“Lazy layabout!” Emily charged forward, her thick curls shaking under her bonnet. She shoved up her sleeves as if to instigate a fight. Kate almost laughed. Almost. “I’ll have you know—”

“I’m going to give you everything I’ve got!”

“Please don’t! I’ll come in now! I can—”

Scrooge cut him off.

“I’m going to raise your salary.”

“Pardon?” Emily and Michael said at once, a unified explosion of shock.

“I’m going to raise your salary and take care of you and your family for the rest of my days. And,” Clark waved his hands, calling the crowd from the shadows, filling the room with rich aromas and colors the likes of which contrasted deeply with the Cratchits’ costume design, as was Kate’s plan when she helped pick those outfits. The sight of the swarm of well-wishers sent Kate’s temperature skyrocketing. Her stomach turned. “We will discuss the entire thing over the most beautiful Christmas dinner ever brought forth in the whole of Christendom!”

A cheer. Little Tiny Tim leapt into Scrooge’s arms and he lifted him high upon his shoulders.

“Mr. Scrooge!”

The room filled, leaving Kate distinctly apart. A viewer of this spectacle. The object of their collective stare as much as they were an object of hers.

She wanted to vomit.

What on earth could have possessed them to all come here and be a part of this? Maybe it was Miss Carolyn. Surely Clark didn’t do this all by himself. Miss Carolyn must have threatened to throat punch him if he didn’t comply. They were trying to fix her Christmas cheer, surely. Or bring her back into the fold after a tough night of disillusionment and Clark was a part of that. They all bought into the dream, a dream she no longer knew how to be an active participant in.

Next in the story came the “Scrooge was better than his word” speech. Another surefire “Kate always cries at this part so make sure someone has Kleenex handy” moment.

It felt like Christmas. It looked like Christmas.

And she couldn’t stomach it. She didn’t know what Clark was doing in the middle of all of this. She didn’t know what his game was. She didn’t know what he wanted from her or why he seemed intent on hurting her through the one thing she used to love most in this world.

All Kate knew was that she needed to get out.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Clark spent half of his morning memorizing this Dickensian text, only for the woman he memorized it for to storm out of the house before he could even get halfway through his final speech.