There was also a “baby’s first Christmas” ornament. Two, actually. Plus the many, many other decorations that she and Grady had accumulated over the years. Every one of them told a story. Every one of them was bound to break her heart.
“There isn’t any harm in putting the boxes back downstairs,” she whispered. “No one but you will know you even tried. There’s always next year. If you can’t do this, don’t.”
Standing, she paced the narrow path in between the boxes. Thanksgiving had forced her to be honest with herself about a few things. For one, she went a little crazy at John and Karen’s house. Okay, a lot crazy. She’d had a few panic attacks since Cody’s death, but none of them quite as bad as her Thanksgiving Day freak-out. And, frankly, they weren’t fun. She needed to find a way to learn how to handle them.
Secondly, she discovered that it was possible to feel good—happy, even—when she thought of Cody. How precious and blissful those memories could be. She really, really wanted to be able to get to that place without breaking down first. Decorating the house for Christmas seemed like a positive step forward. A way to find the joy she felt at her in-laws’ house three days ago. But now, it seemed overwhelming. And a bad, bad idea.
“Crap,” she muttered. “Take it all back down or grow a spine?” She crouched down and pulled the dusty lid off of one of the boxes. Inside were other containers, all carefully packed away. Jace and Seth had done that, she recalled, about a month after Cody’s funeral. One day, Grady had taken her out, and when they’d come home, all of the Christmas stuff was gone. Poof. As if it had never existed.
She’d been furious that Grady would take it upon himself to have his brothers come in to their home and put everything away. Strange. Then, she wanted the house to look exactly the same as when Cody had last been here. And since then, she’d cleared away every physical reminder of Cody. Those items that had belonged to him, she’d tucked into his bedroom. Other items went into storage, others still went to Goodwill, and a few were thrown away.
“I’m not going to do this,” she whispered. Resolutely she replaced the lid and stood. “Not without your father, Cody. He should be here for this.”
Yes. That was the right decision. Before she found a million and one reasons not to, she picked up her phone and called him. He answered on the second ring. “Grady, I need your help,” she said. “Could you please come over here?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. But there is something I want to do.” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “Something I need to do. But it doesn’t feel right without you here.” Now, her voice hitched. A frisson of strength straightened her backbone. She took in a breath and continued, “I think you’ll want to be here for this. I hope so, anyway.”
He was quiet for long enough that she began to worry, but then, “I’m on my way.”
While she waited, she brewed a pot of coffee. She was carrying her filled-to-the-brim cup through the hallway when she saw her reflection in a mirror. Her hair was still damp from her morning shower, so it hung limply around her face. Naturally, she didn’t have any makeup on because what woman in their right mind slathered on cosmetics when alone on a Sunday? None that she knew. The area beneath her eyes was dark enough to appear bruised, and her skin… Well, John was right. She was definitely on the pale side. Almost sickly so.
As if waking up from a dreamless sleep, she noticed the waistband of her jeans was loose and her sweater seemed a full size too large. Had she lost weight? When? Deep in thought, she took the stairs to her bedroom and somehow managed not to spill coffee all over the place. Once there, she set her cup down and stripped off her clothes.
“Honesty time,” she murmured, stepping in front of her full-length mirror. The first thing she noticed was that she had, indeed, lost weight. Not enough to cause alarm, especially because she probably could’ve stood to drop a few pounds to begin with. After Cody was born, an extra ten pounds or so had stuck to her frame relentlessly.
The second thing she noticed about her body was its lack of muscle tone. Well, duh. While she’d never been a go-to-the-gym sort of girl, she had lived a fairly active life. Before. The most activity she got now was walking up and down the stairs in her house. Heck, most days, she was exhausted by the time she sat down at her desk at work.
She looked weak and insubstantial. Not to mention, sad and listless. In truth, she didn’t recognize the woman looking out at her from the mirror. Feeling very much as if she’d been doused by a bucket of icy water, she put her clothes back on. If she really wanted to focus on the future, then she needed to start making changes in her present.
