Chapter 66
— Chapter 66 —
Aubrey and I made a pact to get in fifteen thousand steps every day. It’s not hard when I work at the bar, but on my days off it doesn’t happen naturally. It’s stupid to walk into town at night, but I spent the day carving and only logged three thousand steps. The moon is bright and there’s a respectable dusting of snow on the ground. The uneven gravel on the side of the road is covered in slush, but I guess it’s good practice for bad terrain.
I can hear the carolers singing Deck the Halls long before I get to the Elephant Hotel. There are a few trilling sopranos and a magnificent tenor, joined by a bunch of normal voices. A group of little kids yells the “fa la la la las,” making everyone laugh. When I get closer, the air smells like mulled cider and donuts. I don’t join the crowd but hang back to watch. The song ends and everyone starts singing Silent Night .
Each window of the Elephant Hotel has a glowing electric candle inside and a red-ribboned wreath hanging just below the sill. The white pillars by the front door are wrapped with evergreen garlands. Someone even put a wreath around Old Bet’s neck.
On the other side of the lawn, the giant spruce tree is black against the blue night sky. Then as Silent Night ends, someone says, “Are we ready? Count with me. Ten…” And everyone in the crowd chimes in, “…nine, eight…” They are a beautiful chorus: chirpy children’s voices, adults pretending to be excited, and adults who actually are.
We never came to this tree lighting when I was a kid. We saw the tree lit as we drove through town after the fact. But these people counting down are part of something I never belonged to.
“… three, two, one,” and the tree lights up in gold, red, and green—every inch of the branches covered with lights. The crowd gasps and cheers. And so do I.
Somers is a beautiful town. An achingly beautiful, quaint little town that has fought hard to cling to what makes it special even as everything changes. It’s a wonderful home for these cheerful, singing people, but it has never been mine. For a moment, though, I am awed by the brilliance of the tree and how far the light reaches, how even at the distance I’m keeping, I feel bathed in colors too.
The crowd starts singing Jingle Bells . A couple of kids shout, “Batman smells.”
“Freya!” I hear Hans call from behind me, his footsteps crunching in the snow. He’s finally dropped the Fólkvangr.
Emmeline is asleep on his shoulder. Her cheeks are red from the cold air, thumb fallen from her open mouth.
“So, I’m just a person to you now?” I say. “No longer a myth.”
“You’ll always be a goddess to me,” Hans says.
“Ew.”
“Too clammy?”
“Oh, Hans Gruber! It’s practically chowder,” I say, grinning. At the bar a few weeks ago, I accidentally introduced him to another customer that way, so now we both have nicknames.
Hans laughs, loud. Emmeline doesn’t rouse. She can sleep through anything.
“We missed it, huh?” He nods toward the tree.
“Yeah.”
“I was on a call and lost track of time.”
“You’ll catch it next year,” I say.
Hans winces. Missing any moment of Emmeline’s childhood hits his raw nerves.
“Brewster’s tree lighting is tomorrow night,” I offer. “I keep seeing the sign on my way to work. Six o’clock.”
“Okay, we’ll go to that one,” Hans says, nodding, as if to settle the event in his mind.
The crowd is already starting to disperse. Hans cranes his neck, attempting to assess his sleeping child.
“She’s out,” I tell him.
“Oh, well,” he says. “Did you park over at the office?”
“I walked.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“Thanks, but I got to get my steps in.”
“Oh, right! Good! Summon the strength of the Valkyrie as you go forth into battle!” He laughs at himself. Pats my shoulder.
Emmeline stirs. Reaches her hand out to me. I give her a high five and she smiles.
“Do you see the tree, Emmeline?” Hans says, turning to show her. Her eyes go wide and she squeals at the sight.
I stay after they go, walk over to the monument.
“Sorry, Bet,” I whisper, imagining the clouds of my breath drifting up to her. I kiss my hand and touch the base of her obelisk before I walk home.