Hattie appeared as if summoned by the word height, seven years old, solemn as a judge, wearing a sweater with a reindeer that had lost one antler to the wash. She stared at the tree for a full ten seconds.
"Is that the whole tree?" she asked.
"It is a whole tree," Gideon said carefully. "It is just… compact."
Hattie walked around it once. "Can it still have lights?"
"Yes."
"And a star?"
"A small star."
She nodded. "Okay. But we should also get a big one for the other side of the room so Christmas knows we are serious."
June mouthed sorry at Gideon over Hattie's head. Gideon mouthed I know. After Hattie went to draw stars of various sizes at the kitchen table, June leaned against the doorway.
"Where did you get it?"
"Street lot. There was a woman. Red hair. We both grabbed it. I bought her coffee."
June's eyebrows rose in the particular way that meant she was filing this under Possible Soft Landing for My Brother Who Has Been Living Like a Polite Ghost Since August. "Name?"
"Celeste. Librarian."
"Bring her soup," June said.