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“Of course. Super serious.” There was no smile at Rona’s lips, but one danced behind her eyes all the same. She waved a hand. “Do tell.”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “Here’s the update from yesterday. I got home from work and he’d only gone and copied my bloody inflatable Santa!” My ribs tightened, my insides feeling all hot. “He’d put it right there in pride of place on his lawn, the underhanded little sneak.”

Rona rubbed her chin in a ponderous manner. “Most vexing.” She paused. “A bit like how you did with the reindeer?”

I pressed my lips together, tapping my foot. “No, not like the reindeer. That, as I told Kerr smugface Murdoch himself, was merely me leveling things up after he copied my lights and general idea to enter the competition in the first place. It made us even. Now the game is uneven again—​he’s made it unfair by stealing my Santa idea, and so I must wreak my revenge.”

Rona couldn’t keep the smile from her face now. “Why do I get the feeling you’re rather enjoying this game?”

I gasped, placing my hand on my mouth in a coy manner. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Rona laughed. “You know, in all seriousness, it’s nice to see you concentrating on something other than Drew and his fucked-up nonsense about why he left.” She arched an eyebrow. “Even if it does involve extreme pettiness.”

I hesitated, lifting a hand to touch my throat. Rona had never been that frank about Drew before. The things he had said hadn’t sounded like nonsense; they had rung true, which was why I had agonized over them in the first place. But Rona wouldn’t understand that. She was my best friend and didn’t have to live with my faults the way Drew had had to. “I think you’ll find this isn’t petty,” I said, choosing to gloss over it, “but rather an epic fight for justice.”

Rona laughed harder this time. “Fine. I hope your quest for justice prevails.”

*

“Thank you, Bonnie love,” Anna said, her brown eyes warm. “You look after me so well.”

“No problem,” I said, tucking a warm blanket around Anna’s lap in the comfy chair beside her bed. She had taken to calling me Bonnie, and from what I could discern, this was because she mistook me for a Bonnie that she used to know at some point in her past, though it was unclear quite when in her past. However, I was glad that she was making the connection that I was there to look after her, and that she felt comfortable and safe in my presence. This meant that somewhere in her subconscious Anna felt a familiarity with me, and even though she wasn’t able to retain the information regarding who I was, she was at least able to draw an analogy with a person who had made her feel the same way.

I took a seat next to her in order to have a little chat before continuing my rounds. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Oh, no, thank you. You’ve been very thorough.” She smoothed the blanket on her lap with a contented expression, giving me the feeling that she found the texture of the fleecy material soothing. “And thank you for picking up my little Christmas tree,” she said, nodding toward where it now sat on her bedside table. “I love it.”

“You are very welcome,” I said.

She smiled. “You’ll need to get back to that husband and baby of yours.”

A shard of ice pierced my heart. A husband and baby were two things I had very much wanted, and now I had neither.

I shoved that thought aside, seeing a way in to find out a little more regarding Anna. She was clearly inhabiting another time in her mind now—​circumstances that had occurred later in life than when she thought she was an adolescent waiting for her father to collect her.

“They’ll be fine without me a little longer,” I said lightly, even though the words were almost painful to squeeze out.

She continued to smile, though after a moment it faded a little, as something seemed to occur to her. “I had a baby once, you know.”

I stilled, ears pricking up, allowing her time to process whatever was going through her mind.

“He had a dark shock of hair and when he was born his eyes were blue but in time they turned dark brown.”

“Like yours,” I said softly.

A watery sheen filled her eyes, and I reached out to gently take her hand, my heart aching for her.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said, her voice wobbling. “That’s what everyone used to say. That he had my eyes.” She blinked quickly, and I used my free hand to pull a tissue from the box sitting next to Anna on the bedside table and pass it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, dabbing at her eyes.

“What was his name?” I asked, keeping my voice deliberately quiet, as if speaking too loudly might chase her newly resurfaced memories away.

She hesitated a few beats too long. Long enough that the air between us began to feel uncomfortable. “I . . . I can’t remember.” She pressed the tissue to her mouth.

I blinked hard, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “It’s okay. It’ll come back to you. Being poorly has affected how you remember things, that’s all.”

She nodded, a quick bob of her head, then cleared her throat. “Anyway. You’ve got other folks in the area to attend to on your rounds. This stroke won’t hold me back much longer and then that’ll be me off your caseload!”