“Hello.”

“Jesus Christ!” Leah gasped as she whipped her head up, bringing one hand to her heart.

The woman standing before her was tiny, dwarfed in an enormous red coat that hung to her knees. If it hadn’t been for the white hair, cropped short around a deeply wrinkled, olive-toned face, Leah might have mistaken her for a child.

She smiled at Leah’s reaction, her dark eyes nearly disappearing as her face crinkled further.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Leah dropped her hand from her chest with an embarrassed laugh. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”

The woman nodded, her broad, amused smile transitioning into a more demure one. Leah smiled in return, expecting the woman to be on her way, or at the very least, to say something else. But she just stood there, staring at her with expectant eyes, as if Leah were the one who initiated contact with her.

The silence wore on, slowly but surely crossing into awkward territory, and Leah cleared her throat as she began fiddling with her scarf. The woman tilted her head, waiting, and it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this lady wasn’t all there.

“So, um,” she said, playing with the frayed edges of her scarf, “are you out for a walk?”

“No, honey. I came out to see you.”

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself.

The woman chuckled—a soft, sandpapery sound—before she nodded, and Leah pulled her brow together.

“I’m sorry…do I know you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” the woman said, her face crumpling with the amused smile again.

Leah shook her head as if to clear it, trying to place this strange woman.

“No. I mean…not that I can remember,” she said after a few seconds, hoping she hadn’t just offended someone from her past.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

Leah looked over the woman’s shoulder at the little yellow house. “Not for a long time.”

“Just about a year, I’d say.”

Her eyes flew back to the woman. “What?”

“You come every Christmas,” she said with a smile. “You were here last year.”

Leah straightened her posture, saying nothing, and the woman nodded. “It was you. In this car,” she said, gesturing to the car behind Leah. “I remember your face. I may look to be past my prime, but I’m still sharp as a tack,” she said, pointing to the side of her head with a gloved hand. The bulky black gloves, like the coat, looked far too large to be hers.

When Leah still didn’t respond, the woman said, “Last year you stopped in the road. I saw you through the window, and I thought, ‘Now what would make such a pretty girl look that way?’”

She swallowed. “What way?”

“Heartbroken.”

Leah dropped her eyes as the woman said, “By the time I got my old bones out here to check on you, you were gone.” She tilted her head, looking Leah over before she added, “You don’t look heartbroken this year. Just…pensive. But I still thought I should check on you.”

Leah pressed her lips together, her eyes trained on the ground. She knew she should say something, but she was far too taken off guard to formulate a response.

After a moment, she glanced up at the woman; her smile was unfaltering, but she still had that expectant look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Leah finally said. “I don’t mean to bother you. It’s just…I used to live in this house…and I’m running some errands near here…and whenever I’m in the area, I like to stop by and just…remember, I guess. I shouldn’t have—”

“Nonsense,” the woman said, cutting her off. “Don’t you apologize for anything. I like a girl who remembers her roots. Besides, what’s Christmastime without a little nostalgia? I think it’s wonderful.”

The look in the woman’s eyes mirrored the unadulterated kindness of her words, and Leah was suddenly consumed with the inapt desire to wrap her arms around this tiny stranger.

Instead, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you. For understanding,” she said, pushing herself off the passenger door. “Anyway, I really need to get going, but it was nice meeting you. Merry Christmas.”

She started to walk back around to the driver’s side, stopping short when she heard the woman say, “Did you want to see the inside?”

Yes. You have no idea how much.

She took a tiny breath before she said, “No, that’s okay. Thank you anyway, though.”

“Don’t be shy, honey. I just put on some tea. You can come inside, warm up for a bit. Maybe see your old room?”

Leah dropped her head back slightly, blinking up at the sky. She shouldn’t do this. For one, it was getting late. She still had errands to run, not to mention the hour drive back home. Plus, despite the fact that this woman seemed harmless enough, there was always the possibility that she was the innocuous decoy, leading an unsuspecting young girl into the house where a demented serial killer waited.

She laughed to herself, shaking her head at the absurdity of that last thought before the woman added softly, “I’d love some company for a while. Just one cup of tea. I know you have to be on your way.”

Leah turned to look at her then. She was still smiling, but her happy expression belied the unmistakable sadness that infused her last words. And for some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t tolerate the thought of this woman being sad, even for one minute.

“Okay,” Leah said, taking a tentative step forward. “But I really can’t stay long.”

“One cup,” the woman promised, her eyes disappearing amid a mass of wrinkles before she turned and shuffled up the short driveway, unlatching the gate that led to the side yard.

Leah followed, stepping into the yard behind her, and without warning, her eyes welled with tears.

It looked so small. How could it be this small? Leah could distinctly remember playing tag with her brother and sister in this yard, the three of them running back and forth until they were gasping for air. Now, she could probably walk across it in four long strides.

She glanced around, her vision blurred from her unshed tears. The yard had been repaved as well. The block of concrete, the one they had imprinted with their handprints and initials, was gone. Her chin quivered slightly as she lifted her eyes, looking at the opposite end of the yard. The tiny garden where her mother had grown her tomato and basil plants had been blocked over with pavers. A barbecue sat above it.

Leah hadn’t realized the tears had spilled over until a gust of cold wind amplified the trails of warmth on her cheeks, and she wiped at them hurriedly before glancing up to see the woman standing in the doorway, holding it open with a sympathetic look on her face.

“You’re okay, honey,” she said softly, and Leah forced a smile as she walked past her and into the house.

It felt like being transported back in time, and she placed her hand on the wall beside her, feeling completely disoriented.

The furniture was all wrong, of course, and the walls were a different color, but the layout was still the same, so that if she stood there long enough, she could see the house as it was when she lived there. Her eyes traveled to the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, where two small vases of daffodils sat. She could remember her mother leaning on it with her elbows, peeking out at them with a smile while she fixed dinner.

The sharp whistle of a tea kettle brought her back to the present, and she blinked quickly, dropping her hand from the wall.

“Sit, sit,” the woman said, gesturing to the small dining area past the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Leah walked through the kitchen and over to the table, unzipping her coat and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked, watching the woman disappear in the nook of the kitchen.