Reaper's Touch

Lucas: The Second Noel

"We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt."
- Walter Scott

Lucas and Nora still slept with the window open all the way into mid-November, snuggling deeply under the covers as close as they could get to each other. But after awhile even the body warmth and layers of heavy blankets didn't help, and they had to go back to closing the window at night. Every day was colder than the one before. Darkness came early, lingered and found a home in the frequent rain.

The initial rush of being on their own had now faded away as life fell into its familiar routines. Lucas worked, waited for Nora, played guitar, slept. Nora worked, waited for Lucas, washed off the coffee smell, slept. Gus worked at the tattoo shop, drew, hung out with Hex or Lucas, and saved money for Hex's engagement ring. Hex worked at the cafe and spent most of her nights at Jeff's place with Gus.

On Christmas Eve it was overcast and snowing, but Lucas wasn't excited. That first snow had been pretty fun. Now, though, the snow was more of an inconvenience than a thing of beauty.

Gus was depressed about Jeff being gone, so all of them had vowed to make it a great Christmas somehow. They'd bought a Christmas tree off a nearby lot and dragged it into Jeff's living room. Gus was even more excited about it than Moon, who'd started using it as a climbing toy before they could set it up. They bought cheap decorations and lights and sat in the glow talking on Christmas Eve night. Hex, who had a secret baking talent, had made dozens of Christmas cookies on which they were gorging themselves.

"First Christmas," Gus said softly, his hand on his stomach and an empty plate of cookies in his lap.

"Huh?" Hex asked sleepily, leaning against him on the sofa.

"With my own tree," he said, nodding at it.

"Me too," she said.

Lucas couldn't say the same. He was thinking about Home, about his father and mother and the huge Christmas tree she always put up in front of the dining room windows. She kept all the ornaments from year to year, even the stupid ones he'd made in kindergarten, his small handprints turned into reindeer and snowmen with the aid of paint, pipe cleaners and glue.

Those were the best Christmases, and as a kid all he could think about was the pile of presents that held his name, with all the oblivious selfishness of a beloved child. He couldn't have known at seven or eight years old that someday this would all be taken from him, even the memory of it forever warped by the heat behind his eyes. His father was dead and someday Lucas would be too and whatever was left of these memories would die also, so what was the point of them? Death would have it all anyway.

At that Lucas remembered the fight he'd overheard between his mother and Brian on the phone, the fear that it had planted in him, and he wished he could see her face. All of him longed for those old Christmases, at least to be able to relive and remember them clearly, and the grief was compounded by the fact that he held Brian responsible for why he couldn't. Brian, the object of his wrath and the face of his every pain. The longing became anger at the thought, and since he didn't want to ruin everyone's night he tried to think of other things.

When he shook himself out of his head Gus and Hex were laughing, reminiscing about a Christmas they'd spent together when they were homeless with their friends. Knowing that those were the best holiday memories they had, Lucas was suddenly ashamed of himself for feeling down, and he tried to put on a happy face.

Nora nudged him in the ribs. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

He smiled at her. "Nothing. I was just thinking I might start auditioning for bands this year."