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Maggie leaned in so close that she nearly tipped her drink over, her eyes scanning the detailed carving where it hung from Vivian’s fingers, spinning slowly between them. On one side, three cresting waves arched upward, the center wave meeting the top curve of the heart. The other side had a remarkably detailed lighthouse etched into the oak. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. The wood had been smoothed to a satin finish that caught the pale light of the rising sun.

“The heart,” Carol whispered in stunned awe, her hand pausing in midair as if she couldn’t help but reach for it before stopping herself. “I—I have never seen it up close.”

“But… but that’s impossible,” Diane gasped, her eyes wider than Maggie had ever seen them. “The whole town knows about how the heart arrives by special courier each December and then is hauled away when the tree comes down on New Year’s Eve.”

“Every year on the morning of the Wish Tree Awakening, it’s hanging from a branch near the library plaque.” Maggie’s voice was almost shaky as she watched Vivian handle the object with delicate care. “The Gazette runs a story every December, calling it the mysterious gift of Cranberry Cove.”

“The Gazette reports what it’s told,” Vivian stated simply, her tone dry though amused. “It doesn’t arrive in the mail, nor is it couriered as some of the reports have rumored. And it isn’t a gift from an anonymous benefactor.”

Maggie wrenched her gaze from the wooden ornament to Vivian’s calm, beautiful face. “You put it there...” Maggie let out a less than polite snort of realization.

“Every single year,” Vivian confessed, turning the carved wood over in her palm so the light caught the wave pattern. “For forty years. Before the sun comes up on the Friday after Thanksgiving, I come down to the square and place it on the branch.”

“Oh, dear goodness, you’re joking,” Susan hissed, searching Vivian’s eyes for any sign that this was all a silly holiday prank. It was clear in the matriarch’s immovable expression that this wild shock was indeed reality.

Diane frowned slightly, her analytical mind testing the logic. “Why do you always hang it today? Why not wait until December?”

“Because the moment the tree is standing tall for the town to see, the magic of Christmas begins,” Vivian explained. “During the morning setup, people see it and are reminded that the Wish Tree is ready to grant their wishes. That is how it has been for all these years, and how it will continue to be, hopefully for a very long time.”

Maggie fiddled with the edge of her beige coat, her fingers restless as her mind sifted through forty years of town history. “Forty years… That takes us way back to our younger days.”

“Yes, some of you were still in your early teens,” Vivian agreed softly, her thumb tracing the carved wave. “It was the winter before the old boatyard on Harbor Lane burned down,” she added with a far-off look in her eyes.

“Wasn’t that the year Arthur Hale, the boatbuilder, came back from the Merchant Marine?” Susan asked, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “If I remember correctly, he started working at the repair shop three weeks before Christmas, only to up and vanish before the end of the year.”

Maggie noticed Vivian’s posture stiffen, a subtle shift only someone who’d known her for thirty years would notice. Her fingers tightened around the green velvet ribbon, her chin rising just a fraction as if in defiance.

“What does he have to do with anything?” Vivian’s eyes flashed with an unreadable emotion. Her voice dropped to a tone that brooked no further questions. “He left our town for nearly forty years, so he hardly matters.”

“I…uh…” Susan’s brow furrowed at the change in Vivian’s demeanor. “Sorry, speaking of all those years ago just brought back the memories of that fire, and Arthur was the other big news around the same time. But of course he moved back here over a year ago, so…” She trailed off, sensing the same thing that the others did.

It was clear that the mention of Arthur, or perhaps the boatyard fire as well, had pressed on some sort of nerve for Vivian. She would never usually go cold or outright evade questions unless the topic touched on something Vivian wasn’t prepared to share.

In a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, Vivian Ellis remained an enigma, a woman who lived alone in her family’s historic Cape Cod style home on the bluff and refused to speak of why she had never married. She knew everyone and everything about the town but rarely allowed the town to know her.

“Who carved the heart?” Maggie asked tenderly, eager to shift the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic it had suddenly diverged to.

Vivian’s expression was focused but distant as she twirled the ornament on its ribbon. “A man who knew how to build things that lasted,” she murmured. “He gave it to me on a day very much like this one, when the harbor was almost frozen over and the icy wind blew in off the water.”

“What are the lighthouse and the wave symbol carved on it?” Carol asked, studying what she could see of the double design. “Do they have special meaning?”

“They’re a promise,” Vivian answered. She lifted her head, her dark eyes sweeping over the four women standing around her. “A promise that no matter how cold the winter gets, there’s always a light to guide you home, and a familiar tide that brings you back to where you belong.”

A tight knot formed in Maggie’s chest at the wistfulness in Vivian’s eyes and the touch of sadness that seemed to haunt her voice. The words were simple and sweet, but they carried a longing that resonated through the deserted square.

Maggie glanced down at Tom’s gold band on her finger, the metal still cold against her skin despite the warm cup in her hand. For two years, she’d believed her own tide had run out, that she had drifted away from who she was and her story had ended the day Tom’s heart stopped.

Listening to Vivian, she wondered if holding on to the past was the same as staying adrift in the dark while the rest of the world paddled for the welcoming light on the shore.

“We should get it onto the tree before the crowd gathers to join in on the decorating,” Diane said, checking her wristwatch and clearly wanting to erase the somberness that had settled over them. “The next volunteer shift starts in thirty minutes, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Carol confirmed, checking her phone once more before sliding it away. “The high school band is bringing the platform risers for the concert tonight.”

Vivian looped the wooden heart’s ribbon around one finger so she could unfold a squeaky old step ladder that she had brought for the occasion. She set it down close to the tall tree, testing its strength with one foot. The metal death-trap masquerading as a ladder wobbled and whined.

“Let me run and get the nice ladder from the gazebo,” Susan offered. “The ground’s uneven and icy right here, and I don’t want that thing to slip.”

“I’ve hung this heart with this stool forty times,” Vivian reminded them, a light, teasing note returning to her voice as she lifted the ribbon high. “I wanted you ladies to be a part of this with me, but I don’t need a committee to help me take a step and reach a branch.” She turned toward the massive Fraser fir, her beret dark against the tree’s matching boughs.