“What’s your point?”
“The point is, now it’s your turn. You do the counseling and you do the work. It sucks to hurt. It sucks to lose people you love, people who depended on you. I don’t know why it happened, Will. Evil’s out there, and it won that day, but it’s up to you whether it continues to keep that chokehold on your life. Hear me when I say this—you’re not responsible for the loss of lives. You braved war-like conditions and set up a school. You did it at a risk to your own life, and one day the enemy stepped in. The best thing you could do to share the memory of those kids is to carry on. To live a life of purpose. To find happiness.”
Tears blurred Will’s vision as he shook his head, his cheeks stinging in the wet cold. “I really don’t want that stupid morning show job. I can’t do perky.”
“Then go back to hard news and do what you do best. Report from the trenches, uncover political scandals, and dodge new bombs. You loved that death-defying stuff.”
Will ran a hand over his weary face. “Every time I think about it, I get nauseous. It’s like climbing back onto a plane after surviving a 30,000 foot crash.”
“You’ve never been a quitter,” his brother said. “So you ease into it. Nobody said you had to go streaking naked through Syria with a video camera and a death wish. Report the truth, be a voice once again for the voiceless. That would make those kids proud. Celebrate their memory by beginning again.”
“I feel so guilty even trying.”
Alex’s hand fell heavy on Will’s snow-covered shoulder. “If only you had a brother to lean on.”
“I don’t need help. I—”
“Yeah, you do. And I can walk you through some of this therapy crap. If I can endure it, you can too.”
“You sound like you’d almost enjoy that.”
His upper lip rose in disdain. “One counselor made me do this sand table thing. It was nuts. I might’ve walked out of that one and told her she could kiss my fat championship ring.”
Cordelia’s words swirled like mist in Will’s head. “I care. The people who love you and want to know your story care. . .”
It felt like he was standing at the shoreline of the Pacific, and he needed to swim to the other side. Moving on seemed insurmountable, impossible, and beyond his ability. But maybe this moment was his North Star, his sign to move in a new direction, one he had thought unimaginable.
After some time, Alex cleared his throat. “As long as you’re adding things to your Life Revival To-Do List, you might want to go get your girl back. We liked her. Right now, we even like her better than you.” He waved a conjuring hand. “So do something about that.”
Yeah, about that. As long as Will was disappointing people, he might as well add another log to the fire. “Cordelia was just pretending to be my girlfriend to get you guys off my back.”
“I know.”
Will’s gaze locked on his brother. “How?”
“That might be another area in which I highly relate. But that’s a story for another time.”
“I don’t know if Cordelia will take me back.”
“Just say some pretty stuff. I’ll coach you. I have to get myself out of the dog house all the time. Do you have flowers? Some Starbucks gift cards? Access to quality nachos?”
His limbs beginning to shiver, Will smiled. “Are you gonna help me get her back the way you helped me get Sarah Jennings in tenth grade?”
“I’m happily married, so I promise not to make-out with this one and steal her the night before Homecoming.” The smile left Alex’s wind-blown face. “I’ve missed you, Will.”
His throat tight with emotion, Will could only nod.
Alex threw his arms around his twin in a bone-crushing hug. “I love you, brother.”
Will hugged him back, words far out of reach. This was his family, his best friend.
You’re right where you’re supposed to be, the pastor had said.
Will Sinclair prayed he was right. “I’ll catch you later, okay?” He zipped his coat as he took a step back.
“Are we gonna see you in the morning? Mom and Finley are counting on it.”
The idea didn’t sound so smothering right now. “I’ll be there. But I’ve got a stop to make first.”
Alex gave him one last measured look, then seeming to decide Will was no longer a flight risk, headed back inside.
Leaving Will alone.
Finding some gloves in his pockets, Will slipped them on and slowly made his way to the back of the church to a small holiday display Cordelia had shown him. Though it wasn’t her design, and far from it, it drew Will all the same.
