Before his parents died, they spent most of their winter holidays here, visiting for a few days between Christmas and New Year’s, reveling in the time they got to spend with their family. The living room hadn’t changed. At least, it hadn’t physically changed since Clark saw it last. No one came in and threw extra tinsel on the mantel or hung more fake icicles from the ceiling. But as night cloaked the Woodward House, the quality of light changed inside the opulent family room. Instead of another room in a house on a cold winter’s day, it grew into a safe harbor of golden light, a refuge from the black night settling in outside of the walls. Kate turned the key in the fireplace, igniting the flames within and adding to the invisible layer of coziness wrapping itself around Clark’s shoulders. It reminded him of the time before, of the winter evenings spent here with his aunt and uncle, his mother and father.

“I’m guessing you haven’t decorated a tree in a while either?”

“I did a couple of times at school. That sort of celebration was mandatory.”

As a kid, Clark did everything to get out of the festivities required of boarding school boys to make them feel more at home during the season. Thinking about Christmas brought up those memories he fought so hard to hide and hold onto; participating in the jolly holiday with his schoolmates only made things worse. He feigned illnesses. He tried to get in-school suspension. He claimed religious exemption, even going as far as to wear a yarmulke for three months. All to no avail. The administration allowed him to remain on campus for the holidays, but refused to excuse him from celebrating that same holiday during term time.

“I guess you made handprint wreaths and stuff,” Kate ventured as she dragged a stack of boxes out into the middle of the room. Clark raced to help her, taking the top three boxes away to lighten her load. He followed her lead, opening the tops and exposing the blinding treasure trove of glitter, red paint, and homey paper stars tucked inside.

“We mostly made pinecone reindeer. Our teachers were not the most imaginative bunch.”

“That’s a shame. The teachers here in Miller’s Point are amazing.” Kate picked out a chain of paperclip stars. Their lopsided shapes assured him they were the handiwork of school children. He wondered if any of them hated Christmas as much as he had when he was a boy. Did anyone in Miller’s Point hate the season, or was he the only Grinch in sight? “Help me untangle these?”

“Yeah, sure.”