Her enthusiasm was infectious, and pretty soon Ivy was singing along with Olivia’s mom at the top of her lungs. Sophia and Brendan would die if they saw me belting out show tunes! she thought.
When they got home, Olivia’s mom headed for the kitchen. “Your father and I are just doing some decoupage,” she said. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
“What’s decoupage?” Ivy risked.
“You know,” Audrey said. “It’s when you make a collage on a vase or something, and then you paint it over with glue. I know it’s your least favorite craft.” Audrey started to walk away, and Ivy’s heart sank.
“Can I do one?” she asked tentatively.
Audrey smiled. “Of course! I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”
Ivy shrugged, and before she knew it she was engrossed in decorating her own vase, using cutouts from a garden magazine. She’d succeeded in ringing the base with bright green grass, above which danced a circle of ladybugs. Now she was working on a band of tiny golden buttercups.
“That’s lovely, honey!” Audrey encouraged.
“Thanks,” said Ivy, carefully pasting on another flower. “I’m going to give it to Ol—I mean Ivy for Christmas.” she corrected herself hurriedly. “She’ll totally love it,” she added, swinging her ponytail enthusiastically.
Mr. Abbott looked up from his ceremonial wooden sword stand, which he was decorating with cutouts of Bruce Lee doing different kung fu moves. “What a great idea,” he said. “She can take it with her to Europe.”
Ivy felt the wind go out of her, and Olivia’s mother and father shared a concerned look.
“We know how hard Ivy’s going must be for you, Olivia,” Audrey said gently.
Ivy stared silently at the yellow flower on her finger for a long moment. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face,” she admitted quietly. Then, with a deep breath, she carefully affixed the flower to Olivia’s vase.
On an upper rung of the ladder, Olivia balanced on the steel toes of Ivy’s boots. She had to stretch to attach the final blood-red rose to the loose web of silver wires that she and her father had arranged around the Christmas tree, according to his design. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him down below, placing the last candles amid the branches.
They’d been decorating for nearly two hours, and Olivia had to admit that the finished tree was going to be even more breathtaking than she’d expected. Apart from the sparkling web of wires, the only other decorations were pale candles and red roses everywhere. It was the perfect mix of intricate design and simple ornamentation.
The only bad part was that she and her dad had barely spoken the whole time, apart from when he told her that they’d add the silver Christmas Bites last of all. She didn’t even know what Christmas Bites were.
Olivia kept trying to think of something to talk about. She couldn’t talk about why Mr. Vega was moving to Europe or the fact that he was her father. Even complimenting the tree too enthusiastically seemed like a mistake, since she was supposed to be acting like her tight-lipped Goth sister, who was still sort of mad at her dad. Anyway, Mr. Vega seemed totally lost in his own thoughts.
“I think we are ready to hang the Christmas Bites,” her father announced suddenly, and disappeared into the kitchen to get them.
Descending the ladder, Olivia tried to imagine what Christmas Bites were. Glow-in-the-dark fangs? Chunks of red meat? Her father reemerged with a small stack of notebook-sized boxes. Candies made of human flesh? She held her breath as he opened a box to reveal a bunch of foilwrapped chocolates, each one shaped like a small bowling pin.
They’re almost like Hershey’s kisses, Olivia thought, relaxing.
Her father handed some Bites to her, and he took some himself. As Olivia started to hang them among the sweet-smelling roses, she noticed that each one was decorated like a different profession. There was a tiny-headed baker with a poofy white hat. And a tiny doctor with a stethoscope hanging down onto his round belly. And one bearded guy with a shovel, who Olivia guessed was a gravedigger.
These are hilarious! Olivia chuckled to herself.
“You always found the tradition of Christmas Bites amusing,” her father’s voice suddenly intoned, almost to himself. “When you were very small, you used to have tea parties with them.You were very particular. The teacher had to sit next to the construction worker and so on. And then, just when your tiny guests were getting comfortable, came your favorite part of all.”
His face bloomed into a smile. “You would bite off all their heads.” He nodded nostalgically to himself. “How you would laugh when their blood spurted.”
Olivia looked at the Bites in her hand. These have blood in them!? she thought queasily.
After a moment’s pause, Mr. Vega focused his eyes on Olivia’s, and his smile dissolved. “This last while, as we have been decorating,” he said in a pained voice, “I have been trying to figure out how to say I am sorry to you, Ivy.”
“For what?” Olivia quivered.
“For taking you away from here. From this house, from your friends, from...” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “I do not want to leave here either. This town, it gave me a home when I had none. This community gave me a life when I thought mine was over. I do not think there is another place like Franklin Grove in the world.”
“Then why are you going?” Olivia asked.
Something dark and hard flashed across her father’s eyes. “I could not live with myself if I did not know in the darkest crypts of my soul that leaving is the best thing for us,” he said firmly. “Sometimes, change is for the best.”