Page 62 of Meet Me at Christmas
“I rememberyou.”
She felt light-headed, her conversation with Mama still front and center in her mind. “What about me?” she asked carefully.
He reached over and took her hand, holding it in his, gazing down at it as if it were a find he’d only just discovered. “I remembered how much I love you, and it all made sense.”
“What made sense?”
He looked at her. “From the moment I met you, I’ve felt drawn to you. You light up my days—and they’ve been pretty dark.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
There it was: that expression as if he could swallow her whole with one adoring look. She couldn’t break his heart again. She had to tell him right now before things went any further. Her pulse racing, her vision blurring as she considered how to begin, she let her gaze roam to the bedroom door, and a little slip of white from the corner of their bed made her feel as if she were under water.
Henry followed her line of sight. He stared at the bedroom door silently as everything inside her screamed in agony at what she was about to say.
“Henry, there’s some—”
“I remember something else too.”
“Wh-what?” she asked, straining to get the word out before it strangled her.
His head tilted to the side, his lips falling into a serious position. “I remembered holding you in our bed.” He looked back and forth between her and their room. “I remember looking at you in the dim light. You floored me every time you climbed into bed without a stitch of make-up, your hair down around your face—I didn’t know what I’d done to be so lucky. I felt like I’d won the lottery.”
She tried to combat the prick of tears as her long-buried emotions climbed to the surface. “It was a long time ago, Henry.”
“You keep saying that.” He caressed her hand, winding his fingers around hers the way he used to when they watched movies cuddled up on the sofa. “And I know. But I never stopped loving you. I remember.” He gripped her hand and stood, pulling her up with him. “I want to show you something.” He grabbed her coat and handed it to her.
She followed his lead, and they went out to the woodshed behind the house.
“I’ve been busy,” he said before tugging open the large barn doors.
When the light from outside illuminated the space, Stella gasped at what was in front of her. She grabbed his arm, her knees feeling as if they’d give out.
“I’m not sure why I chose this, specifically, but the idea wouldn’t leave me. So I repurposed the door.”
Tears spilled from her eyes, her heart feeling as if it would jump right out of her chest, the sorrow from all those years ago ravaging her. There, in front of her, was the most gorgeous child’s rocking chair with a bright red bow. She ran her fingers over the thin arms, then the seat, and finally the little slatted back. The chair rocked gently under her touch. All the lost years and the loss of their child came tumbling through her and she let out a sob.
Henry jumped into action and wrapped her in his arms, his embrace devastating her even further.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I hope you don’t think I’m suggesting anything by this,” he said, his eyes wide and unstill, as if only just realizing what it might imply.
She pushed against him, putting space between them. “I–I have to go.” Disappointment flooded her when she realizedthiswas the moment and still, she couldn’t tell him. It was too hard. She broke free and rushed through the doors of the woodshed, gasping. The frigid air burned her lungs. She put her hands on her knees, trying not to collapse.
“Stella, what’s going on?” Henry came up next to her and laid his hand on her back, but she pulled away, stumbling through the slush.
Thirteen years had passed, yet the pain wasn’t any easier to manage. She angrily wiped her tears, trudging toward the cabin as he followed, not having a clue where she was going. Henry had driven her there, and he’d have to take her home, but she knew he wouldn’t without a conversation first. Her temples pounded. She grabbed the door handle and let herself inside, the house they’d shared only serving to make her feel more suffocated.
Henry grabbed her arm gently and turned her around. “Stella. What’s happening here?”
“I can’t…” The words were caught in her throat, the insecurities and feelings of inadequacy that she’d pushed down all those years ago, wrecking her.
Henry guided her to the sofa. The heat from the wood stove scorched her icy, tear-streaked cheeks.
“What really happened to us, Stella?” he whispered.
She sniffled, taking a long breath in through her mouth. “I need some time,” she managed.
He caressed her hair, running his hand down her head and onto her back. Then he pulled her into him. Her muscles lost their tension, giving up the fight. She pressed her cheek to his chest, breathing in his woodsy scent. Then she cried as he held her, the anguish she’d ignored for so long, finally releasing. As the pain tumbled out, she realized that she’d pushed herself to the limit, traveling, researching, striving for success to prove to herself that she was worth something even though she couldn’t achieve what she’d wanted most—a family with Henry.
“You are enough, Stella,”Pop’s voice whispered in her mind. This time, it wasn’t attached to a memory; it was as if she could hear him now, in this moment, speaking to her.“You’ve always been enough.”
