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North whipped around to stare at her. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. And then … he smiled. It was warm—unexpectedly warm—and it made Marigold feel the teensiest bit calmer.
“So what are you go
“I guess … shift some of this around?” Her expression was as doubtful as her question. After all, she and her mother hadn’t touched anything since they’d moved in.
North took a tentative step inside the apartment. As he scratched the back of his head, Marigold’s chest sunk. She shouldn’t be embarrassed—They had a reason for this, damn it. This was all temporary, damn it—but she was.
“This is madness,” he said. “There’s no way it’s safe.”
“We’ve been here for a year, and nothing has fallen on us yet.”
“You’ve lived in this pit of death for a year?” He slunk into its depths. The pathway led to the most basic and primal living areas—kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you bring my tree in here,” he called out from around the corner. “It would die before Christmas. And that’s only five days away.”
“Doesn’t matter. My tree only has to live until tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow? The day the demolition crew arrives?”
“It’s Yule. The winter solstice.”
North’s head popped out from behind a wobbly stack of dining room chairs. “Are you a witch?”
Marigold burst into a surprised laugh.
“Wiccan, I mean? A Wiccan witch?” he asked.
“No.”
“Pagan? Some kind of … neopagan?”
Marigold shook her head.
“A druid? I don’t know, who celebrates the solstice?”
“Anyone can celebrate it.” She followed him farther inside. “It’s an astronomical phenomenon. Science. The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year.”
“So you and your mother are … scientists.”
Marigold gri
“And here I am, asking again: why, exactly, did you buy a Christmas tree?”
“Because I like them. My dad”—Marigold stopped herself before continuing uneasily—“He celebrated Christmas. My mom didn’t, but she agreed to make them a part of our tradition, because they’re nice. And nature-y. And, besides, the Christians probably wouldn’t even have them if it weren’t for the pagans who celebrated Yule. Evergreens were their thing first.”
She expected him to call her out on being so defensive—Marigold was always getting defensive—but the lines in his forehead softened. “And where’s your dad now?” he asked.
Dead. He was expecting her to say dead.
“In Charlotte,” she said.
“Oh.” North looked relieved, but only momentarily. “Divorce?”
“They were never married.”
“Siblings?”
“I’m an only child.”
“And where’s your mom?”
Marigold had thought she’d made this clear. “She lives here, of course.”
“I meant, where is she now?”
She felt embarrassed again, which was followed quickly by frustration. “Work. She works a night shift.” But as soon as the words left her mouth, Marigold was horrified. She’d just told a stranger that they were alone. How could she be so stupid?
But North only seemed irritated. “So there’s no one here to help us. Fantastic.”
“Excuse me?”
He slid out a turquoise Moroccan end table from the top of a furniture tower as carefully as if he were playing a game of Jenga. “You’ll have to back up now.”
Marigold’s frustration was growing at a colossal rate. “Sorry?”
“This can all be reorganized, but I’ll need a lot more space to work. Everything in these front rooms”—North gestured his head from side to side—“needs to be moved out there.” He jerked his head toward the outside hall. “You’re in my way.” And then he pushed forward, backing her out of her own apartment with her own Moroccan end table.
Marigold was gobsmacked. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.” He set down the table beside her Christmas tree. “Obviously.”
“Don’t you have to get back to work?”
“I do. Which is why you’re going to keep doing this while I’m gone. One item at a time, okay?” He nodded, answering his own question. “Okay. I’ll be back when my shift is over.”
* * *
Marigold didn’t understand how he’d talked her into this. For the last two hours, she’d been carrying dusty chairs and dirty cardboard boxes and trash bags filled with linens and laundry baskets filled with tchotchkes into the outside hallway. Ms. Agrippa had yelled at her three times.
What would her mother say when she came home—in the earliest hours of the morning—and found that their entire apartment had been rearranged? And that Marigold had let a stranger help her do it? That it was his suggestion?
Though … this wasn’t true. Not entirely.
Marigold did sort of know why she’d let him talk her into this, and it wasn’t just because she thought, for sure, that now she could ask for his help with the voice work. North’s company had been the most entertaining she’d had in ages, since her friends had left for college last autumn. With North, she didn’t know what would happen next. And for the last several months, Marigold had known exactly what would happen next. A broken, depressed mother and an endless schedule of work, alleviated only by the silent company of her computer—and the world and people contained within it.
North was real. North was flesh.
And now her own flesh was covered with a thin glaze of sweat. Great.
It was just after ten o’clock, and she was paper-toweling her armpits, when she heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. She hastily threw away the paper towel and greeted him at the door.
“Happy solstice.” North handed her a tree stand.
“We do have one of these. Somewhere,” she added.
“I believe you. I think you have one of everything in here. But I’m not betting on our chances of finding it.”
Marigold wasn’t sure if she was amused or a
North barged past her and into the apartment. “Thank you, North,” he said.
A
“You’re welcome, Marigold.” He glanced around the room appreciatively. “Wow. You got more cleared out than I thought you would.”
“Like I told you earlier: I’m stronger than I look.”
“It’s brighter in here, too.”
Marigold couldn’t refute that, but … everything still had to come back inside. She wished she could throw it all away instead. “You seriously think we can fit all of that back in here? And with enough room for the tree?”
“You sound doubtful. Why do you sound doubtful? I have yet to do a single dubious thing in your presence.”
Dubious. That was another good word. Not only did she like how he spoke, but she liked what he spoke. “You’ve done a few dubious things,” she said.
“Name one.”
“Helping out me, someone you don’t even know, in such an extreme ma
“I’d like to argue that”—he gri
“Why are you helping me?”
His eyes returned to her apartment, sca
Marigold crossed her arms. “Your superpower.”
“Everyone has at least one. Unfortunately, most people have dumb ones like always being the first to spot a four-leaf clover. Or always being able to guess a person’s weight to the exact pound.”
Marigold wondered if that were true. It was nice to think that she might have a superpower, even a dumb one, hidden inside of her. What might it be?
“Okay.” North pushed her back into the real world. “While I move the rest of this furniture”—she hadn’t been able to move the bigger items—“you’ll need to vacuum and dust. It’s like eight cats live here. Do you have eight cats?”