The Christmas You Found Me, page 19
Each year, the snow globe gets bigger and better, partially due to reuse of the previous year’s materials and partially from the money local businesses put into supporting our growing Christmas town. We’ve built up a small block party around the snow globe, complete with food trucks and carnival games, pony rides and vendors selling just about everything holiday related one could think up. It’s a great place to hang out with friends and celebrate the Christmas spirit, and I’ve never missed a chance to drink a hot cider while watching my town mill about me.
As we head toward the snow globe this year, with Emma insisting on holding my hand and her eyes huge, it feels just a little more special than ever. Guy pushes her in a stroller despite her having resisted bringing it along, but we’re going to be doing a lot of walking today. We don’t want her to get too worn down.
We weave through the crowds of children running around with faces painted like Christmas trees and reindeer and groups of teens flirting and teasing each other. “Hey, Emma, did you know your daddy built this?” I ask her, indicating the three-story structure in front of us.
Emma’s expression is awed as she looks up at the snow globe.
Everyone working on the snow globe is supposed to keep it hush-hush so as not to ruin the surprise for anyone. We’ve been so busy adjusting to our new lives together, I hadn’t even thought to ask him what this year’s snow globe looked like. It’s bigger than ever, with second- and third-story walkways inside so everyone can look down from the top of the snow globe to the festivities below.
“Daddy did this?” She sounds impressed, and I can tell he loves it.
“A part of it,” Guy says as he hugs his daughter. “I was on the walkways. Actually, those were my idea,” he adds a bit shyly. “It was nice to dust off the architecture training.”
“The place looks great,” I promise him, and I love the proud, pleased expression on his face at the praise.
We wait in a line, which grows bigger by the moment.
“Is that a camel?” Guy asks, peering over the heads of the others and through the frosted plexiglass.
“I hope not.” I shudder. “Last year, someone strapped reindeer antlers to the halters of a group of miniature donkeys. Which was super cute until the donkeys started having some intestinal difficulties.” Emma giggles, and Guy shoots me an amused look. I add, “Hey, it wasn’t my fault. I told them not to give minis green hay midwinter, but someone thought the alfalfa was prettier. Townies.”
Several preteens squeeze through the line instead of going around, and Guy’s large palm finds my back, shifting me out of the way so I don’t get bumped. The unexpected contact sends a shiver of desire for him through me, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of town. It’s been a while since a man’s hand on my back made me feel giddy. A while since I felt desired by someone who I want to desire me. The thought throws me all over again. I want Guy to want me. I’m just not ready to admit to it, let alone do anything about it. Or am I? Because I slip my hand into his and try to look everywhere else but at the man I’m holding on to.
Emma giggles, then is thankfully distracted as we reach the front of the line and go through the ornate snow globe entryway, decorated with glittering white and blue paint over swirled wooden designs to replicate parting snow. We enter the ground floor, and Emma oohs and aahs as she looks around and up to huge, twinkling snowflakes suspended from nearly invisible wires above our heads. Paths wind through the globe, lined with candy-cane guardrails to separate piles of faux presents and local actors waltzing together as if part of the original snow globe’s scenery.
I’m not sure who thought it would be a good idea to substitute an alpaca for the nativity scene’s camel, but I’m guessing it took a lot of pushing to get the sucker in the door. By the widening of its oversize eyes, it isn’t going to be leaving any easier.
At the center of the snow globe is a massive Christmas tree. Since everyone who goes into the snow globe gets to hang an ornament on the tree, I’ve come prepared with a paper-and-puffy-paint ornament Emma and I made the night before. Guy picks her up and sets her on his shoulders so she can reach up and hang her ornament higher than almost anyone else’s.
Emma loves it.
After exploring every inch of the snow globe and listening to Guy’s playful stories about building it, we end up wandering around the block party. We find a Santa’s sleigh–themed bouncy house for kids under six, and despite Emma being frailer than the other children, she’s desperate to bounce too. I don’t like how energetic the other children are, but I don’t feel like I can say it’s a mistake when Guy lets her go in without one of us in there too.
