Page 48 of Haunt Me

I set the ring beside my phone. Then I open the bottom drawer of my dresser and move aside a stack of old T-shirts until I find the small cardboard box hidden beneath them. The lid is soft at the corners from years of handling. Inside, beneath several layers of faded tissue paper, are the ornaments.

A lopsided salt-dough star.

A paper snowflake yellowed with age.

A wooden reindeer with one antler glued on crooked.

A tiny angel made from a clothespin, white fabric, and gold yarn.

None of them are conventionally beautiful, but I love every one.

That Christmas I was ten years old. My parents had rented a cabin in Ashbourne for Christmas, promising that the three of us would spend an entire week together.

Dad was called back to the city two days after we arrived. Mom stayed, but she spent most of the trip tucked behind her laptop at the dining room table, apologizing between conference calls and promising we'd do something fun "later."

Later never came. I tried to pretend I didn't mind. I was old enough to know grown-ups had important jobs. Dad saved lives. Mom solved problems no one else could. I understood that. At least, I told myself I understood.

The cabin didn't have a Christmas tree. I remember standing in the living room staring at the empty corner where one should’ve been, trying to convince myself it wasn't a big deal.

"It's just a tree," I whispered.

"Maybe," someone behind me said. "But it doesn't really feel like Christmas without one."

When I turned around, I saw the girl my parents had hired to stay with me while Mom worked, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen. But she was old enough that I thought she knew everything.

She looked at the empty corner again before nodding once. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" I asked as I followed her out.

"We're going to fix Christmas."

I laughed because she sounded so certain it could actually be fixed.

Twenty minutes later, we were wandering through a tiny tree lot just outside town. There weren't many left by then. Most of them leaned a little. Some were missing branches. She walked past every perfect tree until she stopped in front of a little tree tucked near the back of the lot.

It wasn't the tallest or the fullest. Honestly, it looked a little forgotten.

She smiled as if she'd just discovered a treasure. "There you are."

I frowned. "You were looking for that one?"

"I was."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't." She reached out and gently brushed one of its crooked branches, her smile softening. “The right things have a way of waiting until you’re ready for them.”

I looked from her to the little tree, then back again. "Do you really believe that?"

She smiled. "I do."

"So, you think this tree was waiting for us?"

"I think we were always going to find each other."

On the way back to the cabin, we stopped by the little general store in town, but they were sold out of ornaments.

She shrugged. "I guess we'll make our own."