Meowy Christmas

Today's edition of the Little Dickens Chronicle was clutched in the red-gloved deathgrip of Abigail Carson as she entered the cemetery of the town's church, adorned with twinkling Christmas lights and festive wreaths. It was a mild day for December in the small Oregon town, and the scent of pine needles filled the air. Cold wasn't the reason Abigail was shaking. The fact it was already afternoon and there was not a single footprint besides her own to be found in the freshly fallen snow leading to the gravestone of her late business partner did nothing to improve Abigail's Christmas spirit. It was one year to the day since Jacob Morris had been found dead in his office – now her office – which set off a chain of events which appeared to have no apparent affect on any one except for Abigail. Until today's headline that is.

Abigail uncrumpled the newspaper she was carrying – one of the "quaint" throwbacks of the mostly Victorian town that Jacob had found so endearing. She turned the headline to the gravestone, as if by some miracle it could read it.

"Look at this!" Her breath hit the December air, forming clouds, evidence to anyone who might be watching that she was talking to a dead person. "'Scroogey Surviving Partner Says Bah Humbug To Annual Hospital Gala.'" Abigail scowled at the silent gravestone and leaned further in. "Bah Humbug!" She flipped her dark brown hair back as she straightened up again. "You really left me holding the bag, Jacob."

After a few moments of silence, she let out a sigh, sending another large cloud of breath floating away from her like a balloon. Abigail shook her head and raised her arms away from her sides, heedless of how the flapping paper emphasized her movements as she became more animated.

"I don't know why you loved this place so much. The feeling doesn't appear to be mutual. Even though I left your name on the company – Morris and Carson Developments – it's almost like you were never even here. No one talks to me about you –" She looked pointedly at the newspaper and back to the gravestone. "-unless it's to talk about the fact you held that Christmas gala every year for the hospital and I'm not upholding the tradition. Then you're missed. Any other time, it's like you didn't exist."

She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her black wool coat for warmth, now that she'd vented.

"It wasn't easy, but I managed to keep the business together." She leaned in, again. "You're welcome." She threw her head back to let out a mirthless laugh. "And you're lucky I didn't marry that gem of a guy you set me up with. Because then there wouldn't be a business. And I'd be starring in the Real Housewives of Connecticut Holiday special right now." The thought of it made Abigail twist her lips into a sneer. "Of course, if I had gotten married and went to Connecticut, I wouldn't be dealing with this headline! There still wouldn't be a gala, and I'd be blissfully unaware of the fact." She tossed the paper on Jacob's grave.