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“I missed you, too.”
“We’ll talk later, okay?” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Later.”
ten
Winter 2002
My mom and Emma were right about downtown. When I initially set out shopping, I wasn’t expecting there to be many options aside from a couple of old tourist traps and craft stores, and I was pleasantly surprised. It’s still no Union Square by any means, and I quickly realized I have no idea what to buy a preteen girl, but a few hours later, I’m satisfied with my haul. I even picked something up for James at one of those tourist traps—something I think will make him smile—even though I still haven’t answered any of his calls.
I make it to The Red Fox ten minutes before seven, and just before I walk inside, something catches my eye.
This must be what Emma was talking about. The Christmas Village.
A Bavarian-themed Christmas market sits across the street in Lost Hollow Square. There’s an ice skating rink at its center and vendors lining the exterior. Near the back, a line of children wait in front of a makeshift cottage for the chance to see Santa while his “elves” take Polaroid pictures.
It’s quaint, charming. I decide to walk the block with the time I have left, but when I get to the crosswalk, I’m frozen in place.
It’s him, standing maybe fifty yards away at a coffee stand. He’s wearing a dark grey Carhardt jacket, likely the same one he’s been wearing since he was seventeen, a pair of faded blue jeans, and work boots. He runs his fingers through his sandy brown hair and leans against the counter as he waits. His facial hair is longer and thicker than I’m used to; it looks good on him, but everything always did. I catch a flash of his smile as the woman behind the counter hands him two drinks, and my heart stops.
I will my legs to move, but all I can do is stay rooted in place, watching.
I watch him cross the lawn; he walks up behind a woman with short black hair and taps her on the shoulder. She turns her head, and he hands her the drink in his right hand, then leans in and kisses her. She turns to deepen the kiss, and that’s when I see it.
Her full pregnant belly.
He reaches down and runs his hand over the bump; then they say their goodbyes to the older woman she was speaking to, and walk away, hand in hand.
We’ve been through so much—me and the dead girl. We’ve been neglected, abandoned, beaten and broken, used and thrown out like trash. We’ve stared down a barrel of a gun, been chased out of town, and lived through countless days when we could barely get out of bed.
But this. This is my threshold.
‘Okay, you can call me dead girl now,’ the voice in my head says before she goes quiet.
A hand on my shoulder pulls me back into my body. “Mel,” Lisa says. “Let’s talk.”
“Her name is Sara Levin,” Lisa says after we’re seated. “I don’t know if you’d remember her; she was a couple of years older than us in school.”
“It sounds familiar,” I say. “And he’s um…they’re…”
“He’s the father,” she says. “She’s due in February. They’re having a boy.”
I stare at her in disbelief, even though I saw it with my own eyes. “I…need a drink,” I tell her. “Do you want something? What do you want?”
She shrugs. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
I leave the booth and head to the bar. I pull myself onto an empty stool, then pick up a flyer from the countertop labeled ‘Holiday Specials.’ I’m scanning it, trying to make sense of it, when the bartender stops in front of me.
“Do you have any questions, or are ready to order?”
I look up over the top of the menu and see Scott—a slightly older version with a further receding hairline, but indisputably Scott—looking down at me.
“Um, yeah. Can I get two of the spiced rum flights, please?”
“My god,” he says. “Is it you?”
“I...yes.”
