Samuel Scott, a man who despises Christmas, after a terrible fall is paired in a hospital room with Amy Bell, a woman longing for carols and festive decorations.
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Deck The Halls by The Last Bison
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The reason for her entering the hospital was a lung infection.
Had many throughout the years, she had stated with her back to me. Weak immune system.
Isn't an infection contagious?
Would they put me in a room with someone else if mine was?
Gone was the promise if a minimalistic plain house. She was carefully placing ornament after ornament on the table, surpassing the number of twenty-four, when I had asked.
That solved the mystery of her being so close to the staff. In the two days that had passed since our first encounter, I perceived how all appeared to love her. There was a wild snowstorm raging outside, roads closed and visitors forbidden, so I spent my day focusing on the given stimulus; Amy. Nurses struck laughs with inside jokes I raised an eyebrow at. Also, she always, without asking, had double the dessert placed on her tray.
For instance, at the moment, there were two empty red jellos and an untouched one, the latter taken from me when I expressed my distaste.
"Everyone hates jello," I grumbled. With my good hand, I tried to take the chicken apart with my fork. It would slide around, spilling the rice.
"Correction, everyone hates green jello." She was sitting at the end of her bed, in the usual position to communicate with me, and sniggering at the anger of my incompetence. "Okay. You have murdered the poultry effectively." She rolled the table off of her lap and grabbed the sweet, coming to rest next to my hips. The IV was at the perfect distance so she wouldn't have to move it on her too often trips.
I found out there was no use in denying her help. It was like she didn't understand the word "no" when it came to helping.
"Let me fix the blanket you look cold" or "I'll fluff your pillow" and any refusal flew right past her ears.
"Are you allowed to eat that many?"
"Have you ever heard of anyone dying from gelatin?" She huffed, a glint in her eyes.
She cut the drumstick into small bites. Her bony limbs held more strength than one would think, the dark spots on the inside of her elbow frightening me at first but being now simply intriguing. She included some rice and drove the big overcrowded utensil to my lips. I opened and chewed the blunt, tasteless mass.
"What? Is it not a culinary masterpiece?" She read my frown.
"Salt and pepper are ingredients they haven't discovered yet."
