by Helm, Nicole
“Therapy makes you uncomfortable?”
“Of course not,” he said before taking a long swig of beer.
“Hmm. Well, the girls needed it and then…I figured why not.”
“You’ve dealt with a lot, Pen. No one would think losing your mother and your husband before you even turned thirty would be easy.”
Pen shifted a little, because she’d never told her therapist back in San Antonio about losing her mother. It hadn’t seemed relevant. More important to focus on Henry and the girls and how to build a new life without suffocating everyone.
“You’re really awake because of a different bed?”
He stared down at the can in his hands, something almost haunted in his expression—which was only half illuminated by the light they’d left on in the kitchen. “I’m not Colt. Never could sleep anywhere at any time.”
She thought there was a story there, but knew he was not going to be telling it. “Well, I can’t wait to get the tree up. Much as I hate Christmas I do love sitting on the couch after everyone goes to bed and watching the twinkling lights.”
“You… You hate Christmas?” Ethan asked with some mix of surprise and humor.
Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that. Well, at least she’d said it to Ethan and not Sadie or the girls.
“Miss everyone has to wake up early and go to the parade?” he continued incredulously. “The endless cookies and carols. You make everyone go to the tree lighting. No matter how long you lived in San Antonio it felt like the month of December you and the girls camped out here. And you hate Christmas?”
“It’s… Hate is a strong word. I just… It’s so much work. And it’s so busy. There’s no routine, no schedule. I make us do all those things because it’s tradition, and that’s what Christmas is all about.” And maybe, just maybe, because it gave her a sense of order and control in a season that had seemed to be the opposite since Mom had died.
Ethan chuckled and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“You hate it too,” she accused.
He sobered some. “I never said that.”
“Then why don’t you ever spend Christmas Day with us?”
He didn’t shift exactly, but his amusement definitely faded. “I work Christmas.”
“That doesn’t ever stop you on Thanksgiving. Or Christmas Eve. You stop by on holidays you’re working. But I never see you on Christmas Day.”
He shrugged. And said absolutely nothing else. She sipped her wine and frowned at him, waiting and waiting.
He explained nothing. Just nursed his beer and watched the darkened window.
“You could at least lie. Apparently you’re quite good at that.” It came out sounding more caustic and accusatory than she’d meant it.
He didn’t jolt exactly, but something in his eyes changed. A flash of something, gone so quickly she didn’t know what it was. Only that it gave her an odd, foreboding shiver.
She should have paid attention to it, but apparently the wine was doing its job a little too well. “Don’t you want to deny it? Tell me how honest and good you are.”
“I’ve never claimed to be honest or good.”
She snorted. “Everyone thinks you’re honest and good. Everyone thinks you’re a paragon of virtue. Gary Cooper in High Noon or whatever. You don’t have to claim it. You wear it. You are it. Everyone thinks so.”
“Not everyone.”
She knew he meant his father, but then she wondered a little bit if he also meant himself. Which made her feel unaccountably sad. Sad and wanting to fix things.
“Do you remember the year Mom’s angel broke?”
His eyebrows drew together, some of his discomfort fading into confusion. “Yeah, but…”
“I broke it. I threw it on the ground and broke it into a million pieces. I hated the sight of it. I hated Christmas without her. I hated everything and I wanted to break all of it.” Why was she telling him or anyone this?
Because…because she understood. The way you tried so hard to be what everyone else decided you were, and knowing you would never really be that. Being the one person who didn’t think you were as good as everyone else did. “I know everyone thinks I’m perfect. I work pretty hard to make sure they do. But I’m not.”
“Maybe some people think you are, Pen. But that doesn’t mean you have to be.”
She could only stare at him. Didn’t have to be perfect? Of course she did. Everyone depended on her. Everyone needed her. She was supposed to take care of everyone and how could she do that if they didn’t think she was perfect?
Ethan got to his feet. “I should go to bed.”
Panic surged through her, God knew why. She’d blame the wine over fear or panic or some unraveling inside of her. “Please…please don’t. I don’t think I could stand to be alone right now.” But you’re always alone, Penelope. Hasn’t life taught you to get used to it?
*
Pen looked so pitifully lonely and sad, Ethan had no choice but to sit back down.
He didn’t know how this had turned into some awful heart-to-heart. He didn’t have a clue what she needed other than a shoulder to cry on. He’d never occupied that space when it came to Pen. Or any of the Martin girls. He was the helper, not the…soother.
Except Pen didn’t accept soothing from anyone. Never asked for help or a shoulder to cry on. He’d thought it was because she didn’t need it—she’d been right that he had it in his head Pen was something a little close to perfect.
She’d broken her mother’s favorite angel. On purpose. Out of anger.
He’d seen her lash out precisely once, and that had been this summer when Colt had been attempting to leave town after Fritz’s heart attack. She’d been mad as hell then and had yelled and sworn at Colt.
Ethan figured it had been a one-off. Maybe it was. Maybe it was just the stress of everything lately. Of everything she’d had to go through since Henry had been killed.
“When?” he asked, surprised to find his voice rough.