“This is worrying you, huh?” he suddenly asks as we let Emma abandon her stroller and race into the bouncy house.
“Are you always going to be this good at reading my mind?” Hmm, that might have come out a bit grumpy, but Guy only smiles.
“You’re really cute when you’re protective of us. But Emma’s tougher than she looks. Plus, it’ll embarrass her if we go in too. Em needs to feel like a normal kid sometimes, and only the toddlers have a parent in there with them.”
I nod and try to trust him. Maybe it shows on my face more than I realize.
“Sienna?” My husband’s voice pulls my attention. “You can talk to me. We may not be the same as everyone else, but we’re partners. It matters what you feel about situations regarding Emma. I might not agree with you, and I might choose to go against what you want, but I know you care about her. I respect you, Sienna. It matters to me what you think.”
“Respect and communication? Guy Maple, you’re making this sound dangerously close to what a real marriage should be,” I tease. “And we never had a honeymoon.”
“Yet.” When I glance over at him, he adds, “God willing.”
We share a grin, and when I lean against the railing to watch Emma in the bouncy house, Guy angles his body next to me, keeping one eye on her and one on the crowds milling past.
“Do you actually believe in God?” I ask as Emma lets out a peal of giggles as she bounces.
“Yep,” he says, almost too easily, as if saying yep, he likes pepperoni on his pizza.
I’m silent, swallowing my next question, because my curiosity isn’t worth his peace of mind. Emma’s happy, and he is too.
Guy glances at me, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “Are you wondering if I’m angry at God?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” I admit. “After seeing how difficult Emma’s life is and all the things you’ve gone through with her… It must be hard not to be angry.”
“‘Raging-fucking pissed’ is the phrase I used to use,” he says. “And if I focus too hard on the unfairness of what’s happened to my daughter, the feeling comes back. Like it’s just waiting to strangle me and cut me off from my faith. It took me a long time to realize I could be terrified and lonely and angry at God or I could be terrified and not as lonely, because He’s with us through all the bullshit. I try to accept that for whatever reason, Emma isn’t going to have the life I want for her. I don’t understand it, and I’m never going to understand it. I lean on my faith though, and I pray my ass off, just in case God wants to change His mind.” Guy glances at me again. “How about you? Are you angry with God over Micah and your dad?”
I try to answer, but the words catch on my tongue. “It’s complicated” is what comes out, and I’m disappointed in myself.
Guy just nods. “Honestly,” he says, voice quiet, “the thing I’m scared of is that God gave us you to help us through these days. Not because things were going to get better, but because we have someone Emma and I care about when things get worse. I’m scared I have an answer to my prayer…just not the one I was hoping for.”
When Guy clears his throat, I lean into his shoulder. The fact that he leans back a little helps the lump in my own throat dislodge.
“I’m not angry. I just felt like I’m a disappointment. Like if I’d kept things together better, maybe I’d have made more of my life. I wouldn’t be the divorcée in the bathtub drinking too much wine and buying naughty rubber ducky shower curtains on her phone.”
“Is that how you feel now?”
Emma’s childlike laughter fills the air as she and another little boy bounce together, and I shake my head. “I feel grateful I get this time with her.”
“Just with her?” Guy teases, and I nudge him with my elbow.
“Brat. And with you. I don’t pray much, but when I do, I pray I won’t mess this up.”
For the first time since Emma went in there, Guy takes his eyes completely off her, just for a moment. His large fingers cradle my face, and he murmurs, “Sienna, I honestly don’t think that’s possible.”
“Daddy! Sen-na! Look!”
Emma’s made a friend, and we spend the next half hour watching her and the other child as they play, making polite talk with the little boy’s grandmother. They get matching face paintings before we part ways. I’m the proud stepmom of the cutest Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer who ever graced the state of Idaho.
