Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What did you guys do?” Frannie asks the empty office.
Twinkle lights blink merrily out at her, strung in an elaborate lattice across the ceiling, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow.
Garlands have been tacked to every available surface in a medley of silvers, reds, greens, blues, and whites.
There are little ornaments hung on the twinkle light strands, and there’s a collection of dying poinsettias at the base of the ceiling in the center of the room.
“Merry Christmas!” Bridgette and Michael shout, popping out of the air on either side of the poinsettia graveyard.
“This is amazing,” Frannie says, dropping her bags on her chair before closing the door to the office. “Where did you find all this?” she adds, opening her arms to beckon the kids into a hug.
“The lights are from one of the storage units Mr. Graham never opens, and the garlands are from the buckets in the basement no one remembers to use,” Michael says.
“And the poinsettias are from last year!” Bridgette adds.
Bridgette’s got little holly leaves in her elaborately braided buns today, and Michael’s got a snowflake scarf wrapped around his shoulders. It must be taking extra energy to keep them invisible in the hallways.
“And the ornaments are from our secret stash.”
Frannie looks up at Elsa, who’s leaning back against the closed door. She’s got a sprig of holly tucked behind her ear and a brilliant smile on her face. It makes Frannie want to push her against the door and thank her with her tongue.
“Your stash?” Frannie asks.
“Every year, we take an ornament from a different apartment,” Elsa says with a little shrug. “The one no one remembers, tucked deep into the tree.”
“We grab them before they take the trees down to the curb,” Michael adds, looking at Frannie a little guiltily, like she might judge them for it.
“They’re beautiful,” Frannie says, smiling at him before looking back at Elsa. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
Elsa smiles and steps forward to pull her into a chaste kiss. “We wanted to celebrate a little with you before you head home,” she says when they break apart.
“I wanted to celebrate with you guys too. In fact—” Frannie gently pulls away from the three of them to reach into the bag she brought with her. “I thought maybe you guys would like a tree?”
She takes out the small tabletop tree she picked up the previous night. The kids cheer and Michael grabs the box from her, immediately tugging Bridgette down to the ground to open it. Elsa’s just staring at her, eyes wide, posture stiff.
“You can bring it upstairs, and take the ornaments back,” Frannie says, breaking her gaze from Elsa to look down at the kids.
Michael and Bridgette stare back incredulously. “It’s our tree,” Michael says.
“So it lives in our office, duh,” Bridgette says.
Frannie’s chest clenches. “Okay,” she says, and it comes out a little choked.
The kids turn back to the tree, leaving Frannie free to look up at Elsa, who’s still just staring at her.
“Okay?” Frannie mouths.
That seems to break her out of her trance and Elsa lunges forward, pulling Frannie into a passionate kiss. Frannie squeaks, and they stumble into the desk. The kids giggle behind them, but Elsa doesn’t seem to care, and Frannie definitely doesn’t.
It’s a long minute before Elsa pulls back. Frannie’s brain is fuzzy, her lips tingling.
“Thank you,” Elsa says firmly.
Frannie smiles, reaching out to gently pull the holly out of Elsa’s curls and push it back behind her ear.
“My pleasure. I’m just sorry I won’t be here for the actual day,” Frannie says, holding tight when Elsa tries to step back.
Elsa strokes her fingers along Frannie’s neck, laughing when she shivers. “Us too. But you need to see your family, and we’ll get you back after New Year’s.”
“Yeah,” Frannie says, wishing … so many things. Wanting to say so many things. Instead, she points toward her desk. “I’ll leave my work computer. Maybe we can FaceTime?”
Elsa laughs, low and wonderful. “Not sure you’ll care for the picture quality. We tend to mess with video.”
“Any call will be a good one. You can log into that infamous email, if you want to.”
“Oh, I will,” Elsa says, stroking at Frannie’s pulse point. “In fact, I was thinking—”
“Frannie?” Henry calls, his knock reverberating through the room.
Elsa and the kids vanish. Frannie tosses her backpack onto the floor, dives into her chair, and opens her laptop just as Henry pushes the door open. He blinks at the lights, and garlands, and ornaments. At the half-assembled Christmas tree in the middle of the room.
“Nice!” he says, and some of Frannie’s anxiety dissipates. “I’m heading out for that meeting with my publicist. I’ll be back at six, and we’ll do our year-end wrap-up?”
“Sounds good,” Frannie says with a forced-bright smile.
