“There you go, Mrs. Ramsay,” I coax, gripping the reindeer’s halter a little tighter as the older woman steps up with her hand outstretched. “This is Vixen. Do you remember the names of all of Santa’s reindeer?”

I hum a few bars of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” something I do whenever I bring a member of the herd to the courtyard outside the Central Oregon Dementia Care Unit. Patients who’ve long since forgotten their own family members’ names will burst into song, reciting every word of their favorite Christmas tune.

Mrs. Ramsay beams and nods to an imaginary beat. “You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen!” She sings. “Comet—it makes your teeth turn greeeeen! Comet—it tastes like gasoline! Comet—it makes you vomit! So try Comet, and vomit, todaaaaaay!”

“Close enough,” I tell her, smiling at the caregiver who trails behind her pushing a blank-eyed gentleman in a floppy red Santa hat. The man slumps in his wheelchair like he’s sleeping, but his eyes are open and fixed on nothing at all.

“That’s it,” I say to Mrs. Ramsay. “Just pet her really softly on the cheek. See how she likes that?”

The reindeer snorts, not particularly liking it, but accustomed enough to the petting that she’s willing to lower her head for more of it. The older woman smiles and runs a hand over the bottom of Vixen’s antlers. “Horny,” she says. “My late husband was horny, too.”

“All right, Mrs. Ramsay,” the caregiver says. “That’s enough for now. Let’s let some of the other patients have a turn, okay?”

Mrs. Ramsay nods and toddles off, humming “Santa, Baby,” as another nurse catches her by the arm and throws me a friendly wave before leading the old woman back into the building.

The remaining nurse pushes the wheelchair forward, bringing the motionless man closer. The tip of his Santa hat slides down over one eye, and the nurse leans down to adjust it.

The reindeer shifts uncertainly.

“It’s okay, girl,” I soothe, giving a soft tug on her halter so she brings her head down to his level. “Here, try giving her this.”

I pull a small Fuji apple out of my pocket and hold it out to the man. He doesn’t lift his gaze at all. Just keeps staring ahead, his eyes fixed on some unseen point.

“Mr. Brown isn’t really verbal,” the caregiver whispers to me. “Stroke.”

I nod, knowing from experience that the non-verbal patients can still hear perfectly well. I crouch down to his level and try again. “If you’d like to give her this apple, just hold your palm out flat like this.”

I demonstrate for him, and Vixen curls her lips, desperate to taste the treat that’s just out of reach. I offer it to her, watching the man’s face as the reindeer gobbles the apple. I pull another one from my pocket and offer it to him again.

“I’ll tell you a secret, okay?” I whisper to him. “I know her nose band says Vixen, but her real name is Irene. Vixen’s just a stage name, but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

There’s a flicker of something in the man’s eyes. Just a faint ghost of something that dances across those cloudy brown irises before flitting away. I hold the second apple closer, waiting for him to take it.

“You want to try, or should I give it to her for you?” I ask.

The man doesn’t lift either hand, but there’s a faint tilt to his head. A nod toward me, so I palm the apple and hold it out to the reindeer. She gobbles it with relish, munching and smacking and slobbering a little on the man’s pant leg.

This time, I’m certain one corner of his mouth tips up. The other side stays lifeless, but I sense this is the closest we’ll get to an actual smile. I stand up and wipe my hands on my pants.

“Thank you,” the caregiver murmurs to me as she backs up the wheelchair. “Mr. Brown, are you ready for lunch now?”

The man doesn’t say anything, but as the caregiver steers him away, his fingers flutter ever so slightly in my direction. I watch them disappear into the building, a faint breeze lifting the man’s wispy white hair like a wing.

“Jade?”

I turn to see Brandon Brown approaching from the parking lot. He looks at me, then back toward the building where the man in the wheelchair has just disappeared. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Irene snorts, saving me the trouble of making a smartass comment. “Introducing reindeer to patients,” I tell him, wishing my stupid heart didn’t race at the sight of him. “Why are you here?”

His eyes cloud just a little, and he tilts his head toward the door. “That’s my dad,” he says. “The guy in the wheelchair.”

There’s a roaring in my ears, and it takes me a few seconds to process what he just said. “Your dad? The one who had the—oh, Brandon. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” He nods and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve had a long time to get used to it.”

“That must be difficult,” I tell him. “Seeing your dad like that.”

“Yeah. He has good days and bad days. More bad days than good, lately. That’s actually why I came home.”

“Is he—” I’m not sure how to ask the question, but Brandon nods without me needing to say another word.

“Yes,” he says. “The doctors say his kidneys are failing. That he doesn’t have much longer. That seemed like my cue to get back here.”

“Are you really thinking of leaving the service?”

He shrugs. “I’ve considered it. Or maybe just leaving active duty. There’s a job opening at the local recruitment office in a couple months. That’s one way I could stay in while sticking close to home.”

“I hope it works out for you.”

The job, I mean. His dad won’t be getting any better. I can tell from the dullness in Brandon’s eyes, and I want to wrap my arms around him and pat his back. That strong, muscular, tattooed back. Instead, I tighten my grip on Irene’s lead rope. “If it makes you feel better, I think he really liked the reindeer,” I tell him. “We even got a smile out of him.”

“My dad smiled?” Brandon’s voice is so incredulous that, for a moment, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. “That’s—wow, that doesn’t happen much.”

“If you want, I can give you the schedule,” I offer. “I just started bringing the reindeer out here last month, and a lot of the patients are really into it.”

He nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “My dad always loved animals. He used to love Christmas, but it kind of lost its luster after—well, after.”

His voice is heavy as a lead ball, and Irene shuffles her hooves. I’m torn between feeling sorry for Brandon and remembering that kiss. A one-time thing, obviously. Not something either of us plans to repeat.

“You’d better get in there,” I tell him. “They were just taking him to lunch, so maybe you can sit with him.”

“Good idea,” he says. “Will I see you tomorrow night for the photo shoot?”

I shake my head. “I have other plans, but you guys don’t need me. Amber’s running the show, and the photographer is someone we went to school with, so you’ll be in good hands.”

“Sounds like she has big plans for the website and marketing.”

“That’s the idea.” I smile. “My sister’s pretty talented.”

“So are you,” he says. “I’m impressed with what you guys are doing out there.”

“Thanks.” I try not to let the big, dorky smile take over my face, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding.

“So I’ll see you out there on opening day.”

“Yep,” I agree, running my hand down Irene’s cheek. “Looking forward to it.”

As I watch Brandon walk away, I’m annoyed to realize how very true that is.