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What if she’s dead?
Except how could she be? If he was immortal, then she’d have to be too.
And in that moment, realization washed over me.Oh God, how long will he live like this? Until people no longer believe in him? Until he’s nothing but a myth?
My heart went out to him. I covered his hand with my own.
“If you ever need to share…anything… you find me, okay? Because I will be there for you.”
To my surprise, his eyes glistened. “Thank you. Because you meant every word of it.” He tugged his hand free. “But now I must go.” Santa got to his feet, and I joined him. “Enjoy your time with your family. And try not to think about what’s waiting for you at home. Don’t let Jay pressure you into staying together, not if you’ve made your mind up to end it.” He gazed into my eyes. “Because you have, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “Thank you for listening. There was no one else I could tell about this.”
“Then I’m happy I was here for you.” And he was gone.
No sooner had he vanished than I became aware of noises throughout the house: the creaks any house made after time, the ticking of a clock, the hoot of an owl outside… Then I realized I’d heard no sound at all while we’d talked. I thought back on all our previous encounters. How come I’d never noticed the absence of sound?
Probably because I was too engrossed in the conversation.
Does he somehow stop time, or slow it down at least?That was one explanation. But that theory led me down another road.
Do I stop ageing when I’m with him, if only for a short while?
Nowtherewas a thought…
When I was twenty-eight
1995
My phone pinged, and I glanced at the screen. Mom again.
Are you getting enough fluids? Take Tylenol if you need to. Try to sleep.
I didn’t have the strength to pick the phone up and type a response.Iwouldsleep, but you keep texting me.I closed my eyes as violent shivers wracked my body. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so ill. I dragged the blanket up over my shoulders, marveling how I could be both ice-cold and on fire at the same time.
Then I noticed. The clock had stopped. So had the sound of traffic outside.
I opened my eyes, and there he was, standing beside my bed. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back with a gentle but firm hand.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked.
“I got scared when I went to your parents’ house and you weren’t there.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “You look awful.”
I probably smelled awful too. The sheets were soaked with sweat, as were the pillowcases. “I’ve got the ’flu. So do a lot of people, apparently. And it’s a nasty one.”
“That much I could work out for myself.” He stretched out his hand to touch my forehead, and I grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t come too close,” I managed to grind out. “I don’t want you to catch this.”
He smiled. “I can’t catch human diseases.” He peered at the clock on the nightstand. “Look, there are things I need to do, but then I’ll be back, okay? In the meantime, try to sleep.”
I managed a half-assed snort. “Yes, Mom.” God, everywhereached.
Santa stroked my damp forehead. “Sleep.” The soothing motion made my lids heavy. I lay there, sinking lower and lower through layers of softness, the aches diminishing with every touch of his fingers on my skin.
Even his fingertips are magic.
Something soft and cool brushed over my brow.
