A Christmas to Remember

by Jenny Hale

  “We’ll let these dry all day. Let’s leave them on the table. Is everyone cleaned up?” Both children nodded.

  “Hello,” Joyce said, walking into the playroom. Carrie stopped talking and turned around. Joyce had her gray hair pinned back into a clip and a heather-blue sweater that came up to her neck, giving her creamy skin a rosy glow. Carrie hadn’t noticed until then how much David favored her. “Good morning.” She walked over and peered at the stockings. “These are beautiful.”

  “Carrie did the leaves,” Olivia explained as she rummaged around in her dress-up box. She pulled out a pink boa and a flouncy hat and put them on.

  “I did all the dots on mine,” David said, looking up at her.

  “It’s lovely, David. You have perfect dots. I can see your fingerprints!”

  Olivia called from across the room, “Grandma Joyce, will you stay and play with us?” She’d taken her hat off, and her hair was puffing out in untamed strands as the static took hold in the dry air.

  “I’d love to.”

  “Want to play trains?” David asked, getting a bin full of track pieces from the shelf. Olivia slipped her feather boa off and let it shimmy to the floor. She lowered herself down onto her knees next to the train bin and pulled out two pieces of track.

  “Certainly, we can play trains,” Joyce said. “Your grandpa Bruce collects them. Do you remember his big tracks up in our attic?” The kids both shook their heads, and Joyce’s face fell just a little, but she recovered well. She turned to Carrie. “It’s been a long time since Adam’s brought the kids to our house. I don’t think they remember much at all about their visits.”

  Not knowing the best way to handle a comment like that, Carrie said simply, “He seems like a very busy man.” What she thought but didn’t say was, He shouldn’t be too busy for his own family. Even right now, he was snowed in, unable to go to work, and where was he? The office. While his entire family sat downstairs. Who does that? Wouldn’t he feel inclined to entertain them? And more importantly, didn’t his own mother find it strange? Why wasn’t she throwing a fit? “Is he always this busy?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Olivia answered. “Daddy is very busy.”

  Joyce snapped two pieces of track together and handed them to David. “Olivia’s right,” she patted Olivia’s leg. “Adam works quite a bit. It’s a tough job your daddy has, running that brewery. It takes all his time, doesn’t it?” David handed Joyce two more pieces of track. She clipped them together for him and attached them to the other pieces on the floor. “He wasn’t always this way,” she said. “But he found that he was quite successful at building this business, so he works very hard to stay successful.”

  “He likes work,” David said from the other side of the giant oval of track that they were building. “He said so, one time on the phone—that he loves his work and that’s why he does it so much.”

  Carrie felt her stomach sour with that statement. What does that tell the children? They believed that Adam spent time on what he loved, and he never spent time with them. With his actions, every time he chose work, he was telling them that he loved work more than he loved them. Her heart broke for these kids. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t get involved, but she knew that she’d break that promise because she couldn’t sit by and watch two beautiful children with a wonderful family believe that they weren’t loved, that work was more important than they were. She’d only planned one art project today, but, suddenly, she changed her mind. Carrie got up and pulled a small canvas from her bag of crafts and set it on the art table. Then, she turned to Joyce. “I actually need to speak to Adam. Would it be possible for me to slip out for just a moment?”

  “Of course,” Joyce said.

  “Thank you.” Without any further explanation, she walked down the hallway to the office.

  Chapter Eleven

  Look confident, even when you don’t feel it. Carrie repeated that line to herself. She had been toying with an idea for a craft for the kids, and she’d gone back and forth about it, not wanting to bother Adam, but she felt like it was the right thing to do. She was meddling, but she didn’t care. She just couldn’t stand by and watch the children lose out on having a fantastic father. She worried that her gesture may backfire like it had at the tree lot, but doing nothing wouldn’t change the situation, so she pressed on. He may send her right out of his office, but she didn’t care about that either. She wouldn’t leave until he agreed. With a shaky hand, she knocked on his door.

