The Christmas You Found Me, page 27
Oh, sweet child. You have every last inch of my heart.
We’re warned it will be at least two hours for Emma’s surgery but maybe longer. For some reason, I’d thought they would make us go to a waiting room during the surgery, and I’m deeply grateful the staff says we can stay in Emma’s room. The room feels far too big and empty without her bed in it, and even though a second chair is next to the one we’ve been using, I stand there, unsure of what to do.
For a moment, I desperately wish my mom and dad were here. I wish there was an adult to protect us from this, even though Guy and I are the adults in this room. I wish I could hold my father’s hand, but I know I’m needed here more. I’m a parent now, and there’s a hand that needs mine to hold.
“Should I go downstairs?” I ask Guy. “To thank everyone?”
“No, stay here with me.” His arm curls around my waist, and he tugs me down to rest on his leg. “They’ll understand if we send a text message. They’ll understand even if we don’t.”
He’s right, but they came a long way, so instead I send out a group message to all the faces I remember. Then I turn off my phone and slip it back in the bag. Some people stare at their phones, playing games or thumbing through social media when they are worried. For me, it just feels like too much noise, too much for my brain to have to deal with. Instead, I let Guy hold me, the way I held Emma.
“Sienna, try to sleep if you can.” I look over at him and see my exhaustion mirrored in his eyes. The fear too, but Guy’s voice is soothing when he speaks. “Even if you can’t sleep, just close your eyes. Try to give your mind a break.”
“What about you?” I ask him, even as I let him draw me deeper into his arms.
“I’ll try to do the same.”
Yeah right. I wrinkle my nose at him. “Don’t lie to me on Christmas Eve, Mr. Maple.”
“Never.” Guy dips his face and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Sienna, I don’t know what’s going to happen in a few minutes or a few hours. I don’t know if it’s going to be wonderful or horrible, so I need to tell you something now. I know it’s too soon for you, but you need to know.”
“Guy…” I start to hush him, to tell him anything can wait, but he shakes his head and presses a soft kiss to my shoulder.
“The day we met,” he says quietly, “I told you I couldn’t promise I would fall in love with you. I could only promise I’d be a good husband to you, and I would always have your back.”
“You have,” I reassure him. “You have, every step of the way. You’ve been perfect.”
Guy smiles slightly. “Not perfect, but I was trying. What I never told you is the day we got married, when you looked at Emma and asked her what name she wanted to have… That was the moment I fell in love with you. And I’ve held my breath ever since, because it seemed like too much to hope you could feel the same.
“Every morning, I woke up and I looked at you, and I made you a silent promise in my head. No matter what happens, for the rest of my life, I’m going to love you. I will keep showing up, no matter how hard life gets, no matter what road we take. You get all of me.” He takes a slow, ragged breath. “Just maybe…be ready…because if I lose her, I might not have a whole lot of me left.”
“You’re enough,” I promise him softly. “Who you are, it’ll always be enough.” I close my eyes. “But if Emma doesn’t…” I can’t even say it. “I think there might not be much of me left either.”
We’re both silent beneath the awfulness of the thought. Then Guy takes my hand, running his thumb over my ring finger. “I bought you a ring for Christmas. I was going to propose for real. On my knee with a dopey grin and everything.”
“Yes. If you’re asking me, my answer is yes. And if you aren’t, the answer is still yes. I’m in love with you too.”
When he looks up at me, the too-thin man in the coffee shop with the blue eyes, I know he’s the love of my life.
“Yeah?” Guy asks softly, as if he can’t quite believe this either.
“For better or worse. Nothing, not even this, do we part.” I kiss him, and when he presses his forehead to my breast, I hold him for the first time of the rest of my life. “I love you so much, Guy. I’m yours, as long as you want me.”
He sighs quietly, tightens his arms around me, and then he whispers against my skin, “Forever. Absolutely, one hundred percent, forever.”
***
The air smells like Christmas. I don’t know why, but as I wake up blurrily, I swear I can almost taste it.
