Page 67 of Sweet Silver Bells
“Unfortunately, I would argue that I have better friends than most.”
New light patterns hit the pavement under their feet as they approached the towering Christmas tree in the town square. Their pace slowed even further as a crowd gathered to listen to the choir, and judging by the conductor raising her hands and framing an overextended jaw, pointing to the roof of her mouth, they were about to start.
“Sarah would have loved that tree,” Sadie said out of nowhere.
“Why would you say that?” Hunter didn’t get an answer as an eruption of music weaved all around them, the staccato notes harmonizing with a sole male tenor who walked up to stand by the female conductor. Her hands waved so dramatically that it seemed like a joke.
“Ding, dong, ding, dong.”
“Oh,” Olivia gasped. “This song.”
“Are you okay?” Hunter asked, feeling her arm tighten against him. He looked over at her, her face matching someone’s who could fall apart at any moment.
“This is my song. Our song,” Olivia muttered.
The choir’s onomatopoeias turned into lyrics.
"Hark, how the bells
Sweet silver bells"
“Our song?” Hunter tried to keep her talking, keep her breathing. The tenseness that was in her body a moment ago suddenly fled as she fell limp against him.
“My dad. It’s why he’s dead. This song.”
“Aw, your dad died? I’m so sorry, honey,” Nina interjected as Olivia started to shake.
Hunter had heard her sing it before, more than once, but he’d never considered it meant anything specific to her, other than being a Christmas song from long ago. Most of the ones he knew were a bit more modern.
“Olivia, you don’t have to fall apart. I’m here, I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear. Unfortunately, that did not help, as a flood of tears soaked her cheeks, the salty water reflecting greens, whites, and golds from the lights on the tree, the garlands, and the street lamps.
She was a painted doll, filled with sadness, a moon who was grieving.
A moon.
Hunter remembered his gift and pulled the necklace from his jacket pocket, wrapped in blue tissue paper.
“This reminded me of you. I wanted you to have it,” he said, holding it out to her. She didn’t look at it; her eyes focused on the choir and the song that continued. Hunter could see a memory playing out on her face, something horrific, the day her world fell apart.
Olivia reached out and placed her hand on top of Hunter’s in order to grab the necklace. She gripped it hard, her fist so tight.
“All seem to say
Throw cares away
Ding, dong, ding, dong
That is the song.”
He had no notice, no training, no idea how to respond as it unfolded. Olivia’s lips twitched and tears streamed steadily down her face. Hunter’s coworkers looked at her, some concerned, some stepping awkwardly back, bumping into random bystanders who had closed in behind their small group.
She sang. She sang with them.
“Hawk, how the bells
Sweet Silver Bells.”
Olivia’s song looped in harmony with theirs. Her voice was soft at first, but as she continued, it grew louder. Nervous faces turned to look at her.