  “Come in,” he said, his voice sounding preoccupied.

  She opened the door all the way and walked in, her hear pattering.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was wondering if you could stop your work for just a few minutes. It won’t take long, I promise. I’m doing a craft with the children, and I’d like you to participate.” She knew what he was probably thinking: I’ve employed you to watch the children, not me. Why are you bothering me? She could feel the question pelting her all the way across the room. It gnawed at her, but her resolve was like steel when it came to the children, even if confronting him rattled her to the core. The children had no advocate but her.

  Adam scratched his forehead, then rubbed his eyes. “I’m waiting on a call…”

  “And what will happen if you miss it?” she asked boldly. She was out of line, she knew it. She was being demanding, but she knew that he was in a tight spot. What other nanny could he possibly get short term and during a snowstorm? She was willing to take her chances for the children.

  His eyes narrowed and with a controlled, even voice, he said, “I won’t miss the call.”

  “So that call is more important than your children?” There. She’d put it out there. It was completely not her place, but she felt so strong asking him. It was an important question to ask, and even if it cost her the job, he needed to hear it.

  He stood up behind his desk, leaning on the surface of it with his hands, his fingers spread wide, his shoulders tense. “Pardon me?” She’d never seen him look at her with such a fierce expression, and it made her want to sink into the floor and hide there, but she wasn’t backing down. “This call is for my children. If I fall down on the job, the whole thing will go under, and I won’t be able to provide a thing for them. Your services certainly aren’t free, are they? This house, their private schooling, everything they need is paid for by me.” He took in a deep breath, let it out, and sat back down, clearly getting himself back under control. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do. As do you.”

  Yes I do, she thought, and I’m not going to let the kids down. “Do you know what Olivia wants for Christmas?” His face didn’t show a single change; he just waited for her to get out whatever it was she was going to say. “She wants you to take her ice skating. That is what’s most important to her. To Olivia, ice skating is as important as your call is to you. I know you don’t think it’s important, and she knows that too. She told me that you were going to take her once, but you got involved with work and forgot. I sure would hate for the person who’s calling you to forget to call. To drop the ball. To abandon whatever it is you are working on.”

  Carrie knew she’d upset him—it was crystal clear—but there was still something about the way he looked at her that made her feel like it was more him getting it off his chest than it was actually calling her out. He wasn’t angry, she thought; he was defensive. She could work with defensive. Carrie walked over to his desk and sat down across from him. Cautiously, she said, “I know you work hard to provide for your children. But you have to show them sometimes that what they need is important. If you don’t, they’ll grow up thinking you don’t value their needs. It’s vital to show Olivia how important ice skating is to you—even if you have to fake it—because to her, it’s the most important thing.” He looked up at her, his face still hard and tense. “They need more than your money.”

  “I don’t have time for this right now.”

  “You’re a b
usy man. I don’t know if you ever have time for this conversation,” she said, her voice gentle and empathetic. She could feel how raw his emotions were at that moment, and she wanted to be so careful not to make him close up. Telling Adam what he needed to hear hadn’t been nearly as hard as she’d expected, and she felt a kind of exhilaration at standing up to him. It made her feel strong and significant. “Let them see who you really are. I can help you, and, I promise, it won’t take but a few minutes of your time. Show them today how important they are.”

  He took in a breath and stared at her for a moment, clearly thinking. Was she asking more than she realized? “If I miss this call, I will have to wait for the figures I need to finalize the purchase of a chain of stores that stretches across the entire East Coast.”

  Carrie watched his reaction. He looked tired, overworked. She leaned toward him. “Forgive me, because I don’t know the business, but can’t you just call him back?” she asked gently. “What will five minutes change? We’ve just spent two talking.”

  “I’m trying to get him while he’s with his team and before he flies out to New York. I don’t know when I’ll get him again.”

  “Three minutes.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been three minutes. We could be done by now.”

