She turned and stared at me. "I could use a hand, sure."

We worked silent and awkwardly for a long time. I assembled layers for the lasagna spooning sauce and cheese, and she wrapped up platters of food.

"I'm sorry I didn't put up stockings this year," she said. "But they're in the attic and I didn't want to bother Everly."

My hands stilled. "Everly went home."

"Oh." Her hands stilled too. Then she looked at me. "Oh Callum."

"It's all right. She's doing better now, actually. She needed a blood transfusion."

"Well that's good . . . that she's doing well, I mean."

"Yeah."

I went back to work but I felt her eyes still on me.

"You're in trouble, aren't you?"

"No," I laughed sourly, "That's the most messed up part. I didn't get in any trouble at all. I mean I basically kidnapped my teacher's daughter and he hasn't even called the cops. The worst I've been treated is a crappier work schedule and forbidden to see Everly. But even that is getting easier to do, when it should be harder."

Marta hummed. "Maybe her father wanted you to take her, but couldn't admit to it."

"I don't think that's it. He's probably just using it to blackmail me later if I try to help Everly again."

"Callum," she said softly, "some people are unable to control themselves. They might not want to hurt someone they love, but it happens anyway. So maybe his lack of response is actually a cry for help."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." I finished working with my head down. When she had the ham and side dishes all packed up, I offered Marta a ride to church.

I carried the food to the kitchen and tried to avoid anyone who wanted to make small talk. A few of the women from the neighborhood recognized me and I had no choice but to stand around with a smile on my face and listen to their stories and answer questions about what my life had become. I was practically force-fed cookies and other dishes that lined a plaid tablecloth.

I sat in the back of the church as they wiped down pews and made sure poinsettias were placed perfectly. A group of girls stood in the front of the church and rehearsed Christmas carols.

I dialed Tatum at the hospital and asked her to call Everly's room. When she picked up I walked to the front of the church and held out my phone so she could hear them sing. They treated her to O' Holy Night and Little Drummer Boy before the table of cookies was more important than praising the Lord.

"Did you hear?" I asked Everly.

"It was beautiful," she laughed. "Best Christmas present you could have given me."

"So was that, Topolina."

"What?"

"Hearing you laugh. You know how much I love it."

She grew quiet and I tried to picture her face, the shyness that always lingered in her eyes.

"So," she began, "are you at church?"

"I was trying to find my inner goodwill. I hear it's popular to have this month." She laughed again and I closed my eyes to the sound of it, how far away it was. A sigh escaped my chest. "I love you, Everly Anne Brighton. I know I'm not supposed to say it so literally, but sometimes all the reasons I already have for loving you bear repeating. So . . . I love you. If I had time to recount the six hundred different ways I would."

She was quiet for a moment and then, "Yes I'll have the ultra-dry meatloaf with a side of watery broccoli for dinner. Sounds scrumptious."

"Your dad's in the room, now?" I guessed.

"OF COURSE I want the fruit parfait. What horrible meal would complete without one."

"I'll come see you tonight. I love you, Everly Anne."

"Oh, believe me I feel the same way about you, Sir!" And then she hung up.

Marta found me and asked if I'd stay for service. I told a half lie about needing to get to work soon.

"I'll catch a ride back with someone. You go ahead."