Then Cady threw down a rapper flip of the hands. “Gangsta-style,” she said. “Remember when we used to watch videos and copy the moves?”
Conn thought she looked adorable, prancing and posing, but Emily shook her head. “Be serious. This is important.”
“What about up here?” Cady asked, patting the top rail of the fence.
“You go ahead,” Emily said, looking like she regretted wearing her skirt. Her tights couldn’t be that warm.
With a sweep of her mittened hand, Cady cleared the rail of snow, then climbed up and plunked herself down. Emily leaned back beside her, hands in her pockets, expressionless again. Conn took a few more pictures, then Cady stealthily gathered a fistful of snow and sifted it over Emily’s head. Her face was the picture of mischievous teasing. Conn got several great shots before enough snow melted into Emily’s hair for her to realize what was going on.
“Cady!” she shrieked, then grabbed two handfuls of snow and flung them at her sister.
Laughing, Cady threw up her hands, overbalanced, and had to grab the rail to prevent herself from tipping backward into the snow bank. Emily took full advantage, gathering as much powdery snow as she could and hurling it at Cady, who launched herself from the rail to the ground and swatted a glinting snowy curtain at Emily.
The snow was too dry to pack, and both girls were laughing too hard to do any serious damage to each other. By the time they ran out of breath, Cady’s cheeks were glowing pink, and snow dusted Conn’s hat, her braid, and the moss green coat. Emily had fared no better, her heavy bangs dotted with droplets of melted snow. She wrapped both of her arms around Cady, and turned to her mother.
“Take our picture, Mom,” she commanded.
She bent her head to Cady’s. Smiling, her mother held up her camera and tapped the screen. Conn took a couple himself, first of Cady and Emily, arms around each other, smiling genuine smiles, not the fake ones for the covers of magazines, then of the three women, the family held together by tradition and a mother’s will.
He’d never aspired to Shane’s family life, a big extended family full of loving people who had their moments but held strong. He could be with them and not feel a hint of regret, because it was so far outside his experience. But being with Cady’s family, he got a firsthand look into the kind of family he could have had. Broken. Real.
“Can we please get a tree now?” Cady asked, swatting her hands together to clear the clumps of snow from her mittens.
“Sure,” Emily said absently. She’d reclaimed her phone from Conn and was going through the photos. She gave him a surprised glance. “These are pretty good.”
“Thanks,” Conn said. “I take pictures for work.”
“You do?”
“Sure. Crime scenes, stakeouts, evidence.”
“Crime scenes. Ewww,” she said.
“Say thank you, Conn,” Patty said.
“Thank you, Conn,” Emily repeated.
Emily pulled Cady behind a convenient large tree, presumably to help her balance while she pulled on her jeans. When they emerged, Emily looked both warmer and happier than Conn had ever seen her. They slogged through the snow to the other side of the lot where the balsam firs grew in clusters Conn knew were carefully plotted to seem random and attractive.
“This one,” Emily said, pointing at a bristling monstrosity that had to be twenty-five feet tall.
“Unless it’s going in front of city hall, it’s too tall,” Conn said.
“No, it’s not,” Emily said.
“This happens every year,” Cady said. “They look so small out here, under the sky, but then you get them home and they take over your living room.”
“You have a huge living room now,” Emily pointed out.
“Not big enough for that one,” Cady said. “We could hide an entire family of deer in that tree.”
“What about this one?” Patty asked, standing beside a more modestly sized tree.
“He’s a little thin,” Cady said. “He needs another year to fill out. That one.”
“Conn?” Patty said.
His heart thrilled a little to be automatically included. “It’ll fit under the ceilings.”
“Just barely or is it going to look stumpy? Give me the Goldilocks fit.”
“You might have to shift the furniture a little, but it’s a good size.”
“All in favor?” Cady said, lifting her hand in the air.
“Fine,” Emily said, but she raised her hand. “Think small, all of you.”
Patty raised hers, then all three women looked at Conn.
“What?”
“You get a vote.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You’re here,” Cady said. Her voice was raspy, warm, like a shot of whiskey. She still wore Conn’s hat, and her golden green eyes danced under the black brim.
His hands were jammed in his pockets. Unless he was working, they always were. But Cady’s family was looking at him, waiting for him to join in. Slowly, he lifted his right hand.
“Excellent. Consensus,” Cady said. “Hand over the saw.”
“I’ll do it,” her mother said.