  He blew out a loud breath through his nose. She could tell she was pushing it. She didn’t want to upset him. That was actually the very last thing she wanted. The truth was, she didn’t think that Adam avoided his kids and his family on purpose. At least she hoped not. She wanted to show him how wonderful he had it, and how much he could have if he just took it in.

  “I have an idea. I’ll bring the craft to you. If you get the call, we’ll leave. Deal?”

  With another quiet exhale, Adam looked up at the ceiling before settling his gaze back on her. He looked pensive, as if he were questioning his own thoughts. That vulnerability made her want to help him even more. It was the same look he’d had at the table the other night when she’d pressed him to go to the Christmas-tree lot. When he looked at her like that it made her thoughts all run into each other. Until now, she’d never met another human being who could get her flustered like he could. There was something so lovable about him, even though he hardly gave her reason to think so.

  “If the phone rings, I have to go,” he said, his voice short and irritated.

  “Done. I’ll be right back with the children.”

  In minutes, she’d left Joyce in the hallway as she took the kids, the canvas, and an armful of paint supplies to Adam’s office. “Is Daddy going to be mad that we’re interrupting him?” Olivia worried aloud.

  “No,” Carrie said tenderly. “I asked him if he wanted to do some art with us, and he said yes, but we have to do it in his office because he’s waiting for a call. Wasn’t that nice of him to let us work with him in his office?”

  “We aren’t allowed in his office,” David said, his face unsure.

  “Well, today you are,” she smiled.

  They walked in, and Adam looked up from his computer. He smiled at them, and it gave Carrie a burst of hope. She set the canvas onto his desk. “We’re gonna need Daddy to roll up his sleeves,” she said to the children, her eyes darting over to Adam. He unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve on each wrist and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Then, to him, she said, “Now, we need your hands. Hold them out, please.” When he did, she noticed the strength in his hands, the width of them, the stillness of his fingers as if nothing frazzled him. They were so different from her own small, thin fingers that trembled just being near him. She handed a paintbrush to each child and squirted a puddle of red paint onto a paper plate. “David, you paint Daddy’s right hand. Do you know which one to paint?” David nodded. “Olivia, you paint his left hand. Not the back of his hand, just the front. Okay?”

  Olivia was the first to dip her brush into the paint. She dragged the paint-filled bristles down his ring finger to the palm of his hand. Adam’s fingers wiggled a little with the sensation, making Carrie smile. As she did, he looked over at her, and she almost exploded with happiness. He didn’t want to smile at her, she could tell. She watched the faces of the children dipping their brushes into the paint and then painting their father’s hands—they were focused, happy. Adam was now watching them too, that curious expression playing around his eyes. See how great it can be? she wanted to ask him. See how much more fun this is than waiting for that call?

  As they painted Adam’s palms, she thought about her own father’s hands, how she’d held on to them as they crossed crowded streets, how they’d felt when he brushed the hair out of her eyes at bedtime, how they looked holding books as they read together on the sofa on weekends. Nothing could replace the memory of that. Carrie was glad that the children would have a moment with their father when they could take in his kindness and create a memory.

  Once his hands were covered in paint, she put the canvas in front of Adam. “Kids, if you’ll set your brushes down on that plate there, I’m going to let your daddy have a turn doing some of the work.” The children obeyed and stepped back. “Carefully,” she told him, “press your hands on the canvas to make two handprints.” Slowly, Adam lowered his hands onto the white fabric, pressing down and then releasing. When he took his hands away, he’d left two perfect, red handprints. “Thank you,” she smiled. “Now we can clean him up,” she said to the kids.

  The office phone rang.

  Adam held his paint-filled hands out, clearly deliberating.

  Another ring.

  “Do you mind hitting that speaker button?” he asked. She expected him to be irritated, but he wasn’t. He nodded toward the phone as it rang a third time. She hit the button. “Adam Fletcher,” he said before putting a finger to his lips to remind the children to be quiet. When he did, it put a smudge of red paint above his lip. Olivia giggled.

