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I feel less vindicated now that she’s pulled herself together far more easily than I did. “It’s made him hate Christmas,” I say. “And all of our decorations.” This would attract all of Evie’s attention if she’s listening, but the tip of her tongue is stuck between her teeth as she works on her crates, trying to keep the orange within the lines. “So much so that he joined a petition from my neighbors demanding that we reduce our display and make it more tasteful, in keeping with the rest of the street.”
Miss Lily shakes her head. “Too many old people on the street. That’s the problem.”
I smother a smile, but she catches me.
“Your body can be old without letting your spirit get old,” she says. “And your neighbors have. But your Henry . . .”
“He’s not my Henry.” I say this firmly. There will be none of her matchmaking.
“I don’t believe your Henry is old, but he skipped a lot of being a child after losing his grandmother that way. What’s more, if I had to guess, he only signed that petition because his feelings were hurt.”
“I know.” I slump and stare at my hands, my fingers tugging on each other nervously. “I was trying to make it right before he did that. We were leaving him gifts and cards to help him love Christmas again. It didn’t work, obviously.”
“I assume you apologized?”
“I did,” I promise. “More than once.”
“Still, that’s a hard thing.” She stares through the window but more as if she’s slipped into a daydream or memory.
“Miss Lily?” I say after a minute.
She turns back toward me, her eyes bright and present again. “He shared his greatest sorrow with you, and he feels like you mocked it.”
Each word cuts me. “I wish I could go back and change it, but he doesn’t want to hear my apologies.”
“No,” she murmurs, “I don’t believe that’s what he’s looking for.” She leans forward and settles a soft hand atop mine. “Do you ever share your greatest sorrow with anyone?”
“Noah,” I say.
“But I’d guess he has the same sorrow, does he not?”
I nod. “My parents. He misses them too.”
“Neither of you speak of it often, but I suspect that it might help Henry feel more understood if he had that insight into you.”
The idea makes me uncomfortable. “He was so angry.”
“Or hurt?” she asks. “Because he showed you his soft underside and thinks you didn’t understand?” She squeezes my hand. “Be vulnerable. Let him know that you understand how he feels better than your actions showed him.”
“He’ll probably close the door in my face.”
“He may. At the very least, if he does, he’ll feel like he’s gotten some control back. It’s within your power to grant if you’re willing to take the risk.”
“But if he does that, it won’t help us be friends again.”
“Ifhe does that, you’ll be right. But maybe he won’t do that. And since nothing else you’ve tried has worked, and since his friendship seems to matter to you, you may risk more by doing nothing.”
The server arrives with our orders, and the smell of french fries breaks Evie’s concentration at last. She shoves aside her coloring page and dives into her food with relish. Miss Lily and I chat about mutual friends, Christmas Town, the window at Handy’s which she informs me she loves, and everything but Henry.
When we’ve all eaten until we’re full, she insists on picking up the check.
“That’s not why I invited you to sit with us,” I protest.
“I know. But my grown grandchildren aren’t around nearly as much as I’d like, so it makes me happy to do this, if you’ll let me.”
I smile. “I can’t turn down such a gracious offer. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Merry Christmas, Redmond girls.”
