Beneath the Lights

by Taralynn Moore

  “You two are trouble,” I said to them both.

  Jones shrugged in feigned ignorance and started relaying the message to my dad.

  “Get the kids in the car,” Marc’s voice called from the phone. I held it back up to my ear. “We’re going to go look at Christmas lights while Jones and Gramps get the bikes together.”

  “We’ve downgraded to video chat Christmas lights now?”

  “At least it’s something we’ve never done before.” His voice dropped. “I think the two a.m. experience is still my favorite, though.”

  “Mmmm,” I whispered. “That was a good one.”

  “I should be there by eleven. I’ll make brunch. Honey pancakes, the works. Then we can crawl under the tree, and you can tell me all about why it was so good.” I wished I could see the grin I knew was plastered on his face. “I promise to listen close.”

  I giggled, hand to my neck, flush with memories. “I promise a detailed rendition.”

  The kids were passing around my phone, Marc’s face glowing on the screen, Marc’s voice battling the Christmas songs blaring from the radio. I hit a couple of big dips in the road and the whole Jeep shook. Alex and Finn exploded into giggles. Marc made some joke about Mommy not being kind to his car, but we both knew it could take a beating.

  It had been around longer than us.

  Marc talked me through the back trails, and we ended up at the entrance of one of the grandest neighborhood entrances I’d ever seen. Houses lit like airports beamed out from behind the gates. He gave me the code—one of his restaurant counterparts lived there—and I rolled through as if at any moment someone was going to jump out and catch the intruders who clearly didn’t belong in a place this lush.

  Street after winding street lead us to bigger lots, better displays, and the Jeep quieted. Only the airport background noise on Marc’s end was competing with Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” from the speakers.

  “On the next street take a left.” Marc’s certainty broke the trance. Was he reading a map?

  I saw it before he’d even told me to stop. The lot fanned out at the end of the cul-de-sac, plenty of tree clusters, and best of all, a view of a lifetime. The lights of the neighboring houses left nothing to the imagination. It was perfection. The for sale sign bowed from a gust of wind, granting me a welcome wave, reminding me of our friendly lawn Santa.

  “What do you think?” The trepidation in Marc’s voice was beyond understandable.

  “It’s amazing,” I breathed, rolling to a stop in front of it. “And huge. And crazy.”

  “It’s what you wanted, though, right?”

  “Yeah. I just—how is this in the budget I gave you?”

  “It’s the last of the lots. The builder already started elsewhere, wants to finish up.”

  “Well, this area is going to boom. That’s what we were aiming for.”

  “Right.”

  “I’d have to be super militant with the plans to make sure they don’t go over cost.”

  He laughed. “Something tells me you can handle that side of things just fine.”

  I swallowed. “Marc, are we really doing this?”

  “You tell me. You’re the money person. I don’t mind staying with Old Man Jones a while if you need to crunch the numbers.”

  “Mommy?” Finn called out. “Look!” He pointed to the window, the first flecks of snow speckling the glass.

  He jumped from the car and Alex followed, her blonde hair trailing as they ran into the field of a lot that could one day be our home. One day soon.

  My insides knotted up. How much more could I take? Between work, the kids, Marc traveling more and more. Sometimes I already felt like I was crumbling apart, a numb half-person from who I used to be.

  But this? How could I pass this up? How could we?

  I stepped out of the car, arms crossed, turning in circles. The cold wind whipped at my face, nipping the life back into it. I took the phone from Alex and held it up to show Marc the lot, the kids dancing and laughing, mouths open wide to catch the now-fast falling flakes, fat and full of hope, then turned it back in my direction.

  “Let’s do it,” I breathed, watching the snow dance around my hand, his face. Our home.

  His eyes, worn, tired, and trapped in an airport on Christmas Eve, flicked on like a light. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t hold back my smile anymore. I’d figure it out. I would. “Make the deal. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Chapter 10

  Almost One Year Later

  I stood open-mouthed, taking in the monstrosity that was our house. We were either brilliant or absolutely insane.

