by Dani Collins
Instead, she’d been the one to crouch next to Atlas, to hug and praise him. Then they’d gone back to the kitchen to put away the rest of the cooled cookies.
Maury held a pained frown. “Atlas is so like him. Quincy doesn’t see it, but I do. It makes me feel as though I have a second chance. I traveled for work when Quincy was young. I missed so much. I let him down.”
“You’re being hard on yourself. Parents work. That’s reality. And grandparents are supposed to be the ones who have time for their grandkids. It’s good he decided to join you. Really good for Atlas.”
Maury snorted. “He tried to talk me into staying there with him. I showed him stubborn.” His sidelong look brimmed with self-satisfaction.
She shot him a grin, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was sobering into a frown of introspection.
“This is a second chance for all of us,” Maury said, as though reassuring himself. “I can be a better father to my own son, and maybe he’ll…” He didn’t finish.
Her heart caught at the dejection she read in him.
“He will,” Nicki assured him, thinking of the way Quincy had eaten both of the cookies despite his reservations. “He just needs time.”
And opportunity.
She lifted her gaze off the eggs she was pushing around the pan and glanced at the notes for the Advent calendar still stuck to the wall.
Hmm.
*
Quincy started up the stairs and caught Atlas as he was coming down.
The boy was singing, “Woo-doff wiff yoh nose so bwight, won’ chew gwide my sway to—”
Atlas froze when he saw Quincy and bit his lips together.
Quincy’s first impulse was to correct him. Rudolf.
He flashed back to the years it had taken him to master that sound. He replayed Atlas’s rendition, heard all the soft Rs.
Damn. Would he need speech therapy, too?
On the heels of that came the voices of his grade-school tormentors, mocking, “Thah-WA-pee.”
Quincy bit his own lips together, not wanting to speak ever again in this lifetime.
His chest felt tight, while something ferocious roared awake in his blood. Something with claws and teeth that wanted to tear apart those who might even think of teasing Atlas, driving back anyone who might negatively impact the boy’s budding confidence.
Atlas stood with his enormous brown eyes fixed on Quincy’s face.
Quincy pulled himself together, pushing the anger back into its bottle and doing his best to find a calm, non-threatening expression.
“We, uh…” Quincy had to clear his throat. “We can listen to that song in the car if you want. When we go to the library.”
*
The interior of the Marietta library was decorated with colorful, blinking lights, cutout snowflakes, and red-and-green paper chains. One wall was covered in entries from the Draw Santa contest. The central table held a display of books about Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa.
Nicki took Atlas across to the small group of children gathered around the storyteller, a woman of retired age who introduced herself as Louise. She was reading The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and warmly invited Atlas to join them.
Nicki then searched out a scrap of paper and a pencil from the lending counter to make notes for her Advent calendar. Along with the homemade decorations they could replicate, she noticed the tree was decorated with little cards in the shape of angels. Each one was labeled with the age and sex of a child in need.
Donate a gift. Brilliant.
There was a notice that the regular Family Game Night at the library was on hiatus until January. Those sorts of board games were probably too advanced for Atlas, but she would look in the thrift store for something age appropriate. The workshop for making a pinecone bird feeder had potential, too.
A poster hung on the door, advertising the Christmas Stroll. It included a Gingerbread House competition, but they’d missed the deadline to enter, darn it. They could still make one, she decided, writing it down with everything else. The Stroll was this weekend. When she read the list of events, she did a mental fist pump. Yes, yes, yes! Such a great activity for her calendar.
And Quincy.
He was such a baffling man! He’d worn an expression close to grim as they had piled into the car, but he was the one who had put on the Christmas carols so Atlas could listen to “Rudolf”.
Now he wore a stern profile as he finished up the process of getting his lending card along with a child’s card for Atlas.
The older woman behind the counter smiled with dazzled attraction as she explained the fine points of reserving books online.
