Page 83 of A Little More Forgiveness

“She always wrapped them so carefully at the end of the holidays,” Mitch explained, his tone wistful. “Wanted to make sure none of them got broken.”

“I can understand why,” I replied gently, as I removed the tissue paper from the nearest one. The hand-painted bauble was in the shape of a small round Santa complete with a sack of presents. The bright red and white of his suit a lovely contrast to the brown sack bursting with gifts. “It’s beautiful,” I replied, awed at the intricacy of the work.

“She made a new one for us every year.” He had a catch in his voice, making my heart ache.

“Your wife made all these herself?” I asked in surprise, extremely impressed.

“There’s an artist in town who specializes in ceramics. She took numerous classes on how to make them. She loved crafting and would make all different types of things. When she’d come home, so excited about each new creation, her face would light up when I’d tell her how beautiful they were.”

His choked sob had me pulling him into my arms and hugging him hard. “She sounds like an amazing person, Mitch.” He clung to me and nodded as another sob broke from him. I didn’t say any more, just held him as he worked his way through his sorrow. He wasn’t finished by a long shot, but at least he’d finally begun to release the long-held grief he’d been carrying around since his wife had died.

After a few more deep sniffs, Mitch pulled away and wiped his nose along his sleeve. I let him have that one.

“Here we go,” Gabe chimed, as he entered the sitting room, halting when he took in Mitch’s tear-streaked face.

“I’m okay,” Mitch declared. “Guess, I got a little more emotional than I expected.”

“Well, I have just the thing to remedy that.” He handed us each a mug. “Careful, it’s hot.” Peering over the rim, a loud ooh left my lips, when the most delicious-smelling hot chocolate filled my nose.

“There weren’t any marshmallows, so you’ll have to make do with whipped cream.”

“It looks delicious, thank you,” I said and took a sip. The creamy chocolate sliding over my taste buds was followed a moment later by something much, much stronger. My eyes flashed to Gabe who gave a knowing smirk.

“I might have added a bit of a kick.”

“A bit?”

“Okay, a lot. I found some rum in a cupboard and decided what the hell. We needed to warm up after being outside in the cold, right?”

“We do,” Mitch added. “I’m not the greatest fan of hot chocolate, but this is so tasty,” he admitted, taking another mouthful.

We finished our drinks and began decorating the tree. Mitch checked the lights, because of course he would. Obviously, we didn’t have the necessary skills to complete such a complex task, as we were only a successful construction company owner and a lawyer, after all. He methodically inspected every single one and after plugging them in, replaced any dud bulbs with the pack stored at the bottom of the box. We were allowed to help him wrap them around the tree branches, following his commands to make sure they went in the interior, as well as on the edges of the tree.

“They look beautiful,” I commented, staring at the multicolored lights twinkling back at me, so happy and excited I got to do this. The baubles were added next, and both Gabe and I made sure to be extra careful with Katie’s ceramic ones as we hung them on the branches.

When Mitch completed the tree by adding the angel at the top, Gabe and I stood on either side of him, my arm around his waist and Gabe tucked against his chest.

“Katie would have loved this,” He informed us a little sadly. “Decorating the tree together was her favorite part of the holidays.”

Going forward, I hoped the tradition would become mine too.

My hand sat snugly tucked in the top of the back pocket of Mitch’s jeans, so I felt his cell vibrate under my fingers, a notification he’d received a message. Retrieving his phone, I handed it to him, watching as his whole body tensed up, and his face clouded over when he read the text.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“It’s from my friend at the fire house. They’ve started work on repairing the bridge with some temporary support beams. They’ll be working through the night and will be finished tomorrow.” He swallowed. “You’ll be able to leave.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I need to go check on the horses.” Mitch stepped out of our embrace and, shoving his phone into his pocket, headed for the front door, his shoulders tense, arms rigid at his sides, and his usual easy walk, stiff and jerky. He hastily threw on his thick jacket and boots.

“Mitch,” Gabe began.

“I won’t be long.” He refused to look at either of us as he left.

“Fuck,” Gabe swore.

“You can say that again.”

---