I notice this year it’s “a Santa” rather than “the Santa.” Seems word got around her class that there is a village of Santas spreading cheer for children all around the world.
“I’m sure there is.” I put Arman in his car seat. “What are you going to ask him this year?”
“Silly Mama. You know I can’t tell you.” She covers her mouth and giggles.
“Okay, then what are you asking for Arman?” I humor her. Last year, she asked for a dog, for her baby brother, of course.
She reaches over and tickles Arman’s belly. “I think Arman should get his own flower girl to marry.”
“Are you sure Arman wouldn’t want another choo-choo train?” I double-check that everyone’s seatbelts and harnesses are secured.
“Papa’s going to make me a flower girl caboose,” she replies. “I think Arman wants a Santa express.”
I smile at Tyler and give him a wink. Ever since he brought Bree the train set that first Christmas two years ago, he’s been expanding the train by making each child a special railcar. He’s also making buildings, landscapes and laying new track, so that by the time the kids grow up, our entire living room could be covered by a miniature railway.
“Let’s go get our tree.” He pats Bree’s head. “You’re going to help me find the perfect tree.”
“With lots of decorations, too.” Bree claps her hands. “I wonder if they’ll have pretty birds for us to take pictures with. Maybe Arman wants a parrot.”
Last year, the tree farm had an assortment of pets, including parrots, lovebirds, and cockatoos for petting. At least that was what I was told, since I was on bedrest for my pregnancy and Ella had taken Bree.
“I think we have enough pets,” I say as Tyler lets Brownie into the back of the truck bed.
“We still don’t have a cat.” Bree makes an adorable face. “I love a fluffy cat.”
“Is that what you’re asking Santa for?” I get into the passenger seat and look back.
“Not telling.” She crosses her arms and presses her lips together.
“Which tree farm are we going to?” Tyler asks as he hops into the cab.
“Reed Tree Farm,” I reply. “They’re having a festival there. Hayrides, craft booths, and a tree full of candy canes—each one has a charity tagged, and I made sure both Warspring and Redwood Warriors Recon are included.”
“There’s also a kissing booth!” Bree shouts from the back.
“Seriously? A kissing booth?” Tyler chuckles. “Isn’t it unhealthy?”
“It’s a big money maker, and this year, the proceeds go to Redwood Recon because Sawyer and Ella are manning the booth.”
“Both of them together?” Tyler starts the truck and rolls down the driveway. “This ought to be good. How’d they get in there?”
“Ella knows the Reed sisters, and one of them is married to Brandon Cole, the big venture capitalist of Atherton. Jaden’s family knows him, too.”
“Now you’re name-dropping,” Tyler says. “Brandon Cole’s one of the big donors for Warspring.”
He also suffers from a hereditary disease, one that will leave him unable to control his movements in his middle years.
A chill of fear seizes the back of my mind, despite me trying to put it away. Could someone who was unaware of his fate have donated sperm and now Bree would be afflicted?
I’d promised Tyler not to dwell on what I cannot control, and even though I know we’ll adapt if we get bad news, I can’t help but wonder what we’d do if Bree had a chance of developing a debilitating syndrome. Would we opt to not have her tested in order to not ruin her childhood? Or would it be better to know earlier to make adjustments?
“You’re awfully quiet.” Tyler touches my hand. “Remember your promise to find time for fun?”
“Yes, I remember.” I interlock my fingers with his. “You’ve been through so much worse than me, worrying about little things like weddings and parties.”
“It’s not a contest, Kel,” he says. “It’s us side-by-side, holding each other up.”
Truth. I behold his profile as he drives and count myself fortunate. This once damaged man who’d been through the hell of war and came back is now the bulwark of strength for me and my children.
God is so good to me, every day, and He’ll see me through whatever comes my way.
10
~ Tyler ~
“Papa, can I put up the star?” Bree bounced all over the living room while Tyler dragged in a seven-foot tall Noble fir through the front door. The row house they lived in was small and cramped, and the tree barely fit with only a few feet to spare.
