The side panel had a fresh scratch from the Christmas Eve fall.
Normally he would have repaired it immediately.
He had not.
“Tell her yes.”
Three days later, Ray visited Martha Greene's house.
Daisy answered the door.
She wore new boots.
New coat.
Her hair had been washed and braided.
Buttons remained under her arm.
She looked like a different child.
But when she saw Ray, the same guarded expression disappeared.
“You came.”
“Told you.”
“You always say that.”
“Because you keep acting surprised.”
Martha invited him inside.
Her husband made coffee.
Daisy showed Ray the guest bedroom.
A real bed.
Blue blanket.
Small lamp.
Books.
Buttons had his own pillow despite Daisy's earlier objections.
Ray noticed.
“Hypocrite.”
Daisy smiled.
“He changed his mind.”
“Of course.”
They sat on the floor.
Daisy asked:
“Do you have kids?”
Ray's smile faded slightly.
“I did.”
“Did?”
“My daughter died.”
Daisy understood the word.
“How old?”
“Thirty-two.”
“That’s old.”
Ray almost laughed.
“To you.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Ray considered.
“Sickness.”
“Did you cry?”
“Still do.”
Daisy looked at him.
“Big people cry?”
“All the time.”
“My mom cried in the bathroom.”
Ray waited.
“She thought I couldn't hear.”
Daisy rubbed Buttons's torn ear.
“She was sick too.”
“What happened?”
“Her heart.”
Ray nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
Daisy looked at him.
“People say that a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“Does it help?”
“No.”
Daisy seemed satisfied with the honesty.
Ray reached into his coat.
“I brought you something.”
Her eyes immediately narrowed.
“I already got presents.”
“This isn't really a present.”
He handed her a photograph.
It showed Ray years earlier wearing a full Santa suit.
Beside him stood a woman in her thirties.
Same eyes as Ray.
Same crooked smile.
Daisy studied it.
“Your daughter?”
“Emily.”
“She made you Santa?”
Ray smiled.
“She bullied me into it.”
Daisy traced the red suit.
“I knew.”
“No.”
“You guessed.”
“No.”
“I knew.”
Ray surrendered.
“Fine.”
She looked at Emily again.
“Did she like Christmas?”
“Loved it.”
“Why?”
“She worked with kids at the hospital.”
“She thought Christmas should be loud enough that sick children could forget they were sick for one afternoon.”
Daisy thought about that.
“That's nice.”
“Yeah.”
Ray looked toward the photograph.
“After she died, I almost stopped the Christmas ride.”