Beginning now.
Grady stuck his keys in his pocket and knocked on Olivia’s door. He couldn’t get over that she’d called him, let alone that she’d asked him to come over. He’d hoped that the softening in her eyes on Thanksgiving hadn’t been his imagination playing tricks. And when she’d said that she wanted to be with her family, he prayed that statement included him.
A minute passed without Olivia letting him in, so he knocked again. That was when he noticed the music. Christmas carols? The invisible noose that had increasingly tightened around his heart loosened up a notch. He twisted the doorknob to see if she’d left the door unlocked. She had. He pushed it open and the sounds of Dean Martin singing “Winter Wonderland” filled his ears. Now, his heart did a rat-a-tat-tat series of thumps.
This house had been his home for so long. The place he returned to his family after a long day at work. Where he’d painted the walls, fixed creaky pipes, laughed with his wife and sat by his son’s bed to read him a story. He knew every nook and cranny of the place. And whether he lived here or not, this was home.
“Olivia?” he called. “I’m here!” He walked in, removed his coat and slung it over the stair banister on his way into the living room.
She sat on the floor in the middle of a group of large, plastic storage containers. The lids were off two of them, and several smaller containers were open—their contents spilled in a half circle around Olly’s feet. She was holding an ornament in one hand—a pint-size, glued-together popsicle-stick picture frame—and tears were streaming down her cheeks before dripping off her chin. His throat seemed to close in emotion, in worry and in wonder.
He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Sweetheart?” She continued to stare at the ornament Cody had made for her the Christmas before the accident. The picture in the frame was of a four-year-old Cody building a snowman in their front yard. Grady had helped cut the picture down in size so it would fit. “So, what do we have going on here?” he asked.
She gave no sign of being aware of his presence. Bending at the knees, Grady shoved one of the unopened boxes to the side, and then sat down cross-legged in front of his wife. An internal debate raged: Try to get her attention, or simply sit and wait? “Winter Wonderland” faded away, replaced by “Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow.” Next, he knew, was “Silent Night.” This was Olly’s favorite Christmas CD. She loved Dean Martin.
“You always played this CD when we baked cookies,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “Also when we decorated. It’s nice to hear Dean again, Olly.”
Again, no response. He moved the pile of ornaments to the side and shifted his body so he was seated next to her. Grady gently touched Cody’s picture. In a split-second, that day replayed itself in Grady’s mind. “He was so serious about that snowman. The snowballs had to be the perfect shape, and it took him forever to decide which of my scarves should go around the snowman’s neck.”
“Yes. We had to go to the store, because Cody needed the perfect carrot for the nose.” Olivia wiped the wetness from her cheeks, but kept her gaze on their son. “The ones we had in the house weren’t long enough. And the eyes! They had to be just like Frosty’s, but we didn’t have any coal.” Her body rippled with a slight laugh. “So we painted a couple of rocks black.”
“And we never did find a corncob pipe,” Grady remembered
. Pressure gathered behind his eyes. “He was some kid, wasn’t he? We were extraordinarily lucky to have him in our lives.”
Olivia inhaled a shaky breath. Carefully, as if it were made of porcelain, she set the ornament down. She looked at Grady with a small, tremulous smile. “I want to decorate for Christmas. Today. Will you help me?”
Such a simple request. People filled their homes with Christmas cheer every year without thought. But this request from Olivia was about far more than putting up twinkle lights or hanging stockings from the fireplace. She was bringing warmth and love, and in her way, Cody, back into her home. Into her life. And she’d asked him to help.
“I would love nothing better,” he said.
“Thank you.” Her smile grew a little wider. “And don’t worry. We’re still set for next weekend. I’m not asking for this to be our third date or anything.”
