Magic Hour

“You’re creating a little dictator here, Jules,” Ellie said, moving toward the tree.

“A nameless one,” Julia said quietly. It stuck in her craw that Alice couldn’t give them her name and wouldn’t take the name they gave her.

Alice ran to the box and chose another red ornament. After clapping and hopping up and down at Ellie’s placement of her ornament, Alice darted over to Julia. “Jew-lee. Prittee.”

Alice was literally sparkling right now. Julia had never seen the girl smile so brightly. She swept down and pulled Alice into her arms for a hug.

Alice giggled and hung on. “Kiss-mas tee. Nice.”

Julia twirled her around until they both were breathless. Then, smiling, they moved on to the task of decorating the tree.

“IT’S THE PRETTIEST TREE WE’VE EVER HAD,” ELLIE SAID, SITTING ON THE sofa with a mug of Bailey’s in her hand and a Costco fake mink throw rug over her feet.

“That’s because Dad used to buy the biggest one on the lot, then cut off the top to make it fit in the room.”

Ellie laughed at the memory. It was one she’d forgotten: The great big tree, taking up the whole corner of the room, its top hacked off; Mom frowning in disappointment, swatting Dad’s arm. You never listen, Tom, Mom would say, a tree isn’t supposed to be trimmed on top. I should make you get us another one.

But it took only moments, sometimes less, before he had her smiling again, even laughing. Now, now, Bren, he’d say in that gravelly voice of his, why should our tree be like everyone else’s? I’ve just given us a bit of oomph, I have. Right, girls?

Ellie had always answered first, shouting out her agreement and then running to her dad for his hug.

For the first time, as she held a memory in her hands, she tilted it, saw it instead from a different angle. The other little girl who’d been in the room, who’d never called out agreement with her father, whose opinion had never been sought.

Ellie looked at Julia over the rim of her mug. “How come he did it every year? Cut the top of the tree, I mean.”

Julia smiled. “You know Dad. He cared about what he cared about. The tree didn’t matter so he didn’t think about it.”

“But you and Mom cared.”

“You know Dad,” Julia said.

“I’m like him,” Ellie said. All her life she’d been proud of that fact.

“You always have been. People adore you, just as they adored him.”

Ellie took a sip of her drink. “Cal accused me of being selfish,” she said quietly.

“Really?”

“The correct response would have been surprise. Shock, even. Something like: how could he even think that?”

“Oh,” Julia said, trying not to smile.

“Say what’s on your mind,” Ellie snapped.

“When I was little, I had a huge crush on Cal. He was everything I dreamed of when I was eleven. But he only had eyes for you. He followed you everywhere. I was jealous every time you snuck out to be with him.”

“You knew about that?”

“We shared a bedroom. What am I, deaf? Just because I never told doesn’t mean I didn’t know. The point is, I remember when you dumped him. He kept coming around for the rest of that summer, tossing rocks at the window, but you never answered.”

“We grew apart.”

Julia gave her a look. “Come on. Once those football boys saw your new boobs, you were in. Poor Cal was left in the dust. And when you made cheerleader, well . . .” Julia shrugged. “You became royalty in this town and you loved every second. In that, you were like Dad. You . . . moved on from Cal, but somehow you kept him around like a moon caught in your orbit. It’s that magic you and Dad have. People can’t help loving you—even if you’re sometimes too focused on your own life.”

“So I am selfish. Is that why my marriages failed?”

“Is it?”