At the Eastern Wharf Boat Parade, Che surprisingly asks if I'll have my picture taken with Santa and her?
"Of course," I answer, catching Sarah's eyes, and we both wonder where this is coming from?
So Sarah snaps our picture.
Later, Che and I are holding hands, laughing as we walk towards the river, when I trip and we both face plant on a crowded sidewalk.
In slow motion, I watch her watching me as we fall, still holding hands.
Eyes the size of full moons, stare straight into mine as she immediately ask if I'm okay, as I'm asking her.
My knee is bleeding.
She helps me up and we return to our seats.
Sarah inspects me, grabs hold of my arm and doesn't let go for the rest of the evening.
"Your days of walking alone are coming to an end Mr," Laurel quips, and I laugh at her prophesy.
I'm embarrassed, cold and feeling extremely old.
Under the soft glow of the Christmas Tree lights, hours later when everyone's asleep, I'm reflecting on these things.
It's hard to keep winning battles when the war's being lost.
A rustle interrupts the silence and, out of the darkness and into the light, Che shuffles in with her blanket over her head.
"What are you doing up?" I exclaim at 5:10 in the morning.
"I want to be with you Da," she softly says, laying down in the chair beside me.
And I am filled with tidings of great joy.
Maybe even some peace too.
For now anyway.
Because now's all we've got anyway.
