by Kirsten Lynn
“Ask you what?” Brynn glances back as we make our way to pick up the picture.
“If I was a good boy.”
She chuckles. “Because he already knew you were. He could tell that just by looking you’re wicked good.”
Again, she proves she knows the perfect thing to say as his chest puffs up a little. This was a step, but it’s not over. Whatever happened to make this kid think he’s so bad Santa would reject him can’t be solved with one visit and a picture.
This all comes down to one person. I could almost hear the voice when Michael told me why he couldn’t see Santa. That Mark either fell so far he started spouting the same bile, or let his son be around it, disappoints me on two fronts. I could kick Mark’s ass for allowing it. Hell, I could kick mine for avoiding home as much as I did and allowing the darkness too close to my little brother and his family, and to Brynn for the last year. I thought I could ignore my father, avoid him like always, but to do so lets him continue on as if he’s right.
“Oh, these turned out great!”
I snap to attention at Brynn’s voice and focus on the photograph, though the image would stay with me forever physical photo or not. “Yeah, those are outstanding.”
She shows the kids, who don’t see what we do, and if I had to guess aren’t as thrilled about memorializing the moment.
Brynn nudges my arm. “Caleb, let’s get a big print, okay?”
Her excitement at having a picture with the children and Santa makes the trip doubly worth the rush to get here. “Yeah, sure.”
She ruffles Michael’s hair and jostles Ella on her hip. “Thanks for doing this, guys.”
Michael steps back against me. “You’re welcome, Aunt Brynn.”
“Welcome,” Ella echoes.
Taking the sample image, I turn to order the large print with Michael still almost wrapped around my leg. Brynn is chattering with her folks about how adorable the kids look in the picture and what a great Santa they have this year. It would be a perfect moment if Michael’s little hands didn’t tighten on my jeans when Frank asks him what he asked Santa for.
“Socks and something else.”
“What else?”
“Something I can’t say.”
Frank leans back and nods like an all-knowing sphinx. “Ayuh, a secret between you and Santa? I understand.”
His grip tightens and it’s like he’s squeezing my heart. I can guess what his other wish is and I’m praying for the same. We’re both wishing for home. If I thought Santa could help, I’d go sit on the big man’s lap myself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brynn
Ella and Michael dump their paper plates in the trash. “Thanks for the pizza, Aunt Brynn, Uncle Caleb.”
“Thank you.” Ella echoes her brother.
“You’re welcome.” I glance between the two. They look almost ready to crash after the busy day of Christmas activities. “You want to watch some television?”
Michael shakes his head. “Can I read to you?”
“Yeah!” Ella chants, always up for anyone to read, even her brother.
“Sure. Let me finish up here.”
Caleb pushes off the bench. “You guys go ahead. I’ll clean up.”
Michael’s gaze drops and I can see he wanted to read to Caleb, too, but I sense Caleb needs some alone time. “Sounds good. Let’s get ready for bed and then you can read to Ella and me.”
Padding downstairs and to the living room fifteen minutes later, I drop next to Caleb on the sofa and snuggle close to his side. He drapes an arm over my shoulders, and for a few minutes we sit in silence listening to the fire crackle. “How long did they last?”
“About five minutes before even the adventures of a Marine and his dog couldn’t keep them focused. Then it took me another ten minutes to move just right to pry myself loose without waking them up. Michael wants to be a Marine.”
He huffs a laugh. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”
“You don’t think he could make it?”
“At seven years old, no. I’ll reserve judgement until he’s at least ten.”
I shove at his side and chuckle. “Good point.” We sit in silence for a little longer. “Caleb, what’s wrong? You’ve seemed sad all day even though you hid it well from the others.”
“Not sad. Thinking things through.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Scratch that—one revelation was a bullet to the heart.”
“I’ll ask first, what were you thinking through? Doubts?”
“Not about us. Finding my footing.”
