A Christmas to Remember(21)

He studied the cards for quite some time, and Carrie wondered if he understood her message. Was he contemplating the fact that he hadn’t spent any time with them since she’d been there and probably before that? Or was he actually wishing they had written something more loving in their cards? He didn’t seem heartless whenever she was with him, but his behavior said otherwise. Didn’t he care that his children didn’t know him? Surely he did.

He cleared his throat and looked up. “When would we buy this Christmas tree?”

“How about Saturday?”

He was looking at her face, but it was clear that he was thinking, not waiting. “I was planning on going into the office this weekend. I need to get a few things done, and there’s no way I’ll get them finished by Friday.” He shook his head. “Things are very busy right now.”

“Maybe one evening?”

“They’re asleep when I get home.”

In every other part of her life, she was unsure and a little nervous, but when it came to the needs of children, she was as fierce as any businesswoman. She wasn’t backing down. Carrie mustered all her strength and said, “Maybe you can find some time when you can come home while they’re awake.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly, and she could feel the acid stirring in her gut. She’d bothered him with her suggestion. She could tell that he didn’t like her prying into this personal realm.

“Easier said than done.”

Even though she’d known him only a short time, she felt that she needed to be honest with him. He’d better get used to it anyway because that was who she was. She wouldn’t act differently on his account. “From what I’ve seen so far, you seem pretty good at getting things done. Perhaps you can get this done as well.”

At first, he looked at her indignantly—it was just for a moment—and she wondered if he’d ever been spoken to that directly before. She hadn’t meant to be rude, just honest. His children needed him. Their wellbeing was her number one priority—he’d said that himself. She could feel the splotches crawling up her neck, and she wished in that instant that she hadn’t said anything.

“Look, I have things to deal with that are more important than a tree.”

“This isn’t about a tree. It’s about being with your children.”

“You’re making this bigger than it is. The kids spelled it out for you. They need strength and money to get that tree. There’s someone at the lot who will tie it to your car for you, and you have my credit card. There’s no need to throw a wrench in my entire week.”

“I still remember getting a tree with my dad. I remember each year specifically. Those were great memories, Adam. Your kids aren’t going to have any memories of you except the ones where you’re absent.”

His jaw clenched—in annoyance, probably—but his eyes looked as though he were considering. She watched him, a glimmer of hope swelling up inside her. “Please,” she said, capitalizing on that possible moment of uncertainty.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes still on her. “You are definitely not shy about your thoughts,” he said, still studying her face. “I can’t do Saturday…” he said more to himself than to her and shook his head.

She sat silently, unsure of what to do next.

There was something so commanding about his stare, but behind it, she could almost swear that she could see something gentler. When he looked at her, it wound her stomach into knots, but she held her ground, nearly pleading with her eyes. The fact that the kids were so unaffected by his presence unnerved her, and she couldn’t help but want to fix it—just like she was always trying to fix herself. This, though, she understood how to fix, so she felt like she needed to intervene.

The silence between them was deafening as Carrie waited for the outcome of her forward comment. She was willing to bet that demanding things from a boss on day two was not something that any of her books would have recommended, but it felt like the right thing to do. As she sat, waiting, she started to second-guess her method of intervening. There was a reason she’d bought all those books: she didn’t know the right things to do. Perhaps she’d made a mistake in asking him to get a tree. She was out of her comfort zone.

Then, to her complete surprise, he took a sip of his wine, set down the glass, and started eating his stew, leaving her hanging on that last thought. She’d been waiting so patiently, hoping to hear his answer, and he’d completely abandoned the conversation. He ate slowly, and, watching him, she wondered if he was still mulling it over at all. He could be almost rude at times, and when he was, it made her feel so unimportant, her concerns so trivial. But at the same time, she didn’t want him to leave. Her emotions were confusing to her; they didn’t fit into nice, neat categories, and she was nearly certain she’d never find her specific mix of feelings in any book, which terrified her. How would she ever figure it all out on her own? She watched him eating, wanting to shake him by the shoulders.