“You help me with the story, and I’ll write the words. Maybe I can come over after work some evenings. How does that sound?”
Emma launched herself at Tessa and they both tumbled into the snow mound piled near the partially cleared sidewalk.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“YES!”
“Well, we need to ask your Daddy, before its official.”
“Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go.”
~*~
Ryland leaned against the frame of the large window, watching Emma and Tessa squatted in deep discussion. His daughter’s quick affection for Tessa was a welcome sight. Prior to Macy’s death, Emma loved swiftly and often. The strangers his daughter encountered became family within moments and even at her precious age, she had a wisdom that seemed to sense the words of kindness and care others needed. The sudden loss of her mother had shaken her to the core.
The outgoing toddler who climbed onto the laps of three-hundred-pound linemen with the same ease as she’d embraced her slip of a grandmother descended into a sullen and shy little girl who spent hours watching videos, or playing alone in her room, not wanting to talk to anyone aside from Mabel or him.
The introduction of Pastor Tom into their weekly routine was a welcome healing salve for Emma’s broken, skittish spirit. Within weeks of sharing Monday dinners, the sparkle began to resurface in her. Watching her with Tessa, warmed Ryland’s own dusty spirit.
“They make an adorable picture. Don’t they?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the broad grin of his part-time nanny and full-time housekeeper. Mabel held two steaming cups of coffee in her hands and extended one to him.
“Thanks,” he said with a tentative sip.
“Emma has really taken to her.”
He nodded, focusing his attention back to the living picture. “Tessa came with street cred. She happens to be the daughter of Emma’s favorite person on the planet.”
“Well, I don’t think Pastor Tom outranks her daddy.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. She told me a month ago she was going to marry Pastor Tom. I haven’t broken it to my future son-in-law yet.”
Through the thick pane of glass, he watched Emma tackle Tessa. “Well, something’s pretty exciting.”
“I should go put some hot chocolate together for those two. They’ll surly be ice pops by the time they trample through my kitchen.” Mabel nodded toward Tessa wrapped in Emma’s embrace. “It’s a good thing she has so many people who love her and make her a priority,” she said over her shoulder as she shuffled back to the kitchen.
Alone again, his coffee fueled breath fogged the window.
Emma tugged Tessa across the front lawn toward the side porch and the kitchen door.
Muffled voices wafted into the living room from the kitchen.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Setting his coffee cup on the end table, he reached for a skinny log to add to the fire. Sparks scattered with the added wood. He stoked the flame shoving the partially burned logs beneath the fresher ones.
The floor beneath him shook with the power of a child’s size six feet.
“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.” Emma’s voice was breathless with delight.
Kneeling, he turned to face her as she skidded to a stop in front of him. “That’s my name. What can I do for you, slugger?”
“Daddy.” She cuddled to his side, placing small chilled hands on either side of his face, drawing his gaze to hers. “Miss Tessa asked me to writes a book with her. Can I? Can I?”
“Well, I think your grammar might need a gargantuan leap from four-year-old to write a book with someone like Miss Tessa.” He glanced over Emma’s shoulder as Tessa settled on the edge of an overstuffed chair. “She is a phenomenal writer.”
“What’s fee-nom-nal mean?”
“It mean’s extraordinary or amazing. But your father overstates my writing. I’m OK at best, but I’m not as creative as you.” Tessa offered.
“See Daddy, Miss Tessa needs me.”
“So what kind of story are you writing?” Ryland relaxed onto the floor, settling Emma on his lap.
“Wells, Miss Tessa thinks we should write about my Guard-Ann angel and all the other angels.”
“I had this idea yesterday”—Tessa slid from the chair to the floor, matching Ryland’s position—”about a little girl who sees snow angels come to life. But it was barely an idea until Emma told me about the different kinds of angels.”
“I didn’t know there were different kinds of angels.”
Emma sighed. “Of course you do. I tolds you all ‘bout them when it snowed a’for.”
Last winter.
Last winter, weeks after Macy’s accident, he’d taken Emma to the park near their home in Pittsburgh to play in the snow. He’d desperately wanted to distract his tiny, little girl from the pain of losing her mother. She’d been nearly silent since Macy’s death a month earlier. He’d tried sweets, movies, and books but nothing was reaching her. She was adrift in her solitary pain. Watching her suffer only amplified his own grief and anger.
His mother had suggested a walk in the snow—something simple.
He grasped the idea like a drowning man. They’d built a snowman Emma’s size, and then swished snow angels until they nearly filled the abandoned baseball field. When the snow from the dozen angels seeped into their clothes, he’d wrapped Emma in his arms and she’d told him the names and occupations of each of the angels. Her biographies were elaborate and bubbled out of her like a hot spring.
He was so thrilled to see a glimpse of his once vibrant daughter that he barely registered her words. But he was no longer peeking through the shadows of grief to find his child. She was now almost wholly healed, and the memory of the joy she’d shared through the telling of the angels’ stories flashed through him.
“I remember. Sometimes daddies forget. Not because it wasn’t important, but they have so much shoved in their brains, they have to be helped to remember. You do a great job helping me remember.”
“See,” she smiled at Tessa. “I tolds you he would ‘members.”
