“So, we go?”
James nodded. Better than pretending that all was as it had been. Nothing ever will be.
“It’s cold,” Maria held out two scarves. A third was wrapped around her neck.
“So, we go!” Benjamin pulled a hat over his head. “You take the middle, Maria and I will go top and trunk. We’ll trade.”
They’d walked a tree home one year when Mama lost the car. They all had cars now, but she would never drive again.
James reached for the first tree. Glanced at their list of in-need homes.
In Mama’s memory, a Christmas Walk-a-thon.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: Dale Rogerson