Page 106 of When There Was You
“I did. Thank you for the money. It was generous, and Ican always use it,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh. “Did you get mine?”
“Sure did. Your mother’s wearing the sweater you sent, and I look forward to reading the Chuck Yeager autobiography. He’s had a hell of a life. Respectable.”
“I knew you’d like it. Mom put on the sweater already?” Seems out of character.
“She misses you. We both do. It’s strange not having you home for the holiday.” He sighs. “I guess our little girl has grown up.”
My eyes prick suddenly. “Mm-hmm.”
“Let me grab your mother.” He puts the receiver down and hollers for her. It takes over a minute until she’s on the phone, and I stem the guilt over talking long distance on someone else’s dime.
“Jacqui,” she says, her voice wan and hoarse, as if speaking is an effort.
“Hi, Mom. Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you, honey. How’s everything?”
“Great, honestly. I love my job, and my boyfriend’s wonderful...” Despite knowing the answer, I ask anyway. “How are you?”
“You know…the usual. Nothing new.” She pauses. “Alright then, I’ll let you go. I know it’s costing a small fortune to say hello, but I’m glad you did. Be good.”
“Okay.” I falter. “I love you, Mom?—”
The receiver clicks in my ear. My chest heaves and I tamp it down. Before the undertow sweeps me away, I speed-walk out of that room and back to the kitchen.
I force my best fake smile at Jerri, who hands me an apron. She puts me to work peeling russet potatoes, and it’s another sign I’ve been accepted into the Hamilton family fold. Liz and Grandma Mabel stroll in, receiving tasks for table setting and unearthing fancy serving pieces. Jerri chatters with me as she bustles around wrangling more dishes andingredients, effectively keeping my attention in the present. At one point, she checks on the biggest roast beef I’ve ever seen. The wafting aroma makes my mouth water.
She tells me a cute story about younger Emmy, and it’s then I remember.
“Hey, Jerri?”
“Hmm?”
“I would love to see any old photos of Butch, especially as a kid. Do you have albums?”
She crows. “Do I have albums?Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?”
When I stop cackling, I add, “Don’t tell Butchie,” stealing Liz’s pet name.
She winks. “Wouldn’t dream of it. We’ll figure out a time for asecretviewing while you’re here this weekend.”
We share a knowing smile—the partners-in-crime kind.
That evening, stuffed to the gills and overstimulated from nonstop activity, Butch and I say our goodbyes, sharing hugs with everyone. A passed-out Emmy doesn’t wake when her father lifts her into his arms, lays her in the back of the car, drives us to his log cabin, and plants Miss Literally Crashed in her own bed.
Butch and I don’t last much longer, opting to crawl under the covers and talk quietly before passing out ourselves. His large body spoons mine, wrapping me in comfort, safety, surety…and something I think might be the essence of home.
Fifty-Three
We sleep in until Hemi whines to go out. “If it’s not kids, it’s dogs,” Butch mutters, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. Seconds later, he’s rubbing Hemi’s head, intoning: “Whosagoodboy, whosagoodboy, whosagoodboy.”
I lean on my elbow, watching. “You like to put on a grumpy front, but inside, you’re nothing but mashed potatoes.”
He harrumphs, then pulls on yesterday’s jeans and leaves his chest bare.
“Mmm…that may be the best lumberjack look yet.”
He gives me an inscrutable look.
