“To hand out gifts in the neighborhood,” he said, like this was obvious. “They’re all in the foyer, ready to go. Come on!”

He brushed past me, his own hat in hand, and bounded down the stairs, his boots thumping on the carpet. I narrowed my eyes at Cora until she finally turned to face me. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking like she meant it. “But I did it last year.”

And that was how I ended up out in Wildflower Ridge, at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, with Jamie in his Santa suit, and Roscoe in his jingle bells, spreading good cheer. Or, looking at it another way, walking in the cold—which had returned with a vengeance—and interrupting people from their own family celebrations while scaring the occasional motorist.

After the first couple of houses, we worked out a system: I rang the bell, then let Jamie stay front and center, hanging back with Roscoe until the door was opened, and pitching in when needed to help hand out the gifts, which were mostly stuffed animals and boxes of mini candy canes. Aside from a few weird looks—and some people who were clearly home but chose to ignore us—people seemed happy to see us, especially the kids, and after about an hour and three blocks, our stuff was mostly gone.

“We’ve got enough for maybe two more stops,” Jamie said as we stood on the corner by Nate’s house, having paused for Roscoe, bells jingling, to relieve himself against a mailbox. “So which ones do you think? You want to take something to Nate?”

I looked over at the Cross house, dark except for a couple of lights in the back. “I don’t know,” I said. “He might not be your target audience. Maybe we should go a little younger.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, reaching into his almost-empty sack. “But you go ahead and bring him some candy canes. I’ll meet you back here. All right?”

“Okay,” I said, handing over Roscoe’s leash. He took it, then tossed his sack over his shoulder—the Santa police would have approved—and started across the street to a house with brightly lit snowflakes on either side of the front steps.

I slid the box of candy canes in my pocket, then headed up Nate’s walk, taking a deep breath of cool air. The truth was, I’d thought about getting him a Christmas gift. I had even picked out more than one before stopping myself, not sure even after that night in the pool that I was ready or able to make such a grand gesture. But in the days since, I’d also realized that with Nate, everything just came so easily, as easily as letting him take my hand and pull me beneath the surface. Maybe it was impossible for someone to share everything with you, but I was beginning to think what we had was enough. And anyway, it was Christmas, a time above all for hope, or so I’d been told. He’d given me so much, and now, here, I was finally ready to reciprocate. So I stepped up to the door and rang the bell.

The moment he opened the door, I knew something was wrong. It was just the look on his face—surprised, even alarmed—followed immediately by the way he eased the door a bit more shut, the same move I’d once mastered with the Jehovah’s and landlords. “Ruby,” he said, his voice low. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Right that moment, I heard his dad: loud, bellowing, barely muffled from behind a nearby wall. I swallowed, then said, “Jamie was just handing out stuff, for Christmas—”

“It’s not a good time,” he said as there was a bang, or a thud, discernible. “I’ll call you a little later, okay?”

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“I’m fine.”

“Nate—”

“I am. But I’ve got to go,” he said, easing the door closed a bit more. I could barely see him now. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ”

I didn’t get a chance to answer this, as the door was already shutting with an audible click. I just stood there, my mouth dry, wondering what I should do. I’m fine, he’d said. I reached out, putting my hand on the knob and turning it. Here I was, finally ready to let him in, and it was me locked out.

“Hey!” Jamie called from behind me. I turned. He and Roscoe were across the street, coming closer. “Are they there? ”

Say something, I thought, but even as I tried to form the words, any words, I remembered that day in the garage, how he’d asked me to keep this quiet. You understand. Did I want to be the Honeycutts, stepping in and ruining everything, even if I thought it was for the best? Jamie was coming up the walk, Roscoe pulling ahead. I had to decide, now.

“They’re not home,” I said, stepping off the porch. The box of candy canes was still in my pocket, and I slid my fingers in, cupping them around it. It felt almost like a hand, resting in mine. “Let’s just go.”

Chapter Thirteen

I was up until way late, but not waiting for Santa. Instead, I lay on my bed, watching the lights from Nate’s pool dance across the trees, the same way I had that first night. More than once, I thought about sneaking over again to find him and see if he was okay. But then I’d remember him shutting the door in my face, the click of the latch catching, and stay where I was.

The next morning, I got a new backpack, some CDs, a few books, and a laptop. Cora got her period.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sputtered when, shortly after we’d opened gifts, I found her sitting on her bed, crying. “Really.”

“Honey.” Jamie came over, sitting beside her and sliding his arm over her shoulder. “It’s okay.”