Smoky Mountain Dreams (47 page)

She pulled her hand away from Jesse. “I’m not ready. She’s
my mom.”

“I know,” Christopher whispered. “I do. I know.”

Brigid seemed to collapse with a combination of exhaustion
and relief. She stood up to cross over to Jesse, falling against him. He put
his arm around her, pressed a kiss to her head, and held her close.

“Should we fold some cranes now?” Christopher asked.

Brigid shook her head, hiding her face against Jesse’s
shoulder. “No. I’m tired,” she whispered.

Christopher met Jesse’s eyes for the first time since he’d
started talking to her. “You’ve been working hard for a long time, Brigid.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, her breath slowing, and
relief settling on her features. “I can’t let her down.”

Jesse rocked her gently, urging her long body onto his lap. “It’s
okay, baby.”

“You’d never let her down,” Christopher murmured, and
tentatively stroked her hair, his expression shattered. “When you’re ready, we’ll
help you. Won’t we, Jesse?”

“Of course.” Jesse’s throat was unbearably tight, and he
pushed his face into Brigid’s hair, breathing in her sweet scent. “Christopher
and I—we’ll always help you.”

I
T
WAS STARTING OUT TO
be a magical Saturday as far as Christopher was
concerned. He yawned and stretched, luxuriating in the soft sheets that were surely
a much higher thread count than he could ever afford. Jesse had complained
about the guest room bed, but Christopher thought it was just fine.

He’d gone home on Friday afternoon to get some clothes and
water the plants, but he’d returned to spend the evening with Jesse and the
kids, making dinner and watching movies together. Brigid had been quiet, but
not hostile. She’d even said goodnight to Christopher when she went to bed.
Progress had definitely been made.

Jesse had planned a busy Christmas-prep Saturday—tree and
wreath choosing, putting lights on the house, and tree trimming that night.
Because getting all of that accomplished meant getting an early start—and
because they couldn’t seem to find any motivation to spend much time
apart—Christopher had stayed over in the guest room. Once the kids were both
asleep, Jesse had joined him and they’d made love, cuddled, and slept in each
other’s arms until the alarm on Jesse’s phone went off.

Jesse was downstairs now, starting breakfast before the kids
got up. Christopher was so warm and relaxed, and his entire body so satisfied
from the prior night’s pleasure, that he allowed himself to drift for a while
in the bed, holding on to the pillow Jesse had used and even smelling it like a
lovesick teenager. Eventually, the sounds of Jesse moving in the kitchen and
then the pounding of heels down the stairs roused him enough to get up.

By the time Christopher had showered and dressed, the kids
were downstairs in their pajamas chomping on the perfectly crisp strips of
delicious bacon and drizzling syrup over the amazing-smelling pancakes Jesse
had cooked up.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head!” Jesse sang, placing a full
plate of bacon in the middle of the kitchen table. “Help yourself. And how do
like your eggs?”

“Hatched,” Christopher said, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
Jesse looked confused and Christopher laughed. “I love chicken but hate eggs.”

“High five, bro,” Will said, holding up his sticky hand, a
bacon slice sticking halfway out of his mouth and dripping with maple syrup.
Christopher smacked his palm and grinned.

“Setting a bad example for my kids.” Jesse tsked before
winking at him. “Coffee and milk are on the table. OJ is in the fridge if you
prefer that.”

“Coffee,” Christopher said, solemnly. As he poured it into
his mug, he broke into song, a spontaneous ditty inspired by the well of
contentment in his heart.

“
Oh, Coffee. She’s all I need, my sweet
Coffee. The girl of my dreams.”

Will snorted, and Brigid gave a little chuckle. Jesse
grinned as he flipped another pancake on the griddle.

Encouraged, Christopher went on.

“
Oh, Coffee, she’s so pretty.
My Coffee, so smart and witty.
Oh, wait!
That’s what coffee does for meeeee!
So I’m down on bended knee, sayin’,
oh, pretty please.
Dear, Coffee, won’t you marry me?
”

He beat a soft ending drum roll on the table as Will
cheered. Brigid laughed softly, but then ducked her head.

Jesse put down a plate of pancakes in the middle of the
table before applauding. “Tonight you’ll have to play something for us on the
piano while we’re working.”

“Carols. Sure thing. I know a ton of them.”

“Okay. But some of your own songs too,” Jesse said. “I like
them.”

Christopher paused in pouring maple syrup over his pancakes.
He wanted to play his music for Jesse again, but not for the kids. It was a
special thing between them, intimate and almost sexual in its spiritual
communion. He didn’t think he could play the songs with the kids around. Not
when all he could think about when he did was Jesse on his knees by the piano,
eyes closed, palms up, and surrender on his face, or Jesse in his arms, licking
into his mouth as final notes still vibrated in the piano.

“Well?” Jesse asked.

“I only play those for a private audience.”

Jesse’s eyes flashed hot with recognition of what Christopher
wasn’t saying, and his lips turned up in a knowing smile. “I can arrange that.”

“Then it’s a deal. Carols for decorating.”

Brigid finished eating and sat in her chair fidgeting. “I
don’t know what to do,” she said, finally.

“What do you mean?” Jesse asked as he dug into a pancake.

“I’m almost done now. I’ve only got eighty cranes left to
make and I’ll have two thousand.” Her eyes went wide. “I’m not ready to make my
wish yet.” She swallowed convulsively.