Nope, it’s not Christmas. It’s the smell of a stale hospital candy cane being munched on above my head. Guy’s foot is propped up on the second chair, and there’s no way he could possibly be comfortable. I’m draped across his body like an exhausted pillow, my elbow in his stomach and my feet wedged against his knee to keep me in the confined space. My neck is already protesting sleeping in such an awkward position.
Instead of grumbling, the man is eating a candy cane.
The ICU is still dim, but the clock says it’s already two fifteen in the morning. Emma went into surgery over four hours ago.
“I fell asleep? Oh no, it’s been hours. Why isn’t Emma back yet?” Panic hits me hard, then I realize Guy is grinning at me from around his candy cane. “Is she…”
I can’t say it. The hope has lodged in my throat, and I can’t even swallow around it.
“Emma’s okay,” Guy says. “A stranger gave her something wonderful, and it’s working. They’re going to continue monitoring her to make sure she stays stable, then they’re going to bring her back pretty soon.”
“Emma’s okay?” I ask again, because even though I believe him, I’m probably going to keep asking it for the next twenty years. Or possibly the rest of her long, happy life.
“According to Dr. Sanghvi, everything went perfectly. We’re going to spend Christmas in the hospital, but as long as there are no complications, the doctor thinks she should be home by New Year’s.”
New Year’s at home with my new family. Nothing has ever sounded so good.
“What happens now? Emma’s presents are at the house. So are yours. I can’t let her have another Christmas in the hospital without making it special somehow.” I’m a planner, and there are a lot of things to plan. I bite my lower lip, thinking. “I can make a few calls and—”
“Hey, Sienna?” Blue eyes sparkle as he catches my gaze, winking.
“Yeah?”
My brand-new, gorgeous, absolutely perfect husband gives me the best, most pepperminty kiss of my life, followed by a knee-melting grin. “This is our happily ever after. All we have to do now is live it.”
Epilogue
Visiting my dad is easier than it used to be.
True to his nature, he held on a full month, twice as long as anyone expected. Then, in a room right next to the one where my mother passed away, my daddy finally got to go home.
Losing him breaks my heart, but I have a good man who holds me every night and a little girl who lets me hug her when I miss my father too much during the day. Between the two of them and their love, I know I’ll one day be okay.
We waited to bury Dad’s ashes until after the spring thaw, with the hard rushing of the Salmon River the perfect song as we laid him to rest next to my mom on the property. There are several generations of the Naples family buried here, but he’s going to be the last one. This is the Maple Ranch now, and a new wooden sign above the entry reflects the change to any of the infrequent visitors we have.
I still miss him every single day.
Emma likes to come and talk to him, her grandfather she only really met once. I like to listen to the water and my daughter and the wind playing through the trees. As we ride back and forth, Emma and I talk about how this is Nez Perce/Nimiipuu land and what it means. How just for now, we’re caretakers of this beautiful place, but it doesn’t belong to us. This land isn’t something we own or something we should split and sell away like it’s cash just waiting to be in our pockets. It’s something we should care about. Something to be loved, like a spouse or a child or a little brother.
She’s young, but my instinct tells me she understands. I think she particularly likes the little brother part.
So far, we’ve managed to keep it a secret, because things have a way of getting around small towns, and Guy and I have only started to relax now that I’m in my second trimester. But Guy’s hauling the grain on Tuesdays while I lean against the truck and enjoy watching him work, like the voyeur I’ve always been when it comes to him. And when we go to the Daily Grind, I’ve been ordering my latte decaf. Sanai’s got a knowing smile on her face again, and it’s not because Guy and I sneak a breakfast biscuit together while Emma’s in preschool.
I still haven’t gotten used to the delicate white-gold band on my finger. Guy wants to switch it out with a diamond later, but he’s going to have to pry this off my hand over my cold, dead body.
I know what I have. I don’t need sparkling things to remind me.