“I never doubted you.”
Delight shined in Tessa’s eyes, stirring his heart. Not out of an old seeded crush on an unattainable girl, but for the love he saw a woman was openly showering on his daughter. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat, tearing his gaze from Tessa’s. “So you two want to write a book. How’re you planning on accomplishing such a lofty endeavor?”
“Daddy, that’s too many words for me to ask.”
“Sorry E-train. How will you write the book together?”
“Well, I thought I might come over a couple days a week after school.” Tessa interjected. “I promise not to be here more than an hour a day.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t put you out too much?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? Emma is helping me. I’m not too proud to say I’ve been struggling with writing since the unfortunate incidents in New Orleans. This is the first time in months I’ve been inspired to write anything beyond a lesson plan or a grocery list. But I want to make sure you’re OK with her helping me.”
He hugged Emma. “Em, why don’t you run into the kitchen and see if Mabel has the hot chocolate ready.”
She slowly stood, dragging her sock covered feet to the doorway. “Miss Tessa?” She swiveled, draping her upper body across the back of the chair. “Please don’t lets Daddy talk you outs of the book?” Her tiny brow twisted in worry. “He can be ‘suasive when he wants.”
“I’ll be tough. Don’t worry.”
Emma raced into the kitchen hollering, “Mrs. Mabel, me and Miss Tessa gonna writes a book togethers!”
“She’s amazing.” Tessa chuckled, stretching her legs near the fire.
“I am blessed every day God chose me to be her father.” Massaging his temples, he shifted his focus to the fire. “I am scared to death of her teenage years.”
“Are you kidding? She worships you. She’ll be
an angel.”
“I hope you’re right. When Macy died I just tried to push through every day. Take a shower. Feed Emma breakfast. Drive her to preschool. One step in front of the next. But now that the immediacy of grief has passed, I wake in the throes of panic over her first date, where she’ll go to college, teenage girl drama…all of it. I’m a dude. We just punch stuff out. I’m not sure I’ll be enough to help her through.”
“Emma will have the benefit of all of your sisters, your mom, and this whole town to help keep her on the straight and narrow. Her dad is just the icing on the cake.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to try your hand at fiction? Your storytelling could use some work.”
“I’m much better at sharing true life stories, and yours is one that’ll have a happy ending. You’re a wonderful father, Ryland. Emma is very special.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“How is she? With your wife’s death, I mean.”
“Why do you ask?”
She shifted, pulling her knees to her chest. “Emma mentioned she gets scared that you won’t come home.”
“What?”
“We were talking about the different kinds of angels and she told me guardian angels are the most important angels because they help alleviate the fears of little girls.”
“My four year-old daughter told you her guardian angel alleviated her fears?”
Shoving her hand through her hair, she shook her head. “No, not exactly, but she said her ‘Guard-Ann’ angel helped ease her worry when she started fearing you wouldn’t come home like her Momma.”
A burn like sulfur flamed in the pit of his stomach. “Really?” His sweet little girl was worried he would die too? How did he not know?
“I think it’s probably normal. I remember when my dad went on a mission trip when I wasn’t much older than Emma. I woke up every night convinced he was never coming home. When you are small your world is only as big as what you can see in front of you, or inside your mind. Your little girl has an unbelievable imagination helping to bridge the gap between her fears and reality. She’s coping, but I wanted you to know what she was going through. Losing my mom was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever endured, but I was a young adult. I had somewhat mature emotions to deal with her loss. But at four years old, I don’t know how your brain and heart can reconcile your mother never coming home again.”
Her friendly touch of his hand slipped through his defenses and soothed the blistering heat in his belly. “I thought she was doing better.” He shifted his body, angling toward her. “She doesn’t wake with nightmares anymore. She rarely asks to sleep in my bed. She smiles most days and is back to talking to every stranger she meets as if they’re long lost soul mates.”
“She’s coping. It’s pretty miraculous if you think about it.”
“How so?”
“She’s four years old and she created an entire world of angels to bring her comfort and explain all of the things too big for her mind to comprehend.”
“Just another of God’s answered prayers.”
With a soft smile, she slid her hand from his and wrapped her arms around her drawn legs.
They settled into the silence peppered by the crackle of the fire. The blanketed warmth of the room made his desire to sidle up to Tessa nearly overwhelming. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed her tousled hair and cheeks flared pink by the contrasting heat of the fire against the cold she carried from the snow. If he shifted a couple inches to his right, his shoulder would be pressed against hers. One little scoot, and he could touch her. He would know if she was still cold from the frigid January storm. Inhale her sweet fragrance. Lace his fingers through hers. Draw her to his side and…
With the power of years of training he shot to standing, yanking the fire poker from its holder with a clatter. He stoked the fire—shooting sparks across the tiled hearth.
“Watch it, Daddy. That’s how Sparky the Fire Dog says fires start,” Emma chastised. On tip-toes, she slowly made her way into the living room balancing a wide rimmed mug of steaming hot chocolate brimming with mini-marshmallows.
“Can you handle that chocolate, E?”
