It had been around longer than us.
Marc talked me through the back trails, and we ended up at the entrance of one of the grandest neighborhood entrances I’d ever seen. Houses lit like airports beamed out from behind the gates. He gave me the code—one of his restaurant counterparts lived there—and I rolled through as if at any moment someone was going to jump out and catch the intruders who clearly didn’t belong in a place this lush.
Street after winding street lead us to bigger lots, better displays, and the Jeep quieted. Only the airport background noise on Marc’s end was competing with Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” from the speakers.
“On the next street take a left.” Marc’s certainty broke the trance. Was he reading a map?
I saw it before he’d even told me to stop. The lot fanned out at the end of the cul-de-sac, plenty of tree clusters, and best of all, a view of a lifetime. The lights of the neighboring houses left nothing to the imagination. It was perfection. The for sale sign bowed from a gust of wind, granting me a welcome wave, reminding me of our friendly lawn Santa.
“What do you think?” The trepidation in Marc’s voice was beyond understandable.
“It’s amazing,” I breathed, rolling to a stop in front of it. “And huge. And crazy.”
“It’s what you wanted, though, right?”
“Yeah. I just—how is this in the budget I gave you?”
“It’s the last of the lots. The builder already started elsewhere, wants to finish up.”
“Well, this area is going to boom. That’s what we were aiming for.”
“Right.”
“I’d have to be super militant with the plans to make sure they don’t go over cost.”
He laughed. “Something tells me you can handle that side of things just fine.”
I swallowed. “Marc, are we really doing this?”
“You tell me. You’re the money person. I don’t mind staying with Old Man Jones a while if you need to crunch the numbers.”
“Mommy?” Finn called out. “Look!” He pointed to the window, the first flecks of snow speckling the glass.
He jumped from the car and Alex followed, her blonde hair trailing as they ran into the field of a lot that could one day be our home. One day soon.
My insides knotted up. How much more could I take? Between work, the kids, Marc traveling more and more. Sometimes I already felt like I was crumbling apart, a numb half-person from who I used to be.
But this? How could I pass this up? How could we?
I stepped out of the car, arms crossed, turning in circles. The cold wind whipped at my face, nipping the life back into it. I took the phone from Alex and held it up to show Marc the lot, the kids dancing and laughing, mouths open wide to catch the now-fast falling flakes, fat and full of hope, then turned it back in my direction.
“Let’s do it,” I breathed, watching the snow dance around my hand, his face. Our home.
His eyes, worn, tired, and trapped in an airport on Christmas Eve, flicked on like a light. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t hold back my smile anymore. I’d figure it out. I would. “Make the deal. I’ll handle the rest.”
Chapter 10
Almost One Year Later
I stood open-mouthed, taking in the monstrosity that was our house. We were either brilliant or absolutely insane.
Maybe a little of both.
But if this worked, the student loans would be paid off in no time. Maybe we’d even be able to set up the college funds like we’d wanted for the kids. Two years. Two years to enjoy living like we were kings, and then we could sell and settle into something more reasonable with a healthy nest egg in place.
Moving just before the holidays wasn’t ideal, but it did make the whole house glow brighter. Like a light-wrapped present, bigger than life. The kids were running in and out of the house, ping-pong balls with legs, the door swung open wide.
“It’s so bright already.” Marc’s head tipped back. “Do you want me to light it up more?”
Mine followed his, eyeing the roofline, almost breathless. “Imagine if you fell off the ladder this year.”
We looked back to each other and laughed.
Marc took my face in his hands, eyes wide. “I didn’t even think of that.”
I kissed his nose. “Let’s not worry about it for now. We’ve got enough on our hands.”
As if on cue, Finn jolted by, Alex at his heels. “Hi, Mommy. Hi, Daddy,” they chorused.
Our first visitors pulled into the driveway, slow and steady. The vision of Marc’s mom and mine peeking up at the house through the windshield was a sight I’d never forget.
Their doors flew open. Marc’s mom was speechless, my mom never so. “Oh, Jillie. It’s gorgeous.”
I turned to look again too. It really was my best design yet. The fact that we’d get to live in it, even for a couple of years, was such a treasure.
Old Man Jones slid his truck in beside the curb, a trailer pulling the his beast of a smoker behind.
My mom’s eyes met mine, flashing at me their twist of a desire to run, the need to stay.
Because, sitting in the passenger seat, elbow hanging out the window . . . was my dad.
During the past year, the entire time we’d spent staying with Old Man Jones, they’d managed to avoid each other. Ships passing in a peaceful dance of family support and avoidance.
Today was different. The tide had turned.
He was here.
He was here on purpose.
Marc’s mom flipped into action, ushering the children inside, asking them for a tour of the house. Old Man Jones stayed on course too. He had the smoker up and running and groceries unloaded into the kitchen before I’d even gotten to hug him hello. Marc and I followed behind, leaving my parents in a stilted conversation on the lawn.
No words. Just shuffles and muffled breaths.
I unpacked the groceries as quickly as possible, then peeked through the front windows.
They’d made their way to a softer stance, softer words passing between them. My mom’s face glistened in the light, tear stains trailed down her cheeks. There was an absence of pain, though. And a full presence of, what?
Peace. Release.
I could only hope my dad was telling her everything she’d always needed to hear. Like he had for me, that Christmas Eve years before. And over and over again when I doubted him still.
My heart warmed when they began to hug, but I stepped away from the window. I’d had enough of them to know when a moment needed to belong to someone, and this one wasn’t mine.
This one was my mother’s.
My father’s.
And the years of torment they refused to let define their future.
The back deck was one of the highlights of my design. It stretched the entire length of the house, capturing each dip and dive of the valleys below, the city lights aglow in the distance.
It had been a relatively warm winter so far, so we all threw on some sweaters while Jones passed out the burgers, smoked to perfection. It didn’t matter that most of the house was empty, full of echoes and holes. It was already full of hope.
My parents chatted, leaned up against the railing, catching up on time past. My mother even offering Joe—my dad—a smile now and then. Her arms stayed crossed at her chest, and I didn’t blame her needed defense, but it was nice to see them together, their happier history rising up to help mend.