A Christmas to remember

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, as Ethan poured himself a cup of coffee, his fingers shook. None of us had slept well, and the events of the previous night hung over the lodge like a shadow. Under a pile of blankets, Sophie remained curled up on the sofa, her face calm and pale.

I rubbed my temples as I entered the kitchen. "How is she?"

Ethan murmured, "Still out cold," as he gazed into his cup. "I... When she wakes up, I'm not sure whether she'll speak to me."

I leaned on the counter and sighed. "Ethan, you can't continue to shut down in this manner. She need your presence."

His voice was filled with despair as he said, "I'm trying." "I’m doing the best I can."

I became softer. "Maybe we need to stop thinking about what we’re doing wrong and focus on what we can do right now."

He scowled. "What do you mean?"

"Sophie needs something to lift her spirits," I said. "All of us have been so preoccupied with our problems that we have forgotten the purpose of this journey. Christmas is nearly here. Let's furnish the lodge.

Astonished, Ethan blinked at me. "Create? In the midst of everything?"

"Yes," I firmly said. It will provide her with something to be happy about. Perhaps even let her know that she is not alone.

He paused, his eyes straying to Sophie. "All right. I'll assist. However, don't count on me to be very skilled at it.

We had just begun unloading the decorations that Ethan had discovered in the lodge's storage closet when Sophie awoke. She blinked sleepily, her eyes straying to the tangled jumble of decorations and lights strewn all over the floor.

"What… what are you doing?" Her voice was husky as she croaked.

I replied with a smile, "Decking the halls," while displaying a string of lights. "Want to help?"

She furrowed her brows and slid down onto the sofa. "What's the point? It won't really make a difference.

"Maybe not," I said as I knelt next to her. But it could add a little brightness to the situation. Only for a second. Isn't it worthwhile to try?"

Her lips formed a thin line as she gazed at me for a considerable amount of time. Then she nodded, which surprised me. "All right. However, I'm not doing anything difficult."

"Deal," I grinned and responded.

The lodge started to change as the hours went by. The air smelled of pine, the windows were framed by dazzling lights, and the banisters were covered with garlands. Quietly, Sophie hung ornaments on the tree with a precision that seemed almost mechanical. However, sometimes I saw a glint of something in her eyes—a little trace of warmth, a flicker of inquiry.

Ethan, however, was having difficulty. The lights would not comply, so he messed with them while shouting obscenities. His motions were slow and rigid, and he was unusually silent when he wasn't complaining about the decorations.

He was untangling a particularly obstinate strand of lights in the corner when I discovered him. "You okay?"

His jaw was clenched as he looked up. "I'm all right. Just... concentrated."

I knelt next to him and touched his arm. "You don't need to be fake around me, Ethan. What is really happening?

His shoulders slumped as he paused. "This makes me think of her. of our previous Christmases together while she was still living here."

My chest constricted. "Your wife."

His voice was no more than a whisper as he nodded. She loved Christmas. She loved to decorate in extravagant fashion. I... This is more difficult than I anticipated, but I believed I could manage it."

I gave his arm a little squeeze. "Ethan, you're free to feel that way. However, this may be a means of paying tribute to her memory. to provide Sophie access to what she enjoyed."

His eyes were filled with emotion as he gazed at me. "I'll give it a go. For Sophie.

The lodge glistened with festive splendor as the sun started to drop. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, there was a glimmer of something like delight in the air as the three of us stepped aside to appreciate our work.

"It’s… nice," Sophie said softly, a little grin flickering across her lips. "You guys did okay."

I said, "Excuse me," feigning offense. "Who was it that climbed on a chair to hang that garland?"

Sophie grinned. "Fair enough."

Ethan laughed, which was unusual these days. "Well, I’d say it’s a team effort."

Everything seemed light for a second. A tenuous sensation of connection seemed to take the place of the anxiety that had been suffocating us since we arrived. But the moment was gone as fast as it had been.

Ethan's shoulders tensed as he moved away, his grin fading. He said, "I need a minute," and vanished up the stairs.

Sophie scowled as she followed his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," I muttered. "He’s just… dealing with his own stuff."

She didn't bring up the subject, but she didn't seem persuaded. She chose to cuddle up beneath her blanket on the sofa after wandering back there. After a brief moment of hesitation, I followed Ethan.

I discovered him in his room, holding a picture frame while seated on the side of the bed. As I walked in, he didn't raise his head; instead, he stared at the picture of his wife and Sophie, their smiles immortalized.

He remarked, "She looks so much like her," in an emotionally charged voice. "I always picture Sophie's mother when I look at her. It serves as a continual reminder of everything that I have lost.

I put a hand on his knee as I sat next to him. "And all of your remaining possessions. Ethan, Sophie is here. She remains here. She also needs you.

With a trembling breath, he tightened his hold on the frame. "I'm not sure whether I'm capable of handling this. to fulfill her demands."

"You are," I asserted. "You just have to believe it."

At last, he turned to face me, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I'm grateful, Emma. For everything.

Sophie's voice rang out from the hallway before I could reply. "Emma? "Are you up there?"

I got up and gave Ethan a comforting grip on the shoulder. "We’re coming."

I looked back as I got to the door, my heart hurting to see him sitting there, absorbed in his memories. I questioned if he would ever let go of the picture in his hands, which was a doorway into a life he had never quite let go of.