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I lead Dunder and Blixem to a small thicket of trees surrounded by a picket fence and bring them inside. The ladies have worked hard this month; they deserve a little treat. When I unclip their leads, Dunder bounces and happy-trots to the other side of the enclosure, her rear end and legs swaying back and forth like the pendulum on a clock. She digs at the ground with her front hooves, puffing and snorting as she sniffs a patch of fescue. Blixem rubs her antlers against a tree trunk and then starts nibbling on some of the gray-green lichen growing along its side.

I lean back against the fence and sigh as “Blue Christmas” plays on a loop in my mind.

“I’m right there with you, Elvis,” I mumble as I brush a stray tear from my eye.

December 25

Christmas morning isn’t nearly as frantic as it was when Halley and I were younger. Now when I pad downstairs at sunup, I head straight for the coffeepot instead of the stockings hung from the mantel with care.

“Merry Christmas,” Halley says, not bothering to look up at me from the bench in the entryway as she pulls on a pair of dusty old work boots and tucks her PJ pants inside.

She’s up early to feed the reindeer, and I’m up because tossing and turning in bed was getting old. Mom and Dad are still asleep, as they should be after such a nonstop month. They deserve every minute of rest, though I do miss the wilder days when Halley and I would race down the hall and into their room to jump on the bed and gush about the presents under the tree until they finally agreed to get up.

“Morning,” I say. My voice is hoarse from another night of sobbing into my pillow like a fool, but thankfully those eye patches really do help reduce the swelling.

I set the oven to proof and pull two trays of homemade cinnamon rolls I stress-prepped last night from the fridge. Once they rise, there will be enough here to feed a small army, but it wasn’t nearly enough work to distract me from the “Blue Christmas” earworm or the way my mind wouldn’t stop gnawing on my memories of Kash as I kneaded and rolled out the dough.

Halley finishes lacing up her boots, and then her hazel eyes bore into me as I flip on the coffee maker. There’s a gurgling rattle as the heating element kicks on and the water starts to heat.

“What?” I ask. I spin to face her and cross my arms over my chest, leaning my hip against the counter.

She purses her lips, as if debating what to say. “Kash gone?” she asks.

I so don’t want to do this right now.

I turn away and grab a coffee mug from the cupboard, clinking it on the counter when I set it down with too much force. “Yup.”

Halley stares at me, her eyes narrowed into a pensive expression. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the p. I pull a container out of the fridge and splash a heavy-handed pour of salted caramel creamer into my mug.

Halley comes over and wraps me in a huge hug. “I don’t know what happened. I’m not going to push you to tell me. But just know I love you.” She gives me an extra-tight squeeze and then pulls back to look me in the face with a feisty glimmer in her eye. “You know what these boots are made for?”

“Walkin.’ ”

“That’s right, Nancy. And I’ll walk these boots all the way to Nashville to kick his ass if you want me to.”

I can’t stop the snort that sneaks out. “You have a car. You could just drive there.”

Halley heaves a frustrated sigh. “I think you’re missing the point, Paiz.”

“I love you, too,” I say, and bring her in for another bear hug.

The oven beeps and we pull away. I really don’t want to talk about it, but it’s nice to know she’s got my back.

I stare down at the printer-paper and guitar string wrap job and frown at my name, written in Kash’s now-familiar scrawl. For Paisley.

Someone had slipped it under the tree with all the other presents. I wasn’t prepared to open it earlier—downstairs with my family in the living room in front of a roaring fire—and I’m not sure I’m prepared to open it now.

The house is quiet.

Mom’s on the phone in the kitchen, catching up with Aunt Betty.

Dad’s watching football, though he’s probably napping in his recliner.

Halley’s in her room, trying out the new nail polish she got in her stocking.

My pounding heart seems to thunder in the silence.