“You need to take a nap,” Tyler said. “And brush your teeth first.”
Even though Bree didn’t usually nap anymore, Tyler knew that if she wanted to stay up late trimming the tree, she would have to get some rest first.
Baby Arman was already asleep from the ride home, but Bree had had too much candy and excitement. She got to ride on a pony, sit on Santa’s lap with a large white cockatoo named Big Blizzard, try her hand at square dancing, ride on a hay wagon to the outer reaches of the tree farm, help select the tree, and even wield the saw for a few moments.
“But I want to put up the star before Arman gets big enough to take it away from me.” Bree pouted, crossing her arms.
Tyler left the tree on its side and picked Bree up. “You and Arman can both put up the star. You go first, then he can do it again.”
“Promise I’ll always be first?”
“Double dog promise.” He set her down and prodded her toward the bathroom. “You ate all that candy, so you have to wash your hands, brush your teeth, and take a nap. When you wake up, Nana and Auntie Ella will be here, and we can all decorate the tree together.”
Soon, both kids were napping, and Tyler had time alone with Kelly. He hefted the tree into the stand while Kelly tightened the screws. Together, they cut the netting and fluffed the branches.
“When do you want my mother and sister to come?” Kelly asked as she arranged the tree skirt.
The Kennedy clan always held a tree trimming party, and this year was the first time they had a tree separate from the one at Kelly’s mother’s apartment.
“Let the kids sleep for two hours,” Tyler replied. That gave him time to go to the hospital to check on Zulu.
“Great. I’ll call them.” Kelly got up and hugged him. “I had fun at the tree farm. Now that the kids are asleep, we have some time alone.”
Her hair was windblown and tousled, and her cheeks were pink. During the time he was held prisoner, it was this vision of her that had kept him going. He’d longed for her, worried over her, and had promised himself every painful step he took that he would never let anything get between him and Kelly. She was everything that had meaning to him, and her arms were home—home, sweet home.
She kissed him softly and took his hand, leading him to their bedroom, and every bone in his body wanted to relax and let go. Except he couldn’t. He’d rescued Zulu once, and he couldn’t let anything happen to her again.
Tyler swallowed and glanced at the clock. He still had time to get to the veterans hospital before they released Zulu. He’d received a text from her, using a nurse’s cell phone, that she had an appointment with a counselor and then she was free to go.
While Kelly called her mother, Tyler texted Zulu. I might be held up a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere until I get there.
I’m still waiting to talk to the shrink. She texted back.
How are you feeling? Better?
Are you kidding me? They put me in a straitjacket.
Promise me you won’t try it again.
Zulu had swallowed an entire bottle of pills she got from a friend. Fortunately, the friend alerted Tyler, and he’d been able to get her to the hospital in time.
Getting my stomach pumped sucks.
Yeah, it does. But dying sucks even worse. Tyler texted.
Maybe dying sucks, but being dead doesn’t.
Tyler wasn’t sure how to respond. If she spoke like that to the psychologist, it was possible the hospital would keep her. But for how long? Eventually, they’d put her right back on the streets.
“Tyler,” Kelly said. “I’m done with my phone calls.”
Just wait for me, okay? I need to talk to you. Tyler hastily texted. Gotta go.
Hopefully, Zulu got the text and hadn’t returned the phone to the nurse.
Tyler set his phone on the nightstand and reached for his fiancée—his lifeline.
Where would he be if she hadn’t visited him at the veteran hospital after he went berserk in a subway station, thinking he was under attack?
She’d come to him bearing Christmas cookies frosted by Bree, and she’d offered friendship and acceptance to him—a mentally broken veteran.
Broken no more and stronger, he rolled over her and claimed her lips, loving this woman who’d cared enough about him to let him into her life.
She had a big heart, and she would certainly agree to help Zulu get back on her feet again.