With frozen, wet feet, he sloshed through the accumulating snow, ignoring the sleet that peppered his face. The flakes blanketed the roof of the church, the cars, and Will’s clothes, but seemed to fly right off the cheap, plastic manger scene before him.
Mary stood in a blue dress, her face faded from years of service at the manger. Joseph flanked her side, and Will wondered if he used to look proud and maybe a little awe-struck. Or perhaps like Alex, Joseph had been knocked sideways with fear and wondering about college funds. But in the manger, with fresh hay that stuck out in every direction, was the baby Jesus. The destination of the Wise Men. The pursuit of the shepherds. The one who the Christmas fuss was all about.
All those sojourners had ceased their walking. Knowing they had arrived.
The words of Cordelia haunted him.
The insights of the pastor shook him.
The accusations from Alex absolutely leveled him.
Without care for time or place, weather or good sense, Will dropped to his knees before the plastic infant, bowed his head, and let the tears come.
Not once had he ever cried for the pain to his body from the explosion. Will had never wept for his captivity. And his soul had yet to allow him to grieve for the students who’d perished when evil detonated so many lives.
But now, as the snow fell like a soft balm on his skin, Will cried. He saw every child from that school. Held their faces in his mind’s eye.
Imagined them laughing, playing, and . . .waving goodbye.
“I care,” Cordelia had said. “The people who love you and want to know your story care.”
Will didn’t know when, but one day he’d tell the children’s story. He’d do it right and he’d do it well.
He would give a voice back to those who could no longer speak.
And in the meantime, Will decided that Alex might be right. Maybe the best way to honor the children they’d lost was to go live the fire out of his. To spend each day truly alive, pursuing what mattered most. He prayed for the strength to see that promise through. It was easier said than done, but maybe if he tried taking the first step, the rest would come.
After a few more moments with the plastic, holy family, Will dusted off his wet knees and stood. He walked back to the parking lot, his lights flashing as he unlocked the car.
The sound of the choir drifted on a breeze, and he paused to give it a final listen.
When the last note had been sung, Will hoped the words stayed etched on his heart forever.
He got in his car and drove away. Humming as he left.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn.
Fall. . .on your knees.
Oh, hear, the angel voices.
Chapter 23
At six a.m. Christmas morning, Cordelia opened her door to Santa Claus.
He stood on her front porch, one hand adjusting the pillow beneath his velvet coat, the other holding onto his red hat fighting against the wind. “Will Sinclair, what exactly are you doing?”
“Taking you to the Masons.” His pillow fell at his booted feet. “Do you happen to have a girdle I could borrow?”
“Fresh out of those.” She tightened the belt on her pink robe and let her eyes wander the sight before her. “Did you run out of clean clothes and mob Santa?” There’d be no getting off the naughty list for that one.
Will pulled down his voluptuous white beard. “The roads are pure ice, and you’re not getting out in that tiny car of yours for days. The way I see it, unless the town’s one single snow plow picks you up, me and my trusty Chevy steed are your only option to deliver Christmas to the Mason family. Now do you want to take them your gifts or not?”
She eyed the mountain of packages in the back of the truck idling in her driveway, most of which looked like they’d encountered a rumble with wrapping paper, got tag-teamed by packing tape, then totally TKO’d. “What is all that back there?”
“Some food. Clothes. Toys. Lots of toys.”
“Did that come with the stolen truck?”
He plucked a mini candy cane from his pocket, removed the wrapper in one swipe, and stuck it between his lips. “I didn’t steal it, and there isn’t a naked Santa running around town. You and Isaiah have five minutes to get ready and meet me back out here.”
Cordelia didn’t know what to make of this, but her questions would have to wait. Wrapping her robe tighter around her, she ran back into the house, threw on some clothes, gathered Isaiah, overpacked his diaper bag in case they landed in a ditch and became a Lifetime movie of survival, and grabbed her sacks of presents like she was Mrs. Claus.