“Daddy, I’m super bigs now. I can handle a cup of hot chocolate.” The mug rattled against the coffee table, sloshing drips of its contents on to the glossy wood surface.
“I guess you are.”
The doorbell sang as Mabel sat the tray with three additional mugs and toppings on the table. “I’ll get the door.”
Emma plopped onto the floor, stretching her legs under the table. Swiping a spoon across the bowl of whipped cream, she dolloped a heaping mound on her hot chocolate.
“Whoa, slugger, that’s more sugar than even Joe can handle.”
All the females’ faces lit up at the sight of Joe Taylor’s lanky form and crooked grin. Even Mabel wasn’t immune to his charm.
“Uncle Joe!” Emma shot up and shuffled around the couch, enfolding her arms around his legs.
He lifted her with one arm and settled her on his hip. “You’re awfully cold, E. Were you making snow angels without me?”
She nodded vigorously, the ends of her static-filled, lopsided pony tail sticking to her cheek and Joe’s. “Miss Tessa and me mades lots of angels and we’s gonna write a book.”
Joe’s gaze went to Tessa and the gentle heat exchanged in the glance pricked a pin in the burgeoning hope building in Ryland.
“That’s awesome, Em’s.” Joe carried Emma back to the couch. “Why don’t you tell me about your book while I steal your Daddy’s hot chocolate.”
As Emma chattered through the story, Ryland slipped from the room. He couldn’t endure watching his daughter completing the perfect couple of Tessa and Joe.
Grabbing the pot Mabel used to make her magical hot chocolate, he poured the remnants in a mug and tossed the pot into the wide country sink. He scrapped and scrubbed the goop from the base, slopping soap and scalding water onto the floor.
“Watch it.” Mabel scolded. “It might be your house, but this is my kitchen. Don’t be messing up a perfectly mopped floor and a decades-old pot, just because your little, ole heart got a little mushed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mae.”
She linked her arm around his waist, flipping the water faucet off. “Darlin’, I’ve known you for almost five years now. Your heart lives all over your face. I knew the day Macy broke it into a dozen little pieces. I knew the moment you decided to move back here and quit a job you loved. I knew when you felt as if you were failing Emma after Macy died. I knew all of that without you ever saying a word. Now don’t you try and tell me I don’t know your heart is firmly in the hands of that sweet young lady in the living room. Even if she is curled up beside your best friend.”
He released the pan from his grasp and turned away from the sink. “Mae, I’ve known both of them my whole life. JT’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“But…”
“…but, nothing.” With a shove against the sink, he pulled a tall kitchen stool from under the island and lowered his body with a sigh. “Tessa barely tolerates me, but JT seems to make her happy.”
“Barely tolerates you?” Mabel dragged a stool to face him. “If what I saw outside this house and in front of the fire constitutes ‘barely tolerating’ someone then I need to find someone to barely tolerate me.”
“Mae, be serious.”
“How can I be when you’re being ridiculous? You are currently displaying the emotional maturity of a thirteen year old girl who just found out her favorite boy band broke up.”
“Harsh.”
“You know me. I only speak truth.” She slid the untouched mug of hot chocolate to him. “Now tell me why you’re in here whining to me when a beautiful, intelligent, generous young woman is enjoying the warmth of your fire, the comfort of your couch, and the overt intentions of one fine specimen of athletic manhood.”
Ryland rolled his eyes and took a deep drink of the l
ukewarm chocolate. “It’s stupid.”
“Honey, nothing’s stupid if it impacts your heart.”
“Tessa’s the one…” He paused, unsure of how to share the feelings he’d been nurturing and sheltering for twenty years.
“The one?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Either you have a thing for someone or you don’t. The heart is a pretty simple organ. It’s the brain that complicates matters.”
“We’ve known each other since we were not much older than Emma.”
“History is a good thing. Helps to build a solid foundation.”
“Not our history.”
“What did you do to that poor girl?”
“What makes you think I did something to her?”
She lifted a single eyebrow.
“I may have accidentally given her an unfortunate nickname in elementary school that followed her through graduation.”
“Oh, boy. What was the nickname?”
He dropped his focus to the thick grains of marble swirled on the surface of island. “Pee-Pee Tee-Tee,” he whispered.
“Oh. you didn’t?”
“It was an innocent mistake, but some things just stick.” He told her the story of Tessa’s birthday, the years of trying to get her to notice him that backfired, and his most recent attempts to find a tentative friendship.
“You’ve had a crush on this girl since you were six years old—finally kissed her yesterday—and you still are allowing some dude to usurp your home turf?”
“Usurp, Mabel?”
“Hon, fancy word or no, you need to get your cute butt back in that living room and lay claim to what’s yours. That’s if you even want to be with her. Do you care?”
“Of course I care, but I’m not fighting JT for her. If she wants to be with him, then I’ll have to be grateful for her friendship. Besides, she’s leaving as soon as her substituting job is finished. It’s not wise for Emma or me to get too attached.”
“Yeah,” Mabel went to the kitchen sink, yanking the spray nozzle from its holster. “I guess that book won’t attach Emma to her. And her being in the house nearly every day won’t affect you at all. Good plan.”
Life on the Porcelain Edge Page 14