The first? Reminding him about the apartment Christmas light contest. I’d seen the rest of the complex driving in. Marc’s was hands down the best. He was going to win. I knew it.
And the free month’s rent it would win us was going to come in handy. Because the other present I had to give him? The big one? Well, he was going to be a father. And by this time next Christmas, we’d have another mouth to feed, another room in need.
And another pair of feet with us under the tree.
Chapter 8
Four Years Later
Our first home was small, but it had a great yard, giant clusters of trees, and a set of bright, wide windows that captured the morning sun.
Not that I ever saw it.
Marc worked so many nights, he kept the windows covered tight, and I kept the kids as quiet as possible, which was not an easy feat.
Sometimes I thought I was losing my mind. The two days a week that Alex and Finn were with my mom and I actually went into the office were like heaven. But the rest of the time I was working remotely from home, kids underfoot, husband under blankets.
And I loved them. I did.
But sometimes I felt like maybe I’d lost myself. I was too busy to focus on anything, to give my all in any situation. It wasn’t how I’d functioned. Ever. And this new person? She was great at multi-tasking, terrible at accepting half-way points as progress. My sense of completion had been lost with any semblance of sanity, and some days I wondered if I’d ever get either back in full.
There were quiet moments, though. Moments when I’d get Finn settled into his crib after baths, then tuck Alex in tight with a story, and find myself being woken from my nightly nap, curled up on the couch.
“You smell like the kids’ bubble bath.” Marc nuzzled into my neck.
I opened one groggy eye and swept my wrinkled nose against his. “You smell like the kitchen.”
He laughed. “I’ll shower.” His lips met mine. Red, delicious apple lips. The core lay on the coffee table, crumpled napkin beneath. “Care to join me?”
I sat up and stretched into him. “Absolutely.” He knew my weakness well.
“First, come here.” He pulled me to my feet and headed toward the door. “I want to show you something.”
“Are you limping?” His left leg was dragging a bit.
“It’s nothing.” He waved it off with a grin. “Come on.”
“But it’s so cold out.”
He already had my favorite red fleece in-hand. “It’ll be worth it.”
His smile was too hard to resist, and I held my hands up, still too half-asleep to protest as he dressed me and nudged me outside with a gentle push.
For my minor efforts, my eyes were treated with all of his. He’d lined the roof with a custom pattern of red, green, and white lights. Santa and reindeer on the lawn, ready to take off. “When did you—how—?”
“I’ve been home for a couple hours.” He tucked his hands in his pockets with a sheepish shrug.
I grabbed one out and stared at his watch. “Two a.m.? What in the world?”
His face fell, and then it hit me. “You can’t do it tomorrow because you’re working.”
He sighed. “Just the day shift. I swear.”
“Marc.” I shook my head. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“I’ll be home in time to put cookies out for Santa.”
“The kids—”
“Will be fine.” He was kind, but firm. We’d had this discussion so much it was second nature. The restaurant pull on his life was fierce, and I tried to be as understanding as possible, but I’d put my foot down on Christmas.
“You promised.”
“And I’m keeping that promise.” He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m trying here, Jill. I swear.”
Not enough. But what was enough?
He was here, wasn’t he?
One deep breath. I tried to let it go.
He wasn’t the one I was mad at anyway. Not really.
At least not entirely.
I crossed my arms and stared up at the house. “Two a.m. Christmas lights, huh? That’s a first for us.”
He sensed me caving and took me by the waist, drawing me in. “Are we good?” He nuzzled into my neck.
Santa waved at me from the yard. I blinked at him, resting my chin on Marc’s shoulder. “Yeah. We’re fine.” I breathed again, tried to laugh. “Mrs. Claus never gets to spend Christmas Eve with her husband either, I guess.”
He squeezed tighter. “I’ll be home in time. I promise.”
His shifts always ran long. I knew better. But I stared up at the lights, and let it go, really let it go this time, and kissed his neck instead. All he did for us, all he ever did, was try to make our world better and brighter. How could I not give on this? “I know you’ll be home.”
That’s what mattered after all. Not the when, but that he came home. Always. “Me and you.” My eyes filled, and I took a deep breath, trying to keep the emotional swell from taking over. “We stay.”
He rubbed on my back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. It’s not just that.” I sniffed. “My dad called today.”
He pulled back to look at me, eyes shifting between hard beats of anger and soft concern. “And?”
I swallowed. “He wanted to come by tomorrow. See the kids.”
He was silent. Jaw pulsing.
“I told him no. That he had to be consistent with me before he could drop visits on the kids.”
“Good. I’m proud of you.”
“But what if he comes by tomorrow anyway?” I looked up, then back at him.
“And I was supposed to be here.” He nodded, rubbed at his neck again. “I’ll call him.”
“No.” I shook my head, suddenly resolved. “If he comes, I’ll handle it.” I shivered. “Maybe it’s time he hears it from me. Maybe that way he’ll have to listen.”
“Maybe.” He squeezed my sides. “I hope so.” His shoulders shifted. “But you call me if you need me. I’ll keep my cell on. Tell the team I might have to jet.”
