Page 30 of Hooked

I can’t do this. It’s not that I don’t care, but I don’t know how to help Sia through any of this other than by listening. I’m just bad at feelings.

“I bet Murphy wasn’t happy to find you there alone,” I say. I need this to wrap up.

“I started crying. I thought he was mad at me, that’d I’d done something wrong.” The wistfulness in her voice makes me feel sick. It’s too familiar. “He had never been anything but kind to me, but he always seemed so serious.”

I’d met him a handful of times and even as a full-grown man I felt his gravitas. I can’t blame Sia for being afraid of him as a kid. Not that I had been afraid, naturally.

“Anyway, he told me to stop crying and grab my coat so we could see Santa. My coat didn’t fit great because it was from the previous winter. My parents hadn’t remembered to pick up a new one for me. They were always so busy with work.” She laughs. “I must’ve looked ridiculous. Like the opposite of when I had to wear my uncle’s clothes.”

I’m deeply uncomfortable. Now I know how other people feel when I joke about my childhood. It sucks, and I hate it.

She senses my discomfort and gingerly touches my arm, that shy smile gracing her face again.

It’s impressive that she has any of that sweetness left in her, given how people have reacted to it. It makes her vulnerable, though, and I wonder if she’d be better off without it.

“Murphy bought me a jacket that fit and took me with his family to pick out a tree. I’m pretty sure he read my parents the riot act, because they were cold to me when they returned from their trip, but that Christmas with the Doyles was my first great Christmas, and I promised myself that, when I could, I’d throw the best party for them to thank them for including me. Turned that promise into a career.” She squeezes my arm and then lets her hand fall.

Jesus. She’s completely earnest, believing she has to always pay care back so she doesn’t overdraw the balance and lose someone.

It makes me sad. She should be enough for anyone. Anyone who’s interested in forging relationships with other people, I mean.

“Well, I’m very interested in learning about this entire process,” I say, waving at the rows of trees.

Her face lights up, and we climb down from the truck, and I follow her into the farm.

Even though it’s only midday, the clouds are so thick and heavy that it feels much later. The air has that crisp smell which usually signals snow, but we very rarely get snow in December on the Vineyard. The ocean, cold as it is, still warms the air to above freezing.

Sia has the coat and scarf she’d had on when we met, fresh from the dry cleaners. I knew Mrs. Swenson wouldn’t rat me out, but I was nervous when Sia had told me she’d gone with her uncle. But she would’ve said something if she knew what I’d done. Probably offered to scrub my floors or something. A rush of affection hits me hard.

It’s not a feeling I welcome. Sia’s only going to be here for a few more days. Better to not get attached.

She’s closes her eyes to fully take in the piney scent of the tree stand. She doesn’t have gloves still and keeps her hands in her pockets. When she opens her eyes she asks me if I’m ready.

“I am.” I take the knit cap from my head and pull it over hers. “And now you are too.” It’s too big and covers her up to the bridge of her nose. She erupts into a peal of giggles and pushes the wool brim back up over her eyebrows.

Her self-consciousness gone, she threads her arm through mine, walking us over through the trees.

“Okay,” she says. “So the ballroom ceilings are super high.” She pauses and glances up at me to see if I’m following along.

My hat looks ridiculous on her, and I love it. And I hate that I love it.

“I guess you know that. Anyway, we’ll need two really tall trees. Fresh ones. If you touch them and the needles fall off, it’s no good.”

“Tall. Fresh. Right. What else?”

She’s tugging me toward bigger trees in the back of the lot. Her joy is contagious, and I find myself grinning.

“You want good spacing between branches. Not too big of a gap, not too small. Ornaments look best when they hang straight.”

“Hey, sometimes hanging crooked is okay.”

She bursts into another fit of giggles. Her laugh is fast becoming one of my favorite sounds.

“Not for ornament hanging,” she says between giggles. “But otherwise this is a judgment free zone.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want any feelings getting hurt on my first Christmas tree outing.”

“Absolutely,” she says, nodding solemnly. “Ooh, Vinny look at this one.”

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