I’ve spent the morning in town, talking to my ob-gyn in the same medical building where Emma used to get her dialysis. I don’t miss those days, and I know she and Guy are delighted to be done with them too. It’s why I went to the appointment alone, even though Guy’s been there for most of them. He’s started fixating on the baby’s health in a way I think isn’t good for him. I do it too, because after Emma, how could we not? But I can tell Guy is scared, no matter how hard he tries not to let me know.
Our family has some triggers, and sometimes, love is keeping someone from walking into a building that causes them stress. Besides, I’ve already sent the man about twenty annoyed GIFs today regarding my current mood.
When I pull up to the ranch, a little girl is riding on the front lawn. Emma’s hair has grown longer beneath the riding helmet she hates wearing. She and Legs have formed the kind of bond only a passive-aggressive draft mule and a small child can have together. I swear the child was born with glue on the seat of her pants, and I know what it’s like to be in love with these animals. I’m teaching her how to ride because I know it won’t be long before our rules get broken, and she’s taking off all over these mountains. If there’s ever been a natural horsewoman, it’s my daughter. She can ride him without being on a lead line if they stay in front of the house or close to the barn, because Legs won’t let her fall. Grumpy or not, he’s really good at this kind of thing.
I don’t mind switching to the broad, stocky Appaloosa gelding I bought so Emma can have Legs. Guy and Lulu have hit it off, and this way, the whole family can ride together, motley crew that we are, with Guy’s head about at Emma’s shoulder as she perches on the tall mule and me on my tank of a gelding in between. I don’t mind the incessant lowing of our new bull (he never shuts up) or how Barley is refusing to teach the two new puppies anything cattle-dog related in retribution for all the times they’ve chewed on his tail. I don’t even mind Dad’s truck breaking down again or how Guy spends a solid hour a day in the garage, clanking around and happily swearing at the thing when Emma’s out of earshot. What does bother me is that as of this morning’s ob-gyn appointment, I’ve officially been benched from riding. I thought I’d have a couple more weeks, but nope.
I swear I could hear Legs laughing at me the entire drive home.
Guy’s waiting for me when I get back from the appointment, watching Emma from the porch with a sandwich cut into cute little shapes on a plate in his lap. I shudder when the smell of peanut butter and banana hits me, although it used to be my favorite comfort sandwich. He must have noticed me turning green because he gives me a sympathetic look.
“Is peanut butter on the list?” he asks, and I nod apologetically.
“Yep. As of yesterday.”
“Sorry, I thought it might help after the ixnay on the iding-ray.” When I narrow my eyes at his cheerful tone, Guy is smart enough not to laugh. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”
“Good, because I’m still considering getting a second opinion.” Nothing makes a girl crabby like being cut off from her horses. Emma would understand. Unlike Guy, who is happy to have me benched, even if it triples his own work all over again.
He makes short work of the sandwich cutouts, then takes my hand. “Come on. I’ll get you something else to eat.”
“Good luck,” I say grumpily.
Morning sickness has been a beast, despite doing my best not to let Guy know how awful I feel some days. Lucky me, I didn’t get to phase out of this particularly fun stage at the end of the first trimester like some women. Throwing up is a particularly bad trigger for him after Emma’s illness, and Guy’s had the honor of listening to me hurl every morning and late afternoon like clockwork.
I keep telling him I don’t need him to hold my hair or stay with me on the bathroom floor, but he’s not the type of person who can listen to someone he loves being miserable and walk away. I’ve considered locking the bathroom door so he doesn’t have to deal with it too, because I love the man more than I ever thought possible. Knowing him, he’d just sit on the other side of the door. He’s a good man determined to take care of us, and I’m determined to take care of them. So we go round and round until we sneak off to bed and find more ways to show each other how much we love each other. Vomiting aside, I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.
He and Emma are everything to me. Seriously. Everything.
Guy probably knows, because he gives me a sexy smile as he moves about the kitchen, pulling out my favorite mug and a fresh jug of milk. We keep an eye on Emma through the kitchen windows as he pours me a drink.
