Claire laughed.
A real laugh this time.
She accepted the bag.
“Thank you.”
“They’re gingerbread.”
“I can smell them.”
“I decorated the angels.”
Daniel said:
“That explains why several look concerned.”
“They’re not concerned.”
“They have emotional depth.”
Emily gave him a look.
Claire smiled at the little girl.
“They’re beautiful.”
Emily seemed satisfied.
Daniel guided her back toward the truck.
Before leaving, he told Claire:
“Follow us until the Mill Road turn.”
“Your place is farther south?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make sure your car keeps charging.”
“If the lights dim or you get more warnings, flash your headlights.”
Claire nodded.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He walked away.
That answer stayed with her.
I know.
Not obligation.
Choice.
Claire Whitmore was forty-one years old and had spent most of her adult life in rooms where nearly every act contained an exchange.
Time for salary.
Access for influence.
Dinner for introductions.
Charity for public goodwill.
Favors for future favors.
Even gifts arrived with strategic meaning.
Daniel Carter had stopped because somebody was stranded.
Nothing more complicated than that.
Claire followed the old pickup through the snow.
At the Mill Road intersection, Daniel pulled to the shoulder and waited.
Her Mercedes continued running.
He waved.
Emily waved both arms.
Claire waved back.
Then turned toward home.
She did not know then that she would remember that intersection years later.
The place where one car went left.
The other right.
And somehow their lives did not.
Daniel and Emily delivered the rocking horse twenty-three minutes late.
Mr. Morales tried to apologize for making Daniel drive in the storm.
Daniel blamed traffic.
The rocking horse disappeared into the house beneath a blanket so the little girl inside would not see it.
Emily whispered:
“Mission complete.”
Daniel whispered back:
“Now we go home.”
They reached their little white house before nine.
A modest Christmas tree stood in the living room.
Most ornaments were handmade.
Some beautiful.
Some created by Emily at ages when symmetry had been a theoretical concept.
Daniel refused to replace any of them.
Sarah’s favorite ornament, a small glass cardinal, hung near the top.
Emily placed two gifts beneath the tree.
Then looked at Daniel.
“Do we have hot chocolate?”
“Do you ask that every night?”
“Yes.”
“Then you probably know the answer.”
Ten minutes later, they sat beneath Sarah’s mother’s quilt.
The fire crackled.
Emily drank hot chocolate from a mug almost as large as her head.
“Do you think Claire got home?”
Daniel looked out the window.
Snow still fell.
“I think so.”
“She had a nice car.”
“Yes.”
“Was she rich?”
“Probably.”
Emily considered that.
“Then why was she alone?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Rich people can be alone.”
“I know.”
“You asked like you didn’t.”
“I just thought if you had that much money, people would always come over.”
Daniel smiled sadly.
“Sometimes having people around isn’t the same as not being lonely.”
Emily absorbed that.
“Do you get lonely?”
There were questions parents wanted time to prepare for.
Children rarely provided it.
“Sometimes.”
“When I’m here?”
“Sometimes even then.”
Emily frowned.
“Is that because of Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
Daniel put his arm around her.
Emily rested her head against him.