wife, know her infidelity? “Mr. Witter?”

Pacey jerked to a stop just short of the woman. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“It’s all right. Mr. Dunbar is waiting for you.”

Pacey pushed open the door, smiling at the man behind the desk. “Mr. Dunbar?”

“Yes. You must be Witter. I know another Witter.”

“Joey?”

“Yeah. You related?”

“Joey Witter is actually the reason I’ve come to see you today.” Pacey sat down opposite the man. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Mrs…Ms. Witter is dead. She was in a car accident on Christmas day.”

“Oh…my God.” Mr. Dunbar turned away from Pacey, grief evident on his face. “I’m so…she was a wonderful young woman.”

“She was.” Pacey nodded. “Could you tell me, did Joey mention to you or anyone in your office if she was married?”

“Yeah. She usually brought her husband along when she came to town on business.” Pacey caught his breath, willing himself not to break down. “In fact, they were at the Christmas party together. Nice couple. He seemed a little overprotective though, if you ask me. Of course, I had someone who looked like that, I imagine I would be too.”

Pacey stood up. “Thank you, sir. I…excuse me.” He rushed from the room, down the hall. His body was rebelling against him, refusing to work. His legs were shaky, his heart beating erratically, his stomach heaving.

She’d been with Dawson. She’d been cheating on him. She’d been lying to him.

“Mr. Witter?”

Pacey looked up from where he was leaning against the wall, surprised to see the young woman who had escorted him to Dunbar’s office. “I was just leaving…”

“I overheard your conversation. I wanted to explain something.”

He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t hear the words again. “I don’t…”

“I know you and Joey were married.”

Pacey’s head snapped up, surprised. “What?”

“And I’m sorry to hear about what happened. She was always very nice to me.”

“Dunbar said…”

“Dunbar’s an ass. Not to mention the fact that he’d only been dealing with Joey on the new campaign, which has been just over the last two weeks. He’s seen her at parties, I’m sure. But he’s usually too drunk or too busy hitting on women to notice whether or not they’re with someone.” She smiled. “We were stuck in a hotel room once, me and Joey, not me and Dunbar.” She shivered. “She was looking at your picture. Told me she missed you.”

Pacey smiled his thanks. “Was she with someone at the Christmas party?”

She nodded her head reluctantly. “But I don’t know for sure if she was with him, or, you know, with him.” Seeming to realize that her words hurt him, she went on. “I didn’t recognize him, I hadn’t seen him before. But…”

“Thanks.”

“But I asked her about you and she showed me the necklace you got her for Christmas. And she told me you’d love what she was giving you.”

Pacey nodded as he walked away, tears clouding his eyes once more. Answers or lies? Friends or lovers? He headed for the elevator, his mind blank as he realized he would never know the truth. Only two people could tell him. One was his best friend and one was his wife.

And the one that he trusted was dead.

Pacey stood outside the church, surveying the grieving faces of all his friends. His family was there, as was Joey’s. The McPhees, Jen and her grandmother, Dawson’s family, a few others whose lives Joey had touched. He searched the faces, remembering the last time they’d all been together. That day he and Joey had been married.

Today he was putting her in the ground.

He followed Bessie, Bodie and Alexander to the limousine, walking slowly. He barely remembered the ceremony, had barely heard as the priest and others had spoken. The only thing that had held his attention was the film they’d shown. The chapel had been darkened so that only the candles still burned and a screen had been set up.

And Dawson had said goodbye.

Images of Joey’s life spliced together. From the first time she’d met Dawson through Christmases past to their first real movie. That one had shown Pacey walking beside her, his arm around her. God, how she’d hated him then. Hated even having to be his friend, even though she was always there when he’d needed her. Her singing at the Miss Windjammer pageant. Scenes of her at the B&B, on Witch Island. Her valedictorian speech on graduation day. Still photographs that Dawson had taken during their senior year, black and white and starkly beautiful.

Scenes from their wedding, dancing together. Joey’s dress almost ethereal in the filtered light Dawson had used. Their dark heads bent together as they whispered something that only the two of them knew and then he’d kissed her. Immortalized on the big screen in front of them all, he kissed her softly, his lips loving her as much as he did.

There were other scenes, birthdays and summer events when they’d come home to Capeside. Then, as the last picture seemed to fade, there was one more. Joey, Dawson, Pacey, Jen, Andie and Jack. Their arms around one another, a brief moment of unadulterated friendship, frozen in time.

And then it was gone.

