Christmas Memory
By the time they reached the last house, even the most optimistic of the group, such as Cindy and Pastor Phil, looked relieved to be nearly done, thoughts of warming their feet by the fire dancing in their eyes.
“Let’s sing, ‘O, Christmas Tree,’” Cindy said, forcing a smile. “This will be our last song.”
“You singing?” Dak asked, close to her ear.
“No.”
“Come on, Mem. Last chance.”
“I... can’t.”
“You can. You choose not to.”
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