Page 20 of Fortress
They drove around several nearby ’burbs on a few different nights so Toby could see more of the decorations and because it made an awesome end to Jake’s day to see him so goddamnelatedby it all. When they got their first good view of someone’s decked-out Christmas tree, the blinds drawn obligingly for a full view from the street, Toby almost fell off his seat.
“Jake—is that aChristmas tree? A real one?”
“Sure is. Everyone gets one, sometimes plastic, sometimes one they drag up from some shady tree-salesman, and they wrap it up in all kinds of shit, lights and balls and candy and photos of their great aunt.”
“Ooooh,” Toby said, and then pressed his face back to the window, head turning to follow the tree as Jake coasted slowly around the block.
They saw houses that made that the first one look like amateur hour; they saw the work of professionals with finesse and a certain degree of class, and houses decorated by people who, like Toby, just fucking loved bright, colorful lights—and lots of them. Every block, Toby found another marvel, practically bouncing in his seat, pressing his gloved hands to the glass and saying, “Jake, Jake, look!”It was like he’d lost ten years and had never even heard of Freak Camp, and Jake was pretty sure he had a goofy grin on his own face.
“Have you seen anything like that, Jake?” Toby asked, and Jake could say honestly that he hadn’t, ever, because he’d never really looked at Christmas lights like this before.
As they pulled back onto their street, Toby leaned forward, sucking in another gasp. “The people two doors down from us—they’ve got lights in their windows! They look like a, a cane—”
“Yeah, a candy cane,” Jake said, making a note to pick up a box of those tomorrow.
“And a little man, like those in the other yard—a gingerbread man? And I see a tree through their window too. Jake—” Toby turned back to him, his face nearly as aglow as the lights behind him. “Jake, can we put up lights too?”
Jake hesitated a second too long, and Toby’s smile faded. He looked down, visibly packing down his excitement, and Jake mentally called himself the biggest asshole on the planet. “Dude, ’course we can. We’ll go raid the corner store and get all the lights you want.”
“We don’t have to,” Toby said, addressing the leather seat between them. “It was just an idea, it’s o-okay if we don’t—”
“Hey.” Jake covered Toby’s hand with his own, and Toby looked up. “I want to decorate our apartment with you, okay? It’s just that I—it was never a big thing with... I haven’t done it for a while. But look, this is us, and it’s our damn Christmas, and we can do what we want. And I say let’s make our apartment look like a fucking Fourth of July light show.”
The next day, they raided the hell out of the dollar store, coming away with armloads of lights, ornaments, candles, tinsel, and some stuff Jake couldn’t even identify, but Toby had gotten really excited over it, so that was good enough for him.
They didn’t get to bed until after midnight, when the first frenzy of decorating finally subsided. Jake couldn’t believe how much fun he actually had. Figuring out how to pin blinking colored lights around the window pane was kind of like sprinkling salt or laying a protective circle; there was a general layout for how it should be done but also room to improvise. They scattered bunches of pinecones and holly over the TV,fridge, coffee table, breakfast bar, and even on the shelves inside the closets. They strung garlands around every doorway as carefully as they would lay salt lines, and Jake stuck a little bundle of mistletoe in the center of the kitchen doorway. Whatever Jake had told himself at the start about how he was doing this for Toby, by the end of the night he was planning aloud tomorrow’s to-do list, including getting a big-ass tree so they’d have a place to throw the rest of the lights and tinsel.
But that night, long after Toby’s breathing had slowed into sleep where he was curled against Jake’s side, Jake’s brain would not shut up. His mind kept replaying the last twenty-four hours with Toby, every sweet moment of pure joy, then rewinding to Christmases past.
He’d never really liked the holiday. He’d bashed it in every school he’d attended and backed that opinion up with his fist when someone tried to argue with him. Sometimes he straight up hated it because Christmas was about family. Hawthornes like him and his father were never going to have again what he could barely remember: a warm bright home, withMomthere, lifting him up so he could set ornaments on their tree. They hadn’t had a tree since.
It still hurt to think about those memories of Mom, in the way it hurt to blink away afterimages of something better that you’ll never have again. In the Christmases after, Dad had been there, usually, and when he was, there was eggnog or hot chocolate, takeout, and a badly wrapped present that was still fromDad. Jake had gotten his first crossbow on Christmas. Dad had smiled more then, mellowed by his Christmas bourbon, unless he’d had enough to stare out a window, or into his drink as though he could seeherin the bottom of the glass. After he fell asleep on the bed or sofa, there hadn’t been much for Jake to do but finish off the nog and try to find an action marathon on TV.He’d be damned if he’d watch thosestupidChristmas specials about family coming home.
A year ago, he’d spent Christmas with Leon.
Jake took a shuddering breath, tightened his arm around Toby (careful, careful not to wake him) and turned toward him. He had Toby now. He hadn’t, a year ago. Then, Toby had still been in Freak Camp, barely surviving a hell that Jake was only now starting to get a clear picture of. Now he was secure in Jake’s arms, and Jake could not, even for a fucking second, regret the trade-off. Never. He had Toby now, safe with him, and Jake was going to give him his first Christmas,theirfirst fucking Christmas, and it was going to be goddamn awesome. The best Christmas ever. That was a promise. And Toby never had to know if Jake’s eyes and throat burned now, thinking about past Christmas ghosts as he took shaky breaths against Toby’s hair, breathing him in.
Going into town the next day, during daylight hours, was not quite as much fun as cruising around the suburbs at night.Toby’s eyes were just as wide, but with more quiet apprehension than excitement.
As they passed packed parking lot after packed parking lot, he turned to Jake. “I don’t remember there being as many people last time.”
Jake grimaced. “Yeah, welcome to shopping hell week.” At least all the public squares were decorated with lots of wreaths and ribbons, not to mention the giant and impeccably decked-out Christmas trees. Hopefully all the glitz and glam would be enough to distract Toby from the crowds and their destination. They could pick up a Christmas tree at any of the big hardwarestores and probably some farms outside the city, but everything else required a stop at the grocery store.
Jake paused after killing the engine, parked on the outer edge of the lot. He glanced at Toby, trying to keep it casual. After all, they’d been in grocery stores across the country by now. Toby might not even remember the first time he’d seen this one.
Then again, Jake wouldn’t bet his thirdhand boots on the chances of Toby not remembering his first-ever panic attack.
But Toby was peering toward a fenced area next to the store where huddled treetops were just barely visible over the top. “Are those Christmas trees?” A thread of excitement had crept back into his voice.
Jake relaxed, letting himself grin. “Hell yeah. C’mon, let’s go pick out the baddest mother of the bunch.”
Their breath steamed in the cold, and Jake caught Toby’s gloved fingers in his as they weaved through the parked cars toward the trees.
Once inside the lot, they took their time walking around. Toby brushed his fingers over the needles, examined the sap on the trunks. “They’re real trees.”
Jake didn’t miss the revelation in his voice. He remembered the trees they’d seen driving through the mountains, their roots dug so deep into the rock that they could spread their gnarled branches over the abyss. It was weird to think that these could be the same thing, even if these were fresh (and local) enough to still have snow on their branches. “Yeah. Some people get fake ones, but I figured we’d go for the real deal, y’know?”
He was totally unprepared for Toby’s smile, flashing at him wide and true and brilliant. Then he remembered strawberries, the best pie in the state, and every time Jake had tried to get himthe real deal.
