He entered the large apartment that evening, cold from walking the five blocks home from the office, and weary from yet another office-party. Flopping down onto the leather sofa with a stiff drink, he flicked on the television.

Fighting continued in Somalia, chaos reigned in Haiti, Russia and just about every other country in the world...and then he saw it. That blasted commercial again. The same one that had been gnawing at him for weeks now. ..Bermuda -- a short trip to the perfect holiday. This was the third time he'd seen it in two days. It couldn't be just coincidence. Somebody had to be trying to tell him something.

Jake Thomas sat in his office the following morning and finally gave in. He realised that he couldn't possibly have anything more to lose, and possibly everything to gain. So he gave up fighting and picked up the phone to dial the airlines. He was going home for Christmas.

Telling his parents he was returning was easier than he had expected. They were thrilled to hear from him, and delighted to hear that he would be with them for Christmas. And they insisted on meeting him at the airport. That in itself was an experience.

Jake had almost forgotten the pleasant confusion of the civil-air terminal.

Tourists wandering aimlessly, porters standing about chatting -- was it ever possible to get their attention? He had finally realised that the group of flustered-looking individuals in the corner was actually a lineup of people waiting to get some sort of assistance. He decided against joining the masses and carried his bags out himself.

He found his father quite cheerful and his mother, of course, was in tears.

"It hasn't been that long,'' Jake grumbled as she hugged him a fourth time, even before they had reached the car.

"Two years is a long time. You look thin. And tired. You're working too hard.'' "Thanks, Mom.'' Jake couldn't help grinning. "It's great to see you, too.'' "You know what I mean,'' his mother said. "You need some good food in you.

None of this big-city garbage that you live on. I've got mincemeat pies, cassava ...'' "I hate cassava,'' Jake interjected, and then saw the look on his mother's face. "Well...you know, it's been a while. Maybe I'll like it.'' "You'd better like it,'' his father told him once his mother was seated in the car. "You're in enough trouble as it is.'' Jake swallowed hard and loosened his tie as they drove along the Causeway that day. The sight of the sun shining down on the turquoise water did not cheer him the way that he had imagined it would, and this bothered him. But surely he hadn't led himself to believe that once he stepped off the plane everything would automatically become clear, had he? He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the warm light and refreshing breeze that flooded through the car and groaned inwardly. He had.

It wasn't until after dinner, whilst they were decorating the tree together, that his mother confronted him. It started with an argument over a bauble.

"It goes over there, near the top,'' she said. Jake studied the tree and shook his head.

"No, it's better in the middle.'' "It goes up there. It always has and always will.'' She set her jaw stubbornly and returned to hanging the icicles.

"But it doesn't look right there!'' Jake was suddenly frustrated with her.

"Why does everything have to go in the same place every year? Do you realise how ridiculous that is? We could put you on Oprah, for pete's sake!'' "I like having things the same way, Jacob!'' she shot back angrily. Jake cringed. She had used his full name. She was real mad.

"Well,'' he said lightly, glancing across the room at his father, who was surreptitiously hiding behind the newspaper. "What do you think, Dad?'' "Huh? Oh, um...I think it's time I walked the dog.'' He got to his feet quickly, the brown mongrel at his heels giving a delighted bark.

Jake and his mother decorated the rest of the tree in silence, listening to the Christmas carols on the radio.

"So, how's life down here?'' Jake finally spoke again, sitting down on the couch and scrutinising the tree. He still thought the silver bauble would have looked better in the middle.

"Oh, you know Bermuda,'' his mother said. "Nothing much changes.'' "Yeah. I know.'' He ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. "See much of Kaitlin?'' "She's around. Busy. She spends a lot of time with that young man now.'' "Oh?'' Jake raised his dark eyebrows and narrowed his eyes.

"Who?'' His mother smiled and shrugged nonchalantly.

"I think I'll put the kettle on.'' Jake rose and followed her into the warm kitchen, watching as she pulled a tray of mince-pies from the oven. The wind howled into the room as his father and the dog returned through the back door.

Jake could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks outside. The sound startled him because he had not heard it for so long.

"Is it safe to come in?'' his father asked, giving him a wink.

"Sure, Dad,'' Jake answered. "Mom was just telling me about the young man Kaitlin's been seeing.'' "What young man?'' "You know the one, dear,'' his wife reminded him, banging down the tray of pies on the counter.

"It's okay, Mother,'' Jake laughed unconvincingly. "Kaitlin can see who she likes. It's been two years, after all.'' "Yes. Well, I'm sure it took her a while to get over being left at the altar,'' she replied crisply, turning to face him. Jake scowled.

"She was not `left at the altar!' It was two months before the wedding, and it was a mutual decision!'' "So she says. I'm not so sure I believe it.'' "Mother, for crying out loud. ..'' "No, Jake, you listen to me for a change! You can't come waltzing back here, big-shot lawyer that you are, and just smooth everything over! Some things are plain black and white and as I far as I see it, you left that sweet girl for a big-city career and that's that. And where did it get you? "You have more money than you need, no one to spend it on, and a big apartment that you're hardly in because you're always in the office! Was it really worth it, Jacob? Is all that really making you happy?'' Jake glared at her from across the room. His father coughed uncomfortably but stayed put. He wanted to hear the answer to this one.

