“I haven’t been in there yet.” She grabs one of my hands in both of hers, fiddling with my fingers. “Not since Momma and Daddy set it all up and laid her out. I could barely make it through the makeup application last night.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am. I know how hard this little girl’s death has hit her. How could it not?
“I have to be in and out of that room all day today, and I’d really like you to be there holding my hand the first time I go in.”
I suck my tongue to my teeth, shaking my head down at her. “You fight dirty.”
“Isn’t this the kind of thing boyfriends do?” She fans her lashes. “I need you, Wyatt.”
Well, hell.
“Fine,” I growl. “But only because I have a really big soft spot for those baby blues of yours.”
“I’ll take it.” She throws her arms around my neck, bringing her lips to my ear. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave your side.”
I narrow my eyes as she takes hold of my hand. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist a few times. “We got this…together.” Something tells me this is about a whole lot more than her being nervous to be around that body.
The walk down to the viewing area is quiet but for the sound of Whitney’s heels clicking and the buzzing of the fans overhead. A feeling of dread falls over me when we reach the massive double doors.
Whit squeezes my fingers, saying nothing as she pulls one open, and we step inside. There’s a ton of lead sitting in my chest as we walk hand in hand up to the cradle to pay our respects.
The baby is brunette. I didn’t know that until now. I hadn’t thought to ask. Her hair is shoulder length and curls at the ends. “She looks asleep,” I whisper.
Whitney’s head bobs. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she asks, leaning forward to adjust the bow on the top of her head.
I nod. Her pink dress is very similar to the one Annie was buried in. This little girl is wrapped in a white crochet blanket, and there’s a well-loved gray elephant lovie at her side. To the right of the cradle is a glider rocker upholstered in plush pink fabric.
“Jimmy brought that from her nursery, so June can rock her.”
I stare into her sparkling eyes and give her hand a squeeze. “You are great at what you do.”
She blushes. “This was all you.”
I shake my head. “I may have built the cradle, but the way you care for your clients…the love you put into each and every one of them.” I hang my head, searching for the right words. “You have a special soul, Whit. You can’t see it, because that same spark resides in the people who raised you. It’s just a part of who y’all are. And it’s already there in Prissy, even at such a young age.”
She clears her throat. “The idea was to get me ready to not cry today, Shakespeare.”
I ignore her feeble attempt at changing the subject. “I know this one’s been tough. I just wanted to say—you’re good at what you do. Sometimes we all need to hear it.” Lord knows her clients aren’t in any position to be thinking about how hard the death of their loved ones might be on someone in Whitney’s position.
She smiles. “Yeah, well…” Her eyes scour the scene before us. “I think it’s safe to say we make a pretty good team.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I give her arm a little tug toward the doors, more than ready to make my escape.
“Are you?” she asks, following me out.
“I might’ve signed Prissy up for swimming lessons at Flippers starting after the new year.”
“You did?” Her eyes go wide.
I nod. “Signed Lucy up too. I haven’t told Kate yet either.”
“Don’t you think she’s a little young?”
I twist my head back toward the room we just left. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”
“Fair point.”
“One more thing,” I say, backing her up against the door to her office.
“Yes?”
“Next time you feel like counseling me… I’m much more responsive to play therapy.”
“Wyatt’s here.” Momma’s voice echoes through to the back of the apartment, where I’m still struggling with Prissy over her outfit.
“Coming,” I answer, glaring down at my obstinate daughter. “There are two perfectly acceptable choices laid out on that bed. Put one of them on.”
“But I wanna wear my hoodie,” she whines.
I scowl at the ratty, faded sweater in question balled up in the corner of the room. “Absolutely not. We’re meeting Wyatt’s grandparents for the first time tonight, and you will not go looking like a homeless person.”
With her arms folded over her chest, she props herself against the wall. Her stance says she’s not planning on yielding anytime soon. Too bad for her, six years of dealing with that attitude of hers has made me a seasoned pro.
“Very well,” I stoop and press a kiss to the top of her head, enjoying a brief whiff of strawberry-scented shampoo. “You can just spend Christmas Eve here with Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw. Don’t stay up too late.” I flounce my hair, not giving her a backward glance. “I’ll bring you back a plate of food.”
“Wait!” she hollers when I make to turn down the hall. “I’ll wear that one.”
I halt, slowly pivoting in her direction to see her pointing at the black leggings and white and black checked tunic.
“What a wonderful choice.” I try not to look too smug when I rush right back in to help her get changed.
After donning her boots and slinking into her leather jacket, she quickly rips a brush through her tangles and declares herself presentable. “Let’s go!”
We find Wyatt waiting in front of the Christmas tree, examining one of Prissy’s handmade ornaments from preschool. He’s dressed in black dress pants and a burgundy button down, looking like dessert—a real tease seeing as there will be no chance for sampling any of that yumminess tonight. “Well, aren’t you looking spiffy?”
“Could say the same for the two of you.” His hungry eyes give me a thorough once-over that sends butterflies flooding my tummy.
I run my hands over the front of my black dress, smoothing out any wrinkles, and adjust the gold belt at my waist. “Thank you.”
“Can y’all stop flirting so I can go meet my future great-grandparents?”
Dating with a child isn’t for the faint of heart.
Wyatt snorts. “You heard the lady.” He rests a hand between my shoulder blades guiding me toward the door. “Let’s go.”
When we arrive at Wyatt’s house, there’s a little old man sitting on the porch swing just waving away. He’s adorable, with a head full of snowy white hair, little round spectacles, and stereotypical plaid flannel and khakis.
“Home sweet home,” Wyatt says, killing the engine.
There’s a little extra pep in his step as he rounds the truck to let me and Prissy out. The man is simply glowing with pride over finally being able to show off the people who raised him.