Their Christmas Angel

by Tracy Madison

  “It is, Nicole. I failed Bridget. Walking into another scenario where there is absolutely nothing I can do to change the outcome...it hasn’t been easy to consider.”

  On some level, Nicole had known all of this. But to hear the devastation in his voice, to see it in his eyes, brought the knowledge into crystal clear perspective. Along with the crippling loss, along with raising his daughters without their mother, he believed he somehow failed Bridget. She understood. And oh, she felt for him, wished she had the words to ease his pain.

  She didn’t, though. The first words she thought of, he already knew and had likely heard time and again. From his sister. His friends. At one point, probably even from Bridget herself. Still, she had to try. And the trying wasn’t about convincing him to accept her and what might or what might not happen between them—it was about healing a wound.

  Words he’d heard before wouldn’t—couldn’t—suddenly make a difference now, merely because they were coming from her. But if she changed the angle of the camera lens, shared the view from her eyes, her experiences, maybe...well, maybe those words would do what the others hadn’t. Difficult? Yes. But she had the sense it was what he needed.

  “Listen to me,” she said. “Yes, your wife was dying in front of you, a little more each day, and you felt helpless. But that doesn’t mean you failed. And I know this isn’t quite the same, but my brother and parents went through that with me, so here’s what I can tell you from my perspective.” It was Nicole’s turn to squeeze Parker’s hand. “Every kindness, every thoughtful action my family did for me offered help and hope, security and comfort.”

  “I’m sure it did, and I’m relieved you had them, but that isn’t what I am trying to express.” Parker’s frustration was evident to Nicole. In the tight manner in which he spoke, in the tension rippling through his shoulders to his arms to the hand she held. “Bringing her juice, rubbing her feet, holding her hair while she puked didn’t fix anything.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, but Nicole did not let them fall. Later, she would. Later.

  “No, none of that cured her cancer, but that’s different from not being able to fix anything. I can promise you that you did. When my mother would sit there and paint my toenails bright red, so I had something pretty to look at, or when my brother put all of my favorite songs on my tablet, or when my father brought me a chocolate malt because I craved them constantly, those actions bolstered me, Parker. They made me stronger, so I was better able to fight.”

  “You survived,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “She did not.”

  “That isn’t because my family somehow helped me more than you helped Bridget,” Nicole said, hoping he’d cross this chasm. See what she was so desperately trying to share. “It’s the disease. My body. Her body. Every fight is different, you know that, but—” and oh, Lord, she hoped she was right with this guess “—I bet Bridget lasted longer than the doctors thought she would, which gave her more opportunity to keep fighting. Am I right?”

  He blinked once. Twice. A third time before acknowledging her question with a nod. “She did. They gave her less than six months when she was diagnosed, and she survived for more than twice that.” He let out a breath. “For a while, we thought...she had beat it.”

  Ouch. Those tears she’d just squelched—tears made up of Parker’s pain—burned bright and hot and heavy behind her eyes. They’d gone through hell, Parker and Bridget, had found hope again and then watched it fade away in slow, stuttering, gasping steps.

  Unfair, to be shown the sun but not allowed to stand in its rays.

  “Well. Okay, then,” she said, swallowing the pain as best she could. “You’ve proved my point, though it might be hard for you to admit, to accept. But, Parker? You played a role in that. Her meds, the chemo, her own positive attitude and the girls were all part of the reason, but so were you and everything you did to see to her comfort, to make her smile, to help her relax... Every bit of that gave her more strength than she would’ve had otherwise.”

  “That’s how it was for you?” he asked. “Straight up.”

  “Straight up. That is how it was for me,” Nicole said, speaking the God’s honest truth, “and while I have no statistical data to back this up, the women I went through chemo with, the women I saw day in and day out? Those who had a solid support system...loving husbands, friends and family, well, they fared better than those who didn’t.”

