Page 25 of Return to Sender (Pine Falls 1)

“I know you don’t know what to say, and you must have a lot of questions for me. I want to answer all of them, but for now, come sit next to me and my daughter. And quit pretending that you don’t want to.” He flashed me an impish grin.

My jaw dropped. “I haven’t seen you in nine years.”

“That wasn’t my choice.”

“You got married,” I said quietly. Not that I blamed him. I’d wanted that for him. I’d wanted him to be happy. I still did.

He pulled me a little closer. “I did, but that was past tense. This,” he pointed between us, “I’m hoping is present tense.”

“Jonah, you don’t know me anymore, and you shouldn’t assume I want or am ready for—”

He placed his finger on my mouth. “Shh. Don’t ruin our moment. You were always good at that.”

“Excuse me?” He was much bolder than I remembered.

“Come on.” He pulled me back to his table. “We’ll talk later.”

Dani and Kinsley shot me sly grins as they watched Jonah pull me along. Conflicting emotions coursed through me. It all felt so right, but so wrong. I definitely thought we should talk first. Then I could tell him I was as messed up as when he left nine years ago. Maybe even more so now. I could let him know that he was wasting his time with me. And I would probably mention that his daughter intimidated me.

Jonah pulled out a stool for me next to his daughter. “Whitney, Ariana is going to help you make an ornament.”

I wanted to say, “I am?” but the poor thing looked about as nervous as I felt. “I would be happy to,” came falling out of my mouth instead.

Whitney pressed her lips together. She looked as if a fierce internal debate raged inside of her.

She wasn’t the first kid in here afraid to try, though she was my youngest. The recommended age for my children’s classes was eight and up.

“Did you know that a long time ago, stained glass was used to tell stories to people who couldn’t read?” I asked her, part of me thinking she probably knew that, seeing as she knew so much about the process already.

Her eyes blinked a few times as if she couldn’t believe that people couldn’t read. “I can read.”

I had no doubt she could. She probably read better than me.

“That’s good then, you can make an ornament that helps tell a story. What story would you like to tell?”

She thought for a moment. “I love Little Women. I read it last year.”

I looked at Jonah to get confirmation. Wouldn’t she have been in preschool last year? What preschooler was reading Little Women? I didn’t read that book until I was in my twenties.

Jonah nodded uneasily.

“What grade are you in?” I asked Whitney.

She sat up straighter, which I didn’t think was possible. “Second grade. I want to be in fourth grade, but Father says I am too young.”

Jonah kissed Whitney’s head. “You are much too young.”

She folded her arms in a huff, obviously still put out over it.

I didn’t dare get in the middle of a family matter. Instead, I turned her attention back to what she feared. It was probably something similar to my fears, the unknown. I imagined it was even scarier for her—someone who knew so much, probably too much for her age. “What story would you like to tell with your ornament? You could tell the story of the March sisters’ Christmas morning. We could make a book or even a tree. Or you could choose something symbolic from the story, like the umbrella or the postbox.”

Her eyes lit up. “You have read it too?” She sounded surprised. This child needed to learn how to use contractions. What kind of school was she going to?

“A few times, actually. I relate to Jo.” The main character in the book vowed to never marry but does. Oddly, I always found myself upset when Jo turns down Laurie, her neighbor. On the other hand, I’m happy to see her end up with the professor.

Jonah gave me a knowing look.

“Why do you relate to Jo?” Whitney asked.

“She’s very stubborn.” I grinned. No need to mention my intent on staying single forever.

Jonah nodded profusely. “In the end, though, she comes around,” he added in.

I ignored his insinuations. “So, Whitney, what should we make?”

She tapped her finger against her lip. “What does the umbrella symbolize?”

My eyes inadvertently met Jonah’s. “Protection.”

Whitney turned into her dad and he put an arm around her. “I want to make that one,” she mumbled.

“I’m going to need your help cutting the glass.” I wasn’t prepared to make an umbrella.

She peeked at me, unsure. “Will it hurt?” Her voice trembled.

“I promise it won’t.” I held out my hand to her. “Let me show you.”

Her tiny hand slowly made its way into mine. When our hands met, grief encompassed me. I silently mourned for what could have been.

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