Page 57 of Merrily Ever After
“It’s all in the fertilization,” he says authoritatively. “We maintain a careful schedule of nitrogen, sulphated potash—”
“Okay, thanks Dad,” the girl interrupts, stepping in front of him. “Take your time,” she says to us. “Have a look around. Leave us a review if you can. Happy Christmas!”
She smiles brightly and practically drags her father away, whispering furtively to him as she goes. “You promised no more potash talk,” I hear before they vanish.
Daniela turns to me. “They seem normal. Let’s explore before it starts raining again.”
“Sound good,” I chirp as she heads into the trees.
Sounds perfect actually. This place looks straight out of a Christmas movie. I should be thrilled, but all I feel is distracted and antsy. Like there’s an itch under my skin. It makes me want to grab her and go back to the van even though I wasn’t happy when we were there either. I just don’t know what I thought would happen. Maybe that she’d take one look at me and immediately announce she was staying?
I guess, yes. That’s exactly what I thought.
I tell myself to get it together. To stop moping around. I remind my brain that I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. That this is all I wanted. For her to be here. And yet it’s like all I can think about is hernotbeing here. Her leaving. Her gone.
So I say nothing as I trail after her, weaving between the pines. She pauses every now and then to admire them but otherwise doesn’t stop, wandering deeper until the crowds thin out around us. Until it’s just us and the trees and the faint music in the background.
Finally, we reach the boundary where the farm ends and the forest begins. A light drizzle starts up again, but it’s not heavy enough to worry about, and Daniela only pulls her hat further down as she turns to face me.
She looks unusually serious.
I feel sick. Is this it? Did she want privacy for a reason? Is she going to tell me that she’s leaving? That she’s decided to—
“DASHER!”
We both freeze, staring at each other in confusion as the frantic shout rings out. A second later, we jump back as something bursts through the trees, almost barreling into us.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s the dog the little girl was playing with earlier. It races by so fast that I can only tell by the felt antlers on its head.
The child wails out again, as the dog, Dasher presumably, disappears into the forest. I don’t even think as I chase after him.
Daniela calls my name, but I know how big this forest is, and I know how easy it would be for a dog as small as that to get lost.
Thankfully, the antlers are still lit up, and the flashing lights help me keep track as he bounds deeper into the woods. The little guy lives up to his name as he shoots away from me, and I’m relieved when the way is suddenly blocked by a fallen trunk and he’s forced to come to a halt.
“Dasher?”
He turns to face me, looking fully delighted with himself.
“I know you think we’re playing,” I caution as I step toward him. “But you’re going to regret your actions when the sun goes down and you’re in a cold dark forest and not your bed.”
He jumps from side to side, tail wagging. I know I could play the patient game, but I’m too worried he’ll realize he can simply goaroundthe trunk. So I lunge for him. I throw myself forward, grabbing his wriggling body as my feet slide in the mud, sending both of us sprawling. I twist at the last second, clutching him to my chest as I fall, wincing from the impact. I may have managed to not crush the dog, but I have definitely earned myself a bruised ass for the next few weeks.
There’s shouting behind us, and I tighten as my grip as Dasher tries to get to his owners before giving up and licking my face instead.
That’s how the others find me. Daniela appears first, then the out-of-breath dad before the mother and distraught child.
“For the love of—” The dad cuts himself off, hurrying toward me. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “He slipped his lead.”
“I figured.”
I pass Dasher his way as Daniela offers a hand to help me up. I forget to hide my discomfort, which of course gets everyone’s attention. It sets off another round of apologies and finally, just to get the girl to stop crying and to get out of the damn woods, I agree to let them buy us a tree to say thank you. I don’t feel comfortable driving with one on the roof, so Daniela picks out a mini one designed for windowsills and carries it back to the parking lot as the rain falls harder.
“I think you just saved Christmas,” she murmurs, waving as the family drive off with a beep. We’re the last visitors left. The dog drama took so long that they’re closing up. We didn’t even get a hot chocolate. “You okay?”
I nod, trying to brush off the worst of the mud, but it’s useless. I’m now not only wet, but filthy, and maybe Daniela knows I’m close to tears because her expression softens and she doesn’t reach for me as she gestures to the van.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s get you home.”