“Okay.” I smiled, kissed him quick. Leaving on the fly was a huge gesture in his world. “I’m cold. Let’s go have that shower.”
His eyes twinkled with the lights. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Cold hands made their way into the back pockets of my jeans, and he pulled me in. “You, lady in red, are the best present I could ever ask for.” He searched my face. “I hope you know that.”
The tease of his voice, his hands, were exactly what I needed. “What I know, hockey boy, is that this momma needs a massage after that shower.”
“Gladly.” He laughed. “Although, I might need to beg one as well.” He turned to head inside, his left leg still dragging.
“Marc? What happened?”
“I fell from the ladder.” He shrugged. “That last strand always seems to get me.”
I laughed. “At least you didn’t attempt a deep dive into the snow from a third-floor apartment railing this time.”
“This is what I’m saying.” His was a walk half gimp, half swag. “I’m improving.”
“Except you fell this time.” I scooted around him and opened the door, reaching down to rub at his hip a little bit.
He closed his eyes in relief, like I had healing hands. “Nobody’s perfect.”
I couldn’t help but kiss his smiling, beard-scruff-surrounded lips. “Sometimes I think maybe you are.”
He spun me to the wall, injury forgotten, working his way from mouth to neck.
Sweet apple kisses of the past. Our future. All of them delicious.
I sighed, happy.
We’d make it to the shower. Eventually.
The day had gone well. The kids and I had made ornaments, started giant batches of sugar and gingerbread cookies. We’d moved on to decorating when there was a fumbling sound at the front door. I looked at the clock. Marc was on time. Wonder of all wonders. We’d have Christmas Eve toget
her after all.
“Alex, honey, run and let Daddy in. His hands are full.” He’d promised to bring home supper, save us all from one of my ill-fated attempts at cooking.
“Okay, Mommy.” She scooted off.
“Remember to ask who it is first!” I hollered after her, wiping my hands on a towel as I followed behind.
I heard a squeal. “Santa!”
“What—”
And she flung open the door.
My father stared back, the little blonde ball of energy between us. His gaze shifted down to hers. “Aren’t you pretty, like a little doll?”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re not Santa. Where’s your suit?”
“Oh, well, no, I’m your—"
In one swift motion I had her in my arms. “Can you be a big helper, please, and go check on baby Finn for Mommy?” She loved being the bossy big sister. “Maybe it’s time to clean up before dinner?”
“Oh, yes.” She agreed matter-of-factly, and I set her down to go investigate the situation.
I looked back to my father. Santa he was not, but the round belly and white beard were not a far cry from the jolly fellow he’d harkened. “I was pretty clear on the phone.”
“Hello to you too, Jillie.”
I crossed my arms. “Look, it’s not that I don’t see the effort. But you need to make plans with me, follow through on them. We have a lot to go over before I introduce the kids to you.”
“Please don’t treat me like I want to hurt them.” He held up a stack of gifts. “I could never do this for you, but I’m trying now.”
“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “This is not trying. This is an uninvited shot in the dark.” I went to close the door. “And it’s not enough.”
He held his fingertips against it, resisting the cutoff. “Please. I just want to make it right.”
I peered at him through the door opening and took a deep breath. This was the moment. My turn to speak out, speak up for all we had lost, all I had lost, because of his choices.
“Then start with an apology. Start with the truth. Start with the why.” I tried to steady myself, my words, my thoughts. “No one kept you from me while I was growing up. You made that choice. And I’m not going to pity you for it.”
His face twitched at the sting of my words. “I thought—I thought I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t ready.”
I said nothing.
He continued with caution. “I didn’t know. How to be a father, a husband.”
“No one’s shown Marc, and he’s managed to figure it out.” My voice was curt, unyielding.
“It’s not that I wasn’t shown how.” He took a deep breath. “It’s that I was shown wrong.”
The packages in his hands began to shake, both he and them rattled. I softened. A bit.
It took him a second to regain his composure, but he did. “I didn’t want to become my father. He wasn’t—he wasn’t a kind man.” His throat bobbed and his eyes shifted in circles, finding anywhere to look but at me. “Someone had to break the cycle.”
My chest caught. He’d been abused?
He gulped. “The night I left.” He corrected himself. “The first night I left, I lost my temper, punched a wall. And I didn’t even know I had it in me.” He met my gaze finally, full of determination. “Nothing. Nothing was worth putting you or your mother through what I went through growing up. And I wasn’t about to take that risk.”
I let the door swing wider as the space between us filled with the unspoken, a possibility of openness.
His absence had been out of love.
His hands worked together in a nervous pattern. “Your mother and I married young. I didn’t—I didn’t know it was too late, or too soon, until it was. All of that came out after. The memories.” His hands worked faster. “The fears.”
For the first time I saw the broken man instead of the abandoner, the humanity instead of the human role he was meant to play in my life and had failed at so terribly.
“I swear, Jillie, I was just trying to protect you.” The catch in his voice was more than I could take. “But I am not my father. I’m not.” He took a deep breath. “I’m just sorry it’s taken me so much time to accept it.” He bobbled his head, like his thoughts were a directionless marble. It was the exact same gesture Finn had just started to make. “Well, time and therapy.”
