Page 14

Tomorrow shall be my dancing day / I would my true love did so chance

Her hand is cold and full of sand when I close mine around it. I pull, and she comes up lighter and faster than I planned for. For about a second, she's standing closer than either of us meant her to be. Then she steps back and brushes off the seat of her shorts, and we start up toward the access.

Neither of us talks on the boardwalk. The sea oats move against each other on both sides, and our feet knock hollow on the planks. Somewhere behind a hedge, a wind chime keeps going.

The lot is nearly empty when we get to my rental car. The Sentra sits crooked with the front tire up over the line, wedged into a slot with a little sign saying it's meant for golf carts. I didn't notice when I parked it.

"I didn't peg you as a sedan kind of guy. I was fully expecting a horse," she says as I click the unlock button and the headlights blink.

"I'm not a sedan kind of guy. This was all they had when I got to the airport."

Mackie stops at the passenger door with her hand on the handle and doesn't open it.

"Full disclosure. I told my mother I wasn’t leaving the beach in front of the condo. She's warned me three times about the unsavory characters that wander the beaches at night." She holds up three fingers.

"And I've known you for a day, so if they find me in a retention pond next week, my mother won't even get to be surprised. The headline will say 'Local Woman, Warned Repeatedly.'"

"Are you a teenager?"

Her mouth opens, and the laugh comes out. She opens the door and gets in without an answer.

She takes out her phone, and I watch her thumbs go. I assume she’s texting her mother in case I turn out to be a serial killer. Then she sets the phone facedown on her thigh and looks out the windshield at the empty lot.

I haven’t lived in that house in eleven years, and I can’t remember ever bringing a woman home to it. I'm not sure if it's loneliness on Christmas Eve or something specific to her, but this is definitely a first, and I’m not upset about it.

The Sentra whines out of the golf cart space. I straighten the wheel and head towards the house.

The drive is short. I point out a couple places I remember, and she asks enough questions to keep me talking longer than I usually do.

Somewhere between the beach and the house, we get onto snow.

"I spend four months a year digging my truck out of snow."

“You say that like I’m supposed to be impressed.”

Tough crowd. The carport lights pop on when we pull under. I cut the engine and turn to her. "Let's go see some Christmas tree lights."

I unlock the door and hold it open for her, leaving the wall switch alone. The tree is better this way. Colored lights cover every branch, and ornaments hang so thick there is barely any green left. The whole front room glows from that one corner.

Mackie makes it three steps inside and stops. She looks the tree up and down, then lifts a hand over her mouth. Her eyes shine when she turns toward me.

"Did you do this? All of it?"

"I can't take full credit. I can't take any credit, if I’m being honest. Rudy, my handyman, stood it up, strung the lights, and hung every ornament but one. I hung the angel."

"That's really sweet. Hildie must love it."

"She saw it the other day. She stayed here last night, too, so she got the full experience."

Mackie smiles, but then she wipes beneath one eye with her knuckle.

"My mom's ornaments are in a storage unit somewhere in this town. I've never even asked her to get them out."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe I should."

She looks back at the tree for another second, then turns toward me. I am closer than I realized, close enough that neither of us has to raise our voices.