Page 64 of Fa-La La-La Land
I think back to Rhys’s song and the words that spoke to me in a way none of his other songs have. I guess I thought what I felt had as much to do with the song being for me rather than what it was about. I’ve repeated the linesIf every gift faded, I’d still believe, Because you’re the wonder that I get to keepa dozen times since last night.
For the first time, I hear what Mom is saying. The song isn’t aboutnotlosing someone; it’s about love lasting long after everything—and everyone—is gone.
I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I stand and give Mom a big hug. “Thank you, Mamma. I’ll try.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Rhys
Saturday morning, Seb picks up Gia to take her to Florence, which means Stella and I, for the first time in over a week, have time alone. If it were up to me, we’d sit by a fire under a warm blanket, watching a movie, reading some books. Maybe some other things.
Definitelysome other things.
But after we wave goodbye to Gia from the relative warmth of the front porch, Stella looks up at the sky. “They’ll be lucky to make it to Florence before it snows. We’d better get those decorations up before we get dumped on.”
I hold back a groan. Gia has taken care of me as well as my mum does while I’ve been here—and while we were in Italy. Plus, she’s Stella’s mum, so if she needs help, I’m going to help.
Stella and I put on our full winter gear—parkas, gloves, hats—which seems like overkill for a quick jaunt to the storage shed in the backyard. But as soon as we walk out the back door, we’re hit with a gust of wind and a few snowflakes. We hustle to the shed, where she swings open the doors to a twelve-by-twelve space, full of stuff and smelling a bitmusty.
“Here are the inflatables.” Stella points to an entire shelving unit with at least a dozen boxes.
I squeeze past her and quickly scan the plastic bins, each one labeled with a description and picture of the inflatable inside. They all say “six feet,” except for the ones that are even bigger. “We putting up the lot?”
Stella cocks her head. “What else would we do with them?”
“Theyallgo up? Every year? She doesn’t rotate them in and out?” I’m trying to picture Gia’s front lawn with all the blow-ups. There’s not enough space.
“Nope. She likes them all out. Let’s get the Santa on the roof before the snow really starts coming down.” Stella grabs a box—a twelve-footer of Santa and all eight tiny reindeer—and hands it to me.
I look from it to her. “We’ve got to lug this up on the roof? Do we blow it up first? That safe?”
Stella smiles patiently through all my questions before grabbing another box. “We’ll blow it up after it’s on the roof. Seb’s only fallen off once, and he didn’t get that hurt. We’ll be fine.”
“Thathurt? How hurt exactly?”
“A broken arm. No big deal.”
We carry the boxes outside. They’re surprisingly light, but my breath hangs in the air, then burns when the cold meets my lungs.
“Broken arm? Stella, I can’t break an arm. I’ve got a concert in a few weeks.” My eyes dart to the roof of Gia’s two-story brick house. It’s very high, and there’s not enough snow to provide a soft landing for anyone—me, for example—who might fall off.
“You’re not going to break your arm, Rhys. Seb was twelve and trying to show off for the girl he liked.” Stella setsdown her box.
“Seb was twelve? Your mom let him go on the roof when he was a kid?” I keep hold of my box, hoping to put it away once Stella sees the insanity of what her mum expects us to do.
“No,” she answers, and my faith in Gia’s parenting is restored. “Grandpa let him. He thought it was time for Seb to be the man of the house.” She brushes her hands together, then turns back toward the shed. “Might as well bring them all out while we wait for Grandpa to show up with the ladder and pulley system.”
“Pulley system?” I look back at the roof, then jog after Stella.
“Yeah, Grandpa rigged up a system years ago after he almost fell off the roof carrying a big plastic Santa. The whole thing broke into pieces when it hit the cement patio. Grandpa would have, too, if he hadn’t grabbed the gutter at the last second,” Stella says calmly, as though she’s not predicting my own death in the next few hours.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Christmas decorations shouldn’t need a pulley.”
Stella laughs and hands me another box. “I can do it if you’re scared,” she says, her tone genuinely helpful.
“I’m not scared.” I deepen my voice to prove I’m manly enough to climb on a roof that’s already tried to take out two members of her family.
I’m no chook. I’ve flown ten feet over crowds, strapped to a wire and harness, but only after safety checks and a hundred run-throughs.