He let out a timid laugh.
I laughed too.
Tears formed next as Finn wrapped his arms around my leg. “Mommy, is that Santa?”
And my heart released.
All the years of rejection, pain, resentment, rushed out, leaving room for something else, leaving room for something different, something . . . more.
I scooped Finn up in my arms, and he wiped at the tears on my cheeks. “It’s okay, Mommy. Santa has presents for you too.”
I kissed his cheek, my little man with words beyond his tiny two years. “No, baby. This isn’t Santa. This—this is your grandfather.”
My dad’s eyes lit up.
I searched them. Not with an immediate trust. Not with a blind faith.
But with an honest offer of hope.
He nodded with understanding and looked back to his grandson.
Finn’s faced twisted, curious, then his eyes grew wide too. “We have a grandpa?”
“You do.” I reached out and took my dad’s shaky hand. “Grandpa Joe.”
“Cool!” Finn kicked to get down, and I set him on the floor. “We gotta grampa,” he chattered, running back down the hall, hollering for Alex.
My dad looked at our hands and back up at me.
Marc walked up behind him, with slow, steady steps. “Everything okay here?”
He’d made it. The rest of my worries released, and the lights flicked on, Marc’s automation well-timed with our own revelations. Santa now celebrating on the lawn with the reindeer. His merry wave like a welcome friend.
“Yeah.” I nodded, keeping my eyes on my father’s face of relief. “It’s okay.”
He smiled, the happiest I’d ever seen.
I smiled back. “I think it might even be more than okay.”
My throat squeezed. I hoped.
Chapter 9
Two Years Later
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” I smiled through gritted teeth, hoping the forced sing-song rhythm of my voice masked the anger behind it. Alex and Finn gyrated in the living room of Old Man Jones. A big open space, sunken both physically and in time, with wall to wall carpeting and a cheerful fireplace. One I’d be much more apt to enjoy if I didn’t have a screaming headache. It was Christmas Eve. Sugar and Santa made the perfect combination for the kids’ holiday bliss, but also for my blistering migraine.
“All the flights have been delayed. Snowed out. You know Chicago,” Marc rasped. He sounded exhausted. Too. He sounded exhausted too.
There was no point to an I-told-you-so. It wouldn’t get him home in time. I dug through my purse, finally found the tiny bottle of aspirin at the bottom, quickly swallowed two.
“He’s not going to make it?” Mr. Jones was leaning forward in his rocker, fully enjoying the display of carols the kids were putting on for him. Whoever said he was a curmudgeon all those years ago was wrong. For a new widower at Christmas, he couldn’t have been more jolly.
I was the grump.
Shaking my head, I held a finger to my lips. Waiting to tell the kids would be better. He nodded with understanding and went back to watching their jingle bell dance.
Marc sighed on the other end of the phone. What was I supposed to say?
“Look,” I breathed. “There’s nothing we can do about it at this point. We’ll make the best of it.”
“Yeah. I guess. When does your dad get there?”
I looked at my watch just as the doorbell rang. “Looks like now.”
Mr. Jones eased out of his chair, once again proving his years were merely a number, and went to get the door.
“Marcus,” I hissed out a whisper. “How am
I supposed to pull this off?” I glanced at the kids, now turned TV spectators. “The two-wheeled contraptions aren’t going to build themselves.”
“Jones will help you. And your dad.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “My dad?”
Marcus jostled the phone. “Well, he’ll try anyway.”
“Yeah.” I let my head rest against the couch pillow, thankful the aspirin had started to take effect. “At least Old Man Jones won’t be alone tonight.”
“And you aren’t trapped in a house entirely packed in boxes.”
“True.” We’d listed our house on a whim when the market peaked. We’d never expected a full offer on day one. It was a blessing, a financial windfall really, but a whirlwind experience. Now we were scrambling to find a place, invest the money wisely. I was used to designing the epic homes of others, but the idea of dipping into that end of the pool myself had never occurred to me as a possibility.
The deep rumbles of laughter travelled up from the corridor. “It sounds like the guys are already hitting it off.”
“Good.” Marc’s reply, garbled.
“Coffee?”
“Yup.” He exhaled, far more contented than moments before. “Okay, so, the bikes? Just ask Jones to help. Did the kids like skating?”
I brightened. “They loved it. Finn was super fast, like you. Alex was all twirls.”
His smile nearly came through the phone. “Good. That’s—that’s good. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Me too.”
Old Man Jones and my dad walked back into the room. The kids ran to hug their grandpa. It was such a strange thing still to see sometimes, but less and less jarring. Mostly happy.
“Here. I’m going to give you to Jones. Tell him about the bike stuff. I don’t want to seem too bossy.”
Marc laughed. “Uh, huh.”
“To him,” I whipped back. “You need it sometimes.”
He laughed again, with me. “Letting you think that was the best decision I ever made.”
I rolled my eyes and handed Jones the phone. A nod and a couple of-courses later, and he passed it back with that same up-to-something look Marc always got.
Beneath the Lights Page 4