82 83 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW I. We drank our hot chocolate as we looked at every single thing. 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 to be Dad and Lucy. We spent every single Christmas here. We always rented two-bedroom cabins. There was one room for me, and one for Dad and Mom. And my sister loved to sleep on the loveseat in the corner. Every night Dad would tuck her in, with blankets up to her chin, to make sure she was cozy.” I stopped when my voice broke, and I realized there were tears on my cheeks. “And I drink my coffee black, just like Dad,” I finished. “My sister didn’t like coffee. She would only drink milk.” And then I put my head into my hands, and I cried until I couldn’t breathe. When there were no tears left to cry, when I felt empty inside, I looked up, and Lucy was watching me. I stood up, and came to her. I wrapped my arms around her head, my wet cheeks pressed against the side of her face. And she stood there and she didn’t pull away. At twelve thirty, half an hour after Christmas morning had begun, I walked back to my cabin. In only the warm golden light of the Christmas tree in the living room, I tiptoed across the cold floorboards. I stepped outside onto the front porch. One by one, I gently lifted the two chairs I had dragged outside. I brought them back in, and arranged them around the table, for Mom to find when she woke up in the morning.
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