Dante's Fire

Chapter Twenty Five: Jackie

JACKIE

They sat at the counter in her kitchen, drinking coffee out of plastic cups.

They had wandered into the kitchen after Joaquin said he would need a steaming cup of something. Even if the something was a cup of boiling water. The day was a particularly snowy one, the wind biting deep, without mercy. Christmas was about a week away, and as usual, the city was drowning in white and red, in wreaths of mistletoe, in vibrant green holly and merry bells. At the stores there were more things on discount, there were decorations and lights.

For Jackie, Christmas was that time of the year that she had always spent alone, when she learnt to twist the insecurity of being abandoned into the peacefulness of solitude. The bells brought her no merriness, the hollies and mistletoes, no joy.

Steam rose out of Joaquin's cup and he held it with both hands. It curled upwards, heavenward, like smoke from an immolation. He blew on it.

'You always do that,' Jackie said to him, watching him meticulousl