“I didn’t think you were.” The mention of date number three made his insides twist. Well, he could always change his mind, depending on how today went. Maybe they wouldn’t need date three. Maybe they’d be able to speed ahead to date four. “But before we can do any decorating, we’ll need to buy you a Christmas tree.”
“Oh!” She glanced around the room. “I guess that would be helpful, wouldn’t it? I’d want a real tree, like always. Do you think it’s too early to get one and have it last through Christmas Day?”
“I think we can manage it. If not, we buy another in mid-December. Whatever will keep you smiling.” He meant it, too. If necessary, he’d buy her a tree every week between now and Christmas, and decorate them all. “I like seeing you smile, Olly.”
She wiped her cheeks again. “You know what? It feels good to want to smile.” Standing up, she brushed dust off of her jeans. “Okay. Let’s do it. I want a huge, beautiful tree, Grady. It has to be perfect. For Cody.”
By silent agreement, they went to Sauvie Island Farms in search of the perfect tree. Being there wasn’t easy for Olivia. After all, they’d gone there as a family for hay-rides and pumpkins every Halloween, and for wreathes and trees every Christmas. The farm used to have music in the trees, choirs playing Christmas carols and booths selling deliciously rich hot chocolate.
Most of these little extras seemed to be gone—or perhaps it was just too early in the season—but that didn’t change the fact that everything she saw, every scent in the air, was another memory.
What really got to her was the other families. Husbands and wives and children joyfully chattering and laughing as they searched for the tree that would sit in their homes for the next month. She was ashamed to admit that she was jealous of these families. She nearly turned around and headed for the truck, but Grady had clasped her hand in his and pulled her to his side.
Somehow, that bolstered her courage enough that she was able to force her legs to walk. She recognized Cody’s tree the second she saw it. An absolutely gorgeous Douglas fir that stood eight feet tall, had beautiful branches filled with fresh, fragrant needles and was likely a good five or six feet in diameter. Cody would’ve jumped up and down in excitement over it.
Now, they were back at Olivia’s house and it was almost time for the real work to begin. She had Dean Martin singing, a huge bowl of popcorn buttered and salted and two steaming mugs of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows.
“You always had a knack for choosing great trees,” Grady said, after lugging the massive pine in the house and putting it in its stand. “I think this might be the best one yet.”
“I don’t know about that, but she’s certainly a beauty.” Olivia held out his mug of cocoa. “Here. I added a little vanilla to the mix, and I popped some popcorn.”
He laughed in a small, almost tentative way. “Just like the old days.” He accepted the cup, drank some and gestured toward the boxed-up decorations. “So, which of these do you think is hiding the Christmas lights?”
“I don’t have a clue. But I guess we should find out.” She cleared a space in the middle of the containers and sat down. Patting the floor, she said, “Come on, let’s do this.”
He moved toward her and stopped. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Olly?” He swallowed another gulp of his hot chocolate. “This is a lot to deal with in one day. We could take a break and finish later. Or tomorrow night. Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.” Okay, sort of a lie. But waiting wouldn’t help her get any more ready, now would it? Besides, “If we put this off, the mess in here will drive me nuts. I’ll likely end up decorating, anyway. I’d rather do this with you, Grady.”
“Right. I get that.” He sat down a few feet from her and set his mug on the floor beside him. “It’s just that I—” Tension laced his words. “Never mind, Olly. Now is fine.”
Oh, jeez. Maybe he needed a break? This had to be difficult for him, too. Once again, her blindness to Grady’s needs smacked her across the forehead. “Hey,” she said softly, “Are you okay? If you’d rather hold off, we can do that.”
“I’m a little off balance,” he admitted in a strained voice. “I…I haven’t seen any of these decorations since—” He clamped his jaw shut and looked somewhere off to her right. “This might be rough.”
For so long, Grady had only shown her his strong, noble side. He was always there, ready to help her, to protect her, to do whatever it was she said she needed. Now, in this moment, it was her turn to be strong. It was her turn to protect.
