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“Look,” Gwen mumbled, “I’m gonna say I’m sorry, but I’m not there yet, okay?”
Digging a gloved hand into one coat pocket, she drew out a small mahogany box.
“First things first,” she said, and thrust the box toward Isobel. “I’m supposed to give this to you, so take it already. Merry Christmas or whatever. Just open it. After that, if you still want me to go away, then fine, I will.”
Isobel frowned at the small, flat, postcard-size box, uncertain whether she should accept it. Did Gwen seriously think she needed to bring Isobel a gift in order for her to accept her apology?
Gwen continued to hold the box steady.
At last Isobel’s curiosity outmuscled her indecision. She took it.
Gwen retracted her arm immediately and shoved her hand back into her pocket.
That reaction made Isobel pause.
“What?” Gwen said. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a freaking tarantula. Would you just open it already?”
Isobel clasped the box between both hands and carefully opened the hinged lid. Inside, the thin chain of a silver necklace glimmered. A tiny charm in the shape of an open hand rested in the middle of a black velvet cushion, its fingers decorated with delicate filigree. In the center of the palm, a tiny iridescent opal lay nestled in the dish of a circular setting.
The necklace sparkled like moonlight on water.
Isobel let out a small sound of surprise. The pendant was so beautiful and so intricate that she had no doubt the stone it held was genuine.
It struck her as an extravagant token. At the same time, the well-worn state of the box gave her the impression that the charm was old—an antique, if she had to guess.
Though the pendant had five fingers, it looked different from any representation of a hand she’d seen. It had two thumbs, the tips of which curved outward on either side. It hung from the chain so the fingers would aim downward, toward the wearer’s feet.
Gwen sniffed. She rubbed at her nose with her sleeve.
“It’s called a hamsa,” she said. “Belonged to my grandmother.”
Isobel looked up. She clamped the box shut with a sharp snap and, shaking her head, held it back out to Gwen. “I can’t accept this,” she said.
Gwen raised a palm. “Too late,” she said. “Besides, she was the one who told me to give it to you.”
Isobel hesitated, trying to think of a tactful way to say what she was thinking. But there wasn’t one, so she just blurted it out. “Gwen, I thought you told me your grandparents were dead.”
Gwen shrugged. “They are. Now put the damn thing on so they’ll stop parading into my dreams to tell me how disappointed they are. Do it before your dad finds out I’m here and calls animal control.”
“Too late,” came a mellow voice from behind them. “Too bad they’re not open today.”
Both Gwen and Isobel swung around to find her dad standing in the doorway leading from the hall to the kitchen, a steaming white Santa mug in one hand. With the bags under his eyes, his unshaven face, and the scraps of hair poking out around his head, Isobel thought he looked a little like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
“Morning, Mr. Lanley.” Gwen gave a stilted full-armed wave, like the swipe of a windshield wiper. “I like your slippers,” she said, pointing. “Go Big Blue.”
His eyes narrowed to near slits. “Are you supposed to be here?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “But I know you’re not gonna kick me out.”
At this, her dad actually looked more amused than annoyed. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Why’s that?”
As he tilted his mug to his lips, Gwen flashed one of her bright toothpaste-commercial smiles. “It’s Christmas!”
“Humph,” he said, and gave her another once-over before turning his attention fully to Isobel. “It’s safe to come back into the kitchen, Izzy,” he said. “Your hot chocolate’s ready.” He shuffled back around, but paused in the archway. He stood there for a few seconds, as though debating whether or not to say what he was thinking. Finally he gave a long, loud sigh. “Ask Gwen if she wants marshmallows in hers.”
Gwen’s bag hit the floor with a thud. “Actually, I take mine with whipped cream, but I’ll settle for Cool Whip if that’s all you’ve got.”
“Super,” he said, turning to face them again, a tight-lipped smile in place. “Can I get you anything else while I’m at it? Muffin? Bagel? Taxi?”