~ Kelly ~
“Are you seriously bringing her here?” The afterglow of being with Tyler dissipates like water droplets splattered onto a hot iron.
We had barely finished making love when Tyler gets a text message and jumps up from the bed. It’s Zulu, telling him she’s ready to leave the hospital.
“She has nowhere to go,” Tyler says, pulling on his clothes. “You helped me when I was in worse shape. At least she’s not hallucinating.”
My jaw drops as I scramble for my clothes. “That’s not true. I offered friendship, but I didn’t have you moving in with me. Not until I got to know you.”
He kisses me firmly, as if to shut me up, then grabs his phone and goes toward the door. “I know her very well. We went through air assault school together. You don’t get any closer than that.”
A spurt of bile shoots up my throat. “Did you go out with her?”
He gives me a withering glare and walks out the door. Even Brownie is flabbergasted as he gets up, thinking Tyler’s taking him for a walk, only to be met by the thumping door.
My heart racing, I shut and bolt the door. I need to unload before I climb the walls, so I call my sister and tell her what’s going on.
“Sawyer’s been asking Tyler about this supposed buddy of theirs,” Ella says. “He always changes the subject or brushes it off. I had no clue it’s a woman.”
“That’s a problem, isn’t it? Why would Tyler keep this news from Sawyer?”
“No idea. I can ask Sawyer about it. What’s her name again?”
“Zulu, but I think it’s a nickname,” I reply. “I’m not sure you should tell Sawyer if Tyler doesn’t want him to know. Who knows what history the three of them have? Maybe Sawyer doesn’t like her.”
“Then it’s all the more important for us to figure out if she’s dangerous or not. Attempted suicide. Did he say how? I mean, if she slits her wrists in front of Bree …”
“Exactly.” I pace back and forth in the kitchen, pulling at my hair. “Tyler acts like I’m not being supportive. He says I took him in when he was homeless and doesn’t understand why I can’t help his buddy.”
“That’s different,” Ella says, her voice rising. “I’m telling Sawyer. Maybe he’ll vouch for her. Even if they knew each other way back, right now, she needs help. Have you looked up resources to help veterans?”
“I’m doing that next. He’s bringing her here. Maybe you should come over sooner, so I’m not alone with the kids.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there. Is it okay if I invite Sawyer?”
“You know he’s always welcome.”
My hands are shaking as I say goodbye and tap on the search engine. I first go to the Department of Veterans Affairs and study the programs they have for homeless veterans. The first step is to call the Homeless Coordinator at the local VA Medical Center—which is where Tyler is headed.
If she’s mentally unstable, they have mental health programs and rehab centers. Why hasn’t Tyler looked all of this up?
The Redwood Warrior Recon program he’s with also has resources, although I can see why people fall through the cracks. They’re either too proud or wary of asking for help, or they don’t want to conform to the rules of living in a center.
One of the transitional housing complexes is close by, but it requires residents to be medically and psychologically stable.
I turn to the section for veterans requiring mental health and rehabilitation. There are shelters available throughout the state, but everything needs to go through the VA system. What Zulu needs is a caseworker and professionals who can help her.
I call Tyler. “Is she with you?”
“No, I can’t find her. She checked out before I arrived.” His voice is full of frustration. “I’m asking around to see if anyone saw where she went.”
“Tyler, please come home. I’ve been doing research and there are resources to help her. Rehab facilities, transitional housing, shelters. They should have given her a caseworker while she was there.”
“You don’t understand,” Tyler snaps. “She was held as a sex slave. She doesn’t trust any caseworkers or shelter employees. She hates being locked up.”
“It’s for her own good if she’s trying to kill herself.”
“Mama?” Bree’s voice sounds behind me. “What are you talking about?”
“Bree’s up,” I say to Tyler. “Just come back. Please.”
I hang up before he can reply and turn to my daughter. Her eyes are wide and unblinking. I’m not sure she knows about the concept of suicide.
“Is someone going to die?” she asks. “I’m scared.”
