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“Either you break my heart, or maybe you don’t and something even worse happens. I know how that sounds. But it’s real, Bradley. The threat is real.”
“Devra…” He had no idea how to respond. Had no idea what he was responding to. “Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?” Words he’d heard many times from Dr. Rahi. “Why don’t we slow everything down for a minute and just try to breathe?”
“There isn’t time to slow down,” she shouted. “It’s already December twelfth!”
December. Always this fixation with the month. “I know some bad things have happened to you over the holidays—”
“Not some. Not sometimes. Not in the past. Always. Every single year. This Christmas will be no different, because my family is—” She held her breath, the colour in her cheeks deepening from coral to carmine.
He held his own breath, waiting for her to finish the sentence, to reveal the answer to the riddle that was Devra Harrison.
She exhaled. “My family is cursed.”
And Bradley had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing. “Cursed?”
“Yes. I know it sounds impossible. But it’s true. Every year December torments me until, around Christmas Day, something truly awful happens.”
She looked so earnest he felt guilty for his initial reaction. Obviously she believed what she was saying, and surely horrible things had happened to her in the past to make her believe it.
“Could you explain what you mean exactly?” he asked.
“One year there was a fire. On Christmas Eve. We had to call the fire department.” She went on to tell tale after tale of tragedy striking, her losing her sense of safety, her childhood innocence, her family cracking under the stress.
He listened intently to each story, one after the other. She spilled the words, like she’d been filled to the brim and now he’d gone and tipped her over.
She described horrible accidents, numerous trips to the hospital, her mother leaving and never coming back.
While Bradley didn’t see any otherworldly connection to curses, he did see a history of very, very bad luck. Of reoccurring trauma. He knew perfectly well how difficult it was to stop a pattern that felt like it had a life of its own.
When she finally paused, she gasped for air.
Silence surrounded them, the sudden lack of sound as noticeable as any horn blast.
“I’m so sorry, Devra,” Bradley said softly. “About your mother. About your poor melted toy ponies. Your arm.”
She grabbed her forearm and shuddered, as if the second-degree burns from a toppled vat of hot chocolate were still there, raw and peeling. No wonder she’d fled from his well-intentioned suggestion of a cup of hot cocoa the day they’d first met. He could see her more clearly now, her hazy edges filling in.
“That sounds terrible. I can’t even imagine.” He approached her again, his hand outstretched in a very different manner than before, seeking to comfort rather than caress. “I know it must feel like you’re cursed. It’s an unbelievable coincidence. But—”
She jerked away from him. “You don’t believe me.” She sighed. “I don’t know why I thought you would.”
“Of course I believe you. I do. I believe it all happened. I just don’t think that means you’re cursed. You’re just…unlucky. Traumatized even. And I can understand, better than anyone, how repeated exposure to the same stimulant over and over can mess with your brain chemistry, make you believe things that just…aren’t true.”
“But it is true. It’s real. This isn’t about bad luck. It isn’t a coincidence. It’s a supported, unbroken pattern. And with enough evidence, a theory becomes a fact. A truth. I may not be able to explain it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I’ve lived it.”
“Come on, Devra. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You’re basically a scientist. You have to know there is no such thing as a curse?”
He hadn’t meant to laugh. He really hadn’t. It was more a nervous exhalation, a vocalized puff of air, an unintended side effect of his disbelief.
But his intentions didn’t matter.
She heard him laugh.
“Get out,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Leave!”