  Maybe a little of both.

  But if this worked, the student loans would be paid off in no time. Maybe we’d even be able to set up the college funds like we’d wanted for the kids. Two years. Two years to enjoy living like we were kings, and then we could sell and settle into something more reasonable with a healthy nest egg in place.

  Moving just before the holidays wasn’t ideal, but it did make the whole house glow brighter. Like a light-wrapped present, bigger than life. The kids were running in and out of the house, ping-pong balls with legs, the door swung open wide.

  “It’s so bright already.” Marc’s head tipped back. “Do you want me to light it up more?”

  Mine followed his, eyeing the roofline, almost breathless. “Imagine if you fell off the ladder this year.”

  We looked back to each other and laughed.

  Marc took my face in his hands, eyes wide. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  I kissed his nose. “Let’s not worry about it for now. We’ve got enough on our hands.”

  As if on cue, Finn jolted by, Alex at his heels. “Hi, Mommy. Hi, Daddy,” they chorused.

  Our first visitors pulled into the driveway, slow and steady. The vision of Marc’s mom and mine peeking up at the house through the windshield was a sight I’d never forget.

  Their doors flew open. Marc’s mom was speechless, my mom never so. “Oh, Jillie. It’s gorgeous.”

  I turned to look again too. It really was my best design yet. The fact that we’d get to live in it, even for a couple of years, was such a treasure.

  Old Man Jones slid his truck in beside the curb, a trailer pulling the his beast of a smoker behind.

  My mom’s eyes met mine, flashing at me their twist of a desire to run, the need to stay.

  Because, sitting in the passenger seat, elbow hanging out the window . . . was my dad.

  During the past year, the entire time we’d spent staying with Old Man Jones, they’d managed to avoid each other. Ships passing in a peaceful dance of family support and avoidance.

  Today was different. The tide had turned.

  He was here.

  He was here on purpose.

  Marc’s mom flipped into action, ushering the children inside, asking them for a tour of the house. Old Man Jones stayed on course too. He had the smoker up and running and groceries unloaded into the kitchen before I’d even gotten to hug him hello. Marc and I followed behind, leaving my parents in a stilted conversation on the lawn.

  No words. Just shuffles and muffled breaths.

  I unpacked the groceries as quickly as possible, then peeked through the front windows.

  They’d made their way to a softer stance, softer words passing between them. My mom’s face glistened in the light, tear stains trailed down her cheeks. There was an absence of pain, though. And a full presence of, what?

  Peace. Release.

  I could only hope my dad was telling her everything she’d always needed to hear. Like he had for me, that Christmas Eve years before. And over and over again when I doubted him still.

  My heart warmed when they began to hug, but I stepped away from the window. I’d had enough of them to know when a moment needed to belong to someone, and this one wasn’t mine.

  This one was my mother’s.

  My father’s.

  And the years of torment
they refused to let define their future.

  The back deck was one of the highlights of my design. It stretched the entire length of the house, capturing each dip and dive of the valleys below, the city lights aglow in the distance.

  It had been a relatively warm winter so far, so we all threw on some sweaters while Jones passed out the burgers, smoked to perfection. It didn’t matter that most of the house was empty, full of echoes and holes. It was already full of hope.

  My parents chatted, leaned up against the railing, catching up on time past. My mother even offering Joe—my dad—a smile now and then. Her arms stayed crossed at her chest, and I didn’t blame her needed defense, but it was nice to see them together, their happier history rising up to help mend.

  And to my great delight, Jones and Marc’s mom seemed enchanted with each other. An idea of more for them stirred the closer and closer they got to each other as they talked. Maybe it was their hearing. But maybe, maybe it was more.

  This was my family. However unconventional and reformed.

  And this was my home.

