Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Zelda absorbed this, her eyes studying me with new consideration. She opened her mouth as if to ask something more, then closed it, apparently thinking better of it. Instead, she said, “I should work on the tree.”
“We should,” I agreed, recognizing the deliberate change of subject.
“No. Not you.” She pointed to the tent. “Stand guard.”
I nodded slowly, understanding and absurdly pleased. If Zelda trusted me to watch over her sister, I was teaching her not all men were abusive assholes. I positioned myself two steps in front of the opening where Kira could see me but I wasn’t crowding her.
“Do I have to get out soon?” The small voice came from the fort.
I didn’t bend down or look in on her. Instead I turned my head to the side so she could hear me. “You don’t have to come out until you’re ready. If you need your mom, Zelda will get her.”
“No. I’m OK now.” There was a pause. “You won’t leave, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to, Lil’ Bit.”
Again, there was a short silence. “I think I want you to stay there until I’m ready to come out.”
“You can tap my leg to get my attention if I don’t hear you. Otherwise, I’ll stay here as long as you need.”
From within, I could hear her breathing gradually slow, the rhythm evening out as the protected space did its work. Not a solution to whatever haunted her, but a temporary respite, a moment to gather strength before facing the world again. Sometimes, that was all any of us could hope for. One quiet moment at a time.
Kira only needed fifteen or twenty minutes before the sounds of the other kids having fun and singing Christmas karaoke finally coaxed her out. The scent of gingerbread cookies wafted through the room also, which probably contributed to helping soothe her with the warm, spicy fragrance. After that, she went back to helping her sister and eating cookies.
Now, I untangled a length of pine garland, the artificial needles scratching against my palms as I worked out the knots. Somehow, I’d been assigned garland duty with Penny, both of us standing at the long folding table that had been set up against the wall. We worked in silence for several minutes, the kind that wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Like we were both testing the waters, feeling each other out. She worked deftly with nimble fingers whereas I fumbled with the delicate work. I admit, I might have been distracted. Penny was a very beautiful woman. I’d never dream of touching her, but I liked admiring her from afar.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I accidentally yanked a section she was untangling. “These hands aren’t made for delicate work.”
She glanced up at me, that same assessing look I’d noticed before. “They seem to do just fine with the girls.”
The observation caught me off guard. I busied myself with straightening a particularly mangled section of garland. “Kids are tougher than they look.” I glanced up. “Sorry if I did something wrong. I don’t want to scare anyone here, but especially not the kids.”
“You didn’t,” she said quietly. “And you’re right. They are tough.” We worked for another minute before she spoke again, her voice pitched low so it was hard to hear her. “The girls have never had a real Christmas. Not one they can remember, anyway.”
I kept my movements steady, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment of volunteered information. “No tree? No presents?”
She shook her head, eyes fixed on her hands. “There was a tree the first Christmas after me and Andy got married, when the girls were just toddlers. They wouldn’t remember it.” Her fingers stilled on the garland, and when she continued, her voice had a distant quality to it. “Their father…” She faltered, then pushed on. “He destroyed any decorations I tried to put up. Said it was all a waste of money and in his way. He hated anything being what he considered ‘in his way.’ Basically, anything unusual within his field of vision. Including, sometimes, me and the girls.”
The casual cruelty of it made something dark and familiar stir in my chest. I concentrated on breathing evenly, on keeping my hands gentle on the garland even as I imagined what I’d do to a man who robbed children of something as simple as Christmas decorations.
“The first year, he just threw everything in the trash,” she continued, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear it. “The second year, he broke the ornaments. One by one. Made us watch.” She swallowed hard. “After that, I stopped trying.”
A muscle worked in my jaw as I clenched my teeth against the words I wanted to say, against the rage that threatened to bubble up and spill over. I thought of Zelda’s face when she’d handed me that star ornament, of Kira’s careful retreat to the quiet space I’d made. Of all the small moments of trust they’d shown despite everything.