By now, the square had cleared out. Those who planned late dinners settled down for turkey, ham, or prime rib and a slew of sides. Families with small children were into their bath and bedtime routines. She felt lonely and alone in the world of cheer and goodwill.
“What will I do tomorrow?” she asked the sky.
A movement drew her attention, and she watched as Jacob walked around the side of his mom’s house carrying a strand of lights. He stopped at the oak tree stump and began wrapping it. She smiled at the memories of Mr. Morris doing the same thing. Every year he’d wrap the trunk, and every year, Mrs. Morris would lament that they had the only decorated stump in the neighborhood.
“At least do the fence line,” she’d lament to him.
“Everyone does the fences. This way, we’re different,” he’d reply cheerfully.
Lauren touched the glass as if the memory were tangible. She put on a sweatshirt, quietly crept down the hall to the kitchen, and then made her way outside, zipping her coat as she went.
She approached the snowman, her feet crunching the snow.
Without saying a word to Jacob, who watched her out of the corner of his eye while he wrapped the half-tree, she used the twist-off soda lids for the eyes and a carrot for the nose. For the mouth, she placed red lifesavers. As a final touch, she put on a stocking cap–the one Foster had left in the mudroom.
Jacob came to stand beside her as she brushed off her hands. “Looks better,” he said.
“Yeah.” She tucked her hands into her coat pockets and rocked back on her heels. “I guess I did something right today.”
Jacob blew out a cloudy breath. “Rough night?”
She pressed her lips together. Nothing in his tone said that he was making fun of her. In fact, if she closed her eyes, she could picture the Jacob she’d grown up with, who came over after football practice to see how her algebra test went.
“I got exactly what I wanted for Christmas, and I feel about this tall.” She made a motion with her thumb and finger almost touching. “Why is that, do you think?”
He reached out and pressed one of the bottle caps deeper into the snowman. “Do you remember when you and I put that frog in Mrs. Patterson’s laundry basket?”
Lauren groaned. “We promised never to talk about it.”
“You couldn’t go through with the joke. You felt so bad that we brought home all her clothes and washed them, ironed them, folded them, and took them back. To this day, she thinks someone did her a kindness.” He bumped her with his elbow. “You’re not a mean person, Lauren.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was tonight.”
“Yeah–but he cheated on you, so I’m giving you a pass–this time.”
She whipped her head around to look at him and caught the sparkle in his eye. “That’s so kind of you,” she snarked.
“I’m a nice guy.” He stopped fighting his smile and grinned at her.
She rolled her eyes but found her burden lifting. Jacob always had that effect on her. He could take the worst day and make it the best one. Like when they’d gone ice skating at the pond, and she’d rolled her ankle. He’d piggy-backed her around for a week–long after her ankle was better–just to make her smile.
Feeling comfortable and safe, all of a sudden felt shaky, and she pulled away from that ledge. “It’s cold, so I’m going inside.” She headed for the break in the fence that allowed them free access to one another’s yards.
“Hey, Lauren?” he called after her.
She turned toward his voice. “Yeah?”
“Don’t worry about what happened tonight. Tomorrow is a new day.”
She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, it is.” She paused for a moment. “Your dad would appreciate the lights.” She motioned toward the stump.
Jacob broke into a grin. “Yeah, he would.”
Laughing, she went inside and left her winter gear by the door. In her room, she brushed aside the wispy curtain and watched Jacob finish decorating. With a glance at her window, he went inside his mom’s house and shut the door.
She settled on the window seat and tucked her knees to her chest. Tomorrow was a new Christmas, and she could do it any way she wanted.
If she wasn’t going to humiliate Foster, what was she going to do?
