82 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW My favorites were the teeny-tiny village pieces. I saw tiny houses and tiny schools, tiny churches and tiny fire stations. Mom liked the tiny bake shop. I liked the tiny horses. I found a speckled gray one that looked kind of like Lucy. “Mom,” I said, “let’s get this one.” And so we did. December 25, 2:00pm On Christmas Eve, Mom kissed me goodnight. I laid in my bed, on top of my blankets, and I stared up at the ceiling. I tried to fall asleep, I really did. But there was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away. So I stood up, and I opened the window. I walked up the hill, now familiar, to the stables. I crossed the barn to Lucy’s stable. I sat down on the straw in front of her door. Afraid to break the silence, but aching to say something, I talked with her in my head. Merry Christmas Eve, Lucy, I said. In only a few minutes, the hour is going to change, eleven to twelve, and Christmas morning is going to begin. Did you know that, Lucy? Maybe, I thought, it would be better if I tried to use words. Maybe they would be easier for Lucy to understand. “Lucy,” I said. I took a deep breath in and out. “There are two people in my family,” I told her. “There’s me, and there’s Mom. There used
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