“When what?” she asked, her voice tight though she wasn’t crying. She was holding on to her wineglass for dear life.
“How old were you when you broke the angel?”
She shifted and downed the rest of her wine. “Twenty-five.”
His eyebrows rose against his will. He’d been expecting her to say that first Christmas without Susannah. Or maybe even last year or the first year without Henry. Definitely when she was a teenager or as the result of a bad year. Not… When she’d been married and the mother of two.
“I could blame pregnancy hormones, because I was about seven months with Daisy.”
“But you don’t.” That he could tell from the way she said it. From the way she stared at her glass.
“No. I wanted to break it so I’d stop hearing her voice in my head telling me all the ways I did Christmas wrong.”
Ethan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Susannah would never have told you you did Christmas wrong. There’s no way to do it wrong.”
“No. But she would have been here to do it right. I can’t ever make it like she did. I can’t…”
She was struggling with something bigger than he understood, but the idea she’d stood there at twenty-five, with two kids and one on the way, and thought she could or should make Christmas exactly like it was when her mother had been alive… It cracked something inside of him even if he didn’t understand it. “You don’t have to be exactly like Susannah, Pen.”
“Yes, I do,” she replied resolutely.
He didn’t understand this. Had never dreamed there was…this inside of Pen. “Why?” He knew what it was like to build your life trying not to be like someone. But the idea Pen was trying to somehow be Susannah when she was…not… Ethan didn’t know what to do with that. Or how to understand it.
“Because I do.” She stood and put the empty glass on the side table. “Thank you for staying with me. I’m fine now. Good night, Ethan.”
He didn’t return the sentiment, just wa
tched her walk stiffly away.
When he woke up later, it was with a start. Still on the couch with a pair of dark eyes staring down at him.
“What are you doing sleeping down here, boy?” Fritz asked. Fritz frowned at the beer can. And the wineglass next to it.
Ethan cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, feeling like a scolded teenager.
“I woke you up because you’ve got to work today,” Fritz replied. “And maybe so you could help me with that damn coffee maker I can’t make head nor tail of.”
Ethan pushed himself off the couch, ignoring the crick in his neck. “Sure.” He followed Fritz into the kitchen and then set about making the coffee. It was still dark out, and when Ethan glanced at the clock he was a little surprised to see it read four a.m.
“You’re up early,” Ethan offered, putting together everything he’d need to brew a big pot of coffee for everyone.
“Thought I’d help with the milking this morning.” Fritz settled himself at the table. “Not like you to mix your liquor, boy.”
“I didn’t…” Ethan trailed off, because of course Fritz knew exactly who’d been drinking out of the wineglass. He didn’t know exactly why Fritz was pointing it out though, so he kept his mouth shut and poured the coffee grounds.
“I suppose you remember the promise you made to me after Susannah died?” Fritz said conversationally. But Ethan knew this was no conversation. He wasn’t sure what it was going to be, but it was pointed. Purposeful.
“Of course I do.”
“You made yourself into a good man, and took absolutely no help or gifts from me, which still offends me, by the way.”
Ethan might have smiled if he didn’t feel dread seeping through him as he pushed the coffee buttons.
“A man of the law. Trusted and respected. I couldn’t have asked more of you. I’m proud of you. Susannah would be extraordinarily proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Ethan managed, even though he knew it wasn’t true. Oh, Susannah would have been proud about his profession. It was half of why he’d decided to become a cop. But she wouldn’t be proud of him. There’d been so much more she’d wanted out of him.
So much he didn’t want for himself.
“But the other side of that promise, I don’t hold you to that anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about. Colt and Sadie aren’t a special case. I trust you, Ethan.”
But I don’t. “Fritz, it’s nothing like that.” Colt hadn’t wanted to get mixed up with Sadie because Fritz had made all three of his boys promise not to touch his daughters after Susannah had died.
Colt had always figured it was because Fritz didn’t want broken men like them loving his precious daughters, but Fritz had explained it was about wanting to keep the family together. Romantic entanglements could lead to breakups and Fritz being put in the difficult decision of choosing between his God-given daughters and the boys he’d basically raised after Susannah had saved them.
Colt and Sadie had worked through those issues, promised forever to each other, and that was all well and good. But it wasn’t Ethan’s hands-off promise to Fritz that held him back when it came to Pen.
“What’s it like then?” Fritz asked.
“I just want to help out.”
“The broken arm will hold her back some, but this is Pen. She’s stronger than the lot of us times ten. Three years after Susannah died I was just barely crawling out of rock bottom. Not my Pen. She’s got those girls home and is happy as a clam. Don’t go babying her. She won’t like that at all.”
Ethan opened his mouth to argue, then decided to shut it. He didn’t want to baby Pen, and Fritz was probably right that she wouldn’t like being babied.
But Ethan had a bad feeling she needed it.
There was a crash and the clatter of little feet on the stairs. Then Brynn appeared, all but doing a cartwheel into the kitchen. It took Ethan by surprise just one of the girls made that much noise all on her own.
One of the three perfectly wonderful and adorable reasons nothing would ever, ever happen between him and Pen.