Nicki couldn’t blame her. Quincy was the definition of the strong, silent type, not even nodding in understanding as the woman stammered through her spiel. At the same time, he stood tall and commanding. His puffy winter jacket managed to showcase his broad shoulders and long legs. He had enough of a rugged look to seem like he belonged in Montana, but he was missing the cowboy boots and hat that were as common here as they were in Texas.
He dazzled her without even glancing in her direction.
Tingling, Nicki joined him and smiled as the woman finished up. “Do you happen to know where we can get a tree?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The woman grew even more flustered. “I didn’t realize your wife was with you. We should make her a card, too.”
“I’m not—”
“She’s actually my—” Quincy cut himself off, regarding Nicki with a perplexed kink in his dark brow.
Nicki could practically hear him running through the labels. Father’s nurse? Son’s nanny? Housekeeper?
“Christmas elf?” she suggested.
“Employee.”
The flat way he said it swept all the air out of her sails. Nicki reminded herself she was a big girl who wasn’t living on approval any longer. She was his employee. Lucky her, that meant she still got a paycheck even if he didn’t like the way she played her role.
It still felt like a rebuff.
The librarian wasn’t sure what to make of them, Nicki could tell.
“I use a fake one,” the woman stammered. “But there’s a tree farm outside of town. I’ll look up the directions.”
“Excuse me,” a woman said from behind them. Nicki turned to see the newcomer. She was blonde and pretty, looked to be in her late thirties, and carried a toddler on her hip.
The little girl pointed at the children in the corner, and the woman said, “Oh, sure, honey. Go sit with the kids.” She lowered the toddler to the floor. “Here. Let me take your coat, first. Sorry,” she said as she straightened, tugging the sleeves of her daughter’s jacket. “I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re looking for a tree. My stepson works at Scott’s. It’s easy to find. In fact, I have the flyer.”
She tucked her daughter’s coat under her arm and dug into her shoulder bag.
“This is from when they were advertising for students to apply. Let me just get my grocery list.” She tore off a corner. “You still have the address.” She handed it to Nicki with a smile. “It’s a nice outing for kids. Horse-drawn sleigh, cocoa, and cookies. Music.”
“Are you in marketing?” Nicki teased. “Because that’s an excellent sales pitch.”
The blonde laughed. “No commission, just being neighborly. Are you new here?”
“We are. I’m Nicki Darren. This is Quincy Ryan and that’s his son, Atlas, in blue. His father was born here, though. Did you know the Ryans at all?”
“No, I’m from California. I still feel new to town myself, but everyone is always so friendly. I’m Liz Canon.”
“Oh, where in California? I was living…”
*
The women connected like a pair of magnets, sidelining Quincy—which didn’t bother him. It was very much his comfort zone. He didn’t want to talk or be talked to. At least Nicki wasn’t flitting all over the library anymore, like a budgie loose from its cage.
That allowed him to keep all
his attention on Atlas. This was Quincy’s first time in public with the boy, without his father for additional support. It felt like a lot of responsibility. What if Atlas decided to throw a tantrum the way some kids did? What if he wandered off?
Judging by the lack of hovering parents in the story zone, people didn’t steal children here, but Quincy still wore a cloak of city caution.
Plus, ever since he heard Atlas singing this morning, he’d been worrying about the boy going to school and being around other children. Kids could be heartless about the smallest things.
Was Atlas having trouble with his speech? He wanted to ask the boy about it, but knew from experience that being forced to talk might be the kid’s worst nightmare. He could call Karen’s parents later—Except, damn. They’d gone to Australia for the holidays, to see their son. That was another reason they hadn’t wanted custody of Atlas. They had plans that didn’t include a child they only saw intermittently. Email, then, he decided.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Liz said as her daughter joined the group of seated children, toddling between them to set a familiar hand on Atlas’s shoulder and plunk herself beside him. “Lucy is still learning the ‘hands to yourself’ rule.”
Atlas didn’t seem to mind, only looked at her, then wiggled over to make room.