  Her words, the emotion behind them, echoed in the ensuing silence. Their hands remained clasped, fingers entwined, and she felt him relax, felt him take a deep breath and then another, and she believed, hoped, that he might have just let go some of this burden.

  “Well,” he said, a minute, maybe two minutes, later, “I didn’t expect this conversation to go where it did, but thank you for your insight, Nicole. I have a better understanding now.”

  “Oh, Parker, you’re so welcome. I... Usually it’s hard for me to talk about any of this, but with you, it’s...easier, somehow.” Because of the connection between them, or because of his experience with Bridget? Both, probably. “Thank you, too, for listening.”

  Lightly, he kissed her on her forehead. “You’re welcome. I’ll listen anytime. Just say the word. And I’m sorry, too, I hadn’t meant for this to get so deep, so fast. All I was attempting to do was let you in on why I carried this weight around, but that I had decided what mattered most was getting to know you more today, and not fixate on the past or the negative what-ifs.”

  “I decided the same,” she said, pleasure rippling and bobbing its way through her. “But I wanted to give you the opportunity to talk, I guess.”

  “Because you’re amazing and thoughtful and kind, along with beautiful and smart and—” he kissed her again, this time on her nose “—sexy. So, from where I sit, it seems we’ve reached the same decision, which means, you’re willing to see where this leads us?”

  Her stomach somersaulted. “I would like that, Parker. I mean, we’re likely going to have a lot of tough discussions, but yes, I am very much interested in seeing where this leads.”

  “Thank God,” he said. “Now, let’s finish this night on a high note, shall we?”

  They weren’t done for the night? “Oh. I would love that, yes. What is the plan?”

  Comically waggling his eyebrows, Parker said, “That, my dear, is still a surprise.”

  And just as if it hadn’t occurred, the emotional, difficult exchange evaporated. If anything, she felt closer to him than she had before and sensed they’d started the job of building a firm foundation on which they would stand. All good. All positive. The ease from earlier in the evening swept in, along with the desire that sent her pulse skyrocketing.

  When they arrived at their next destination, she initially thought he was taking her ice-skating, but as they walked into the arena, she laughed. “Bumper cars on ice? Really? I love bumper cars but haven’t tried this yet. Better watch out, Parker,” she said, nudging his arm with her elbow. “I am a relentless bumper car driver. You’ll have a hard time getting away.”

  “I’m not trying to get away, Nicole.” Pulling her into his arms, in front of an entire ice arena of spectators, he lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss. Lips, firm and searching, touched hers, and she melted into his embrace, into the kiss, while holding on to his arms.

  Heat, delicious and delectable, consuming and satiating, crawled through her body, inch by inch by inch, until even her fingers and her toes tingled. She pressed herself tighter against him as he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth, tasting and teasing and exploring. And if they hadn’t been in a public place, if she already knew for certain she was not pregnant, she’d be in the process of unbuttoning his shirt and unclasping his jeans.

  What he did to her, the strength of her body’s response to him, was new. Exciting. And truly, more profound than anything she’d ever expected to experi
ence. Especially so quickly. Parker had seemingly arrived out of nowhere, on a cold and blistery evening, when she’d least expected to find... Well, she wouldn’t say “love.” Not yet. But the potential for love existed.

  And even the potential for love counted as a miracle.

  Chapter Nine

  The following Monday, Parker waited for the girls in the pickup lane at the grade school, his mind drifting, as usual, to Nicole. Their date had gone better than he could have hoped for, and while that nagging weight on his heart hadn’t miraculously disappeared, it didn’t seem quite as prevalent, either. Hopefully, that meant he’d eventually get rid of it altogether.

  He worried, though. About falling in love again, about going through the same hell he’d barely survived with Bridget. Parker did not know how to love with only half his heart, so if he took the plunge with Nicole, that would be that. No turning back.

  Even if she became ill again. Even if.

