Page 11 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

I swear, he actuallylaughs. It’s the faintest of sounds, but it’s one I want to bottle and keep in a vial, just like the rainwater Amanda saves. Speaking of Amanda… “Hey, I’d like you to meet someone. Is that okay?”

“Notanotherdoctor?”

“No,” I say with a chuckle. “Not a doctor.”

“Okay.”

As promised, Amanda’s right outside when I open the door, and she smiles when she sees me, but the concern in her eyes is still present. “All good?”

Not really.

I take her hand in mine, but don’t bother answering. I wanted to tell Amanda about Micah first, and then hopefully get a chance to introduce them. But, like I said, I could never find the words. “I want you to meet someone special,” I tell her, stopping at the side of the bed and releasing her hand. Then I make my way to the other side so I can watch Amanda’s face when I say, “Amanda, this is Micah. Micah, Amanda.”

Even in the dull light of the room, I can see the tears that instantly well in her eyes, the way she attempts to blink them away while smiling through her pain. She’s seeing him for the first time, and I don’t have to imagine how she’s feeling. What she’s thinking. “Hi, Micah,” she says, just above a whisper.

Micah doesn’t respond to her, just slowly turns his head in my direction. “She your wife?”

“Not yet,” I answer.

“But soon?”

I nod. Laugh once. “Soon.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Trust me. I know it.”

Amanda collects the baseball glove sitting beside Micah and inspects it closely. She knows exactly what it is. What it means to me.

“Amanda?” Micah asks, and she replaces the glove before raising her eyebrows and giving him all her attention. “Do you think Santa knows I’m in the hospital?”

Amanda doesn’t skip a beat. “Santa knows everything.”

Micah sucks in a breath, releases it slowly. “I was just wondering because he couldn’t find me last Christmas. Or the year before. Or ever…”

I swallow the ever-present knot in my throat. Sometimes, Micah says these things—gives these little insights into his life—and he has no idea how devastating they are.

When my dad found me, I was so developmentally delayed that I could barely string two words together. I couldn’t tell him the parts of my life that still live in my nightmares. Not until I first learned how to speak.

“Maybe I was on the naughty list,” Micah adds.

“I’m sure that’s not why,” I’m quick to say.

“Yeah,” Amanda agrees. “I hear sometimes he skips houses when the gift is too big, you know? Like maybe it’s one enormous gift that’s years in the making…”

Micah doesn’t reply. He simply looks between us, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. “I know Santa’s not real,” he admits. “But…”

“But what?” I urge.

“But you are.” He lifts his hand, gesturing for me to come closer. I know what he wants, and I offer it to him without a second’s hesitation. He holds my large hand in his thin, weak little fingers. “Can you stay with me again? Just until I fall asleep?”

I look up at Amanda, watch for a reaction. She only looks at him when she says, “He can definitely do that.”

Micah reaches for her hand, holds it the same way. “And you too?”

“Of course.”

It takes less than ten minutes for Micah to fall into a deep sleep, and once he’s there, Amanda and I slowly and quietly leave the room.

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