Arthur tossed me a pointed look as we passed the headless Santa sign that marked the end—or beginning, depending on the direction of your travel—of Merry Street.

I quickly took out the sheet of paper to redirect this line of conversation.

“I came up with some ideas of things we can do while you’re here, after the reindeer.”

“How thoughtful of you, Finley,” said Aunt Esha.

“Such as?” Arthur pressed, not as easily swayed.

“Okay, so tomorrow is the town’s Christmas Parade. It starts right after dusk so the lights can be seen. All the local businesses from the surrounding counties participate, and, you know, not to give anything away, but Santa shows up at the end.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Is the parade on the street we just drove down?”

“It is.”

“Does it last three minutes? Because that wasn’t a long drive.”

“Be kinder, Arthur,” was the gentle reprimand from up front. “Your friend is doing us a great favor.”

Arthur’s reaction was immediate. “Sorry, Mashi,” he said contritely.

My eyes about bugged out. When had Arthur ever been contrite?

He avoided my gaze but I could tell by his clenched jaw it required effort.

“Please continue, Finley,” Aunt Esha urged.

I looked back at the paper. “I was also thinking we could maybe do some Christmas baking before the parade.”

“Cookies or gingerbread? It seems most of your American Christmas films have one aspect of that or another,” said Aunt Esha.

“Cookies?” I ventured because there was zero chance I’d be able to do anything with gingerbread. Not that my cookie-baking efforts went beyond a single tutorial from my grandmother when I was ten.

“Christmas cookies are delightful,” she said.

I was relieved. “Also, there’s an indoor ice-skating rink we could try.”

Dad shook his head. “Not anymore. Micky’s Winter Wonderland burned down three months ago.”

That was news. “What happened? Faulty wiring? Lightning?”

“Insurance scam. Micky was a little too fond of the casinos for his bank account’s liking. They arrested him after Thanksgiving.”

Merry Christmas, Micky.

“What about the one in Norman?” I asked, referring to the nearest big small town where the University of Oklahoma was located, a thirty-minute drive away. “There’s one there, right?”

Dad hit the turn signal and got us on the road to Sedgewicks’. “Pretty sure.”

As I was making mental note to check, Arthur piped up.

“There is indeed an ice rink called—” He squinted at his phone and frowned. “Sizzling Iceplex? Seems a bit contradictory. It is outdoors, though, and is presently offering a free fruitcake for every thirty-fifth visitor. Odd. Why do you suppose it’s thirty-fifth?”

I shrugged.

Dad glanced at Aunt Esha. “Do you skate?”

“Not since I was a young girl. Which was a very long time ago.”

“Hardly.” Dad smiled then glanced back at me. “I can drive everyone, if you’d like.”