  Jones let out a rare laugh, the wind ruffling his layers of white-gray hair. We owed so much to him, to the once mis-labeled curmudgeon called Old Man Jones. Though he’d lost his own boys young, he’d invested in Marc. Though he’d lost his wife, he’d invested in us, and in my own father, repairing a heart long-damaged and torn. He showed up every time we needed him, even when we didn’t know we needed him. He’d offered us his home, his heart, all with very few words but very clear actions.

  I took Marc’s hand and ushered the kids over, whispered something in their ear. They smiled wide as I held up my finger and gave them a wink.

  “What’s going on?” Marc whispered.

  I squeezed his hand, letting him know it was okay.

  Alex and Finn headed toward Jones as instructed and tugged at his arm. “Grandpa Jones, can you come back over tomorrow to help us with something?” Finn’s sweet voice made everyone calm, ears stirred.

  Jones brow twitched as he pointed toward my dad. “Grandpa Joe is over there, bud.”

  Alex giggled. “Not Joe. Jones.” She took his hand. “Is that okay?”

  His eyes misted, but he grumbled and cleared his throat, collecting himself before he answered. “I would be honored to be your other grandpa.” He crouched down to their level. “There could be no two better grandkids in the world.” And he hugged them.

  “Three,” I said with fervor. “Three grandkids.”

  The light of realization that passed through each face was brilliant, unforgettable.

  “What?” Marc laughed, hand on my belly.

  “Surprise.” I nodded, laughing too, then looked to Jones, a truth hitting me of just how much I’d grown to depend on him. It’s why I’d felt the need to tell him, title him.

  Of the few men in my life, he was the one that was there.

  Everyday.

  Always.

  I blinked back my watery eyes and finished my thought, giving Jones a smile. “That’s why we’re going to need your help tomorrow. The crib is coming and Marc’s a little out of practice.”

  All voices exploded in excitement, hugs and embraces ensued. Despite my happy heart, my fingertips flinched, cold, and I laced them in Marc’s.

  We needed to change things up. And soon.

  Two years, tops. Living here. His life of travel.

  That was it. And then we moved on. Together.

  I placed our hands back on my belly.

  Because I wanted him to be the one home with me.

  Everyday.

  Always.

  I stared at his profile, the tired lines of his eyes turned happy at the news. He had to feel the same way. Right?

  The doorbell rang and Alex went running for it.

  “The crib here already?” my dad sang out, his eyes dancing in delight. I doubted he’d ever dreamed a night like this was possible. I know I never had.

  A family, his family, happy, together.

  We followed like a crew of lemmings through the cavernous living room and to the entry.

  Alex stood staring at the door, her blonde hair brushed across one shoulder. A boy stood at the threshold, plate of cookies in hand.

  He blinked twice as I approached. “My mom. She, uh, sent the cookies. Said to say hi.” His eyes, brown, set beneath a tuft of brown curls, never left Alex’s face. And suddenly I was swept back to the first time I met Marc. It was like finding a part of myself I’d been looking for, not that I knew it at the time. But in that moment, everything in the world felt possible, felt right.

  My heart skipped. Maybe they were having that moment now too.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe he was just a kid reluctant to give up his cookies.

  I laughed and grabbed Marc’s hand as Alex reached for the plate.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a bite.

  “Introduce yourself,” I whispered to her.

  “I’m Alex.” A few crumbs flew out of her mouth, and she wiped them off with the back of her hand. I shook my head. Just like her father. “Mom, these are apple butter. Like you make.”

  “Good, huh?” The boy grinned. “I’m Camden.”

  “Hi.” She smiled back.

  Finn came running up and grabbed a cookie, nearly tackled Alex in the process.

  “See you later,” she called, running to pounce on her brother.

  “Thank you for coming by, Camden.” Marc offered a handshake, eyeing the poor boy.

  “Make sure to tell your mother thank you for the cookies,” I added. “Come by any time.”

