Marci shivered as a breeze washed off the Pacific Ocean and onto the boardwalk. Gone were the summer scents of sunscreen and barbecue, replaced by odors of brine and seaweed. The faux gas lamps that lined the boardwalk were decked with aged wreaths and an occasional cottage radiated holiday cheer. The rest appeared abandoned for the winter.

Late afternoons in San Diego were often sunny this time of year, though this day a haze had settled over the coast. Marci looked around at the scattering of families and beach volleyball players beginning to pack up, ready to leave the day behind and return to the comfort of their homes. None of them seemed to feel the chill that flowed through her veins.

Marci’s left hand pulled her jacket tighter around her throat while her right clutched tight the McDonald’s bag. She couldn’t stand McDonald’s herself, but Max loved the stuff, and she owed it to him to give him what he liked.

“Hey, babe, this is the beach. Show some skin. You afraid of the sun or something?”

Marci ignored the stranger’s comment and kept walking. No, she didn’t fear the sun. She trembled at the stares that would follow her like a snarling hound. The comments she would endure. The scars she hid beneath her clothing were not for public viewing. They would never understand.

She caught sight of Max sitting in his usual spot on the weathered sea wall between the beach and the boardwalk. Even from this distance Marci could see the long wisps of what little hair he had left blowing in the breeze. She grasped the food bag tighter and swallowed the lump that never failed to form in her throat at the sight of her husband. As she drew nearer, the stains and rips in Max’s old trench coat grew more pronounced. She had brought him fresh clothes on many occasions, but he would never take them, just as he would never come home.

Marci brushed the sand from the three-foot wall before climbing onto the spot beside him. Her left arm lightly touched his right. She found that she was growing accustomed to his smell. “How are you today, Max?” she asked.

He remained still, as though unaware of her presence. Maybe he was. She was never sure. He stared out into the depths of the sea, his clear, blue right eye alive with an internal fire.

“The hyenas have eaten the squirrels that the garbage men left behind,” he said.

Marci felt the corners of her lips turning up in a small smile. “Hyenas, huh?”

Max shifted toward her, and her smile faded as the ruined left side of his face came into view. “Hyenas with mohawks. Purple ones,” he said.

“Purple mohawks or purple hyenas?” she asked, but the sea already drew his attention. Once again, she could only see the rugged, beautiful side of his face.

“I brought you some burgers,” Marci said as she placed the bag in his lap. He sat, staring, not acknowledging the gift. “Please, Max. Please come home with me.” The words were out before she could stop them. Max remained silent, but his right hand moved to rest on her knee. As always, his touch took her back to the accident. Back to the sound of her own screams as Max struggled to free her from the wreckage. Back to the sight of her husband engulfed in flames. Back to her own agony that left her with few other memories of that night. Now she hid beneath layers of clothing while he hid somewhere deep within his own mind––a place of purple, mohawked hyenas. A place she could never go.

Marci shivered again. Max gave her knee a light squeeze before lifting his hand from her leg. He held it out at arm’s length; fingers open wide so he peered through them.

“The moon danced with the stars, and they had a baby,” he said.

Marci sighed. “I’m so cold. So cold inside.”

“A baby squirrel,” Max said as he closed each of his fingers until only his index finger remained extended.

Marci watched as he raised the finger until it rested just below the hazy form of the sun. He held it there until she was certain his finger glowed. Finally, he turned toward her, the look on his face never changing. He brought the tip of his glowing finger to the tip of her nose, like a parent might do to a child. Marci felt a relaxing warmth spread through her face, then down her entire body. She closed her eyes, relishing the first warmth she had felt in a long time. After only a few seconds his touch moved away, yet the warmth remained in her heart.

Content for the moment, Marci rested her head against her husband’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Max.”

Max only grunted as he stared out at the ocean, but it was enough. For today, it was enough.