Cady dutifully observed the details of the picture Emily showed her, then said, “Tell me about the coats.”
“They’re kind of a retro side project,” Emily said. “I went through the racks in Nana’s basement for inspiration and chose fabrics in these super vibrant greens and golds and oranges for a fresher feel…” Cady listened with half an ear, straining to catch Conn’s answers as her mother politely but relentlessly pried details of his past from him. What she heard intrigued her, things like “left when I was a baby” and “bounced around a lot.”
He said it without much inflection, no hint of what it meant to him to have had no permanent place to call home. She thought about how homesick she got on the road, then tried to imagine what it would be like to be rootless, at the whims of adults who couldn’t handle the responsibility of a child. That explained Conn’s reserve. He was good at fitting in, but somehow always at a distance. She’d thought it was a cop thing. Maybe it went deeper than that.
“This one’s from a pattern Nana had made … Cady, are you even listening to me?”
“Of course, sweetie. Fresher feel with the colors. Am I wearing the green one?”
“Yes,” Emily said, but she put her phone away.
The meal arrived. Emily automatically split the rolls between the three women. Cady made sure to offer Conn some of her share. They finished the meal on a tide of Emily’s chatter. Cady and her mom scuffled over the check for a few moments before she let her mother win. They bundled back into the car and set off for the Christmas tree farm. The roads were plowed and drying, but snow lay on the ground and in the tree branches, glinting in the afternoon sun.
“Hey, Mom,” Cady said, trying for Conn’s level of nonchalance, “did you get the locks changed on my house before I moved in? I found a key I can’t match.”
“I did,” her mother said. “Burt Gibbons at A1 Locksmith did it for us, same as always.”
“Okay, it must be one of the old ones. I’ll throw it out.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Conn parked the Audi at the far end of the gravel parking lot and reclaimed the handsaw from the trunk of the car. The snow lingered on the trees, and the air had turned crisp and cold. Cady had traded her puffy jacket with its hood for the coat Emily made, so she lacked the protection for her ears and throat. “Wear mine,” Patty—because after the sushi brunch, Cady’s mom insisted he call her Patty—said, and took off her own scarf. Cady wound it around the lower half of her face and grabbed her insulated mug.
Cady and her mother had no problem with the gravel made rough by the snowplow’s blade, but Emily was having trouble in her heels and fell a little behind. At the entrance they got a sled and a map of the farm. They huddled around it at a table outside the canteen. Conn, positioned by Cady’s shoulder, smelled hot cider, hot cocoa, and peppermint drifting through the window.
“Here.” Patty jammed one French-manicured nail at the map. “That’s where we got last year’s tree.”
“I want to go here,” Emily said, pointing to a spot on the opposite side of the map. “See the fence line? It’s a split rail, with those big Colorado blue spruces on the other side. That’s a great place for a photo shoot.”
“Those trees are a little big for the living room,” her mother said.
“We’re having Christmas at Cady’s, remember? You could fit a twenty-foot spruce under those ceilings.”
“Sixteen, tops, including a stand and the star,” Conn said. “They’re eighteen feet by the fireplace.”
“How do you know that?” Emily demanded.
“Magic,” Conn replied, then relented. “I eyeballed it.”
“I’m partial to the balsam firs,” Cady said. “The twigs on the Colorado spruces are harder to hang ornaments on.”
“So we go here for the photo shoot, then here for the tree,” Emily said, jabbing at the map.
“You’re going to be pretty cold before we get from one side of the farm to the other,” Patty said patiently.
“I packed jeans. I’ll put them on under my skirt.”
Cady looked at Conn. “I’m good,” he said.
They set off for the photo shoot location. The farm was busy, but the crowds thinned out as they walked further into the woods, most people choosing a tree closer to the gift shop and the canteen.
“How do we get the tree back?” Conn asked.
“That’s what the sled’s for,” Emily said. Her tone supplied the “duh.”
“I figured it was for the photo shoot,” Conn said, keeping his tone neutral.
“Oh,” Emily said. Up to her calves in snow, she eyed it judiciously. “That’s a good idea. Are you some kind of design expert when you’re not a cop?”