  A man’s voice came over the speaker. “Hi, Adam. It’s Robert. I’ve got the numbers for you.”

  Carrie ushered the children to the door. “I’ll be right back,” she mouthed to Adam. Then, she took the kids downstairs to the kitchen to get some more towels so Adam could clean his hands.

  When they got there, Joyce was having a cup of coffee at the table next to Bruce who was reading the paper. “You are a brave woman,” she said as Carrie neared the table. Olivia went around the other side and crawled onto Bruce’s lap, rustling his paper. “I saw you and the children with Adam. I don’t think anyone’s ever pulled him away from his work before.”

  Carrie scooted a chair out for David, and he sat down, his feet dangling above the ground. He was watching Carrie, and she wondered if he thought the same thing. At four, did he realize the moment he’d just had with his father, or did he think that they were intruding? “I just wanted him to do an art project with the kids. It didn’t take very long. I hope I didn’t bother him too much.”

  “I think he needs to be bothered sometimes.”

  “Do you mind if I go and clean up? The kids can go into the playroom if you’re busy.” She grabbed a few towels and ran them under the water, ringing them out.

  “They’ll be fine here with us. Sharon’s just getting a shower, and they’ll be down in a few. Then maybe we can all play,” she smiled at the children.

  “Thank you.”

  Carrie walked back up to the office and had to hold back her grin as she saw Adam writing, the pen and paper smeared with red paint. He had a little more on his forehead, and he still had some on his top lip. Seeing him like that made her want to giggle, but at the same time, she loved the sight of it. He needed to loosen up, she felt, and that made it seem like he had. She imagined that grin of his, what it felt like when it was directed at her, but she quickly pushed the thought away when she heard him mention Andy’s name. Every time she heard it, it brought her crashing down to reality. She was willing to bet that they had conversations in which she’d never be able to participate because she didn’t know his business—the business that he loved so
much. She could never compete with that.

  Carrie walked over to the desk and held up a towel to gesture for him to wipe his hands. He set down the pen, still talking, and reached out for it. His hands were much bigger than hers; his fingers could wrap around her entire fist. He wiped to get the paint off the creases where his knuckles bent, and she thought about what those hands would feel like on her face or stroking down her arm. He looked over at her, making her knees wobbly.

  The only sound in the room was the unfamiliar voice on the speakerphone and the pulse in her ears. She tried to get herself together. She was being silly again. She was so clearly not practiced with adult relationships that she found herself feeling like a schoolgirl around him. The problem was, even though she knew it was crazy, she loved the way it felt to be with him.

  He spun around in his chair, away from his desk and her, talking about some sort of report Andy had prepared. Carrie looked at his smudged paper and the painted pen and smiled to herself. Then, she piled the art supplies into her hands and carried them out of the room.

  As she walked down the hallway to the playroom to put the supplies away, she wondered what it would be like to know him better. She looked down at the extra rags and pondered again what it would feel like to have his fingers touch her. The more she allowed herself to think about these things, the more the sinking feeling returned. With a shake of her head, she went into the playroom and put the art project items away.

  When she returned to the office to check that Adam had everything he needed to clean up, one of the wet rags he’d been using was in a heap on the floor by the desk. He looked up to greet her, the receiver now pressed against his ear, and she had to hide her smile. The red paint was still on his forehead and lip. She took a tissue from the box on his desk and motioned for him to wipe his forehead.

  “You have paint on your forehead,” she mouthed. His brows creased, he looked down, wrote something else, and then looked back at her. She pointed to her head. “You have paint on your forehead,” she mouthed again, tapping her own head. He took the tissue and rubbed, but he kept missing, the red mark still on his forehead and lips. She couldn’t help it, a giggle escaped, and he scolded her with his eyes. It didn’t matter; she realized what she’d accomplished. He wasn’t angry, she could tell. He’d enjoyed being with the kids. She left the office and retrieved her mirror from her room. When she returned, she handed it to him.