“Two thousand,” Will muttered. “All over the dining room
table. I can’t play NASCAR with my Matchbox cars in there anymore.”

Jesse ignored Will. “That’s okay. You can wait as long as
you want to fold the last cranes, Brigid. There’s no pressure.”

“No, I have to do it by Christmas. That was the plan.”

“Then you have plenty of time.”

Brigid looked between Jesse and Christopher. “Okay. Are you
sure?”

Christopher waited for Jesse to answer but he seemed
uncertain of what to say next.

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a real ‘it’s okay if you don’t
like it,’ or a Grandma Birch ‘it’s okay if you don’t like it’?”

Christopher glanced at Jesse, who was trying to hide his
laugh by stuffing another forkful of eggs into his mouth. “A real one.”

“Let’s hear it so I can say no, and we can get on with our day.”

“Brigid…” Jesse’s tone held a note of warning.

Christopher didn’t want them to get into it this morning.
They were going to have a fun day together. As a family. Well,
they
were going to be a family, and Christopher was going
to be…along for the ride.

Now auditioning for the part of
Potential Future Family Member is Mr. Christopher Ryder.

Christopher took a nervous swig of coffee at the intrusive
thought. Was he really entertaining that kind of commitment? Yes, he was, and
yesterday had been part of that. Another needling realization hit him
suddenly—the voice in his head hadn’t been Gran’s. He hadn’t heard her in his
head ever since Thanksgiving, actually. A winter cold welled up in him, a lot
like fear, and he swallowed a few more sips of coffee to warm himself before
turning to Brigid.

“You know how some kids make paper chains to decorate their
trees?”

“I was going to suggest we do that,” Jesse said.

“Well, if Brigid wants—and only if she wants—I was thinking
she could make a chain of her cranes. If we’re careful with them, she could use
them every year. Or until they got too torn up.”

Brigid assessed him, her dark eyes flickering as she
considered the suggestion. “There’re too many. We couldn’t use them all.”

“But we could use some of them. You could string the rest
too, and you could put them up around the house for other decorations, like on
a wreath or just hanging from the doorways.”

She pondered it. “Okay. I like that idea.”

Jesse glanced at Christopher with gratitude in his eyes. “Sounds
perfect. What’ll you need to make it work?”

Christopher and Brigid talked through what they’d need while
Will moved the salt and pepper shaker around the table, muttering football
commentary under his breath, and Jesse sat back in his seat smiling. A thought
swelled in Christopher’s mind, and again it wasn’t from Gran.

This is how a family acts
.

Maybe the audition was going all right after all. Maybe he
could have this family and this life if he just said the right things and
opened his heart to this hurt child and her father. If he just stayed there for
Will, and let himself fall as hard and fast as he would inevitably fall. For
all of them.

With any luck, Brigid and Will would have inherited their
father’s eyes. Christopher hoped fervently that they’d really see him too, and
maybe they’d find something in him to love and call their own.

The Wilson Glyn Christmas Tree Farm was perfect, like a
page from a storybook. They’d left Brigid watching over Will by the bluegrass
players in the barn-cum-sales area. The musicians were playing carols, stomping
their feet and swaying with their whole bodies as they worked their fingers
over necks of their fiddles and stroked with their bows. Will was dancing his
little heart out and obviously cared more about that than choosing a tree. “Fun
part’s when you get it home,” he’d declared.

Brigid had been taken with the wooden ornaments on sale.
Jesse suspected he’d be getting one as a present given how eager she was to
announce that she’d stay to watch Will dance and shooed them off to go choose a
tree without her.

“So, things are better with Brigid today,” Jesse said,
meaning in terms of how she was relating to Christopher, but Christopher
interpreted it differently.

“Well, she’s nearing the end of her project. It has to be an
enormous relief to have reached her goal, even if she’s not sure if she wants
to finish it yet.”

“Do you think she still believes it’s going to heal Marcy?”

Christopher nudged his shoulder against Jesse’s as they
walked. “I don’t know. We just have to wait and see. I think she’s scared it
won’t work.”

“It
won’t
work.”

“I know.” Christopher cleared his throat. “I wish it wasn’t
going to break her heart, but I guess there’s no way that isn’t going to
happen. Maybe this will be the only time she breaks her own heart this way. Not
like me.”

“Her heart’s been broken a long time. Maybe this will help
it heal. Not the disappointment, but having our support.” Looking around and
seeing no one close, he put his hand in Christopher’s and squeezed before
letting go.

“Sometimes we have to let go of that last bit of false hope
to find our way free to the real hope,” Christopher said, his voice tight with
emotion. “My mom disowned me, and letting go of her—of all of them—led me to
being here today with you instead of back in Knoxville walking on eggshells
around people who don’t love me.”

Jesse tugged him close and kissed him. “Letting go of your
mom doesn’t mean you have to let go of your Gran, you know.”

“I know. I’ll talk to Gran soon.” He sighed. “Jackie texted
again. She said Bob’s been released and Mom is holding to what she said to me
at the hospital. Apparently, she believes God approved of her decision and that’s
why Bob’s going to be okay.”

Jesse thought of Ronnie and their conversation on
Thanksgiving. She believed things about God and miracles that he never would,
but even Ronnie seemed less unhinged than Christopher’s family, especially if
what she said about coming around on homosexuality was true. He wished he knew
what to make of that.