“Thanks, Ronan,” Henry says, putting his hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “That was thoughtful of you.”

“I’ll pay you back someday. I will. I promise.”

“It’s okay, Ronan. This will cover it for sure. Just one more thing I need from you.”

Ronan stands tall. “Anything.”

“I don’t want to hear about this pole again. I know you feel bad, but it was a mistake. We all make them, and the best we can do is try to make it right. And you have. So enough of this, okay?”

Ronan nods.

Chapter 32

OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

Grammy is going to be late from work, so I sit with my back against Olive’s Tree, watching the Laskos’ windows like they are television sets. I watch as Henry and Esme put things on the table to eat. I watch Esme draw her fingertips across Ruby’s back as she rushes about. I see Henry laugh, and I am grateful that I can’t hear it. And yet I long to . . .

I hear someone behind me step over the knee-high fence, but I can’t take my eyes from the light that wants to both pull me in and lock me out at the same time. I thought Ronan had gone home.

“What are you doing back?” I ask. “Isn’t your dad going to be mad?”

“I somehow doubt it,” Olive says, with a bit of a humpf tacked onto the end.

When I turn, she is standing with her hands on her hips, looking up at the top of the tree. “He’s been long dead, so I don’t imagine he’d be mad at anything. He would be mighty proud, though, of this tree that’s been doing all this growing. When I was a girl, he used to cover it in Christmas lights a week before Halloween.” She looks at me. “So what are you doing, anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“Like your grammy says, when a person says ‘nothing,’ it’s always something.” Then she turns to see what I see and makes another sound. Not like her usual humpf, but different. Like a mini aha, which is surprising. Olive doesn’t ever seem surprised about anything.

“He worked for General Electric.”

I look up, wondering what I missed.

“My father. My father worked for General Electric, and did he ever love this tree. It was—and still is—the center of our little neighborhood. His company gave him new lights every year because he promised he’d gather up the store owners and invite them over to see how bright the lights really were. And he did.

“Halloween picnics. November cookouts. By December, he’d be out here in a parka grilling burgers, with Christmas carols blasting from the house. My mother said she thought he was crazy. But . . . she didn’t really . . .” She lets out a long, slow breath. “We all loved it.” Her head drops a bit. “I do miss them. They were good people. Not huggers or the types to go to pieces over loving someone. But good people.”