Henry looks around the office one more time before pulling the door shut and humming his way down the hallway.
“No, it screws on this way.”
Michael and Bridgette are right where she left them, adding the next layer to the tree. Elsa appears and kneels down with them, looking up to meet Frannie’s eyes. She winks and Frannie smiles before turning back to her computer.
A pang of melancholy courses through her chest at the idea of leaving tonight, but she pushes it away. She’s still got hours with her ghost friends in their office.
“Sit down, sit down,” Henry says, waving Frannie into the dining room when she pokes her head in through the front door at 6:05 PM.
Frannie goes, taking the chair he’s pushed out for her. He’s got a folder and a notepad on the table in front of him. She wonders what the dining room might look like properly filled with people. The two of them at one end is always a little bit … sad.
“So,” Henry says as she sits down and folds her hands on top of her closed laptop. “Good year?”
“I think so,” Frannie agrees. Pretty damn good year, but she can’t really tell him why, now can she?
Henry opens the folder and pulls out an envelope with her bonus, sliding it across the table to her. “For you.”
Frannie takes the envelope and places it on top of her laptop. She’ll open it later, let her reaction, big or small, be reasonably private. “Thank you.”
“As always, you’re an enormous help, and I’m not sure what I’d do without you. That said, Maribel still wants that book, and she reminds me monthly I can’t keep you here forever.”
That’s not part of the year-end script. “Sorry?” Frannie says.
“You’re an excellent assistant, and a damn good editor. If I had my druthers, you’d be my assistant for the rest of my career. But I know that’s not fair to you. You have the talent. That’s why I hired you. So, prove me right and write me a book that’ll let me say I knew you when.”
Frannie stares at him. It’s very flattering. Possibly the kindest thing he’s ever said to her. But that’s not what sticks in her head.
He’d keep her here forever, if she wanted.
“I know you’ve got something incredible in you. I want to hear about it after the break. Pick your spot, shoot your shot, and I’ll send it to Maribel.”
“Thank you,” Frannie manages.
Because what if?
What if she just … never gave him another book?
Could she live with that? With being his assistant for the rest of her life, if it meant she could stay?
She blinks, trying not to let it all show on her face. “For you,” she says, passing him the ridiculous card she bought.
Her first year, she bought him an expensive bottle of wine, and then realized he’d used it to cook with a week later.
Now, she just gets him the most ridiculous card she can, and makes sure it’s covered in glitter, so it’ll get everywhere.
Her own personal petty revenge for every ridiculous thing he has her do throughout the year.
This year’s is so garish it throws sparkles onto the ceiling that flicker in the light from the chandelier over the table. Henry cringes and places the card gingerly to the side with a forced smile.
“Have a great holiday break and say hi to your folks for me. Come back ready to kick a draft’s ass, all right?”
“You got it,” Frannie says, indecision sloshing in her stomach. “Have a great holiday break.”
She gathers her laptop and check and walks sedately out of the room with a little wave, like nothing’s the matter at all. But as soon as the door closes behind her, she staggers into the wall.
If she never gives him a book, she doesn’t have to figure out how to save them. She doesn’t have to get them across the street. She can just be here, every day, with her ghosts.
She walks up to her office in a haze, excitement and confusion at war in her head.
Bridgette and Michael look up with twin smiles when she opens the office door.
They’re in the process of taping a little star to the top of the tabletop tree, which now sits on a big plastic tub surrounded by pine boughs. Where did they even find those?
“What’s up?” Michael asks.
Frannie shakes her head and slips her check into her bag before plunking the laptop onto the desk. She can’t explain right now. She doesn’t even know if she can explain it to herself—this massive either-or she didn’t realize existed. She’s nowhere near ready to give it voice just yet.
So instead, she smiles at the kids and lets herself get caught up in their holiday cheer. Forces herself to be present in this moment. “Just excited for our Christmas,” she says.
She turns, intending to dig the kids’ presents out of her—but they’re already arranged around the base of the tree, on top of the plastic storage bin.
“We wanted it to look like real Christmas,” Bridgette explains, pointing to Frannie’s presents and a few clumsily wrapped parcels.
“You’re back early,” Elsa says, appearing beside Bridgette, holding another poinsettia. It’s distinctly less dead than the others. “Liberated this from Mr. Wurch.”
“You don’t think he’ll miss it?” Frannie wonders, watching as Elsa places it on the desk.
“And suspect you took it, Miss Perfect? Hardly. It’ll be a Christmas mystery.”