Page 82 of Until You Found Me

She blinks, shaking her head to clear it. “Fine. Just thinking.”

That nervous tick he’s fond of, his teeth teasing at his lower lip, appears as he waits for her to elaborate or make it clear she won’t. He must assume she doesn’t want to be here.

“I was thinking about her.” She links their arms and falls in step beside him, her other hand brushing prickly pine needles. “Wondering what we used to do for Christmas. If we came to a place like this to find a tree or had one at all.”

He doesn’t reply but covers her hand on his bicep with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Did your family have trees when you were a kid?” she asks.

“No. My father didn’t like them. Said the real ones made a mess and the fake ones were too expensive.”

“That might have been the same answer we got, too.”

“Shouldn’t have suggested we do this. It’s probably sad for you without her here.”

“No,” she says quickly, her voice softening. “Lots of things are sad for me, Logan. If I let that stop me then I’d never do anything and I want to enjoy the holiday. I’m glad we came. How about….that one?”

He follows her finger toward the smallest tree on the lot, missing half its branches, hunched over a pile of pine needles on a countertop. “That one? You’re sure?”

“Mhhm. I’ll fit on the table and we can fill in the gaps with decorations. Once it’s all done up, you won’t be able to tell it’s missing any branches. It has character.”

“Character,” he replies evenly. “That’s a word for it.”

“Are you picking on my tree?” she gasps with fake offense.

“Nope. I would never. That’s the one.” He squints at the tree in question while she waves Albert over to purchase it. “It’s cheap. Can use the leftover to get a string of lights.”

“See!” She grins. “Do I know how to pick ‘em or what?”

“You’ve got superior tree picking skills.”

“Hidden talent confirmed.”

They pay seven dollars for a mishappen tree that he holdscarefully by the base to avoid shaking off more needles.

“Should we strap it to the back or on the roof?” he jokes as they head back to the truck.

She whispers toward the tree instead of Logan. “Don’t listen to him. You can ride in my lap.”

He lets out a half chuckle, his tentative smile a dead giveaway that he’s pleased with their pick even if it is the most Charlie Brown looking thing they’ve ever set eyes on.

Logan has never had a tree before and she hasn’t either. This will be the first of many, she thinks, teasing the fingertips of his free hand with her own and offering him a sideways glance. He isn’t one for public affection, not that they’ve spent much time out in public. He’s quick to lace their fingers together this time, the two of them walking hand in hand down main street under a thin blanket of snow. There are plenty of last-minute families grabbing the perfect tree right along with them. Others stop at the bakery before it closes early to pick up snacks for get-togethers, and couples stroll under brightly lit decorations. It’ll clear out tonight, she assumes, but in the middle of the day downtown is alive and bustling, a living entity of its own.

When she spots someone who looks familiar Tessa comes to a stop in a sea of people, wondering if the city itself conjured up a Christmas ghost just for her.

There’s a girl in the crowd holding a tattered doll. The same age as her daughter would be, she’s sure of it, but her hair is the wrong color and her face looks nothing like the sketch she still keeps beside her bed. She drops the doll on the ground and Tessa rushes to grab it, knocking into someone else on the way before scooping up the toy and handing it to the confused child.

She’s granted a thank you in return before the girl and her parents disappear into the crowd again, leaving Tessa to wonder if she was ever there at all. Is she seeing things now? There’s a persistent tap behind her forehead that digs at her subconscious while the vision of another girl holding a doll just like that one forms in her mind’s eye.

“Stupid bitch.”

Her attention snaps to the man she bumped and the muffled insult spoken under his breath. There’s an apology on her lips ready to go out of some deep-seated habit. She is clumsy after all, never paying attention.

‘Why won’t you just die? Can’t even do that right. Stupid bitch.’

“Say it again,” Logan abandons their tree on the ground to keep his hands free for a fight. “Say to me what you said to her. Go on.”

“Didn’t say anything, man.”

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