Page 27 of A Silence So Divine

The grounds that surround the house are coated in white, flurries glittering in the morning sun as wind kicks them up. The house is warm, and smells like cinnamon from all of the baking I’ve done. It’s 6:30 in the morning, but I’ve been awake for a couple hours. Today is a special day.

Eden palms at my forehead, attempting to shove me away and burrow deeper into her blankets.

“You have to get up!”I tell her with a wide smile.

She’s relentless in her refusal, so I resort to my trump card. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, I wiggle my fingers in warning above her midsection. Tickling is torture for someone who never makes a peep. Some might say it’s manipulation, but I say it’s necessary. The girl is too stubborn for her own good.

The look she gives me is one of betrayal, and I can feel the shit eating grin take form on my face. With a huff, she relents and Irelease her. The moment I do, she signs,“asshole”. I really gotta stop teaching her profanities; she only ever uses them against me.

“Naughty!”I scold, shaking my head in disbelief.“I won’t be surprised if Santa left coal for you.”

A wrinkle forms between her brows.“Santa?”She mimics the sign.

“Duh! I told you yesterday it was Christmas Eve.”

She only frowns in confusion.

I groan and hop off the bed, rubbing my hands down my face in exasperation.Talk about a buzzkill. I motion to the door. “Meet me downstairs in five minutes. You’ve got a lot to learn today.”

By the time Eden is on her last bite of cinnamon roll, I’m bouncing on my heels in anticipation.

Cecil sits at the island, a coffee cup in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The headlines were grim; more disappearances and more unexplained dead bodies. Everyone knew why, but news outlets would be fools to directly call out the Brothers of Divinity. Determined not to start my day with the macabre, I snatched the paper from his hands and replaced it with a cinnamon roll. My brother may be intimidating, but he never turns down a pastry.

Christmas is one of the only days a year my brother agrees to stay home. Money has always been tight, so we’re not able to go all out. No decorations, no fancy wrapping paper, no prime rib dinners or matching pajamas. However, Cecil has always ensured I have gifts under the metaphorical tree. And since I’munable to shop and have no way to make my own money, my gift to him is usually a hug that he doesn’t return.

Speaking of my brother’s love and affection, he swats me on the back of the head as he takes his mug to the sink.“Stop bouncing. You’re gonna make me sick,” he says, shaking his head in annoyance.

Finally, after the longest five minutes of my life, Eden brushes the crumbs from her fingers. The moment she’s on two feet, I’m tugging her behind me into the living room.

The glow of two dozen tealight candles gives the room a whimsical warmth, and Eden’s silver eyes glow with their reflection.

“Stay here,”I instruct, racing to the closet in the foyer. The gifts are in the paper sacks from the shops, but I doubt she’ll mind. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd never recieved a gift before today.

When I return, she follows me with her eyes and wrings her fingers together. The pajamas she’s wearing are actually Cecil’s, making her appear even smaller. It’s like witnessing the child version of Eden experience her first real Christmas.

Propped in the corner of the room is a poor man’s version of a tree. Branches from evergreens have been bundled together and secured with rope, and I fashioned a star out of aluminum foil. Pine needles litter the floor and it’s sagging to the side more each second, but cutting down a whole tree wasn’t an option. Trust me, I tried.

I place her gifts at the bottom of the makeshift tree, and then plop down into a plush sofa. Eden is frozen, looking between me and the display. My brother appears in the doorway, shoulder leaned against the frame to watch. That only unnerves Eden more.“They’re for you,”I explain, pointing to the bags.

Cautiously, she slinks to the tree and runs her fingers along the pine needles. I stifle a laugh when she leans to take a whiff. Shelooks bewildered, and I catch the smallest tug of a smirk on my brother’s face. It’s a Christmas miracle.

Eden situates herself on the rug, sitting criss cross.“Do I… What do I…”Her hands start and stop, apprehensive.

“Open them already!”I urge, the anticipation stealing the last of my patience.

Her posture relaxes and she daintily places a sack in her lap. Newspaper is shoved haphazardly in the bag, my attempt at replicating tissue paper. She looks from the bag to me. I shoot her a thumbs up of encouragement. That does the trick, and she reaches in.

A cream knitted sweater comes out first, and she delicately traces her fingers along the stitching. When I gave Cecil my list, I was very specific with what clothing to get her, right down to the colors I thought she might like. Getting her clothes was inevitable, but Christmas is a perfect opportunity to surprise her. The way her eyes light up and cheeks pinken tell me I was right.

Cecil watches her as closely as I do.

After the first gift, she’s quick to pull out the rest. A pair of dark denim jeans, three pairs of wool socks, a cotton t-shirt and shorts for sleeping, a black turtleneck, some fuzzy lounge pants, and lastly, a powder blue sundress. Her lips form a perfect ‘o’.

I definitely owe Cecil for this one. I didn’t have high hopes, but I was pleasantly surprised with what he chose. The guy isn’t one for niceties, so he must be coming around to the idea of Eden staying. The way he watches her might even lead someone to believe that he likes her. A weird swirling starts in my gut at the thought and I focus my attention back to the present.

I begin to ask Eden how she likes her gifts when she reaches back into the bag. Her hand comes out clutching a thick sketchbook. My gaze immediately shoots to my brother, but he’s staring at Eden and the way she grins from ear to ear.

The sketchbook wasn’t on my list.