"This is the place," I announce, pointing to the rundown auto body shop.

"Marco works here?" Levi cringes. "Honestly, Gemma, I don't even want to park my car here."

I laugh as he reluctantly pulls into the parking lot. We step outside and approach the garage. Inside, I see two mechanics working on cars. I clear my throat. Both stop what they're doing and look at me, their grease-painted faces contorting in confusion.

"My, you're the prettiest thing to show up here in a while," one of them says.

I roll my eyes. "I'm looking for someone," I tell them. "Marco Diaz? I'm pretty sure he works here."

"'Works' is giving him too much credit," the other mechanic says. "He more or less sits around and pretends to know what the hell he's doing."

"Can't say I'm surprised," I mutter.

"He ain't here, though. He hasn't come to work in almost a week. He's as good as fired."

"Too bad. Looks like we should head home," Levi says, tugging at my sleeve like a frightened child.

"Hold up." I turn to the mechanic who tried the one-liner on me. "Do you know where he hangs out? He must spend a lot of time in nearby bars or something, right?"

"Nah, he's sober. Most boring guy I've ever met," he replies. "Sorry we can't be of more help."

With a sigh, we return to Levi's car. He buckles up and spins out of the parking lot, clearly eager to return to a safer part of the city. Although we both grew up in Chicago, we're not familiar with South Side.

"Slow down!" I warn him.

"Sorry." He drops to a safer speed. "That place gave me the creeps."

"Same," I agree.

"So what do we do now?" he asks. "Want to just go home?"

"I want to go home, but I feel like I'm supposed to go to my parent's house."

"Why? Did you have plans with them?"

"No," I reply. "Evangeline arrived this afternoon."

My mom wasn't joking when she flashed her foster license and said she wanted to take in Evangeline. She and Waverly sorted everything out this morning. For the next few months, the six year-old is going to be sleeping in my old bedroom. And since I'm the person Raelyn chose to care for Evangeline, I think I should at least go and say hi.

"I can't believe your parents are fostering her," Levi says. "That's so strange."

"Tell me about it. I didn't even know fostering was something they were interested in."

"At least you know Evangeline will be well-cared for. Some foster homes are brutal."

"True."

"Anyway," he goes on, "how was your first day back to work?"

"It was... odd," I reply. "When I told Ella that Raelyn died, she didn't ask me to do anything, not even get her coffee, all day."

"She probably felt bad for you," he remarks.

Levi is right, but it was still bizarre. Because news spreads fast and we work for a literal newspaper, everyone knew about my best friend's suicide by the end of the day. People I had never met were offering their condolences and casting sad glances in my direction. I was hoping that returning to work would be a good distraction, but it seems that it's just going to be another reminder of Raelyn and the mess she left behind.

Levi pulls his Audi into my parent's driveway. Through the window, I can see my parents in the front room with Bowie and Evangeline. My brother's lifting her up to put the angel on top of the Christmas tree—a full-sized tree, to my surprise, not a tiny shrub—and Mom and Dad are sipping tea on the sofa. They look like a perfect family. I can't help but feel a little green with envy.

"Don't be upset, Gemma," Levi says, reading me like a page from his favorite novel. "They're just trying to lift her spirits."

"I know that," I reply. "I just... I usually help them decorate the tree."

"Then go in there and help!" he exclaims. "We'll worry about Marco later. Christmas is in five days. You should be with your family."

"Are you coming inside?" I ask.

"I think I'm gonna sit this one out," he answers. "Want me to swing by and pick you up in a few hours?"

"I'm sure Dad can bring me home," I reply, wishing I had brought my own car. "I love you, Levi. See you later."

He smiles. "Love you, too, Gem."

I step outside and watch as he drives away, revving the engine once he reaches the end of our street. I swear he likes that car more than he likes most people.

As I open the door to my parent's house, the smell of cinnamon greets me. "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" plays through the speakers. I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia. Christmas with the Beauforts is always an event. Growing up, I used to adore this time of year. Now that I'm older, I don't feel as sentimental during the holidays, but it's still nice to come here and be reminded of a simpler time.

"Sweetie! You're here!" My mom leaps off the couch and throws her arms around me. "Do you want a cookie? I made your favorite!"

"Snickerdoodles?"

"Gingerbread." She frowns. "Oh, well. They're still delicious."

"It's okay, Mom. I was actually wondering if you needed help with the tree?"

"I think Bowie and Evangeline have it covered."

"Oh." I can't hide my disappointment. "I guess I'll just sit down, then."

I claim the spot next to my dad and stare at Bowie and Evangeline's work. I must admit, they did a great job. Silver, gold, and red ornaments dangle from the branches, while shimmery white lights circle around it. The angel on top wears a gold dress that really makes the tree pop.

"What do you think?" Bowie asks me. He seems more jovial than he did yesterday.

"It's beautiful," I reply.

"Evangeline picked out the angel," he says, nudging the six year-old's shoulder.

She smiles slightly, her green eyes twinkling under the light of the tree. For the first time, I notice how much she looks like her mother.

"Hey, Evangeline," I begin, "did you know that your name is Greek for 'like an angel'?"

She shakes her head. "No, I... I didn't know that," she whispers.

"When your mom was pregnant with you, I helped pick out your name," I tell her, remembering how many hours we spent trying to find the perfect thing to call Raelyn's little girl. Evangeline Rose Porter was the winner.

"My mom kept a picture of you on her nightstand," Evangeline says, crossing her wiry arms over her chest. "I think she was sad when you stopped coming over."

"I didn't... I didn't stop, per se. I just... well, I just got really busy," I stutter.

She grins, showing off the gap between her two front teeth. I can't tell what she's thinking. I don't know what Raelyn told her about me. For all I know, this poor girl believes I dropped her mother like a hot potato as soon as I landed my dream job.

Which, to be fair, is one-hundred percent true.

"Evangeline, sweetheart," my mom says, undoubtedly desperate for a subject change, "what would you like for Christmas this year?"

"You can get anything you want," my dad adds. "Dolls, stuffed animals, an iPad...."

"Hey, I never got an iPad!" Bowie exclaims.

"Me, either," I mumble.

Mom ignores us, her dark eyes never leaving Evangeline. "We'll make sure Santa brings you everything on your wish list this year."

"I already know Santa's not real," Evangeline replies, fiddling with a star-shaped ornament on the tree. "My mom told me last year. She said the reason the other kids got more presents than me wasn't because Santa loved them more, but because he wasn't real at all. The other parents just had more money. Then she started crying."

"Oh, um, okay." My mom forces a smile. "Well, what do you want us to get for you?"

"All I want for Christmas," she whispers, staring down at the floor, "is to see my mom again."

I hold back tears. That's the only thing I want, too.