“She’s beautiful. I think Emma would love it.”
“Yeah. She would.”
We stand back and look at the tree. Lights glow. The ornaments catch the firelight.
“We need one for you,” I say.
“What?”
“An ornament. One that’s yours. To add to the tree.”
“Cole, I can’t—these are Emma’s?—”
“And now they’re ours. You need a place on this tree too.”
She inhales sharply. “I don’t have anything.”
“Then we’ll make one. Next year. We’ll carve it together. Your name. Your memory. Your place here.”
Next year.
“Okay.” She smiles. “Next year.”
“Why don’t you rest? You haven’t gotten much sleep the last couple of nights.”
“I’m fine.”
“Holly. Rest. I have a project I want to work on.”
She studies my face, then nods. “Okay. I will for a few minutes.”
She curls up on the couch under a quilt, and within minutes, her breathing evens out.
I slip into the workshop. The tools are where I left them. Emma’s carving set is where she left it. The blades are clean, and the handles are worn smooth.
I find a piece of birch in the scrap pile. Pale wood. Fine-grained. Good for detail work.
My hands still know the motions after all this time. Rough out the shape first. Add holly leaves. Three of them overlap in the way they grow. Then the berries. Small. Round. Clustered at the stem.
Wood curls from the blade. The workshop smells like sawdust and Emma. She used to stand at this bench beside me, her tongue between her teeth when she concentrated.
The letters take the longest. H-O-L-L-Y. I carve each one clean and deep. Emma taught me that. Said a name deserves care.
I think about Holly’s name on everything she owns. Labels on her mugs. Lists with her signature. Like she’s trying to prove she exists and claim space in a world that overlooks her.
Not anymore. Her name goes on this tree. In wood. Permanent. No one can take it away.
When I’m done, I blow away the dust. Run my thumb over the letters. Smooth. The wood is warm in my palm.
I sand the edges until they’re soft. No splinters. Nothing that could catch or hurt her.
A decision like this deserves care.
And Holly deserves something that saysYou’re not temporary. You belong here.
I rub the ornament with linseed oil until it glows, then drill a small hole at the top for string. Perfect.
I return with the carved ornament cradled in my palm. It’s a holly and berries disk with her name carved beneath:HOLLY.
