Page 109 of Silver Player

“You don’t believe that,” Grace says, but in some ways, I do. He fooled an entire community into thinking he cheated on his wife. He fooled me into believing he cared about me and my feelings. My chest aches as I consider his actions. He’s been a good actor.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

I stand, putting an end this conversation. I don’t want to talk about Billy or Sadie anymore. I’m tired. Tired of worrying about others. I can’t change the way Theresa handled things. I can’t change how I feel about Billy. I can’t change Sadie’s decision.

I don’t want to be mad, but I am angry.

I hug Grace, accepting her embrace in return.

“It will all work out,” Grace states, leaning back, and I glance back at my friend. At one time, I believed in those words. Now, I find them to be the least trustful words I’ve ever heard.

+ + +

“We should get a tree,” Sadie announces the night before Christmas Eve—Christmas Eve eve. I haven’t been in the holiday spirit and keeping up the seasonal cheer in the store zaps me of all energy. This would be the first Christmas without Theresa, and Sadie will be at the Harrington’s. My heart breaks in a new way. Theresa and Sadie were always my holiday plans, but the thought of having no one, not even Sadie for the day, just adds to my melancholy.

“Billy wants you to join us for Christmas,” Sadie told me a few nights ago, but I snorted at the lie.

“I want you to be there,” she stated. “Or I can always stay here.” Her voice lost its luster at the suggestion, and I knew in her heart of hearts that she wanted to be with them. She’d already chosen them. It would be a good distraction. Family. The excitement would drown out the absence of her mother, at least for a little bit.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I lied. Grace invited us to join her family. As a single mother of five, she wasn’t going anywhere this holiday. Her late husband’s parents were traveling to see his brother, and her sister lived in Michigan. Just me and an overload of sugar and testosterone. Come join us, she mocked, but her invitation was sincere.

“Go with Billy. It’s fine. I’ll see you Christmas Eve.” I hesitated, hating how much the suggestion sounded like a couple splitting visits with a child.

“Definitely,” she said, giving me a small smile as we sat across from one another at my kitchen as the new awkward silence grows around us.

“So a tree,” Sadie interjects into my thoughts again as she stands in the living room.

“What?” I look up from the book open on my lap, but I haven’t been reading.

“A Christmas tree. We could chop it down ourselves.”

Umm… “Sure, why not?” I stand from my seat. As she rushes to her room, I reach for my phone, quickly searching for an open tree farm that allows us to chop our own.

A half hour later, Sadie and I wander through the lane of the Bernard Christmas Farm, which happens to be owned by the judge who decided Sadie’s case. Technically, they close at six, but they allow visitors to wander for up to an hour after. We’ve made it just under the wire, but now the struggle begins—finding a tree and chopping it down ourselves.

My apartment isn’t that large, but it does have tall ceilings. Still, we need to consider the width of a tree, so when we find one just right, we stare at the base. Sadie’s been looking over her shoulder on occasion, and I’m wondering if she doesn’t want anyone to see us. This is going to be comical.

“Here.” I hand her the ax provided by the boy at the counter. Maybe she doesn’t want him to see us. I noticed how pink she turned when we checked in at the front counter. “You go first.”

Crouching, she’s ready to give it the first whack when I place a hand on her shoulder. “Just don’t miss and nick yourself,” I tease.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she snarks before she takes her first swing. The ax hits the trunk but ricochets, and Sadie falls to the side. “Wow, is that hard.”

She takes a few more cracks at it, putting a dent in the base but not making enough of a mark to knock it over.

“Let me have a swing.” As Sadie stands, I reach for the ax. A saw would be easier, but as I lower for the base and take the first swing, I find the resounding crack invigorating. I sling again and again. Panting and sweating, I’m using the full force of my arm to hack at the sturdy trunk.

My thoughts drift to all my frustrations.

The damn holidays. The death of my sister. The ache for Billy.

“You trying to make mulch of that thing?”

The ax thuds as it collides with the solid trunk, and the blade sticks. What the…? I wiggle the ax free because I slowly rise and face Billy, standing with his hands in his winter jacket, watching me.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, and his eyes shift to Sadie.

“Sadie?” I question. What is the meaning of this? My eyes leap back to Billy, who is still watching me. He doesn’t smile, but he fights a grin. I, however, am not happy. This moment is for us, Sadie and me. We don’t need Billy.