traces.

It was just like you always did it, mom. I dug out all the boxes we marked up last year and hauled them all upstairs. I took the four wreathes I found and lined them up on the garage floor. I put on the Christmas music just like you always did. Natalie came over to help me. We put up all the ornaments, especially your favorites. She liked the ones with the little Hershey's guy on them. You would've liked Natalie, mom. She likes Avalon and Christmas and England, just like you did. I let her pick out the wreath for the front door, and I think she picked out the same one that you would have. I got out the red candles for the dining room, even though we've never used them. I plugged in the little cottage that you'd always put on the kitchen counter in our old house. Natalie put some garland around the bench in the foyer, just like you did last year. She wouldn't stop until it was just right, just like you always were. She left after a few hours of decorating, and dad went out to do some errands, and I was alone in a makeshift home. I was left with traces of your voice singing your favorite Christmas carols. I was left with the scent of your pancakes lingering in the air. I was left with mere traces, and as I turned to go downstairs, I thought I saw you sitting on the couch, reading Marley & Me, drinking your Earl Gray tea. But I didn't take a second glance. I slowly made my way down the steps, tracing my fingers along the railing.