He took him from me, planted kisses across his cheeks, and dipped into the back behind the driver seat.
I peeked my head inside. Of course, he had a car seat installed already.
He offered me a knowing grin and nodded his head for me to climb in too. Alex and Finn had already buckled up, ready for adventure.
The car—sorry, the Jag—had seats that formed to my body, heated, ready to cradle me into bliss. My eyes half-closed. Baby number three was easier in a way. I knew the drill. Very little surprised me. But my level of tired had all but tripled. Sasha still didn’t always sleep through the night.
Marc ran his hand through my hair, gave my head a small pat. “Rest. I’ll wake you for the good stuff.”
Before I could thank him and the blessed company he worked for with their luxury leases, my eyes closed completely. The warmth soothed my weary bones, and I drifted off, leaving only my ears at play. Marc followed tradition and flipped on some Christmas music.
The kids sang along, Sasha’s little claps off-rhythm but all joy, and Marc took my hand as the car weaved through the streets. Engine humming, they oohed and ahhed at the houses of lights. It was one week ‘til Christmas and Alex and Finn were practically vibrating with excitement. Sasha fed off them like a little wind-up toy, wide-eyed with giggles.
As hard as I tried to join in, I just couldn’t seem to open my eyes. Until we rolled to a stop and Finn’s voice trailed up from the backseat. “Is that our old house?”
My eyelids fluttered open. Marc’s childhood home twinkled before us, tiny but bright, happy, full of memories. New memories. Someone else’s memories.
I looked over to Marc, ready to meet his eyes, but they still rested on the house, furrowed brows dipped low. “No, buddy. It’s mine.”
“You okay?” I whispered, sitting to attention. My stomach dipped. Clearly he’d been wrestling with something, and I’d missed it in my sleepy state.
He nodded, trance-like. “I bought the car. It’s not a lease.”
“Oh. Okay.” This was odd. Very odd. He knew we couldn’t afford it.
“How did we end up here?” He gripped the steering wheel.
I said nothing, because I didn’t know either. We were borrowing our current life. This car, these trappings, weren’t meant for us long-term. We were playing pretend.
Weren’t we?
He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “I got another promotion.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
“A big one.”
“Okay.”
“Yay, Daddy! Good job!” Alex was sweet as she reached up to squeeze his shoulder.
He stayed half-frozen, no response.
I turned around and swept my hand along the flush of her cheek, her happy little face. “Thank you, baby girl.”
Finn smiled the same lopsided grin that Marc often gave, Sasha’s head rested against the seat, chasing dreams.
“Todd sold the company.” Marc’s whisper was barely audible.
My head whipped back his direction.
“The profit sharing he promised?” He finally looked at me. “It’s not small.”
My eyes widened. “It’s not small?”
He shook his head. “No. No, it’s not.” A half-smile finally formed on his face.
My hands went to my mouth. “How not small?”
He motioned to the car. “And the house? We can stay. If you want to.”
I froze. “Stay?” We’d spent the last several months wrapping our heads around another move, trying to plan our next steps, watching the market for just the right time to list. The finish line was in place. Room to breathe. Marc home. Some money in the bank.
“As in not move.” He nodded. “Stay.”
“Move?” Alex piped up. “I don’t want to move.”
“Me too.” Finn’s little voice echoed. “I like my room. And our fort.” Marc had put together the perfect treehouse fort in one of the backyard trees. Finn spent half his weekend climbing up and down with varied numbers of toys.
Marc looked back at them, attempted a smile. “It’s okay.” And got out of the car.
I followed. “Marc, get back in. The people who live here are going to think we’re crazy. We’ve already been camped out front long enough.”
He sat on the curb, patting it for me to join him. I sat, the lights from the house forming a kaleidoscope of colors in the reflection of the shiny, new hub caps.
“I’ll have to stay on. Cover the operations. Open new locations. Travel a lot.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “More. Travel a lot more.”
I rubbed my palms on my jeans, waiting, just waiting. I had no idea what to say. Him being gone more was the last thing I wanted. It honestly made me sick to think about it. And I knew it wasn’t what he wanted either. Not the forever we’d planned. But how could I ask him to pass this up, say no?
And stay in the house? I couldn’t imagine.
“I never thought I’d be able to—” He looked back up to his old home. “There’s nothing wrong with this life.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“It’s just—I never thought I could give them more.” He turned his eyes to Finn and Alex’s face peeking through the window and made a goofy face.
Their little smiles brightened. Daddy was okay.
I smiled too as they started making goofy faces back. “They deserve everything we can give them, don’t they?”
“Yes. They do.” He took my hand. “And I want to give it to them, want us to give it to them.”
When I looked his way, the certainty in his eyes was overwhelming. He wanted this.
And I wanted to ask how long. How long would we go on this way? Could we go on this way? But I didn’t.
Maybe I was a coward.
Maybe I’d spent my life sweeping absence under the rug.
But maybe I knew there was no right answer to the question. There was only support. Support for him for as long as I could. Until I had to finally say . . . enough.
My fingers found his and laced through. “Okay.”
“Okay?” His breath hitched.
I nodded. “We stay.” This time I’d remembered for him, for us. A snowy morning, against the siding of a house, beneath the glow of Christmas lights, our lifetime promise to each other.
He swept a hand across my cheek. A glimmer of the memory, flashing across his face. “You. Me.”
I rubbed my nose against his, a cool wind whipped, mixing with our warm breath. “We stay.”
Chapter 12
Present Day
Marc rambled out of the office. His two-hour-nap refreshed face had been replaced with a dazed look, Santa hat all awry. “Old Man Jones.”
I was sifting through scattered papers and wrappings on the floor, making sure the tiny pieces from newly gifted toys didn’t get tossed out. “Did he call?”
“No.” Marc stared. “He died.”
The bag of trash fell from my hands, spilling back to the floor. My gaze shot up to the balcony, peering at the kids where they played. They hadn’t heard. “What?”
“Heart attack.” He blinked.
“No one called us.”