“No one. What did you hear?” I lead her to the sofa and place her on my lap.
“You said someone is killing herself. Will it hurt? What if she kills me, too?”
“No one will hurt you, sweetie.” I stroke her hair and look into her wide eyes. “Sometimes, people are sick in their head, and they hurt themselves.”
“Will I kill myself if I’m sick in the head?” she asks once the concept sinks in. She’s six years old, and I didn’t really want to expose her to this. Not yet. I remember how traumatized Ella was when the movie Titanic came out and one of the ship’s officers shot himself in the head.
She worried about it for days, not understanding why anyone would hurt themselves. She was afraid and had nightmares she shot herself by accident.
I hold Bree close and kiss her. “You won’t, but if you’re ever really sad, you should talk to me and Papa. We’ll always want you to be with us and we never want you to go away.”
“When I’m real sad, I play with Brownie.” She jumps off my lap and hugs Brownie who’s hovering around, wagging his tail. “He makes me happy.”
It’s great the dog gives Bree comfort, but I wonder what in her world is making her sad. And then I worry, twenty, thirty years into the future. What if she’s faced with an incurable disease? Would she still be able to find happiness? Or would she, too, end up in a dark place? Lonely and without support, especially if Tyler and I are no longer around.
11
~ Kelly ~
I unbolt the door and let Ella and Sawyer in. I have my reservations about their relationship, especially since we ran into Jaden, but today, their body language is open and easygoing.
Brownie jumps and pounces on Sawyer, something he never does with anyone else. Last year, when Tyler returned from the Middle East with Brownie, he left him with Sawyer to hold onto, so he could surprise Bree for Christmas. The big black man is solid and sturdy enough to handle roughhousing with a dog as large as Brownie.
“Easy, boy,” Sawyer says, laughing. “You love me, don’t you? Bet you want to go to the park and play chase and wrestle, don’t you?”
Ella and I leave Sawyer wrestling with the dog while Bree jumps on Sawyer’s back for a piggy back ride. I hear Arman fussing through the baby monitor, so we head upstairs for the bedroom.
“I told Sawyer about Zulu,” Ella says as I pick Arman up from his nap. “He got very quiet about it, like he was angry. Fuming. Everything tensed up, but when I asked him if everything’s okay, he said it was. Like nothing.”
“That’s strange. Did you ask if she’s safe?”
“I tried to find out more about her, but Sawyer says he hadn’t seen her since air assault training. He said Tyler knows her better because they went out on intelligence gathering missions.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” A scratch niggles between my shoulder blades.
“Do you think they used to hook up?” Ella strokes Arman’s curly hair as I change his diaper.
“I asked, but he didn’t answer me. It shouldn’t matter, should it?”
Right, that’s what I tell myself, except if Tyler still has feelings for her, it would put me in a difficult position. I can’t tell if his eagerness to help Zulu is due to survivor’s guilt or something more.
He hasn’t seen her in years, and he has a family with me. I look down on my son as he smiles at me with Tyler’s eyes and a look so adoring and innocent. Certainly, he wouldn’t give all this up for a wounded warrior from his past, would he?
I tell myself, I’m being silly. Tyler and I are committed and his love is true. I finish dressing Arman and kiss him, then hand him to Ella so I can wash my hands.
“Your mother just got here,” Sawyer says once we come down the stairs. “Bree and I are going to fetch her ornaments.”
“I’ll go with you,” Ella says, still holding Arman. She is always intuitive and probably senses I need to be alone.
After they all leave, I take out my phone and call Tyler. “Hey. Are you almost home? Sawyer, Ella, and my mother are here.”
“I found her!” Tyler sounds breathless. “She was wandering through Golden Gate Park. We’re on our way over right now. I’m sure you’ll like her when you meet her.”
I decide to put my foot down. Tyler is pushing me too far. How would he feel if I decide to let a man from my past sleep on our couch?
A Wedding for Christmas Page 6