Page 24 of A Winter's Miracle

“Maybe he has a girlfriend on the island,” Anna suggested. “Or maybe she’s coming to visit from the city?”

Even as she said it, that fiery jealousy returned, hovering over her heart. She couldn’t control it.

“Yeah, right,” Scarlet said. “Mark my words. You’re the only person on his mind.”

That evening after dinner, Anna returned to her bedroom to find a bouquet on the desk, along with a note that read:

Dear Anna and Adam,

I have never known anything as beautiful as helping you into the first era of your lives together. Thank you for giving me a window into the beauty of that world.

Yours,

Smith

Anna knew better than to daydream about romance. What had romance done for her, anyway? She’d fallen in love; she’d lost her love; she’d given birth to a fatherless baby. She’d revealed wretched truths about the world and about her place in it.

But as she drifted off to sleep that night, she couldn’t help but dream of Smith’s arms around her, of trading writing with Smith every night and helping each other become better, of drifting from one philosophical conversation to the next as Adam slept in his crib before them and a volatile Nantucket wind crashed into the house.

Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. But there was pleasure in that hope. It reminded her of what it meant to be alive.

Chapter Eleven

On the eighth day of Adam’s life, Julia had a meeting with Smith set for eleven in the morning. She sat in her office with a mug of coffee and croissants, listening intently for Smith’s footfalls on the staircase. If all had gone according to plan, Smith was set to bring her another twenty thousand words of his memoir today. She was mentally preparing herself to be disappointed in him, to urge him on.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Julia called.

Julia turned in her swivel chair just as Smith entered, wearing his traditional black with his hair tucked behind his ears. Luka followed him, his pink tongue lolling. Smith carried a large manila envelope, which he opened, retrieving what looked to be twenty thousand words printed out. Julia was flabbergasted.

“They’re probably a mess,” Smith said as Julia pored over the first few lines. “But it all came to me really easily.”

As Smith sat beside her, Julia read the first few paragraphs. They were about a time in Smith’s life that he hadn’t discussed yet—when his mother had given birth to a stranger’s baby, and Smith had been forced to make sure the baby was cared for. “Obviously,” Smith wrote, “my mother wasn’t willing to slow down, to give of herself, to show the baby an ounce of love. It made me understand what was lacking in my own infanthood. I could imagine myself screaming in a cradle as she burst back into the world, ready to take charge of her destiny again.”

As Julia read about Smith’s half brother, tears welled in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but many of them drifted to the pages below.

And within Smith’s words, anger simmered. He hated his mother for abandoning his half brother, for forcing Smith to age up and become a sort of “father” at fifteen. “The few friends I had at school couldn’t comprehend the responsibilities I had at home,” Smith wrote. “And I watched my childhood shrivel up and die. Just like that.”

When Julia finished reading, she piled the pages back into a stack and turned to look at Smith. She knew, now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this kid had what it took in the writing world. He was immensely talented; his words and his spirit ran deep.

Anna could see that, too. Julia knew that even though Anna would never say it aloud. Anna had always been the same—a dark horse in a young, happy woman’s body. She’d always listened to sad songs and gravitated toward heart-wrenching literature. Julia had always respected this, privately calling Anna an “old soul” to Jackson, who’d agreed.

“Has it affected you,” Julia began, “being around Adam?”

What she meant was, had it reminded him too much of being a father to his half brother? Had it made him miss home?

Smith raised his shoulders and traced his fingers through his hair. “Of course. But it’s why the writing came out so smoothly. I miss him. So much.” Smith’s voice broke.

Julia’s mouth went dry. Smith stared at the floor between their feet as though he’d revealed too much of himself and wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Julia decided to stay professional. This way, she could prove how much she respected his work. “I have a few notes and ideas for edits,” she said. “But I think we should proceed with the next section of the piece. If you feel ready?”

Smith nodded, and the corners of his lips turned up. He was proud, even as he unraveled his soul.

As Julia finished their meeting, there was another knock on the door. Without waiting for Julia’s call, Greta propped open the door and peered in. Her eyes were fierce.

“Hey, Mom.” Julia smiled and stood.

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