The church lights had come up again and the priest had spoken once more, but the only sound anyone heard was the soft sobbing that seemed to come from everywhere and everyone. Pacey had glanced over his shoulder at Dawson, noting they were the only two in the room not touched by tears.

They’d gone up to the casket, one by one, saying their good-byes. None so eloquent as Dawson’s tribute, though all seemed as heartfelt. Pacey waited until everyone but their closest friends had gone up before standing. Andie went first, followed by Jack and Jen. Then Dawson and Pacey had stared at one another for a moment, a challenge, a dare.

Dawson had taken the first step forward, moving up to say goodbye. He touched her hand then moved away, his goodbye already said. And then Pacey had stepped up to her side. He did not touch her. His voice was soft, barely loud enough to be a whisper. “I wish…I wish I’d asked you to stay.”

And now, in the limo, he let himself cry, let the tears fall while he could, while they could not hurt him. As they reached the cemetery, he wiped the tears from his eyes, stepping out into the cool sunshine. It was a new day, a new year.

He moved to the side of the casket as they settled it. The wood shone in the pale light, smooth mahogany polished to a high finish. He pictured Joey’s hands smoothing a cloth over the wood of his boat as they’d sailed that summer. A spray of red roses topped it, interspersed with pale daisies. Dawson looked at the flowers and gave Pacey a look, his eyes wide.

Pacey almost smiled at the small victory. Was it a victory if you give away something to your enemy? Dawson stood opposite him, his own thoughts troubling him.

The words went by quickly, drowned out again by sobs. Pacey reached beside him and took Bessie’s hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. “Mr. Witter?”

His head snapped up and he looked at the priest in surprise. “Yes?”

“Would you like to say something?”

Dawson’s tribute would remain in their minds. His love for Joey declared on film. Pacey nodded and stepped up to the podium.

“We all loved Joey. She was the most infuriating, frustrating, over-analytical, bossy woman there was, but we all loved her. She was loyal and loving, honest and forthright. She stuck by you if you were down, gave you something to look forward to. She promised me once that a better story would always come along. Swore to me that I’d get out of Capeside, make something of myself.

“She told me once that I made her feel alive. She told me once that I knew her. And she told me once that she’d be my wife. And she told me more than once that she loved me.” He took a deep, trembling breath. “I don’t know that I made anything much of myself once I got out of Capeside, but I made Joey Potter happy. And I made her my wife.” Tears came again and he didn’t try to stop them. Maybe they were the tribute he could offer her. “And that made me the luckiest man in the world.”

He stepped away, moving back to Bessie. Dawson’s eyes were on his, damp from tears he refused to shed. Stepping forward, Pacey took a rose from the spray that adorned her coffin. “I love you, Potter.”

As he stepped back, Dawson stepped up. He dislodged a daisy then stepped back, not saying a word. The entire group followed their lead until all but one rose was gone. The priest stepped up and held out his hand. Pacey held out his and let the dirt sift through his fingers.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

And with those simple words, she was gone.

The house was cold when he finally arrived home. Joey’s bags were still in his car, waiting to be disposed of, gotten rid of. He looked around the living room, trying not to notice the Christmas tree, suffering from his absence. Would that be him in weeks or months? Wilting without her?

He shut the door behind him, walking up the stairs to the bedroom. Nothing had given him answers. None of the people he’d talked to could tell him enough that he might know that Joey had cuckolded him, pretended Dawson was her husband, spent the last five years of holidays playing house with him.

Their bedroom seemed sterile, no smells, no sounds. The phone was off the hook, never hung up from when he’d received the phone call that changed his life forever. Slipping it back into the cradle, he sank down onto the bed and simply sat there, unsure of what to do next. He’d left after the funeral, unable to watch and listen to well-wishers, promising him that things would look better in time.

He didn’t want time. He wanted Joey. He wanted answers.

Forcing himself from the bed, Pacey moved to Joey’s dresser and opened the top drawer. Lingerie of every color seemed to blossom from it, spilling over. Silk and satin caressed his skin and he remembered the feel of her in every piece, making love to him with her eyes, her touch, her body.

Tossing it piece by piece onto the bed, Pacey thumbed through it all. Stockings and panties, teddies and bras, all designed to seduce and tantalize. Yet with every piece, he questioned his memory. Had she worn it for him? Or had she purchased it with the intent of seducing someone else?

