What Child Is This

Chapter Four What Child Is This

Lily slipped on her coat. She'd intended to leave quietly, no fuss. "You should stay here. Your parents may need you."

But neither Sylvia nor Harold supported this. They both agreed that seeing Lily home was the thing for their son to do.

He followed her to the door, snagging his coat as she pulled on her boots. She put the first one on fine. Then slipped a little with the second one, putting out a hand to the doorframe to stabilize herself.

And then Garret did something he'd only done twice before. Once to shake her hand when they first met. And once to help her up when she'd been knocked off the ladder.

He touched her.

He put his arm around her waist and insisted she let him help her to her car.

Outside, it had started to snow, white flakes falling in slow motion as if reluctant to reach the ground.

Garret was a warm, strong presence at her side, and she realized it helped to have him holding her this way. Not so much for physical reasons, but because it made her feel less hollow.

"You're trembling. Are you cold?"

"A little." She didn't want to admit that she was still rattled. She lifted her face to look for stars, but of course she couldn't see any. She wondered what the mother had done after she left the baby in the manger. Slipped away from Frosty Frolics and gone home to sleep? But how could anyone sleep after they'd abandoned their own child like that?

"Well, dramatic ending aside, I'd say our Frosty Frolics were a great success. Well done, Lily."

"It seemed like most people had a good time," she ventured.

"Definitely. Plus we made a record amount on our raffle sales this year. On Monday we'll have to start work on the baskets. We generally distribute them on Friday, three weeks before Christmas."

She knew all this and suspected he was trying to bring a sense of normalcy to the evening. "I'm looking forward to it," she lied. She wouldn't be looking forward to anything until Christmas and the New Year were safely behind her.

A layer of snow had settled over her car already and as she started the engine, Garret brushed it off for her. He was the kind of man, she knew, who would go out into the cold to start a car for his wife, who would clear the snow, who would tell her to call once she arrived so he knew she was safe.

Brad hadn't been that kind of husband.

"Thanks!" She waved her hand at Garret, about to wish him good-night, but he put his hand on her door, preventing her from closing it.

"I don't feel good about this."

"What do you mean?"

"If you could see your own face. You look so pale. Don't tell me that's normal for you. It isn't. Besides, I can see that you're still shaking."

"I'll be fine," she insisted. "It's only a mile and a bit."

"Indulge me. Let me drive you."

"But how will you get home?"

"Dad will be happy to come and get me. Or I'll walk."

He held out his hand and she could see that there was no talking him out of this, so she surrendered the driver's seat and walked around to the passenger side. The snow was falling so slowly, he didn't even need to turn on the windshield wipers. The road was quiet and the drive was over in the space of a couple long sighs. When they reached town limits, Garret paused at the traffic circle. "Which way?"