Chapter 23: Half

The Christmas market in Daley Plaza smelled like cinnamon, hot wine, and roasting almonds.

Snow came down in slow flakes through the strings of white lights.

The wooden stalls glowed.

I walked beside Dalton with thirty quarters in my coat pocket, clinking at every step.

He had not said a word since the train.

His hand kept finding mine and letting go.

"You're nervous," I said.

"I'm not nervous."

"You've walked past the same pretzel stand three times."

"I like that pretzel stand."

"Dalton."

"It's where I met you," he said, and then looked appalled.

"It was not. You met me at a street fair in October."

"I know. I'm confused. There's a lot of bread in my head."

I laughed so hard a man with a mulled wine turned around to look.

We found the stall at the end of the second row.

It was small and crooked, with a striped awning.

A woman in a knit hat sat behind a velvet tray covered with silver rings.

Dalton stopped in front of it.

"Good evening," the woman said. "Looking for something?"

"A ring," Dalton said. His voice came out strange. "A plain one. With a clear stone."

She looked him up and down.

She looked at me.

"That one," she said, pointing. "Fifteen dollars."

It was a thin silver band with a round stone that caught the lights.

"Is it real?" I asked.

"It's glass," said the woman. "Very clear glass. I tell everyone. I don't want anyone crying in my stall."

I started to laugh and couldn't stop, and I put my hand over my mouth.

Dalton looked at me.

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