The next two drawers contained her regular clothes, the ones she wore on their days off, around the house. T-shirts, tank tops, short and jeans. He held them up, inhaling the soft scent of her that remained, trembling with residual emotion. Soon, the pile of clothes on the bed teetered precariously as Pacey slipped open the last drawer.

Nothing. Nothing that would give him any kind of answer, just the hazy fragrance of memory that lingered. He moved to the closet, pulling outfits from hangers, tossing them onto the pile until they spilled over the floor. Coats and skirts, dresses and blouses, a frenzy of clothing flying through the air as he searched for something, some kind of peace.

Shaking, he stepped away staring at the stripped bar, hangers dangling precariously. He sank down onto the pile of clothes, surrounding himself with her. Tears threatened, the horrible emptiness not filled with the need to know, to understand, to be sure. Nothing filled him.

Leaving the pile where it lay, he stood and made his way down the stairs. Ignoring the living room, he headed for the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, trying not to remember the last time he’d run through these paces, tried not to remember that she hadn’t said she loved him before she’d hung up the phone. Snapping off the cap, he took a long drink, glancing over at the phone.

The message light was blinking, no doubt full of sympathetic well-wishers. Pushing the button, he sank down at the table and buried his head in his hands, listening to the words without hearing them. Christmas wishes from his family, from Joey’s. Messages he’d ignored, waiting for Joey to call. Messages they’d left before the impact of what had happened fell down on them, destroyed their holidays.

Joey’s voice.

Pacey stood up quickly, rewinding the message. She sounded tipsy still, tipsy or happy or guilty or…when had he stopped being able to read her voice?

“Pacey.” She giggled softly. He’d never see her half smile again, never feel her laugh, pressed to his body. How could he have slept through this call? Missed his last opportunity to hear her? “It’s Christmas. Where are you? Sleeping? I love you. Did I tell you that earlier? I wish I were there. I miss you, Pacey.”

He swallowed hard, pain lancing through his chest, through his heart. “I miss you too, Jo.”

“I’m coming home. I can’t wait to give you your present.”

And then she was gone, her giggle staying in the room, haunting him.

His hand hovered over the rewind button, longing to torture himself even more. He stalled long enough that the next message started. And brought his world crashing down.

“Ms. Witter? This is Stephen Michaels from the Clairmont hotel in Beufords. I wanted to let you know that one of our cleaning staff found your husband’s watch in your room. We have it in the hotel safe and will hold it for him or, if you like, we can send it along to your home address. Please notify us as to which you’d prefer. Thank you and happy holidays.”

Pacey sank back into his chair, the beer falling to the floor, forgotten. Her husband’s watch. Not just at the party with her, but in her bedroom. Lying to him, lying with her. As much as he tried, no innocent reasons for its presence came to him, nothing but an image of the woman he loved in the arms of the man he’d trusted implicitly.

Dawson hadn’t lied to him. He’d betrayed him knowingly, but he hadn’t lied.

“Yes, this is Samantha Richards calling from Doctor Harris’ office for Mrs. Josephine Witter. I was just calling with the results of your test. You’ll be happy to know that everything has come back exactly as you expected. We’d like to set up an appointment with you as soon as possible in order to get you started on a health plan and prenatal vitamins. If you have any questions, please give us a call.”

His harsh bark of laughter was loud in the now silent room.

Joey had been pregnant. Pregnant and she hadn’t told him. Because it was Dawson’s? Because she had wanted to break things off with Dawson before telling him? Because she had no intention of having it? But the message had indicated that she was happy, that she wanted to have a baby.

His baby?

“…She showed me the necklace you got her for Christmas. And she told me you’d love what she was giving you.”

“I can’t wait to give you your present…”

Pacey stormed from the kitchen, intent on the living room and the unsuspecting Christmas tree. He tore through the presents that lay beneath it, scanning tags, tossing boxes and packages aside. Joey, Bessie, Alexander, Bodie, Jen, Andie, Joey, Joey, Joey, Pacey…

He stopped, his hands trembling as he gripped the thin box, wrapped in silver paper. He ripped it open, surprised to find the necklace box he’d given her. He lifted the lid slowly, afraid of what he might find.

He removed the note and snapped the velvet box closed, carrying the paper with him as he climbed the stairs once more. The storage room was past their bedroom, normally cluttered with everything they had no place for. As he swung open the door, his chest tightened. The room was spotless save for the crib in the corner, the mahogany wood polished to a high finish.

Walking over to it, he touched the shining gold, stroking it gently before he turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, Joey’s note – her goodbye – fluttering silently to the floor.

09/22/00