Page 51 of Christmas in Paradise

Charly takes the coat, and after many tries, gets one arm in the sleeve, but the coat is upside down. She turns in circles trying to get her other arm in. Uncle Rad, thinking this is a fun game, follows Charly in her tight circles, yipping loudly.

So, I guess three-year-olds still need help getting dressed?

“Hold on. Let me help.” I get on my knees so I’m eye level with Charly and guide her out of her coat.

She smiles wide, and I realize I’ve never really looked at her this close. I’m always looking at her from two feet above. This view makes a stark difference. I can see her better. She’s a real person.

And she’s pretty cute.

I zip her coat and pull up the hood. “Okay. Ready?”

“Ready, Freddy,” she answers.

“Oh, that’s not my name. I’m Sebastian. But you can call me Seb.”

“Ready, Sebby,” she says and puts her hand back in mine.

And there’s that feeling again.

Was I a grinch before this moment? Is that why it feels like my heart is growing three times its size?

We walk outside, and I lead Charly and Uncle Rad to a corner at the back of Mom’s yard. I put down small rocks here last week to train Uncle Rad to come to this corner. I learned that from the book Carson made me buy, and it’s actually working.

Not necessarily fast enough right now when it’s as cold as it is. I keep looking at Charly to make sure she’s not freezing. Her hand in mine doesn’t feel cold, but maybe that’s just because I’m holding it.

She seems happy enough, stamping her feet, repeating my encouragement in her tiny voice.

“Go peepee, Unkuhrad. Go peepee, and I give you treats,” she says over and over.

After a minute or so, our encouragement works and Uncle Rad does her business. Not on the rocks, but close to them. In the general backyard corner vicinity anyway.

Just as I’m leading them both back inside, headlights flood the side of the house as a car parks along the curb. It must be Hope, and dinner’s not close to being ready. This night is not going as planned, and panic rises in my chest.

Wait… is this what it’s like to be a homemaker? Trying to get dinner cooked and take care of little people and puppies at the same time? Is this what Mom’s life was like—minus the puppy but in addition to going to school and running a business—when I was a kid?

Charly sees her mom’s car and wrenches her hand from mine. She runs toward the car before I can stop her, but I’m not worried. She’s excited to see her mom, and I put her coat on her, so she won’t be cold. Maybe Hope will notice that.

But then a second set of headlights appears as Charly darts in front of Hope’s car to the driver’s side. I don’t know if Hope can see her. What if she opens the door and knocks Charly into the road, right in front of the oncoming car?

Without thinking, I drop Uncle Rad’s leash and run. “Charly! Get out of the street!”

I barely register the surprise on Hope’s face inside the car as I slide—stunt man style—across the hood of her car, still yelling for Charly to stop.

How I learned the hood slide isn’t important. (Bear is to blame.) What is important is that I make it across the hood and almost stick my landing. But I clamber to my feet fast enough to pick up Charly just as the oncoming car…

Takes the turn fifty feet away to go down another street.

“What was that?” Hope asks as she climbs out of her car.

“There was a car coming.” My words come out in breathless gasps.

Charly’s legs dangle under my arms, and I notice one of her boots on the ground. “Mama,” she says with a whimper, reaching for Hope.

Between the sounds of Charly’s soft cries and my pounding heart, I hear Uncle Rad barking. My eyes dart to the spot where I dropped her leash, then to the other side of the yard where her barking is coming from.

Her leash and doggy bag holder bounce behind her as she runs toward the road, then sprints down the middle of it.

“Radley!” I call and take off after her. “Uncle Rad! Stop!”

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