A Christmas to Remember(40)

He took in a breath and stared at her for a moment, clearly thinking. Was she asking more than she realized? “If I miss this call, I will have to wait for the figures I need to finalize the purchase of a chain of stores that stretches across the entire East Coast.”

Carrie watched his reaction. He looked tired, overworked. She leaned toward him. “Forgive me, because I don’t know the business, but can’t you just call him back?” she asked gently. “What will five minutes change? We’ve just spent two talking.”

“I’m trying to get him while he’s with his team and before he flies out to New York. I don’t know when I’ll get him again.”

“Three minutes.”

“What?”

“It’s been three minutes. We could be done by now.”

He blew out a loud breath through his nose. She could tell she was pushing it. She didn’t want to upset him. That was actually the very last thing she wanted. The truth was, she didn’t think that Adam avoided his kids and his family on purpose. At least she hoped not. She wanted to show him how wonderful he had it, and how much he could have if he just took it in.

“I have an idea. I’ll bring the craft to you. If you get the call, we’ll leave. Deal?”

With another quiet exhale, Adam looked up at the ceiling before settling his gaze back on her. He looked pensive, as if he were questioning his own thoughts. That vulnerability made her want to help him even more. It was the same look he’d had at the table the other night when she’d pressed him to go to the Christmas-tree lot. When he looked at her like that it made her thoughts all run into each other. Until now, she’d never met another human being who could get her flustered like he could. There was something so lovable about him, even though he hardly gave her reason to think so.

“If the phone rings, I have to go,” he said, his voice short and irritated.

“Done. I’ll be right back with the children.”

In minutes, she’d left Joyce in the hallway as she took the kids, the canvas, and an armful of paint supplies to Adam’s office. “Is Daddy going to be mad that we’re interrupting him?” Olivia worried aloud.

“No,” Carrie said tenderly. “I asked him if he wanted to do some art with us, and he said yes, but we have to do it in his office because he’s waiting for a call. Wasn’t that nice of him to let us work with him in his office?”

“We aren’t allowed in his office,” David said, his face unsure.

“Well, today you are,” she smiled.

They walked in, and Adam looked up from his computer. He smiled at them, and it gave Carrie a burst of hope. She set the canvas onto his desk. “We’re gonna need Daddy to roll up his sleeves,” she said to the children, her eyes darting over to Adam. He unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve on each wrist and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Then, to him, she said, “Now, we need your hands. Hold them out, please.” When he did, she noticed the strength in his hands, the width of them, the stillness of his fingers as if nothing frazzled him. They were so different from her own small, thin fingers that trembled just being near him. She handed a paintbrush to each child and squirted a puddle of red paint onto a paper plate. “David, you paint Daddy’s right hand. Do you know which one to paint?” David nodded. “Olivia, you paint his left hand. Not the back of his hand, just the front. Okay?”

Olivia was the first to dip her brush into the paint. She dragged the paint-filled bristles down his ring finger to the palm of his hand. Adam’s fingers wiggled a little with the sensation, making Carrie smile. As she did, he looked over at her, and she almost exploded with happiness. He didn’t want to smile at her, she could tell. She watched the faces of the children dipping their brushes into the paint and then painting their father’s hands—they were focused, happy. Adam was now watching them too, that curious expression playing around his eyes. See how great it can be? she wanted to ask him. See how much more fun this is than waiting for that call?

As they painted Adam’s palms, she thought about her own father’s hands, how she’d held on to them as they crossed crowded streets, how they’d felt when he brushed the hair out of her eyes at bedtime, how they looked holding books as they read together on the sofa on weekends. Nothing could replace the memory of that. Carrie was glad that the children would have a moment with their father when they could take in his kindness and create a memory.

Once his hands were covered in paint, she put the canvas in front of Adam. “Kids, if you’ll set your brushes down on that plate there, I’m going to let your daddy have a turn doing some of the work.” The children obeyed and stepped back. “Carefully,” she told him, “press your hands on the canvas to make two handprints.” Slowly, Adam lowered his hands onto the white fabric, pressing down and then releasing. When he took his hands away, he’d left two perfect, red handprints. “Thank you,” she smiled. “Now we can clean him up,” she said to the kids.