We see Jess running around with their camera and a Santa hat, interviewing people for the Caney Falls Daily, and we make a stop at Sanai’s pop-up coffee shop tent for coffee for us and ice chips for Emma.
Guy knows more people than I realized, and when he sees his boss across the crowd, he brings Emma and me over. I know just about everyone in this town, but it’s brand new to be introduced as part of our little family. When the two start to discuss Guy’s new job in January, I pick up Emma in my arms and shift away to look at a booth of quilts, giving them privacy.
I can’t help but be grateful his foreman appreciates Guy’s hard work. Knowing he has a job lined up after New Year’s is going to help him be able to relax over the rest of the holidays.
“Look how pretty this is,” I murmur to Emma as I shift her higher on my hip, admiring the blues and yellows of the handmade quilt in front of me.
“There’s ice cream. Sen-na, can I have some?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. We can have one of the treats at home.” I move to the next quilt, then notice Emma’s face is all scrunched up. At first, I don’t understand what’s happening. She was so happy just a moment ago. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
“I want ice cream.”
“Oh, Emma, I know, but we can’t—”
Midsentence, she lets out a high-pitched scream right next to my ear, so loud I almost drop her from shock. Boy, did I underestimate Emma’s lung capacity. She shrieks again that she wants ice cream, and a little mittened fist smacks me right in the nose. For a moment, I wonder if I’m going to have a black eye or two for Christmas. Then Guy is there, appearing at our sides as if out of nowhere, taking Emma out of my arms and marching toward the truck. Her screams change pitch, and I’m bizarrely impressed when she finds another octave to hit. I follow with the stroller, feeling eyes everywhere on us.
I’m not embarrassed, but it’s clear from the tension in his shoulders that Guy is. I glare at the people around us, daring them to keep looking as Guy unlocks the truck and sits Emma in the back seat.
“I don’t want to go,” she bawls as he puts the wriggling, fighting child into her car seat.
“I don’t want to go either,” he says firmly. “I’m not the one who decided to pitch a fit.”
“I think it’s my fault,” I start to say, but Guy gives a hard shake of his head.
“Emma knows not to yell, and she’s choosing to do it anyway. Em, is this getting you what you want?”
She shakes her head even as she keeps sobbing.
“And did hitting Sienna get you what you want?”
She only sobs harder. Emma is having a complete meltdown, and I have no idea what to do to help. And boy do I feel guilty, despite knowing that saying yes to ice cream would have been a much worse decision.
Guy’s tougher than me. I’m ready to hug her until the world is better, but he stands there, foot on the doorjamb and shoulders rounded so they are at the same height, holding eye contact with his daughter.
“I want…ice cream,” Emma sobs. “Everyone else…has one.”
“Not everyone. Do you see me with one? Or Sienna?”
Emma’s lip is out, and it quivers as she shakes her head.
“Baby girl, I know it’s hard. I know, okay? We have to take this one day at a time, and we have to be nice to each other. Is screaming and hitting Sienna nice?”
“No.”
“Are you sorry?”
She nods her head.
“It’s okay, Emma. I’m not mad.”
When Guy checks to see if I mean it, I smile at him reassuringly despite the fact that my eardrum is still pounding and my nose feels a little stiff.
“She bopped you good, huh?” he asks.
“What happens in a quilt stand stays in a quilt stand.” I lift my chin. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you snitches get stitches?”
“Can we go back?” Emma sniffles. “I want to go on a pony ride.”
Guy hesitates, then glances at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him do so, as if he’s silently asking for my opinion.
“Emma’s had a long day,” I say quietly, despite the fact she’s hanging on our every word.
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too. I just hate…” He trails off, and I get it. Emma doesn’t have a promise of next year. She doesn’t even have the promise of next month, and I hate to take her away from something she’s enjoying.
“Emma?” I ask. “The pony ride line is really long. Would you rather stay here for another thirty minutes or go home and go for a pony ride on Legs?”
“He’s not a pony,” she says, affronted on Legs’s behalf.
