Then:
“Daisy.”
“Yeah?”
“Remember the bear.”
She smiled.
“Hard to forget.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Remember what I told you.”
Her eyes filled.
“You don't have to give away the last thing you love.”
He nodded.
“You're going to spend your life helping children.”
“You already are.”
“Don't give them every piece of you.”
“Save something.”
“For what?”
“Yourself.”
Her tears fell.
Ray squeezed her hand weakly.
“People who care deeply sometimes think exhaustion proves goodness.”
“It doesn't.”
“Going home is not abandoning everybody who still needs help.”
Daisy looked down.
“That sounds like something Teresa would say.”
“She probably told me.”
“Then you're plagiarizing.”
“Old men are allowed.”
Daisy laughed.
Ray smiled.
“Good.”
“What?”
“Still laugh.”
“Because of you.”
“No.”
Ray shook his head.
“Because of you.”
He looked toward the Christmas tree.
There was one box beneath it.
Red wrapping paper.
Terrible tape.
“Open that.”
“Christmas is tomorrow.”
“I'm old.”
“Schedule flexible.”
Daisy brought the box over.
Inside was the black leather jacket Ray had worn the night they met.
The one he wrapped around her shoulders.
Daisy froze.
It had been cleaned.
Repaired.
Inside the collar was a new stitched patch.
A small daisy flower.
Nothing else.
She touched it.
“No.”
Ray smiled.
“Yes.”
“I can't take this.”
“Why?”
“It's yours.”
“Not for long.”
She glared through tears.
“That isn't funny.”
“A little funny.”
She hugged the jacket.
Ray whispered:
“Pocket.”
Daisy checked.
Inside was an old photograph.
Christmas morning at the gas station.
Hundreds of motorcycles.
Seven-year-old Daisy.
Ray beside her.
Buttons under her arm.
On the back, Ray had written:
SHE THOUGHT I NEEDED SAVING.
Underneath:
SHE WAS RIGHT.
Daisy covered her face.
Ray watched.
“You saved me too.”
She looked up.
“I was seven.”
“So?”
“I didn't do anything.”
“You ran toward somebody.”
Ray breathed carefully.
“I spent years after Emily died believing Christmas was something I performed for other people.”
“Toys.”
“Money.”
“Suit.”
“Ride.”
“Then you threw yourself onto me and called me Santa.”
He smiled.
“Ridiculous child.”
Daisy laughed through tears.
Ray continued.
“You reminded me being needed wasn't the same thing as being useful.”
“I had forgotten that.”
She leaned closer.