Sinclair

Chapter Forty-Eight: Ma déesse.

The patch of land used for festivals and special occasions is alight with color and sound when Sinclair parks his car in the driveway across the street. As I step out of the car, the feeling of déjà vu sweeps over me, fierce and strong. Two months ago, Sinclair and I had come here for the Carn-Evil and back then, I had been doing everything in my power to stay away from him.

And now here I am, trying desperately to cheer him up.

The sky above us has grown dark and with it, the air has grown even chillier than before. Sinclair walks close by me so that his shoulder brushes against mine. Although the touch of our shoulders is the lightest of pressures, the slightest of sensations, I'm hyper-aware of him. Even now, I'm aware that it makes no sense. I've kissed Sinclair and done other things that are far more intimate that brushing shoulders, and yet, being close to him in this way still gets to me.

Once we have been admitted by the gray-haired lady stamping people's hands at the front, Sinclair and I walk into the organized chaos that is Willow's Creek Christmas Festival.

It's the same as I remember it only everything is different because I'm seeing it with adult eyes and not the wide-eyed awe of a child. A large Christmas tree has been set up near the back and even with all the snowflake designed lights and the bright depictions of Mary holding a baby Jesus and reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh, that Christmas tree is all I can look at for a long time.

I can see him clearly now. The dark brown of his skin, the way the light reflected off his eyes as he grinned down at me. I can see that Santa is a couple of feet away from the large tree just like he had been that year. I can remember myself, young and with no event to scar me, sitting in Santa's lap as he and Mom look on with amusement, watching me get my picture taken as Mom bounces a baby Odin on her hip.

It took a long time before Mom could smile that way again.

Icy fingers slip into mine and with a start, I'm jolted from that memory. I look over to see that Sinclair is already looking at me, reflections of all the lights surrounding us shining in his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

I realize then we're at a standstill in the middle of a busy festival and people are having to skirt their way around us.

I shake my head and move closer to him. "I'm fine. Anyway, we're here to help you feel better."

Sinclair gives me a look but says nothing. Part of me wants to move my hand away—it's what I'm used to doing, after all, and old habits die hard—but I don't. Partly because I feel like Sinclair needs the contact. I haven't forgotten why we're here. Sinclair never talks about her but I know his mother did a real number on him.

The thing that matters to me more than anything right now—even the pain twisting inside my chest at the memory I just recalled—is distracting Sinclair from his very real worries. Especially because Timothée's birthday was tomorrow. This dark cloud that has been hanging over us is due to give and bring miserable showers any moment now.

I can feel it.

***

The Christmas Festival isn't as miserable as I thought it would be. I assumed I would be tormented with memories of my past, of a time when I was happiest. I feared the memories of that hopeful young girl would come back to haunt me, to eat at me. It wasn't anything like that at all.

Sinclair and I walked side by side to take in the festivities Willow's Creek had set up and I was not disappointed. Dana's Donuts had sent a couple of people out to sell their famous pastries and a couple of other big wigs had also sent out some representatives to sell the things they were known for.