“That’s a little vague.” He shrugs. Exhaling a deep breath, I try another question. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about it. I get it. So what hurt your heart?”
“I asked Michael why he didn’t want to see Santa and he told me it’s because only good kids should see him. He was afraid Santa…fucking Santa would turn him away. I could hear the voice of Hal Quinlin telling Mark and me the same thing.”
I can feel the tears cut down my cheeks, but I can’t stop them. “Oh shit, it’s so much worse than I thought.” My stomach churns. “You don’t think he’s been telling Michael that at family get-togethers?” It would rip me open to think I let Michael near such toxin.
He shakes his head. “I think it’s been going on before the accident. I don’t know if Mark started spreading that bullshit. But for all I know my father spread it while neither Mark or Liz knew it. I intend to find out.”
“I’m so sorry, Caleb.”
“Don’t be. It’s not about Hal and me anymore, it’s about the boy. I won’t let Michael down like I did Mark.”
I caress his cheek with my fingertips. “When did you ever let your brother down?”
“Just when I announced at thirteen I had no intention of being a lawyer, turning all Hal’s attention to Mark. Or leaving when I was seventeen and only coming back when I wanted to be with you on leave. And let’s face it by the time I was done with Boot, training for my MOS, and first deployment, we couldn’t get our earlier closeness back.”
“You were young. You were living your life.”
“I was focused on me and the Marines and little else. But I can do something now, for Michael and Ella.”
“Yes, you can. You can be their father.”
He breaks from my touch and paces to the window, looking out at the sea and to land where the Christmas lights bring the coast to life in the dead of winter. “Mark is their father.”
Pushing off the couch, I stand in front of him. “He is, but he’s gone. They need a father who’s alive, Caleb, not just an uncle who cares for them. I realized today I’m no longer Aunt Brynn; I’m their mother. Correct that, I realized it months ago, today I decided to stop acting like I’m not.”
“I recognized that, too. I’m not there yet, Brynn.”
“I know. I’ve had longer to merge into the role.”
“What if I never merge into the role of dad?”
His voice reminds me of Michael when he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand an assignment. I allow a smile and slip in front of him, resting my palms on his chest. “I think you already have. You have to allow yourself to see it and it might take some time, but don’t close yourself off to the children or to me.” The last three words come out as a choked whisper as old hurts creep into a tender a moment.
He cups my cheek with his large calloused hand. “You should have made me pay a lot longer for the pain I caused you.”
I rub my cheek against his warm flesh. “I probably should have, but I’ve loved you too much for too long. I let twenty-seven years of friendship override two years of pain.” I smile against his hand. “And I think we both paid long enough.”
He drops his hand. “I didn’t plan this op very well.”
“You thought you’d come here and we’d fuck and take care of the kids as aunt and uncle, which means endless fun and none of the problems.”
“Exactly. Familiar to you.”
“Very. Although I didn’t think
I’d have you, so the whole fucking part wasn’t even in the scenario.”
“Well, it’s a huge part of the current picture.”
My hands are still on his chest, and I curl my fingers around hunks of his plaid shirt and give it a tug. “Seriously, Caleb, give us some time and don’t let Hal’s voice into your head.”
“I’ll give it one hundred and twenty percent, Angel.”
“You’re really doing an outstanding job.”
“Glad you think so. I feel like I’m treading water. You’re a pro.”
I try not to, but I burst out laughing. “Glad you think so.”
My laughter dies when his lips connect to my neck. “You’re amazing. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“Mmmm…” is all I can manage.
His breath is warm when he moves his mouth to my ear. “What’s on the plan for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
His laugh rolls through me. “Day after today?”
“Oh, Christmas tree.”
He leans back and raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“So soon?”
“We didn’t have a tree last year; I want to make up for that.”
He shrugs. “Roger that.”
Lacing the fingers of both of our hands together, I side nod to the stairs and wag my eyebrows. “You ready for bed? We can make some waves.”