  But could he find even the smallest pebble of hope to bolster Nicole if they were to ever reach such a point? She would deserve his best, just as Bridget had, and he’d turned himself inside out for her benefit. For their benefit. Yet, despite the strength, courage and hope he’d surrounded them with, Bridget had still died. She’d still left him and the girls.

  So, did he have the strength, the courage, to face that horror again, knowing all he now knew? The answer continued to elude, but walking away from Nicole, from the potential of what they could be, wasn’t the solution.

  Kids began streaming out of the school. Erin and Megan were in the middle of that stream, walking side by side, aiming toward the car, both with stiff postures and focused expressions. As they got closer, he saw Erin’s red-rimmed eyes and Megan’s narrowed ones, along with each of their flushed, unhappy faces. Something was wrong.

  Well, hell. What could be the problem? Parker’s brain put two and two together and guessed that Nicole had probably posted the cast list for the Christmas play, since rehearsals would have to start soon. Could it be that his daughters were upset by whatever roles they’d been given? Or worse, one had been cast in the cherished role of Snow White as the Ghost of Christmas Past, leaving the other disappointed and jealous?

  Reaching the car a few steps ahead of her sister, Megan jumped into the back seat and scooted to the other side so Erin could use the same door. They deposited their backpacks in between them, latched their seat belts and, in almost-perfect synchronicity, each turned their heads to look out their respective windows.

  “Why, hello, my darling daughters. I hope you’ve had a great day at school,” Parker said, putting the car into gear and moving toward the street at a snail’s pace. When neither responded, he swallowed a sigh. As much as he hated their bickering, if he had to choose one over the other, he preferred that to angry silence. “My day was terrific, by the way.”

  Not even a sigh reached his ears.

  “What happened today, girls?” he asked, trying to watch them through the rearview mirror while he drove. And still nothing. They could keep up the silent routine for a while, so he might as well get right to the hornet’s nest. “Guessing this has to do with the Christmas play. Specifically, the roles you’ve been cast in. How am I doing so far?”

  “Miss Bradshaw chose her to be Snow White!” Erin blurted in a defiant, angry tone. “I’m older, Daddy. If she was going to pick one of us, she should’ve picked me.”

  “But she didn’t pick you! And you have a good part, too!”

  “First of all, let’s try to calm down,” he said. “And what part did you get, Erin?”

  “I’m the Fairy Godmother, but I’m the narrator, so I’m not even really in the play! I just stand there and talk to the audience about the play. I was supposed to be Snow White.”

  “No, you weren’t, because she picked me, and you could at least be happy for me, Erin.” And in his youngest daughter’s voice, Parker heard disappointment and sadness. She adored Erin, even if they did squabble, and he figured she was genuinely hurt by her older sister’s reaction. “I would be happy for you if she picked you.”

  “You would not!” Erin kicked the back of the front passenger seat hard enough that the impact reverberated to his position behind the wheel. “You would be just as mad.”

  “No, I wouldn’t! You’re not me, so you—”

  “Hey, now,” Parker said, keeping his voice and demeanor as calm as possible. “No kicking, Erin. You know better. And, girls, yelling at each other isn’t the way we work out disagreements. What is the first rule we’re supposed to remember, no matter how mad we are?”

  “That we’re family and we love each other,” Megan promptly answered. “And even if we’re really, really mad, we should try to keep our words and voices nice.”

  “Exactly right.” Slowing down, and then stopping at a red light, Parker said, “Tell me, Erin, what else are we supposed to do when there’s a conflict?”

  “I don’t care. She shouldn’t be Snow White. She won’t remember the lines.”

  “I will, too, Erin. That is mean to say, because you don’t know.”

  “Erin? I asked you a question.” The light turned green. “Please answer.”

  “Fine,” his eldest huffed. “We’re supposed to try to see the other person’s view, even if we don’t agree with it. And then...then talk about why we’re so upset, so they understand, too.”

