“Horrible people treated you horribly and you think it’s a blessing?” he asked, furrowing his brow. Kate only shrugged, picking up a small, golden star and hanging it up on a branch. The rustle of needles filled Clark’s nose with the scent of pine, a scent he’d forever associate with this moment and this confounding, exceptional woman.

Her shoulders were so slender for someone who carried the weight of the world on them without so much as bowing beneath the pressure.

“If I was a normal person with a normal life, I never would have found anything spectacular. You know, bad things aren’t the end of the story. Well, I guess they can be, but only if you let them.”

A million incredulous, confused responses bubbled to Clark’s lips. He didn’t speak any of them. She offered him simplicity. What was the point in complicating something that clearly guided her and gave her happiness? Changing the subject before he could contemplate whether he could have lived his life like she lived hers, Clark reached for the nearest box of ornaments. He cleared his throat.

“How do you decorate this thing? And where did all of these come from?”

“It’s all Christmas Company stock,” she explained, “but we have this tradition where every year everyone who works for the festival brings one ornament and adds it to the collection. That’s why they don’t match.”

“And what’s the point of that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just fun.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s a tradition.”

“But why is it a tradition? How did it start? What’s the big deal?” Clark honestly wasn’t trying to be an annoying jerk. He simply didn’t get it, like his twelve-year-old self didn’t get the point of the Christmas traditions at boarding school. Everyone bought into the rituals and empty gestures; he didn’t understand why.

“It just is.” Kate’s hands hesitated over a small puppy ornament, searching for something to offer him. Clark held his breath. “Like your mom putting out the Santa candle. It didn’t actually do anything. It’s just meaningful for its own sake.”

“Wait…you mean Santa isn’t real?”

He chose to joke rather than acknowledge his own investment in his mother’s tradition. That was different. It earned him a good-natured shove from his partner.

“Of course he’s real. Shut up and decorate the tree.”

Obediently, Clark collected a few ornaments out of the box, inspecting each one with keen interest. They didn’t come out of a two-for-one sale from some big box store. Each one came from a person here in town. Each one carried meaning. They were, like the paperclip stars, special to someone. Maybe if he knew why, everything would become clear.

“Can you tell me about them?” he asked.

“The ornaments?”

“Yeah. Do you know anything about them?”