“Such a gentleman,” Nicki said with a warmth and affection that wormed into Quincy’s heart. He liked that she liked his son. He didn’t know why that pleased him so much. He couldn’t take any credit for how Atlas conducted himself, but it still gave Quincy a little kick of pride each time she showed approval toward the boy.
As Lucy sat down next to Atlas, legs stuck out straight before her, she turned her head and beamed at Atlas. It was a silent, Isn’t this great?
Atlas gazed at her for a long time. Slowly, a real smile, the first Quincy had seen, dawned on the little boy’s face. It wasn’t one of those friendly grins that Nicki and Pops knew how to throw around, either. It was heartfelt, welcoming, and sweet. The little boy’s heart opened up right there, innocently and completely, under the sunny expression of the little girl who had touched his shoulder.
“Oh…” Nicki sighed. “That is the cutest thing I’ve seen in my life.”
“I think we just witnessed an actual bloom of love.” Liz sounded almost reverent.
Quincy knotted up on Atlas’s behalf. Didn’t he know you had to keep your cards close to your chest?
Quincy wanted to stop what was happening before his eyes, to warn his son not to let any feeling ever be so strong, not to let his emotions show so nakedly. The kid might as well have been teetering off the edge of a building, given how suffocated Quincy felt by the impending danger of the boy’s unfettered reaction. He was helpless to save him.
“It’s nice to see him smile like that, isn’t it?” Nicki directed her question up to Quincy.
Quincy felt sick.
Atlas turned his attention back to Louise, but he wiggled his bum closer to Lucy.
“How long will story time take?” Quincy asked, hearing the abruptness in his tone, but unable to temper it. “I need to pick up an extension cord at the hardware store.”
“We’ll be here long enough for you to do that.” Nicki’s tone grew a shade cooler. “Atlas will need to choose some books to bring home after. And your dad wanted us to grab some Christmas lights while we’re out,” she reminded as he started to walk away. “You could probably find some there.”
The season of joy. Right.
December 3rd
As if the house wasn’t already more colorful than a Persian market, Quincy was enlisted to hang lights all day Saturday while his father set up one of those gaudy, life-sized Santa and reindeer cutouts on the front yard.
Nicki had had the foresight to suggest a snowsuit for Atlas while they were out yesterday, so she and Atlas joined him outside, making snow angels and building a snowman between holding the ladder and ‘providing artistic guidance’. She had also asked him to help her lift the body of the snowman onto its base, but let Atlas arrange the rocks on his face around the carrot nose before she put the head on herself.
“And look what I have for a hat!” She set a red sand pail upside down on the frozen man’s head. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
His cockeyed expression made him look drunk, but Quincy kept his mouth shut.
When they went inside, Nicki made cocoa with mini-marshmallows and whipped up a fresh batch of cookie dough that had to refrigerate overnight. “Best Ever Sugar Cookies,” she promised. “When they’re cool, we’ll decorate them.”
Quincy made do with the shortbread, which was really good, and took some to his desk with his cocoa.
Nicki followed him. “I’m going to let Atlas watch a movie this afternoon, so he’s not too tired when we go out to the Stroll tonight.”
“I thought you said it was a couple of blocks in town. We look at the lights on a few houses until he gets tired, then come home. Right?”
“Oh, um.” She chuckled. “That’s not what I meant when I said ‘Christmas Stroll’. It’s a thing. An event.” She explained that the main street would be blocked off to traffic and local businesses were scheduled to stay open late, so people could shop and mingle, enjoying street entertainment and food tents.
His brain blanked. That was the sort of thing other people did. His father loved parades and company picnics, but not Quincy. Once he reached adulthood, he had made the choice to avoid crowds. Watching fireworks was great, but from the balcony of his apartment. He didn’t want to walk down to the beach on the Fourth of July and rub shoulders with a bunch of strangers.
She chewed the corner of her mouth, finally breaking the silence to say, “I think he would like it. There will be carolers and hay rides.”