Fifteen minutes and one downed bottle of formula later, Isaiah sat in his car seat behind Will and Cordelia, happily sucking on a pacifier as Will eased the truck onto the road.
Christmas music played on the radio as they crept along, finally making it to the edge of town where the pavement ran out and gave way to dirt. As far as the eye could see it was white, with the sky still spitting flurries like a glorious encore.
Cordelia didn’t know what to think of Christmas Day Will, so she kept her jumble of thoughts to herself. Meanwhile, Will and Isaiah didn’t seem to find any trouble having a conversation. The baby babbled and Will responded as if Isaiah made perfect sense.
“Isaiah really knows his football stats.” Will flicked on the windshield wipers. “He’s putting money on the Patriots going to the Super Bowl, while I’m still leaning towards the Chiefs.”
“Isaiah isn’t into competitive sports,” she said. “He finds it boorish and a waste of financial resources.”
“Not five minutes ago, the boy bet me a pack of wipes his team would go all the way.”
Cordelia grabbed the handle over her head as the truck slid a few feet before Will steered it back into the ruts on the road. “Do you know how to drive this thing?”
He gave her a quick side-eye and smiled. “Relax. We have four-wheel drive on this baby. And you look cute this morning, by the way.”
She noticed he hadn’t answered her question of knowing how to operate said four-wheel drive. “I have formula all over my sweatshirt, pureed banana in my hair, and I just realized I’m wearing two different shoes.” Maybe Will woke up with a fever. “Are you ill?”
“Nope.” The grin returned. “And a Merry Christmas to you too.”
Now who was the Grinch? “Merry Christmas,” she said begrudgingly. Still, this was all strangely Dickensian. “Did the ghosts of Christmas visit you last night, by chance?”
“They did not.”
Was that smile now accompanied by a twinkle in his eye? Yep, there was some definite twinkling going on. “Did you hit your head? Pour vodka over your Cheerios? Help me out here, Will.”
He checked his GPS and maneuvered onto another snow-packed road. “Let’s make our delivery, then we’ll talk.” Will took one hand off the steering wheel and rested it on her gloved fingers. “And we will talk, Cordelia.”
She’d heard that before.
A group of trailers came into view, and after three attempts, Will inched the truck up the inclined driveway of a doublewide, whose lone Christmas tree shone in the front window. Smoke puffed from a chimney as two young faces peeped from behind curtains.
“We’ve been spotted.” Will hopped out of the truck and came around to Cordelia’s door. “Easy on the ice.”
She slipped a coat on Isaiah, threw a hood over his head, then looped one arm around Will’s as he led her up the four steps to the door. She felt muscle beneath her hand and knew Santa had certainly been working out.
Balancing like there wasn’t half a foot of snow topped with ice, Will ran back to the truck and retrieved multiple loads of bags big enough to stash small automobiles. Out of breath and carrying the final bundle, Will knocked on the door and boomed his best, “Ho, ho, ho!”
From inside came the musical noise of children squealing and giggling. “Santa!” Cordelia heard one say. “Santa found us!”
Steve Mason opened the door, his face pinched in confusion and curiosity. “Uh . . .hey.”
“Merry Christmas!” Cordelia said. “And look who I found—Santa Claus!”
Four pajama-clad children circled Will with unbridled energy, dragging him inside.
“You’re late,” John Thomas, the four-year old said. “But we forgive you.”
Betsy, the seven year old boss, inched closer to one of the giant bags. “Uncle Steve said you’d stopped by once already, but we already opened those gifts. Are you telling me you brought more?”
Will thoughtfully stroked his fake mustache. “Have you been good this year?”
She clasped her hands in glee. “I have!” She elbowed her older brother, Max. “He’s probably on your bad list.”
Slipping his hands into his red coat, Will extracted a roll of paper that unfurled and pooled on the floor. “Let’s see here, Madewells, Makenzies . . .Ah, yes, here are the Masons.” He held the list closer to his face. “Herbert, Donnie, Niles, and Mildred?”
