Three days after Christmas…
Big fat snowflakes swirled through the air at the cemetery, making everything look fuzzy three days after the worst Christmas ever. Zachary watched the people walk back to their cars. Big piles of flowers surrounded his mother’s grave.
“Do you think Mom sent the snow?”
“What?” Uncle Blake looked down at Zachary and frowned.
“Maybe…maybe Mom sent the snow. Like a message or something. She taught me how to catch snowflakes on my tongue, like this…” Zachary stuck his tongue out. A white flake landed, melting in a quick, cold burst. Uncle Blake’s face screwed up like he’d just stepped on a Lego, but Zach rushed on. “Remember how much she loved Christmas, Uncle Blake? Maybe she’s still here, but you can’t see her…like the ghost of Christmas future in that story—”
“No.” His uncle’s voice sounded rough and scratchy. “She’s not here, Zach. Your mom isn’t a ghost. She’s just…gone.”
He meant Mom was dead. Zach wasn’t stupid. He knew what dead meant. What he didn’t get was, why wouldn’t people just say it?
Uncle Blake looked up at the snow for a minute. “She loved Christmas so much because it’s for little kids, and she never stopped… She never really grew up.” He knelt in front of Zach, one knee in the snow. “I know this was a lousy holiday, and I’m sorry. I miss her, too. But you’re going to have to be a man now. You need to leave make-believe for the little kids, okay?”
Zach straightened his shoulders. He missed his mom. She was funny, and she gave the best hugs ever. Hugs that made him feel safe, even in the middle of another move or if she was changing boyfriends again. And now he’d never have another hug from her. He blinked his eyes. Would anyone ever hug him like that? Probably not. Hugs were like Christmas—for little kids only. He looked into his uncle’s eyes and nodded.
He wasn’t really sure how to be a man, but if that’s what his uncle wanted, he’d try.
“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“What? The shopping or the job?”
Amanda Lowery juggled the bags in her hand, laughing at her cousin’s question.
“Both, I guess. There’s no way I’ll get the job after Mr. Randall meets me tomorrow, which means I won’t be able to pay for any of this stuff.”
The two women stood on the sidewalk in Gallant Lake, New York. Like so many upstate villages, a lot of the brick or clapboard storefronts were empty. There were still a few businesses left, and they’d managed to shop in every one of them. There was just a hint of color starting to show in the mountains surrounding