“Yeah.”
Before I can start walking, he closes his fingers and gives me a tug. “Are you going to ask the kids to start calling you Mom?”
“No, I want that to be their choice, not mine. I’ve crossed that line, but I don’t know if they have.” He doesn’t say anything, just gives a sharp nod. “Why?” I lift on the balls of my feet and nip his chin trying to bring a little light to what turned into a bleak night.
“I wasn’t ready to face their questions, or know what I’d say if they turned to me next. Michael calling me Dad the other day shook my foundation.”
“I noticed. But I have full faith you will know when they look to you and ask, or if they simply start calling you Dad. Just like you always knew what to do no matter what surprise came our way in combat.”
He smiles and I feel like I won a small battle. “Glad you thought I knew what I was doing. I was just fucking tossing whatever I could out there.”
“Good, then you’re already halfway to parenthood.”
He opens his mouth and I squeeze his hands and shamelessly toss all Devil Doc out the window and whine, “Come on, love, no more talk tonight. I really want you and we’re taking a risk of a storm moving in.”
“Say no more.”
“Wha—” is all I get out as he tosses me over his shoulder and starts running up the stairs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brynn
The mirror fogs with steam from the shower, and I wipe it off with my towel. I turn back to rubbing my moisturizer into my face when I cut a glance to the shower curtain opening. As much as I try to keep my focus on the moisturizer, it keeps straying to the mountain of chiseled muscle stepping out of the tub and scrubbing a towel over each hard, yummy ridge.
“You’re staring, Brynn.”
I shrug. “You’re worth staring at.”
He drops the towel on the white tile floor and pads over, standing behind me. I catch his gaze in the glass. We’re getting our rhythm with sharing a bathroom every morning. He reaches around me and opens the medicine cabinet. I chuckle when he presses unnecessarily close. “Hey, Marine, that’s a big gun your carrying. Back up.”
I smile at his image in the mirror as he winks and wags his eyebrows. “What? I’m just getting my toothbrush.”
“Yeah, well you were close to giving me something, too.”
“I would again, Angel, but three times last night and once before the kids were up—you’re wearing me out.”
“I’ll believe that when I’m dead. If Michael and Ella weren’t downstairs watching cartoons—”
“You’d be up against the wall getting the pounding you deserve.”
Our conversation is making the bathroom a hundred times steamier than it is already. I twist at the waist and give his chest a gentle shove. “I give. Stop talking and back up.”
The low rumble of his chuckle only makes me burn more. After putting toothpaste on his toothbrush, he steps back, but I can still connect to those ice-blue eyes in the mirror. Thinking of Christmas carols and anything else to cool me down, I return to the task of getting ready. I start rubbing lotion on my arms and legs.
His baritone voice is rough, but there’s a hint of teasing. “You need help with that?”
I refuse to meet his gaze and see just how serious he is. “Negative. You’re dismissed.”
“Dismissed?”
With a sigh, I point to the door. “You are way too distracting this morning, and I need to get ready. Please, get out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Grabbing the towel on the floor, he tosses it in the hamper. As he starts to walk past me he stops and lowers his head. I don’t hesitate to meet him in a quick kiss.
I also don’t hesitate to watch every move he makes, and how sexy he is even tossing laundry or how mouthwatering he looks walking away.
There’s something odd but comforting about hearing him move around in the next room getting dressed. I wonder if when we’re eighty he’ll still step out of the shower and we’ll flirt until it gets too hot. The lightest tap on our door captures my attention.
“I’ve got it, Brynn.”
“Thanks.”
When I hear Ella’s voice, I lean closer to the half-open bathroom door to listen to the conversation. I peek through the slit between the door and the wall and—my heart. Caleb is sitting on his heels as Ella, still in her footsie pajamas, swings the bulldog he got her a few Christmases ago, and he nods. “Can you come feed me, Uncle Caleb?”
