Page 61 of Please Send Snow
But hedid it. Somehow he did it.
How did he do something like this overnight?
But I know it’s the wrong question before I even finish wondering. Thehowof it is easy—the man has more money than some small countries. He can do anything he wants, as fast as he wants.
The real question I should be asking is,why?
And I know the answer as soon as I turn to him and see those cerulean eyes locked on me.
Because he listened.
Because he actually cares what I have to say.
And because he loves his son more than anything in the world.
As Dylan runs up and flings himself at his father,wrapping his arms around his waist and laughing with delight, I feel what was left of the wall around my wounded heart dissolving like a candy cane in hot cocoa.
16
MADDIE
The next morning, I’m walking with Jake and Dylan down Celestial Lane, the main street in the village. Memories are everywhere here for me, but they’re all good ones.
And I’m about to make some more.
After we admired the improvements to the house yesterday, Jake had to get to work. But he promised Dylan that the workers would be back to decorate the tree today.
Understandably, Dylan didn’t like that idea at all.
So instead, we’re out this morning to shop for lights and ornaments so we can decorate the tree ourselves.
Jake declared that he’s taking the day off to help, but I’m not sure if Dylan and I believe him. I keep glancing over at him, happy to see the big man looking more relaxed and thoughtful than usual. But I’m still worried that the phone will ring and take him away.
To his credit, he really seems to be realizing howmuch all this means to Dylan. Maybe he’ll give himself permission to loosen up his schedule a little more in the future.
These pleasant thoughts have my guard down, so that when we arrive in front of the Angel Mountain Christmas Shop, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest by a horse named Nostalgia.
Everything is exactly as I remember it. The interior shelves are lined up with the mossy green window mullions, so that each shelf is its own beautiful display, complete with pine boughs, twinkle lights, and sprigs of holly.
And on each one is a perfect vignette of my father’s beautiful creations.
One shelf has two wolf cubs in sleeping caps and footie pajamas, holding candy canes. A pair of adult wolves holding mugs sits beside them. This is a really popular set, and they’re some of my father’s oldest sculptures, from before I was born.
A family of lions sing Christmas carols on another shelf, as a gazelle in a Santa hat hides behind a little Christmas tree, smiling. These are a little newer, from when I was a kid. I remember my father struggling with the clay model of that gazelle. The slender legs had to balance the weight of the round belly. I watched him frown and scratch his chin, and reshape the legs and torso again and again. And of course I remember theEureka!moment when he realized that a sack of gifts would counterbalance the belly. When it was done he swept me up in his arms and danced me all around his workshop.
“Are you okay?” Jake asks softly, rousing me from the past.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “It just brings back memories. Happy ones, though.”
“What memories?” Dylan asks.
I swallow, worried I’m going to cry.
“Maddie’s father sculpted these little animals,” Jake tells him, so I don’t have to speak. “Or most of them?”
“All of them,” I say, nodding. “He loved making these.”
“Hemadeall of these?” Dylan asks, his eyes wide.
