Page 69 of When We Were More
“And Daddy?”
I tilt my head, not understanding her. She catches on quickly.
“You like me and Lena,andDaddy, right?”
I chuckle and glance up at Henry, who’s looking at me, eyes slightly narrowed, awaiting my response. I turn back to Layla.
“Yes, and Daddy.”
Layla takes her little hand and rubs it over the gouge herself.
“Yes, I think we should keep it. I’ll be more careful, but I want to keep it. Then we’ll remember.” She nods her agreement but then hesitates and looks up at me with uncertainty in her eyes. “You promise you won’t go away because of it? I’ll be good from now on.” Her words are practically a whisper.
“I promise I’m not going away.” My heart aches for this child. There’s no doubt in my mind that this worry is residual from her mom leaving. “You don’t have to do or be anything different than you already are. You’re a good girl, Layla. Mistakes don’t mean you’re not good. I’m going to be here. We’re friends, after all.”
She nods and hugs me. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever experienced.
When she pulls back, I stand, my calves cramping. “Now, let’s go open presents.”
I glance up at Henry, and I can’t read the expression on his face. It’s not one I’m familiar with.
Minutes later, we’re sitting around my small Christmas tree, and Layla has opened her presents from me—an art set and a game, she’s helped open Lena’s, and she’s already dove into the art set. I’m wearing the macaroni necklace she made for me at school.
Henry leaves the room for a moment and comes back with two packages that he sets on the couch between us. I narrow my eyes and purse my lips at him.
“I thought we said no presents,” I remind him.
“Yeah, I didn’t listen to that nonsense. But I promise, it’s nothing big.”
I bend down and reach under the couch to retrieve his gifts.
“Really?” He laughs, and his smile is enough to melt me.
He opens the book I got for him first. It’s a copy of theHistory of Aron Fallsfrom two generations ago. There are hardly any in print, but I wanted him to have one. Especially because there is a photo in the book of a man standing next to a cabin—which I’m pretty sure is Henry’s cabin when it was first built—and the caption reads:Thomas Aron.
“Matilda, this is amazing. Thank you.” Henry starts to thumb through the book.
I clear my throat. “Um, you have a second one.”
He carefully places the book on the table and opens the second package. He stares at it when he takes it out of the box. He runs his hand over the smooth wood and metal parts. When he lifts his eyes, he pierces me with an intense gaze.
“Did someone tell you I collected vintage woodworking hand planes?”
I shake my head.
“I saw them when I was at your cabin. You’ve got them displayed across different parts of the house. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I snuck a picture and showed Lester.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
“How did you even find this? It’s beautiful.” He’s back to looking at the wood plane and inspecting it. “I love it.”
“Um, at an antique mall. Before you ask, yes, I’m still scouring estate sales, antique shops, even flea markets, hoping I’ll find more of the copper hardware for the kitchen.”
Henry sets the plane to the side and turns to face me.
“I truly love them both, Matilda. I didn’t need anything except our friendship, but this is incredibly thoughtful. It has more meaning than you could understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“The plane collection was my dad’s. I inherited it and have added to it over the years since he’s been gone. I hope to pass it down to my kids someday, if one of them follows in my footsteps.”