  “Sure.” His eyes followed to where Alex had disappeared from view before he shuffled away, heading across the street.

  I wrapped my arms around Marc’s waist, pulling him close as we watched.

  His head rested against mine. “Oh, boy.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  He dropped his mouth to my ear. “As long as he waits til she’s a high school senior, I can deal.”

  I laughed. “We’ll see.”

  “Maybe after high school.” He reached for the handle to shut the door. “Yeah. Definitely after.”

  Another laugh escaped. “Let’s not worry about it for now.” I took his face, planted a gentle kiss on his nose. “We’ve got enough on our hands.”

  He grinned. “We do. We so do.”

  Chapter 11

  Two Years Later

  Sasha toodled out in his diaper, big drooly grin on his face. “Ooooh. Petty, Momma.”

  I scooped him up, tucking his little bare legs into my jacket. This kid never seemed to want to wear pants. “Yes, baby. It’s pretty, huh?”

  Marc hopped out of the brand-new car, not just any car, but probably one that cost more than our first house, his smile brighter than the sun glimmering off the paint. Dark green paint. Christmas color paint. His favorite color paint. “Whatta ya think?”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  He pounded on the hood. “This baby’s no joke.”

  I rolled my eyes but gave him a smile. He was wearing his up-to-something face.

  Alex and Finn came barreling out the front door, launching themselves into the backseat.

  “Cool!”

  “Awesome, Dad!”

  “Let’s go for a drive.” Marc swung open the passenger door. “We’ve got a tree to pick out.” He grabbed my waist, eyes twinkling. “It’s not Christmas unless Mommy’s fighting with the needles.”

  He’d remembered. Our first night in the house, on the floor by the fireplace in our room, where we’d celebrated the news of my pregnancy in each other’s arms, promised to make the most of our years in such a special kind of life. Big family dinners. Maybe a garden. And two Christmas trees. Always.

  One real.

  One fake.

  The best of both worlds.

  Every time in life I forgot, got too busy, he always remembered. For me. For us.

  The kids giggled, and I jiggled Sasha, his li
ttle chuckle followed. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Marc Jr. here needs a certain contraption.”

  He took him from me, planted kisses across his cheeks, and dipped into the back behind the driver seat.

  I peeked my head inside. Of course, he had a car seat installed already.

  He offered me a knowing grin and nodded his head for me to climb in too. Alex and Finn had already buckled up, ready for adventure.

  The car—sorry, the Jag—had seats that formed to my body, heated, ready to cradle me into bliss. My eyes half-closed. Baby number three was easier in a way. I knew the drill. Very little surprised me. But my level of tired had all but tripled. Sasha still didn’t always sleep through the night.

  Marc ran his hand through my hair, gave my head a small pat. “Rest. I’ll wake you for the good stuff.”

  Before I could thank him and the blessed company he worked for with their luxury leases, my eyes closed completely. The warmth soothed my weary bones, and I drifted off, leaving only my ears at play. Marc followed tradition and flipped on some Christmas music.

  The kids sang along, Sasha’s little claps off-rhythm but all joy, and Marc took my hand as the car weaved through the streets. Engine humming, they oohed and ahhed at the houses of lights. It was one week ‘til Christmas and Alex and Finn were practically vibrating with excitement. Sasha fed off them like a little wind-up toy, wide-eyed with giggles.

  As hard as I tried to join in, I just couldn’t seem to open my eyes. Until we rolled to a stop and Finn’s voice trailed up from the backseat. “Is that our old house?”

  My eyelids fluttered open. Marc’s childhood home twinkled before us, tiny but bright, happy, full of memories. New memories. Someone else’s memories.

  I looked over to Marc, ready to meet his eyes, but they still rested on the house, furrowed brows dipped low. “No, buddy. It’s mine.”

  “You okay?” I whispered, sitting to attention. My stomach dipped. Clearly he’d been wrestling with something, and I’d missed it in my sleepy state.