“That’s not us!” Riley cried.
“Oh, wrong Masons. Do you know a John Thomas, Max, Betsy, and Riley?”
“Yes!” Max pumped his fist toward the ceiling. “Made it!”
“It’s us!” Betsy grabbed two of her brothers and kissed them both. “It’s us!”
“Then I guess these gifts from the North Pole are yours.” Will extended a hand toward the bags, and the kids tore into them with savage enthusiasm.
“A bike!”
“I got a talking doll!”
“Does this airplane really fly?”
John Thomas backed away from the melee, his head bowed. “What about our brother? Is Isaiah on your good list too?”
Cordelia’s heart ballooned in her chest, and she ruffled the boy’s red hair. “I’m certain I saw it, sweetie.”
Will pretended to consult his list once more. “Well, of course. Right here. How could I miss that?”
Visible relief softened John Thomas’s face. “I didn’t want him to be left out.”
“What about our uncle?” Betsy withdrew her head from a bag and propped a hand on her hip. “He should get something. Everyone needs Christmas.”
Will caught Cordelia’s eye. “Yes, they do.” He pointed to a gold bag. “Lots of stuff in there for someone named Steve Mason.”
“That’s him!” John Thomas shouted.
Half an hour later, the children said a reluctant goodbye to Santa and kissed Isaiah goodbye.
Steve followed them down the icy steps, wearing his new coat. “Thank you,” he said as they neared the truck. “Those kids have been through a nightmare this year, and for a morning, you made them think goodness was possible again.”
“That’s not quite right.” Will held baby Isaiah to his chest. “They get that message from you every day.”
Cordelia nodded. “You’re their hero, Mr. Mason.”
“Naw, not me.”
“Yes, you are.” Cordelia took Will’s hand in hers. “Changing a child’s life, making the world a better place for them. That’s what living is all about.” She squeezed the fingers entwined with hers. “Love is the greatest gift you could give.”
Steve Mason sniffed and his lips twitched. “I’ll be adopting them, you know. I don’t know how we’ll make it, but I can’t let them go.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Co
rdelia said. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
John Thomas materialized from behind his uncle’s legs. “What about my brother? Who’s going to adopt Isaiah?”
Cordelia stooped down till she was eye level with the child. “I promise you he’ll be taken care of.”
“So are you gonna—”
“We better get back inside.” Steve swiped at his eyes. “God bless you both.”
“And you as well,” Will said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Mr. Mason walked back in, and the happy clatter permeated the walls of the home and slipped into the winter air.
Cordelia stood on tiptoe and kissed Will’s cheek, his beard tickling her nose. “Thank you.”
Eyes that held a little less pain, a little more light looked back at her. “No, Cordelia. Thank you.”
“Can we make one more stop?”
He opened her car door and helped her inside. “My sleigh is at your command.”
Chapter 24
“You sure about this?” Will tapped the brakes as the truck rolled to a stop in front of a familiar house.
Cordelia blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “No, but it wouldn’t be Christmas without a door slammed in my face.”
He squeezed her cold hand. “We probably need to work on some new traditions.”
Cordelia had that confused look on her face, but Will just smiled and helped her get the baby bundled like a snow bunny once again. The three of them trekked up the sidewalk to Cordelia’s mother’s home.
They didn’t even have to knock.
“Get in here, for crying out loud.” Jane Daring held open the door, her hair a wild rumpus. “Are you trying to freeze that poor baby?”
“He’s fine. A little fresh air is good for the sinuses.” Cordelia handed her mom a green-striped box. “Merry Christmas.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Yeah, you do,” Cordelia said. “Open it and enjoy it, you grouch.”
Her mother sat on the edge of the couch, grumbling about bossy daughters. “It’s a tablet. What am I supposed to do with this?”
His Mistletoe Miracle Page 14
