Chapter 2
“You don’t have a Christmas tree,” Sayer said over a breakfast of oatmeal and toast. They sat on the back porch, looking out at the snow.
“I haven’t had one in three years.”
“Because your wife always put it up, and you can’t bear to do it now?”
“You really don’t mince words,” Dane said.
“Sorry. It’s a fault of mine. You want to get a tree?”
Dane looked up from his bowl. “You want to?”
“You seem determined to keep me here until after Christmas. We might as well celebrate it.”
“All right—we’ll go to the tree farm this afternoon.”
* * * *
The tree farm had plenty of cut trees, but Sayer wanted to cut one himself.
“Any particular reason you’re making us do this?” Dane asked.
“Just seems more fun to cut it ourselves.”
“More work, you mean.”
“Don’t be so grumpy.” Sayer re