"I did not come back here to defend my life,'' Jake told her quietly, clenching his fists behind his back. His mother shook her head and set out the tea cups.

"No, I don't suppose you did. So, why did you come?'' "What?'' Jake was momentarily speechless. His mother was asking him why he'd come home?! "Well, I...it's Christmas.'' It was the best answer he could come up with, but somehow he knew it didn't quite cut it. And he knew they knew it too.

"You're right, Jake,'' she said softly, sitting down at the kitchen table and studying him hard. "It is Christmas. But what does that mean to you? Not so long ago, I think you knew. But now ...I don't know that you do.'' "Then tell me!'' he shouted suddenly. "You're the one with all the answers.

You tell me what it's all about! Tell me why I came home! Tell me what I'm feeling...'' He stopped, his voice hard. She saw that she had touched a nerve, and she was glad.

"I can't, Jake. I'm sorry, but this is one time I can't help you.'' It was Christmas Eve. Jake sat alone on the beach. Grey clouds loomed above him and the wind blew softly around him. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his windbreaker and stared out at the ocean, watching the waves intently, his mind still reeling from the decision he had finally come to. Once he had made that decision though, everything was clear, and it all seemed so simple.

Here, on this tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic, miles away from Wall Street and Fifth Avenue, life was different. Oh, he knew it wasn't that cut and dry. Bermuda still had it's share of problems and he knew it would be just as easy to get caught up in the rat-race here as it was over there, but yet, here there was more. Here there was beauty, clean air, the bluest of skies, pink sands...It was a place so full of majesty that you just had to stop and take notice. It demanded it.

"Jake.'' The sound of her voice startled him and he stood quickly. They stared at each other for a long moment, memories flooding through both of them.

"Hello, Kaitlin. Merry Christmas.'' "And to you.'' She smiled briefly. "When you called and asked me to meet you, I almost said no.'' "I'm glad you didn't,'' he told her. "We have a lot to talk about.'' "Do we?'' Her dark eyes were serious and suddenly he wondered if he had made a mistake.

"Mother says you've been seeing someone.'' "Really?'' "Oh. A young man. Yes, I have.'' His face fell and suddenly she laughed.

"What's so funny?'' he asked with a frown.

"The `young man' I've been seeing, Jake, is my nephew. My sister just got divorced and she and her little boy are staying with my parents for a while.'' "Oh.'' He grinned sheepishly. "Is that it? There's no one...'' "Would it matter if there was?'' "Yes. Yes, actually it would.'' His reply was swift and definite and suddenly she knew why he had asked her to meet him.

She shook her head slowly, blinking back sudden tears.

"Life in the big city wasn't all it was cut out to be then, was it?'' "You knew it wouldn't be. You knew I'd hate it, didn't you?'' "Yes. That's why I refused to go with you. But I had to let you find out for yourself. I had to let you go.'' He laughed for a moment, looking around them. The sun was slowly starting to go down and the turquoise water was gradually enveloped by a pale pink hue.

Gulls flapped overhead, their cries mournful, yet somehow comforting.

"What is it about this place? No matter how far away you get, you never really leave it behind.'' "Maybe, it's not so much the place, Jake, but the people in it.'' Jake smiled as he thought about that. It really was true what they said. You never appreciate all you have until it's gone.

He nodded slowly, taking her hand in his.

"Until I got back here, I was thinking Christmas was really overrated. And then I walked into my mother's house, saw all the decorations, the tree, the smell of cedar logs burning in the fireplace...I realised it was more than just giving presents and sending cards to people you haven't seen in years...it's responding to a feeling, the feeling of belonging somewhere, of being somebody special to someone.

"It's the way my parents look at each other, you can see the love that's still there after so many years. It's the warmth you feel when they talk to you, the happiness you can see in their eyes when they talk about my brother's kids...it all seems to come together, doesn't it?'' "Christmas is a very special time of year, Jake. But not if you're alone.'' "Don't I know it,'' he chuckled softly. "Want to hear what I did last year?'' "Not particularly.'' Kaitlin laughed, her eyes sparkling in the sunset.

"Have you made up your mind, Jake? Are you really staying?'' "If you'll have me back.'' She took a moment to reply, enjoying the look on his face as she kept him waiting. And then she put his mind at ease.

"I thought you'd never ask.'' As they stood together on the beach that Christmas afternoon, Jake felt a sense of peace like he never had before. He'd never been much for gift-giving in the past, hating to succumb to the commercialism of the season, but this year he felt differently. He'd gone overboard despite his better judgment, filling the area beneath his parents' Christmas tree with brightly wrapped presents. Yet, he knew now that none would mean as much to them as the announcement he and Kaitlin would make tonight after dinner. To them, and to himself, it would be the best present of all. He was coming home.

LADIES NIGHT -- Women writers swepty the board n this year's Royal Gazette Christmas Short Story Contest