They did not kiss then. They almost did. The almost was electric and polite, a held breath in a room where a child slept and a tree with seven ornaments kept watch. Jake walked her to the door and down the stairs and watched her until the faux fur disappeared into the snowy dark toward the coin laundry street. He stood in the cold longer than sense required, ankle aching, chest oddly light. When he came back up, Mikey murmured in sleep, "Did Elena take the glitter?"
"Some of it," Jake whispered. "She's keeping evidence. Smart woman."
Christmas morning arrived with a pale sky and the sound of Claire's key in the lock earlier than expected. The roads had been salted by men who understood that holidays still needed traction. Phil had landed and called from a pay phone that ate two of his quarters in tribute. Claire hugged Mikey until he squeaked, then hugged Jake, then noticed glitter on the couch and on Jake's cheek and raised an eyebrow that could have prosecuted cases in any county.
"Craft table," Jake said. "Snowflake contest. And a woman named Elena who helped him become weather."
Claire's tired face warmed, the hospital night still in her posture but not in her eyes.
"Invite her to dinner if she's real and not a glitter hallucination."
"She's real. She's also possibly leaving in the spring."
"Then invite her anyway," Claire said, kicking snow off her boots. "People who might leave still eat. People who might leave especially need lasagna that isn't stolen from me, by the way. I want my pan."