  “Good girl. So, let’s start with you. Why are you so upset that Megan got the part and you didn’t? Think about the real reason why, and choose your words carefully,” Parker warned, wishing he’d waited until they were home to start this conversation. “No more outbursts. And, Megan, please don’t interrupt. Let your sister talk, and then it will be your turn. Okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Megan said. “I won’t interrupt, even if she’s wrong.”

  “Megan, you know that isn’t what we’re doing here. We’re focusing on understanding, not blaming. Right now it isn’t about who might be right or wrong.” Parker took a left-hand turn and counted his lucky stars they were only a few minutes from the house. “Go on, Erin.”

  “I am this upset because...b-because I wanted the p-part more,” Erin said in tear-soaked syllables. Parker’s heart cracked, hearing her distress. “A lot m-more, so it h-hurts and makes me m-mad and like...like—” a gulping sob broke through “—I disappointed M-Mommy.”

  And there it was, the crux of the issue, even if Parker didn’t yet understand why Erin had those feelings. He had to keep his own emotion tamped down, which he barely managed to do when he said, “It’s hard to say if you wanted to play Snow White more than your sister. We can’t measure that, sweets. What concerns me the most is why you think your mom would be disappointed you didn’t get that particular role, because I know for a fact that she wouldn’t be.”

  Finally, they were driving down their street.

  “B-because she said I was the p-perfect S-Snow White, in my costume, on the l-last Halloween, before...before—” She gave up trying to talk, gave up trying to do anything but cry as hard and as fervently as a little girl with a broken heart could. It tore him to shreds.

  “You can be Snow White, Erin. Stop crying, please,” Megan said softly, now also in tears. “I don’t want to be her anymore, okay? Please stop crying.”

  Parker pulled into his driveway, shifted the car into Park, turned off the ignition and, after hitting the button to unlock the doors, jumped out as if his clothes were on fire. It took longer than he liked, but he got the girls out of the car and into the house, both of them now sobbing in long, agonized wails, the tears flooding their cheeks. Why hadn’t he remembered that final Halloween? Erin was correct; she’d dressed as Snow White, while Megan had been a ladybug.

  Bridget had chosen their costumes, and he should have remembered. That was his job.

  He sat on the couch, with Erin on o
ne side and Megan on the other, and covered all three of them with a blanket. Arms over their shoulders, he brought them as close as possible, murmuring nonsensical words of comfort, hoping his voice would give them the security they needed. Megan’s sobs slowed relatively quickly, but she kept her head burrowed into Parker’s chest. Erin’s tears, though, they just kept coming, and he kept holding on.

  When she’d calmed enough that he thought she’d pay attention, he said, “Listen to me, sweets. There isn’t any way that your mom would be disappointed, especially over the part you were given in a play. She would be proud of you. Bursting with pride, kiddo. I promise you this.”

  “But she thought I should be Snow White for Halloween,” Erin said in between her sniffles. “And I remember how much she smiled that day. Do you remember, Daddy?”

  “I do. But that was because of you, sweetheart, not because of the costume you wore.”

  “She can be Snow White in the play, Daddy,” Megan said, lifting her head from his chest. “It’s okay because I thought I wanted to be her, but I don’t anymore. I decided.”

  “You know, Megan, that is such a kindhearted offer, but that isn’t a decision we can make.” That she wanted to, though, to ease her sister’s turmoil, resonated as such a gracious gesture, that it told Parker he’d done okay in the parenting department. Maybe even better than okay, and in this moment, he was both a proud papa and a sad one. Different emotions for very different daughters. “We would have to talk with Nicole about a decision like that, since she is in charge of the play, and it might not be what Erin really needs.”

  “I don’t.” Erin sat up and dried her tears with the back of her hand. “Now that Daddy explained, I’m okay being the Fairy Godmother, Megan,” she said, her cadence still shaky, but without the desolation from earlier. Thank God. “She gets to wear a pretty dress, too, and I have lots more lines to remember than you. Besides, you’ll be a beautiful Snow White.”

  “Really?” Megan asked. “You mean it?”