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I flip the switch and the lawn blazes to life. No surface has been spared a light, a cutout, a bow, or an oversized ornament. They wind from the roof down to the ground, around every piece of greenery, hanging from trees and trailing down their trunks. It looks like a second grader decorated it, and it’s because a second grader was quite literally the art director. I would loathe every bulb if it weren’t for the pure joy shining out of Evie’s face, brighter than every string of lights combined.
I hurry down the walkway to join her, and we stand beaming at what we’ve wrought.
“I love it so much!” She claps and jumps, then begins pointing out her favorite parts.
Henry’s porch light winks on, and a minute later he joins us. He’s wearing joggers and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the athletic kind, black, plain, and yet riveting in the way it outlines his chest.
Seriously, how did I not notice his chest and shoulders from the get-go? I havegotto make sure he doesn’t hide them under sweaters anymore. For Office Goddess, I mean. If she has even half a hormone in her body, she’ll pay attention.
“Isn’t it amazing, Mr. Henry?” Evie’s breathless question snaps me to attention.
Henry smiles at Evie, then the house. “It’s really something.”
Evie runs over to one of the painted backdrops to fix a light that’s flipped the wrong direction.
“What do you think?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell the truth.
He runs his eyes over the entire scene, moving slowly from left to right.
“I hate it so much,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes me laugh. Not the overwhelmed, can’t stop kind of laugh. Just an honest-to-goodness feel-it-all-the-way-through-my-chest laugh.
“Thanks for helping with the inside anyway,” I say. “I can’t believe you guys did that.”
“It was your brother’s idea. Happy to help out a little.”
“Seven hours isn’t a little.”
He shrugs. “I’m caught up on grading.”
We fall into silence, watching Evie dart around the Christmas madness. A couple of cars drive by and slow down, taking in the spectacle. An older couple walking a corgi stop to study it.
“This your place?” the man asks.
“It is,” I say.
“We live up the street at 379. Walt and Connie.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “I guess I’m your newest neighbor.”
Connie clears her throat. “You and your husband have certainly gone all out with the decorating.”
Henry shakes his head and points to his house. “I’m a neighbor too.”
“Ah. So you live next to . . . this.” She looks at the yard, the flashing lights, the bright paint, the sparkle.
I’m not sure how hard she’s trying to be diplomatic, but it’s not hard enough.
“Festive, isn’t it?” Henry says, his voice cool.
“It’s certainly that,” she says.
Another car slows as it passes, then stops. The back window rolls down and a child near Evie’s age sticks out his head.
“It’s Santa, Mom,” he says at nearly a shout, and Evie, hearing him, straightens and waves.
“So cool, right?” she calls back.
He waves and hangs out of the window as the car begins moving again, his eyes transfixed by the display.