“True, but Legs doesn’t know it.”
In the end, she decides she wants to go back to the block party. We make another pass through the snow globe, and even though she’s worn herself out with her fit, she seems happy to pet the alpaca again. I don’t tell Guy that despite her smile, Emma’s looking wan and pale in her stroller. No one can look at her at this point and not be able to tell that Emma’s a very sick little girl.
And there’s absolutely nothing either of us can do to change it.
***
That night, we reheat the previous night’s dinner, and afterward, Emma looks at the cookies, a hopeful expression on her face. “Can I have a cookie?” she asks.
“If you want, baby,” Guy says, but I catch Guy making a little gagging face at her. There are no secrets in a household with a four-year-old, because his sneaky warning is followed by a fit of giggles from Emma.
“Your dad’s muffins are better,” I promise her.
“Daddy ate them all after you went to bed, Sen-na. When he says he’s stress-ercising, but he only does it to get you to come down for milk. Right, Daddy?”
By the expression on his face, Guy just got totally busted. This time, I’m the one giggling.
“Daddy’s a sneaky muffin monster,” Emma singsongs.
There’s no way to explain himself out of this situation, so Guy opts to pretend to chomp his daughter’s belly, tickling her until she’s laughing all over again. Tickling is not conducive to getting small children to bed on time, and Guy reads Emma several stories before she falls asleep. By the time she’s down, I’ve finished cleaning up the kitchen, and I’ve been past her room twice to say good night, because she keeps asking for me.
I’m dangling off Guy’s pull-up bars, trying to see if I can figure out the trick of it, when he finally comes downstairs.
“Soooo…” He gives me an abashed look.
“You’re a sneaky muffin monster?” I find myself grinning at him. “And you’ve been setting me up with the evening workouts to show off your pull-up skills?”
“If you think I’m going to apologize, you’re wrong.” He adds playfully, “A guy does what he can to get the pretty girl to notice him.”
“Oh, the Guy does, does he?”
“You lasted so long without a name pun,” he sighs lustily. “Longer than anyone else. You’re my dream girl, Sienna.”
Then he scoops me up off my feet, and I’m just as bad as Emma, dissolving with laughter as he pretends to chomp my neck, as muffin monsters do. Except I have to bite down on my giggles so I don’t wake Emma up all over again.
He drops down to the living room recliner with me still in his arms. We fall quiet, and when I rest my head on his shoulder, Guy’s hold on me shifts so we’re both more comfortable. He turns so he can press a soft kiss to my temple, then Guy dips his face and kisses the sensitive place behind my earlobe just as softly. The pressure of his lips against my skin is ticklish and makes a light shiver roll through me.
“Those cookies are really bad,” I whisper, because the other option is acknowledging my skin has gooseflesh and my toes are actually curling at a third kiss a little lower on my neck.
“Those cookies are atrocious,” he murmurs against my skin.
“I can’t believe you ate four of them.” My fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer even as I tilt my head to give him better access to my neck.
“I ate five. It was rough. All to impress a girl.”
“Technically, we’re married. I’m not sure you have to impress me.”
“Oh, you’re so wrong. Trying to impress you is the fun part.”
Mid kiss, I wince at the change in position of my neck. Guy’s hands immediately still. “I’m okay,” I promise before he can start to worry. “I just have a bit of a headache.”
“Em really did thump you good, huh?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I know where my loyalty lies. Guy’s strong fingers begin to massage my shoulders in a special form of wonderful.
“You know it’s dead sexy when you protect my daughter, right?”
I hum noncommittally because I’m completely focused on how good his touch feels.
“We’re in a rustic cabin in the woods. It’s pretty romantic when you take the cows out of the mix.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell him. “I think cows are extra romantic.”
Guy chuckles, then moves to the tense places on my neck. “If this was our honeymoon, what would you want to do?” When I start snickering at Guy’s innocent question, he laughs, fingers pausing on my shoulders. “Well, other than the obvious.”