“Absolutely. What do you want?”
“Waffles, please.”
He stretches to his full height, towering over Ella, and takes her tiny hand in his before they walk out of my sight. I finish braiding my hair and go into the bedroom to dress. After tugging on my jeans and favorite blue sweater, I sink onto the bed. Taking a minute alone, I swallow a few breaths and simply listen to the clatter of dishes and chatter of little voices downstairs along with the occasional “uh-huh” from Caleb.
Standing, I walk to the window and look across the inlet to the town of Camden. Rooftops are covered in snow against the blue of the sky and water. Since 1835, keepers have lived in this house, and I wonder how many looked to the town just like I’m doing now. Did they crave the isolation, or in their desire to save the lives of those at sea, ignore the loneliness?
I lean my head on the window frame. Since Caleb arrived, I haven’t had those moments of feeling alone. Even with the children, I found myself wishing for the adventure, comradery, and terror of being a corpsman. But this house, for whatever reason, seems to hold me. I release a laugh with my breath at the fanciful thought that the beacon and I shared the duty of rescuing brave souls tossed about in a storm, whether on sea or sand.
I turn my attention to the sound of small feet padding into the room and smile down at Ella, holding her bulldog close. “Aunt Brynn you gotta help Uncle Caleb.”
“Why?”
“He’s putting ham in the waffles.”
With a chuckle, I push off the window frame. “It’s something he learned from another Marine named Hanson. It’s good.”
Her nose wrinkles and her forehead tugs together in a distrustful frown. “Like peas are good?”
My chuckle turns to laughter, and I sweep her into my arms. “No, like ice cream is good. You can at least try it?”
“Okay. Are you?”
“Absolutely. I love your uncle’s waffles.” Among other things.
“Is Michael eating them?”
“Yes, he’ll try them, too.” Her head bobs in a silent agreement and I give her a squeeze. “Let’s head down.”
After setting Ella on her feet, I follow one step at a time as she holds onto the railing with one hand and her dog with another. As our feet touch the floor, Caleb steps from the kitchen. “Bringing reinforcements, Little Bit.” Taking my hand, she nods and Caleb tosses her a wink. “It’s ready.”
Walking into the kitchen, I help Ella into her chair and then step behind Michael’s chair and cup his cheeks. Tipping his head up, I drop a kiss to his forehead. “How are you, kiddo?”
“Good.”
I pat his cheeks and glance around the table. “Wow, you set the table and everything.”
Caleb points his chin at Michael. “I had help.”
Sitting down, I smile at the small boy, and my heart and smile grows when he pushes his glasses up on his nose. As usual, Caleb slides behind me and wraps an arm around me while placing the waffles on the table. I tip my head to meet his gaze. “Looks good.”
“Sure does.”
“Caleb.” I try to say his name like I do to the kids as a warning, but it comes out as an invitation. He brushes his lips against mine for the briefest taste that holds so many promises, and I know he’ll see each promise kept.
He sits next to me, and I return to the moment, almost laughing at the wide eyes and opened mouths of the children. Caleb starts serving up the waffles. “Didn’t your parents kiss?” I ask, and Caleb chuckles and shakes his head.
Michael shrugs. “You guys kiss different.”
“How?”
“Longer.”
I try, but my lungs will explode if I don’t laugh. Caleb joins me with his full, deep rumble of thunderous laughter. He manages to get a waffle on each child’s plate and ruffles Michael’s hair. Both children look at us like we’ve lost it. I continue to shake with laughter even as I get Ella’s waffle buttered and pour syrup on top. Caleb helps Michael.
Caleb manages to say a quick blessing and we dig into breakfast. Glancing over to Ella shoveling in the waffles, I don’t even have to ask if her uncle’s breakfast suits her just fine.
“When do we go get the tree?”
I swallow hard and take a sip of coffee to keep from choking on Caleb’s question. “Brian’s bringing the tree after church.”