9781250209153

a sacred tradition for them? Has she shared it with anyone else? Did she
bring Charlotte here?
“Check it out,” she says, turning onto the final street.
We’re bombarded by a straight row of Christmas lights, so bright that
the road itself is lit up from the reflection. At least a dozen houses are in on
the magic, some of them draped in bright, solid gold, others bedazzled with
flashing colored bulbs. It’s overstimulating in the best way.
“Wow,” I say, leaning forward in my seat. “Does Honey-Belle know this
exists?”
“Who do you think showed me?”
“Should’ve known. It’s totally her brand.”
Irene laughs contentedly. “This is why I love Grandma Earl. We do what
we want with zero pretense about it.”
I look over at her. “Not everyone feels that way.”
“They should.” She says it with her usual conviction, her eyes on the
dazzling display in front of us. “This place is special. The people are
special. I feel it every time we cheer at a football game.” She glances at me.
“Or a girls’ basketball game.”
“Well played.”
She pretends to bow. It’s so corny, so unlike her, that I laugh out loud.
We inch the car forward, taking in each house as we pass. Irene decides
her favorite is the twinkling ranch house with Charlie Brown cutouts that
appear to be ice skating. Mine is a blinding two-story with reindeer
silhouettes across the roof. The radio plays “Last Christmas” by Wham! and
we reach to turn it up at the same time. Our fingers brush and I feel the
electricity on our skin, radiant enough to power this street full of lights.
“Are you in any rush to get home?” Irene asks as we’re driving back.
“No, why?”
“Let’s stop at my house for a minute. I got you something.”
My heart beats faster. “Like a gift?”
“No, like anthrax.” She side-eyes me. “Yes, a gift.”