“We’ll wait then,” she said decisively. Reaching over, she lightly rested her hand on his knee. “You’re right, Grady. We don’t have to do this now. I should have realized that this would be just as difficult for you as it is for me. I’m sorry.”
His leg tensed beneath her palm. When he looked at her, there were shadows in his eyes. “It isn’t so much that I want to wait,” he said carefully, as if choosing the right words were of the utmost importance. “I’m worried that my emotions will get the better of me. That I’ll react in a way that might upset you more.” The muscle in his cheek flinched. “You’re trying so hard here, sweetheart. What if I make it worse for you?”
She couldn’t speak. Even now, Grady’s concern for her overrode all else? He was worried about how she would be if he had a moment of sadness or pain? She had done this to him. She had made him feel as if he couldn’t count on her. How had she been so blind for so long? He deserved so much more. So much better.
Shamed to the core of her being, she rolled forward to her knees and crawled over to sit next to him. Brushing her fingertips along the side of his face, she said, “I’ll lean on you. You lean on me. How does that sound?”
Grady inhaled a long, slow breath. He placed his hand over hers and they laced their fingers together. She laid her head on his chest, and he rested his chin in her hair. Neither of them spoke for a long while. Dean Martin finished singing “White Christmas” and two other songs before they separated.
“So,” Olivia said with a little cough. “Lights.”
“Right.” Grady reached for one of the boxes. “Let’s find those lights.”
He swiveled to the left, she swiveled to the right, and somehow, they ended up supporting each other back to back. The feel of his body pressed against hers was warm and reassuring and so very, very real. It—he—gave her strength. Was she doing the same for him? She hoped so.
They began sifting through containers in silence, searching for the oversize multicolored blinking lights Cody had insisted they buy. When Dean began his rendition of “Jingle Bells,” she found herself singing along. Before too long, Grady joined in. Her lips stretched into a smile and she couldn’t help but bop along with the music. Silly, maybe, but the movement and the singing energized her. Exhilarated her. She—believe it or not—felt happy.
Grady stopped singing midnote. “Aha!” he said brightly. “Found them.”
And, just that fast, melancholy slipped in to replace the happiness. “In the very last box, of course,” she said as she rose to a stand. Reaching out, she grasped on to him and tried to
sound as bright as he. “Come on, old man, let’s light up this room.”
“Old? Old, you say?” Instead of standing, he pulled her into his lap. “Can an old man do that?”
She gave a little laugh. “Actually, yes. Doesn’t take a lot of strength to tug someone into your arms.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose you have a point.” And then he looked at her. Really looked at her. Like all the way into her soul. “Have I told you lately how beautiful you are? I have thought so from the second we met, and my opinion has never changed.”
Heat crept along her skin, from her toes to her ears and everywhere in between. “Then you must be old, because you’re losing your eyesight. I’m…faded.”
“No. You’re radiant.”
And there went her bones, melting into a big puddle. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe,” he said with a long-lashed wink. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Umm…” Did she? “No, I don’t think I do. I’m out of practice, I guess.”
“I’m an amazing tutor. My advice is to set up some study sessions immediately. My calendar gets crowded fast,” he teased while trailing his finger along the curve of her jaw. How could such a small, simple touch set her on fire? “We can start with corny pick-up lines.”
“Such as?” she whispered. “Give me an example.”
His lips twitched in an almost grin. “Do you have a Band-Aid?”
“Why? Did you scrape your knee falling for me?”
The grin became full-fledged. “I did. Over and over and over.”
Oh. Her insides turned all soft and wiggly. “You’re a dork.”
“For you? Guilty as charged.”
“Well, as sweet as this is…the lights aren’t getting hung,” she said breathlessly. How could this man, whom she’d known for so long, make her feel like a love-struck, silly teenager? Crazy. “And I believe I’ve proven we can skip the corny pick-up line lessons. I’m fairly well versed, after all.”
Miracle Under The Mistletoe (The Foster Brothers #1) Page 12
