Page 95 of Mistletoe & Magic
Finn mutters, “Behave,” and gets a kiss on the cheek by our mom.
The square fills. The high school choir mills in a cluster, blowing steam into their hands and trying to look dignified while Tate hands them candy canes. Lights burn against the cold. Laughter hops from group to group like a warm animal.
My mom steps up onto the gazebo and lifts one hand. Everything settles.
“Friends,” she says. Her voice carries as if it has always belonged to ceremonies. “Thank you for coming. Tonight we gather to celebrate a man who is the quiet hinge on which this town swings. He will tell you he is not special. He will tell you he just does what needs doing. I will tell you he is wrong. He is everything and so important to all of us.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the square. Pete looks like he might disintegrate and drift away with the snow.
Gladys tells the porch-step story. The one about the storm and the slick ice and her foot going through the third board. How she cursed and Pete appeared like a knight with a toolbox, how he fixed it in ten minutes, then salted her whole walk while she pretended not to cry. People laugh at the punch line and then sniffle five seconds later, which is exactly how Donna planned it.
Willa takes the mic next. She clears her throat and pushesher cap back and says, “He came in last year and asked if I had more large-print romances. I said, ‘For whom?’ He said, ‘For everyone who needs love to be easier to see.’ So I ordered a whole shelf. He was right. We sold out in a week.” The crowd laughs and claps. Willa’s eyes shine. She looks at Pete and says, “Thank you for seeing what people need before they know they should ask.”
All these stories don’t surprise me at all. I know Pete did so much for everyone in this town.
Tate saunters up. He announces he has prepared a Top Ten List of Things Pete Has Taught Me About Life. Number ten: always measure twice and flirt once. Number nine: oak splinters are a conspiracy. Inside joke. Number eight: coffee should be black enough to scald a lie. The list gets worse and funnier. Number three is not fit for church.
Rowan hollers, “You never listen to him, anyway.”
Tate bows. Pete shakes his head and tries not to laugh and fails, coughing and covering his mouth, his eyes shining with emotion.
Lilith steps forward with a paper in her hand and then does not look at it once. Her voice has the steady comfort that I’m surprised she has right now. “When we needed a ride early to an appointment in the city, you were there. When the power went out and we could not keep the herbal tinctures from freezing, you brought your generator and did not leave until the lights were steady. When Ivy came home with a heart in pieces, you looked at her and you looked at me and you said, ‘She will be okay.’ I believed you.”
She finds Ivy with her eyes. Ivy squeezes my fingers.
Rowan follows with a grin that tries to hide the fact that she is swallowing hard. “You listen, and I talk a lot, so that is impressive. You bring so much happiness and joy to this town. We all love you so much.
The crowd is warm and wet-eyed. Breath rises like prayers in the cold air.
Donna tips her head at me. It is my turn.
I step up. The boards under my boots creak. The air feels thin. I look at Pete. I look at Ivy. I look at Junie. The words arrive like they were waiting for me to be brave.
“You made the world feel steady,” I say. “When I thought it was falling apart. You gave Junie a grandpa to look up to who is someone she can be proud of. You told me the truth when I needed to hear it. You loved my mom and my brother and me like we were your own. You made space for Ivy and me to believe that love after loss is not only possible, it is an everyday work that is worth doing. I am proud to call you my dad.”
I don’t realize my voice has gone rough until the last sentence. I clear my throat. It does not help. Pete blinks fast and fails at not crying and presses his hat harder against his chest.
Ivy climbs the steps. She does not take the mic. She just turns to face him, the lights making a halo of her hair.
“You kept our town safe and always made people feel welcome,” she says. “You told me that belonging is not a door that opens on its own. It is a thing people hold for each other. Thank you for holding it for me.” She laughs a little and wipes her cheek with the back of her glove. “Also, you bullied Willa into buying more romances, which is my favorite thing you have ever done besides loving Donna.”
The square laughs and sighs at the same time.
Donna lifts a taper. “Let us light the night.”
The first flame is small. It touches a second wick and becomes two, then four, then twenty. Candles tilt toward each other like they are hungry to be kin. The beeswax smell floats up, warm and honeyed. The choir begins a carol, low and sweet. It is an old song that Pete has always loved. Snow begins to fall,gentle and certain. The flakes catch in Ivy’s hair. I want to kiss each one before it melts.
Junie stands on her tiptoes and shields her candle from the breeze with her mitten. “The snowflakes look like stars close enough to catch,” she whispers.
“Catch one,” I say.
She opens her free hand and lets a flake land on her palm and smiles like the world is brand new.
Rowan sniffs loudly on purpose. “I warned you all. Yule Be Crying.”
People laugh. A few do cry harder. Finn slings an arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. Lilith lights Gladys’s candle. Willa touches hers to mine. Tate’s goes out, and the choir director glares at him until he relights it.
The carol ends. The silence after is peaceful and soul crushing at the same time.