“Just in case today was rough, Em and I picked up something in town while you were gone.” He nudges something on a plate toward me. What I see must be a mirage, a pregnancy-induced hallucination. They only exist during Christmas, yet somehow a peppermint-dusted, three-inch-thick, triple-chunk brownie appears next to my milk.
“Is this for me?” I ask, cautiously hopeful as I sink into a stool next to the stack of mail.
“Do you think I’d talk the bakery into making a pan of these for my wife and not give her one?” He presses a kiss to my temple before bending over to sneak a quick kiss to my thickening waist. “Be nice to your momma, okay? She’s having a tough day.”
“Her day just got a lot better.” A purring noise escapes my throat, and I give him a look I normally save for my favorite treats. “Want to chase me around for the second half of this later?”
Guy’s already heading back outside to stay with Emma, but at the question, my tall, beautiful Montana boy looks over his shoulder and winks at me. “That’s what the second brownie is for. By the way, Jess left something for you in the mail.”
I knew I married this man for a reason.
Mid bite of the best thing ever, I pause and look at the sticky note attached to a newspaper, resting on top of the pile of mail.
“Thought you might want to see this,” I read Jess’s note aloud before I page through their newest handiwork. There it is, right on the front page of the classifieds. I’m not sure whether to groan or laugh. After all, the last time, this worked out for me pretty darn well.
Wanted: Babysitter for Hire
Anyone less awesome than Jess need not apply.
Acknowledgments
The last time I wrote a book, my life was very different.
Less than three months after Enjoy the View was published, my husband was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was—and is still—my best friend. His was the hand I reached for when I was happy or sad or lonely. His was the hug I wanted to feel, the laughter I wanted to hear, the quick text in the afternoon I wanted to read and the tired yawns at night I wanted to fall asleep against. He was the man I wanted to spend every moment of the rest of my happily ever after with.
Life…doesn’t always go the way you want it to go.
The best way I can describe his loss is a locomotive slamming through tissue paper. Losing my husband absolutely decimated me. All that was left were little paper bits floating in the wind. But with time, patience, and so much love, God gathered those little bits and knitted me back together again.
I’m not sure if any of us—myself included—knew if I’d be able to write another story. There was a lot of pain, a lot of prayer, a lot of therapy, and a whole lot of love from some very important people. It’s been a long, hard road, but in the end, I finally put my fingers back to the page. The Christmas You Found Me is the result. It’s a story about hurting, about loss, and about fear. But it’s also a story about hope and faith and love. And really, I think that’s what life—and marriage—is: hope and faith and love.
So, my first thank you is to God. Thank you for showing me your love, each and every day. For being the rock that I stand on, no matter what else is happening around me, and giving me a reason to hope. Thank you for proving you are faithful to all your promises.
To my parents and my brother. You are my favorite people in the world. I love you.
To my stepchildren and grandchildren. You are more precious to me than you’ll ever know, and the greatest gift Kenney ever gave me. I love you all so very much.
To my Kronkbears, Jen Ludwig, Kim Lyon, Catherine Mantooth, Ashlee Sisson, and Lacey Wilcoxon. For giving me a safe place to laugh, to cry, and to climb mountains. I love you and I like you.
To Coach Larry Scott. You strapped a pair of boxing gloves on a broken woman and showed her how to be strong again. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To Chloe Nelligan. For your friendship, your enthusiasm, and always being up for the next new adventure. I’m so glad I met you.
To my Golden Heart sisters, the Rebelles. You have been a shield, holding me up on all sides when I couldn’t stand on my own, and protecting me from a world that was harsher than I knew how to bear. I love you all.
To Violet Marsh. For not just being a great critique partner but for being a great friend. Thank you for holding my hand through the best and the worst.
To Sara Megibow. For not just being my agent, but for being my friend. I couldn’t imagine navigating any of this without your wisdom, guidance, and support.
