Page 110 of The Candlemaker

Frankie moved to the side, setting the candle on the small table, while I crouched next to her chair so I could take a look at the frame. It was a photograph, the orange and black butterfly perched on the edge of an equally orange flower.

“Beautiful.”

“He took it.”

My head turned. “Tom took this?”

She nodded. “He took all of the monarch photographs that were at the house and all the ones here for me.”

My throat tightened. It wasn’t until we’d moved Mom herethat I realized how much she loved butterflies. Her bedroom at the Brownstone I’d bought her in Boston was covered in these photographs, and when we moved her things, I remembered thinking it was strange that she hadn’t put the butterfly photos elsewhere in the house if she loved them so much, but now I realized why. Because it wasn’t just the butterflies in the photo that she loved, it was also the man who’d taken them.

There was so much I didn’t know about their relationship—so much I’d missed. Overlooked because I didn’t want to see it. But now, I saw it everywhere. All the things Tom had done for her over the years. The way he’d been there—steadfast and patient, loyal and loving. All this time, I hadn’t been able to recognize it until I’d met Frankie.

“I didn’t know that,” I managed to say.

“He doesn’t like people knowing how talented he is.” She stared at the photograph with a look that made my heart thud, and then she looked at me and smiled. “Do you remember the one time we went to the beach in Maine?”

“Yeah,” I rumbled, keeping to myself that she’d told me this story before.

“Well, there was an inn we stayed at. I don’t remember the name, butthe room I’d stayed in was decorated with butterflies, but there was one photograph over the nightstand of a monarch. I told him how much I loved it…” She trailed off, seeming to lose herself in the memory for long enough that I wasn’t sure she was going to come back, but then she finished. “One comment when we were in be—there, and two months later, he gave me the first photo as a birthday present. So thoughtful.” She lifted her hand to her cheek, wiping away the single tear I’d almost missed.

“Mom.” I took her hand in mine and squeezed, my tongue growing heavier with the words that formed on it. “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, my. It must be something good.” Her eyes twinkled. “You only worry about good things.”

I swore Frankie made a little noise behind me, but I ignored it. “It is something good.” More than good. It was everything. “Mom,” I started again, taking a big breath before I exhaled the most precious part of my soul. “Frankie and I are having a baby.”

Again, it took a second for the dots to connect. For her eyes to widen. Her jaw to drop. “A baby?” she whispered.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Mom let out a happy sob and pulled me to her chest. My arms shot out to steady me, her hold surprisingly strong for a woman in a wheelchair.

“I can’t believe it, Chandler. I can’t…I’m so happy,” she said right as she promptly shoved me aside and motioned to Frankie. “Come here and give me a hug. Oh, I can’t believe this. I’m so happy.”

I sat back on the floor, resting my arms on my knees, and watched Mom gush and moon over Frankie.My Frankie.And she took it all in stride. Every tear, every hug, every laugh. She took it and gave it all right back at two hundred percent.

It was the first thing I’d admired about her. The first thing that drew me to her. The first thing of myself that I recognized in her. When we went into something, we went all in. Whether it was pretending to be her twin or haunting an old inn or having a baby together.

Now, I just had to convince her to go all in with me.

I listened as Frankie gave her every detail—weeks, due date, our baby’s fruit size—all things I knew but couldn’t help but be mesmerized as she spoke them.I was going to be a father.

The word—the concept—was still a sore spot. Not the gaping wound it was before, but still tender to the touch. I was going to be better, the thought bolted through me likelightning. A better businessman. A better father. A better man. Whatever it took, I was going to show them all I was better.

“Excuse me a minute,” Frankie murmured and stood. “I shouldn’t have drunk that whole water bottle so fast.”

My gaze followed her as she disappeared into the bathroom.

“What’s wrong, Chandler?”

I turned back to Mom. “I love her.” It might be a revelation to the world, but it wasn’t to me. I’d fallen for Francesca Kinkade a long time ago, but like any good businessman, I’d kept my weakness to myself.

Mom’s smile softened, and her gaze dropped back to the photograph of the butterfly before lifting back to mine. “You’ll never get as many chances as you want to tell someone you love them, so you better start using all the ones you’ve got, honey.”

Regret tainted the well of happiness in her tone. I could’ve told her that Tom always knew. That even if she hadn’t said the words, he knew how she felt about him, just like she knew his feelings for her. But knowing and saying are two different things. Like seeing the sun through the window versus standing in its warmth.

One side of my mouth lifted. “Yeah, I guess I should.”And what would Frankie say to that?“I just want to show her I’ll be there—be better,” I added, a prick of pain tainting my words. “I’m going to be better than him, Mom. I promise. And everyone is going to know it.”

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