Page 103 of When There Was You
The kids gather round as I place the baby Jesus into his cradle, all gripes tempered for now, and the group sighs a collective breath. There’s something both funny and poignant about the moment, and I’m flattered to be the chosen one.
Jerri corrals the grandkids to set out Santa’s treats, and I rejoin Butch on the sofa.
“You’re one of us now,” he murmurs.
That might be the best Christmas gift I could receive.
Fifty-Two
Emmy paces outside Butch’s bedroom door, and the dog’s nails scrape the hardwoods as he scrambles along with her increasingly agitated steps.
“Daddy?” she ventures.
Butch groans and props on one elbow to read the alarm clock. “It’s 5:54 a.m., for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
I don’t bother fighting a smile. It’s Christmas morning…of courseshe’s raring to go. A part of me is too, the giddy anticipation of giving and receiving already surfing through my system.
“Are you awake?” Emmy asks.
My sleep-rumpled, vaguely annoyed man glances at me. “What are you smiling at?”
“You, Lumberjack. Merry Christmas.”
He sweeps the hair off my face, caressing my cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
“Daddy! I hear you in there.”
Butch flops back against the pillows, all but admitting defeat. “Come on in, kid.”
Emmy plows through the door with Hemi at her heelsand climbs onto her father’s chest. “Time to get up! It’s Christmas!”
We both recoil at her shrieking.
“Sweet daughter of mine,” he says, cupping her face in his giant hands. “It’s still dark. We can’t go to Mimi and PopPop’s for a couple of hours. Go back to your room and play with your toys or watch TV.”
“Gah! This is literally torture,” she huffs, a scowl forming on her pretty face.
My giggle bubbles out. “Merry Christmas, Emmy.”
“Itwillbe if we ever get going.”
Butch kisses her forehead. “Now scoot. And shut the door on your way out, please. I’m trying to sleep.”
“How can you sleep at a time like this?” She huffs again and heads for the door.
“Easy.” He pretends to snore—loudly.
“C’mon, Hemi.” The dog pads after her, the door snicks closed, and their footfalls disappear down the stairs.
“The joys of parenting,” he mutters.
He extends his arm, and I roll into his side, hiking my leg over his. “I think it’s sweet. She’s excited.”
“I know. But more shuteye sounds wonderful.”
My fingers lightly trace his pecs. “Mm-hmm…or would you like anearlypresent?”
He groans softly as my hand skates lower. “Sundance…”
