Page 47 of Meet Me at Christmas
“I think so.” He walked over to the fire and spread out his fingers in front of the flames, but he didn’t sit down. “For now, I’ll put a tarp over it. I’ll see if I can find the supplies in town, and I’ll come back to repair it tomorrow. I should probably get back.”
“Okay,” Stella said.
The corners of his lips turned up just enough to make her heart patter before he let himself out. “See ya tomorrow.”
“Yes, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
After he got in the truck and turned to drive away, he threw his hand out the window, just as he had every time he’d come over when they were young, and despite her trepidation, she couldn’t help but be excited to see him again.
* * *
Later that night, Stella sank into the bubble bath she’d drawn, trying to quiet her thoughts with the warmth of the water and the fizz of the bubbles. But her mind was still racing after the day’s events.
It was totally natural to feel something for Henry, she reasoned. After all, she’d been married to him. And he evidently recognized their strong connection. He was opening up around her, and he seemed to enjoy being with her. It made sense that their bond would surface in his memory when she was around.
She liked being with him enough that the idea of staying in Leiper’s Fork floated into her consciousness. But she knew that was ridiculous. She’d worked hard for her job, and she couldn’t imagine leaving it only to have him finally remember what she’d done and never speak to her again. Even if he forgave her, how could they move forward, given her inability to have children? Henry’s words rang through her head, making her wince.“I want a house full of little boys and girls who look just like us.”She could never give him that.
Sometimes she let herself wonder about their child, who he or she would’ve been. She contemplated the changes in her life. What would she be doing right now if she hadn’t lost the baby? Who would she be? Would she be happy? Would Henry?
Stella closed her eyes and plunged her head under the surface of the water, her ears filling until the sound of her movement was muted, bubbles of air escaping her nose. She held her breath in the wet cocoon, trying to focus on that moment and nothing else, but it was proving difficult. There were no right answers for any of this.
She came back up for air and bathed, methodically rubbing the stress from her skin. When anything bothered her over the years, she’d always gone to Pop. He’d listened to her childhood worries about her grades at school or where the teacher had sat her in class. She’d told him all her fears about how she didn’t know what to do when she grew up. He’d listened intently to every single thing, offering reassurance and helpful advice every time.
“I miss you so much,” she whispered into the empty bathroom as she moved the bubbles around her. “I wish you were here, Pop. I don’t know what to do.”
“You always know what to do.”
She grinned to herself, remembering one time when she’d confided in him that she couldn’t do math.
“I have to understand this and I don’t know how to do it,” she’d said, staring helplessly at the math problem in front of her without a clue how to begin to tackle it.
“You always know what to do,” Pop said.
“How can you say that?”
“Because you are equipped with everything you need to solve any problem. You just have to trust yourself and work at it.”
She looked back down at the problem and took in a slow, steadying breath. As she studied the numbers an idea came to her. “What if I multiply these two first?”
“Go for it.” Pop gave her a supportive pat on the back.
She started working the problem, and before she knew it, she’d gotten to the end of it. “The answer is thirty-seven?” She checked the key in the back of the book.
“Boom. Thirty-seven.” Pop clapped his hands together in satisfaction.
“Stella?” The stifled sound of her mother’s voice came from the other side of the bathroom door.
Stella, who’d slipped back under to wash away the tears spilling down her face, surfaced and rubbed the water from her eyes. “Yes?”
“Henry’s here.”
“What?” She stood up, bubbles sliding down her skin as she reached for her towel. Wasn’t it after nine? “Why?”
“He says he remembers something.” Mama’s voice was quiet. “He’s a little agitated. I offered him some cookies, but he said he didn’t want any.”
Stella wrapped the towel around her and stood in the middle of the bathroom, paralyzed. What did he remember? Her mind spun with the various answers to that question as she ran a comb through her tangled, wet hair and then dressed in her fuzzy pajamas on autopilot.
When she got to the living room, Henry was sitting on the sofa, facing the fireplace. He stood immediately and came over to her, an intensity in his eyes she couldn’t decipher.