Was that a warning? Because it didn’t sound like an incentive.
“You could probably get him a stocking. Maybe he could even visit Santa.”
Quincy knew he was behaving like the green creature with the small heart, but he’d never enjoyed having anything crammed down his throat. Besides, this didn’t sound like Christmas. It sounded like he’d be drinking uncut commercialism, straight from the bottle.
Pops came in at that point and said he wanted to go. He hadn’t had a proper chance to walk downtown and mingle with the locals yet, reacquainting with the changes since he’d lived here as a child. Nicki ran out a little while later to pick up the buttons that acted as a pass for the event, but Pops paid for them.
So Quincy swallowed his dissention, bundled up as it grew dark, and drove the bunch of them to the library where they parked the SUV. He still missed his Corolla. A pickup truck seemed the vehicle of choice in Marietta, but midrange SUVs were also popular. Given he was working from home and no longer commuting, the lower mileage wasn’t an issue and even though he hadn’t had to use the four-wheel drive yet, he was glad he had it.
He would have happily driven them wherever they wanted to go, but they walked across to Crawford Park and caught a hayride. Him. A city boy who hadn’t seen a real, live cow until he took a bus upstate for math camp in Grade Ten.
As they reached the rodeo fair grounds, Pops said to Atlas, “We’ll come out here next year when the rodeo is on.”
Quincy just wanted to get through Christmas.
He sat as still on the hay bale as Atlas did, while Pops and Nicki chattered with the other families aboard the wagon, sharing where they were from, how long it had been since they’d done this, and how much fun they’d always had.
It wasn’t bad. The ambling wagon allowed them to see that people were coming from all directions, families carrying little ones and pushing strollers, older couples and teens circulating. It was rare to see an event draw all ages like this. There was no sense of urgency, either, which Quincy had to admit was refreshing. No city tension where hustle and bustle and staking of territory was the name of the game. Everyone moved like they had no particular place to be. They were just… strolling.
The wagon let them
off, and they made their way to Main Street where the scent of frying foods and hot cider floated on the air. Colored lights were suspended across the road, glowing green, yellow, red, and blue against the night sky. The spill of light from the shops reflected off the tiny snowflakes drifting in the air. All the windows wore bright displays framed with garlands and reflective snowflakes and blinking mini lights. A choir sang “Silver Bells,” almost drowned out by the laughter and conversation of the milling crowd.
“Well, isn’t this a picture,” Pops said, breath clouding. He hung back to take in the vision.
Quincy had to admit it was different from what he’d imagined. Festive.
“Ho’ my han’,” Atlas said, wiggling his mitted fingers into Quincy’s gloved palm. “So I don’ get yost.”
Lost, Quincy almost corrected, but offered two curled fingers for Atlas to grip, then secured the boy’s hold with the light press of his thumb.
Curiosity pulled him forward, drawing Atlas with him. Atlas held out his other hand for Nicki to take. They wound their way into the melee, pausing when they came upon the carolers who switched up to “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”.
Atlas couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in the elf hat with its big, pointed ears. She smiled and waved at them.
“We want to make our way to the Graff Hotel,” Nicki said. “Photo with Santa. It also has the gingerbread house competition. We want to get some ideas for our own. Don’t we, Atlas?”
Atlas nodded, so they headed there first. As they walked, Pops provided a commentary. “My uncle had a lawnmower repair shop at the end of that street. I broke my arm, falling off my bicycle right on that corner when I was nine. I was delivering papers and my tire blew. Did you know Chase Goodwin is from Marietta? The ball player. Back in my day, we all tried out for baseball, but you had to get your name on the list, here in this building, when it was the Sport and Hunt. That’s how they got you to come in and buy a glove.”
The hotel was packed with people shuffling past the gingerbread houses, but it was worth the close quarters. The houses were incredibly intricate and deserved a thorough study. The whole place smelled like Christmas—cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and molasses.
