Their Christmas To Remember. Amalie Berlin

with one of the oversize buttons, tugging and rolling back and forth. “What’s the plan? Film the whole thing?”

      She stopped flipping the button about and just rubbed at it like a worry stone. “I don’t really know. When I offered, it sounded very straightforward. She’s going to tell us what she wants to see, and I think she’ll see the performances on television. I really don’t know what there will be to look at on the ground, but that’s what she focused on, that the broadcast was far away, and she couldn’t look up at the tree towering above. Probably just the tree. I hope just the tree. Not sure I’ll be able to find anything but the tree and the rink.”

      Although she said a whole lot, she didn’t once look at him. She looked everywhere else—out of his window, through the partition to the front seat at the posted license, at her buttons...

      Knowing how little she really wanted to interact with him should’ve made him happy. Really shouldn’t have felt like a challenge.

      “Start at the tree, then?”

      She nodded, fumbling her phone from her pocket and wordlessly typing into a search engine.

      “What are you looking for?”

      “They get the tree from a different part of the country and a different breed of pine every year.” She paused, finally looking over at him. “What?”

      “I didn’t say anything.”

      “You’re watching me like I’m doing something dumb.”

      “I’m watching you like you’re about to waste time looking for information I already possess.” He plucked the phone from her hands, flipped to the camera, took a smirking selfie and handed it back to her.

      Her stunned expression made him want to misbehave a little more. With his best rendition of her Southern accent he mimed back, “What? You’re watching me like I’m about to do something dumb.”

      It took her a moment, but her reaction finally caught up with her and the plush mouth that had been hanging open stretched in a slow, bemused smile. “I will...treasure? This?”

      There was a question at the end of every word she paused her way through. Then she laughed. An actual laugh that accompanied her turning the phone off and stashing it again.

      And just like that, his plan not to get too friendly went up in flames.

      “Consider it an early Christmas gift,” he murmured. “And the only gift I’m giving this year, so be honored.”

      “You don’t do Christmas with your brother?”

      Of course she’d ask about Lyons. She worked with his brother more than she worked with him, but his mention brought up that mixed bag of emotions he’d been struggling to deal with for a while. Before Lyons had been shot, they’d both been content ignoring the holiday, but this year Wolfe just didn’t know what to do with his brother. They weren’t close, but since last Christmas, Wolfe had been ineffectively trying to change that, and knew beyond any doubt that Lyons shouldn’t be alone when this Christmas rolled around. But he didn’t know how to talk about it. Just as he’d failed to know how to talk to Jenna.

      “Lyons doesn’t do Christmas either,” he said after a lengthy pause.

      “Is it a Scottish thing?”

      She was funny. Or dumb. Both of which appealed in entirely different ways. “Scotland’s a Christian country...”

      “Yes, but don’t you do gifts on Boxing Day? I’m not entirely sure what that is, to be honest. But there’s also the chance that you all do something with kilts and flinging massive logs,” she offered, and, instead of turning the phone back on, gave the buttons a rest to flip the case open and closed, open and closed, open and closed.

      “The only massive logs I like to fling are the ones that fit into my fireplace.” He was supposed to be the one being a dork tonight, but she was getting in the good zings. “How do they celebrate Christmas where you’re from?”

      Such a simple question, he didn’t expect the color to drain from her cheeks, which only darkened the swath of freckles that were thickest at the apples and across her nose.

      He knew enough about paling to know that it didn’t come lightly and guessed, “That is the face of someone who dislikes Christmas.”

      “No, it’s not,” she argued, not a drop of passion in her voice. “I want to see the tree very much. I was going to go anyway. I just wasn’t going to stream it.”

      “Why? It’s technically a different tree every year, but it’s the same as last year.”

      “I didn’t see it last year.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because I arrived in January,” she answered after the slightest pause. With other topics, she spoke easily enough, but when it came to talking about herself? She paused long enough to draw attention to it, like the beat people took to come up with a story before telling a lie. Like every conversation with his parents, which no doubt colored his thinking. Why would she lie about that? Silly.

      “For point of reference,” she explained, “Jenna was my first patient at Sutcliffe, and I diagnosed the initial mass on her kidney.”

      And the truth, he was sure of it. Her careful choosing of words was for some other reason.

      And he’d performed that first surgery to remove part of the one kidney, which had seemed to come out clean. Which the chemotherapy and radiation should have finished off. It hadn’t been a date that had been burned into his memory at the time, but with her relapse and second surgery, he’d become more familiar with it—January 17.

      And it explained her connection to Jenna. Why she continued to visit her despite no longer being her physician. He didn’t know much about her, except that she was moving to Atlanta and that she needed to be friendlier at work, but being captive in the back of a cab gave him a moment and freedom to ask questions.

      “Why are you leaving so soon? Not getting on with someone?”

      Again, the small amount of color she’d regained drained away, except for her ears. Her ears went bright, fiery red. Man, he was on a roll with her.

      “I just want to go now. But it’ll be nice to have some proper New York Christmas activities before I go.”

      “To Atlanta,” he clarified. “I heard you were moving to Atlanta. Want to be closer to family?”

      “Look.” She gestured out of the window and he followed the motion as the cab slowed.

      They’d arrived at the cross street between towering buildings, the plaza a block in. The tree still sat unlit. “We made it in time, I see.”

      “Thought the crowd and traffic would be worse.” She went with the subject change.

      He fished cash from his wallet, despite her objection, and paid the cabbie. When he opened the door to get out, the sound of the busy city streets wiped away that strange sense of intimacy he’d been feeling, exchanging it for Christmas music from a jazz band on the corner of 49th and Rockefeller Plaza, doing their best to assure everyone that it was “the most wonderful time of the year.”

      He didn’t buy it.

      * * *

      Angel climbed out of the back seat, trying to shrug off the little squabble that had gone down over who was going to pay the cabbie. It was a kind offer, she knew that. He was being gentlemanly. But all she really felt was an insinuation that she couldn’t afford to pay, just like all those times when she hadn’t been able to.

      When she’d been in medical school, she’d really thought that once she’d begun making a very comfortable living, that fear, that feeling of inadequacy would fade away like so many bad memories.

      And she’d run with the notion. She’d been in medical school, hundreds of miles from Knott County,