At the store’s closing time, she’d been in no hurry to return to Christmas Central with its cacophony of holiday sound and emotional caterwauling of ancient memories, so she’d busied herself by restocking. The day’s stream of customers had left gaping holes on the shelves and tables and under and on the half-dozen decorated trees inside The Perfect Christmas. The last box she’d unpacked had contained St. Nicholas figurines from Germany. Dressed in old-fashioned robes of green, red, and white, they’d been frosted with a superfine glitter that she hadn’t been able to completely wash off her hands. As she adjusted the Passat’s rearview mirror, in the streetlight she could see the stuff dusted across her nose and cheeks and clinging to the strands of hair surrounding her face. She rubbed at it with the back of her hand and tried finger-combing it out of her hair, but then gave up. Glitter girl was going straight to bed, so what did it matter? Except one block from 631 Walnut, she had second thoughts about sleep.