Chapter Five
Pen avoided Ethan for most of the day. Luckily, he was working today which meant she didn’t have to work too hard at it.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to tell him the truth. When he’d said she didn’t have to be exactly like Susannah she should have said of course not.
She was forever telling someone of course not, then changing the topic. Telling Sadie how to cook dinner, or her girls to do a chore.
She’d told Ethan about the angel, and that she had to live up to her mother’s impossible memory. And now she had to go on with Christmas prep like it didn’t matter. Like she wasn’t falling apart.
Don’t you have ample experience in that department?
Yes, yes, she did. The trick was to always, always go on the attack.
Colt had dragged up the Christmas decorations and Pen had convinced Sadie to leave her goats and cheese for an hour to come help her sort through things before the girls got home.
“Mack should be here,” Pen announced. Mack could be her new project. One a broken arm couldn’t stop. She could work on convincing her baby sister to come home—not just for Christmas but for good.
“She’ll be here for Christmas.”
“Are we ever going to do anything about her?”
Sadie snorted. “Do you know our baby sister? Even you can’t do anything about that particular force of nature.”
“I’m quite sure I could,” Pen replied with a sniff, not at all sure. Mack was…Mack. Pen considered herself an excellent maneuverer, but some people defied maneuvering. Mackenzie Martin was top of that list.
Sadie gave Pen a placating smile, which had Pen frowning. She was the one with the placating smiles. Not Sadie.
“She’ll come home when she’s ready. Just like you did.”
The fact Sadie was right only made the low-level panic her old therapist would remind her was anxiety, not reality, cinch its knot tighter.
There had to be something she could fix. Something she could accomplish.
“Does Colt know why Ethan never comes over on Christmas Day?”
Sadie shrugged, as wholly unconcerned with that as she was with Mack gallivanting throughout Texas barely ever coming home. Pen ground her teeth together.
“If he knew, he wouldn’t tell me.”
“You’re going to be his wife.”
“Yeah, and Ethan is his brother. Colt only just got to telling me more about his childhood since we’ve been together. I’m sure Ethan has things he’d rather not face.”
Pen frowned. Ethan’s home life had been…awful. And even though his father had moved away from Last Stand before his scandal with a young parishioner had gotten him arrested, she imagined Last Stand still had something to say about it.
Pen frowned deeper. It had happened while she’d been in San Antonio. Before that she vaguely remembered some rumor about her mother running Abe Thompson out of town. But nothing more than whispers had ever come of it, and then Susannah had died and she’d become something of a saint to the people of Last Stand.
Ethan was liked and respected as well. She didn’t remember any visits where he’d been upset over his father. Besides, he’d cut himself off from his family before all that. Clearly it hadn’t really mattered to him.
What would he have to hide?
I’ve never claimed to be honest or good.
“What’s wrong?” Sadie asked.
“Nothing.” Sadie didn’t need to know Pen had pegged Ethan wrong all these years. “Dad should be back with the girls, don’t you think?”
Sadie laughed. “It’s Friday. I bet he took them to get ice cream.”
Pen wrinkled her nose. “Or to the candy store.”
“Or both,” Sadie continued.
“How am I ever going to teach them any discipline with Dad spoiling them?” Pen groused.
“If you were really worried about that, you wouldn
’t have moved home. They’re good girls.”
“They are.” She knew how lucky she was. Henry’s death had been hard, really hard, but none of the girls had acted out terribly or behaved in a way that made Pen overly worried about their emotional well-being.
Addie sometimes reminded her a bit too much of herself, but Brynn was as exuberant as ever, and Daisy was a shy little thing. But they were good girls. Who could probably stand a little spoiling from their grandfather.
“I suppose you’ll make them get up early to make sure we visit every Christkindlmarkt booth?”
“Naturally.”
“Remember the year Mom overslept for the parade and swore a blue streak trying to get us ready?”
Pen stared at her sister. “What? No. You dreamed that.”
“I did not,” Sadie returned indignantly. “Trust me. You remember the first time you hear your mother drop an f-bomb.”
“Mom would never.”
“Well, it was hardly the only time I heard her swear.”
Pen didn’t know why she was getting so angry, but Sadie was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. “You have lost your mind, Sadie Martin. Our mother did not swear. At least not in front of us. Stop making things up.”
Sadie frowned at her. “I’m not making it up, Pen. What’s your deal?”
“I won’t let you talk about her that way. I won’t listen to it.” Pen got to her feet.
“Pen. Come on. You’re being ridiculous.”
Pen stormed out of the room. She was not being ridiculous. Sadie was ridiculous. And a liar. Pen flung open the front door and stomped onto the rarely used porch where she’d fallen and broken her stupid, useless arm.
She was shaking, and it was getting harder and harder to suck in a breath. What was wrong with her? Was she having a heart attack like Dad?
Except her chest didn’t hurt. She just couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe?
“Pen?”
God. Ethan was not what she needed right now. It made the not being able to breathe worse. It made everything worse.
He took her by the elbow and sat her down on the rocking chair. Gently he nudged her head between her knees.