Page 82 of Please Send Snow
Jake just blinks at it for a moment.
It’s a good-sized box with a picture of a singing family on it, and the wordsHome Karaoke Machinein enormous font.
I’m worried that I made the wrong choice with this gift, until Jake starts laughing his head off.
“Do you like it, Daddy?” Dylan asks him.
“Oh, I love it,” Jake says, pulling him in for a hug. “Do you know why?”
Dylan shakes his head.
“Because this means you and Maddie like it when I sing,” he says. “Do I have a beautiful singing voice? Should I join the opera?”
“No, Daddy,”Dylan howls with laughter.
But it’s too late, Jake is singing pretend operatic scales with a very important look on his face and now I’m laughing too.
Who would have thought Jake Stone could be such a goofball when he wants to be?
“Now it’s Maddie’s turn,” Jake says, turning to me with a smile.
Dylan rushes the tree again, all business now, and grabs a little scroll of wrapping paper to hand to me.
“Oh, what’s this?” I ask.
“It’s yourChristmas present,”Dylan tells me.
“Oh wow,” I say, unfurling the rolled-up paper to reveal some writing.
Follow me!
When I look up, Dylan is scampering down the hall.
“Hang on,” I call to him, scrambling up and heading after him with Jake at my heels.
Dylan is waiting at the door to one of the guest rooms. This one is just past Jake’s bedroom—ourbedroom, and it has a big red bow on it.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Jake nods to Dylan and he throws the door open.
I just stand in the threshold for a moment, unable to believe my eyes.
“It’s for you,” Dylan says, tugging on my hand. “It’s for you towrite books.”
“And to read books,” Jake adds. “We know your dad already made an office for you at the factory. We wanted you to have a special space at home too.”
I take in the sweetness of what he’s just said at the same time that I take in the room.
The whole back wall is a plate glass window overlooking the snowy hillside. There’s a cozy window seat with about a million pillows on the left side and abeautiful built-in desk and a leather chair on the right. I can just imagine siting there to write my next book.
The right and left walls are empty built-in bookshelves.
“We thought you would want to fill them yourself,” Jake tells me quietly. “Except for a few we know you loved.”
Some of my favorites sit on the shelves. Jake has really been paying attention to the ones I fawn over when we take Dylan to the library in town.
“And the ones I love, too,” Dylan puts in, pointing to the back wall where there is a daybed and a small bookshelf stocked with picture books.
