The Things We Do for Love

Angie tried to smile. Life in West End had always been like this. No bit of business was ever too small to keep track of--especially if it was someone elses. "Shes having fun with the new recipes, thats for sure. "

"Who would have thought? Id best get over there. Maybe after the holidays. So. What can I help you find?"

Angie looked around. "I need a few ornaments. "

Tillie nodded. "I heard about your divorce. Im sorry. "

"Thanks. "

"Ill tell you what. Why dont you come back in ten minutes? Ill have a treeful for you. At cost. "

"Oh, I couldnt--"

"Youll give me and Bill dinner in exchange. "

Angie nodded. This was how her papa had done business in West End. "Ill go get my tree and be back in a flash. "

An hour later, Angie was on her way home with a tree strapped to the roof of her car, a box of ornaments in the backseat, and a stack of white tree lights on the passenger seat. It took her longer than usual; the roads were slick and icy. "Jingle Bell Rock" blared from the speakers, putting her in the mood.

She needed to be coaxed into the mood, to be honest. The thought of a Christmas tree chosen by her, put up by her, decorated by her, and enjoyed by her was a bit depressing.

She parked in front of the cottage and killed the engine. Then she stood beside the tree, staring at it while snow fell like kisses on her face.

The tree looked bigger than it had in the lot.

Oh, well.

She got a pair of her fathers old work gloves from the garage and set about freeing the tree. By the time she was finished, shed fallen twice, been smacked in the nose by an obviously vengeful branch, and scratched the cars paint.

Tightening her hold on the trunk, she heaved the tree toward the house, one step at a time. She was almost to the door when a car drove up the driveway.

Headlights came at her; snow drifted lazily in the beams of light.

She dropped the tree and straightened. It was Mira. Shed come to help with the tree.

Sisters.

"Hey, you," Angie said, squinting into the too-bright light. "Youre blinding me. "

The lights didnt snap off. Instead, the drivers door opened. Mick Jaggers voice pulsed into the night. Someone stepped out.

"Mira?" Angie frowned, took a step backward. It struck her all at once how isolated she was out here. . . .

Someone walked toward her, boots soundless in the fresh snow.

When she saw his face, she gasped. "Conlan. "

He came closer, so much so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. "Hey, Ange. "

She had no idea what to say to him. Once, years ago now, conversations had flowed like water between them. In recent times that river had gone dry. She remembered Dianes words.

Twice I came into his office and found him crying.

When youd missed something like that as a wife, what could you say later?

"Its good to see you--"

"Beautiful night--"