A Christmas to Remember(46)

“It’s cold,” David said, smiling, as she brushed his fingers with the paint. “It tickles.”

When she got his hand sufficiently painted, she took David’s hand, gently placed it inside his father’s print, pressed, and then pulled it off. It was a perfect fit, like when she used to put her hand up to her own father’s to see how much bigger his was than hers. They’d press their hands together, and he’d bend the tips of his fingers around hers. It made her wonder if David had ever held his daddy’s hand.

“Is it my turn?” Olivia asked. She had picked up one of David’s toy train cars, and she was spinning the wheels with her fingers.

Carrie picked up the damp towel that she’d rinsed and hung over the back of the chair after Adam had finished his handprints, and handed it to David. “I can help you if you can’t get the paint off,” she said, reaching out for Olivia’s hand and grabbing the purple paint. She popped the top up on the paint and dipped a new brush into the deep purple color. Then, she painted Olivia’s right hand and placed it on top of Adam’s print. When she pulled Olivia’s tiny hand from Adam’s, she had a perfect print.

“I had fun painting with Daddy,” Olivia said, looking up just before she squeezed her hand into a fist to watch the paint squirt through her fingers.

Satisfaction tickled Carrie’s chest as she realized that she’d done it. She’d made a moment for them. As she looked at those tiny handprints nestled in the palms of Adam’s, she felt hope that she could make more moments like that, and suddenly, she couldn’t wait—no matter what Adam said or did.





Chapter Thirteen





Surround yourself with those who support you. Carrie said that line to herself as she pulled a casserole from the oven.

“Sorry I had to dart off like I did earlier today,” Joyce said. “Sharon is… dealing with some things.” She craned her neck to peer into the living room as if she didn’t want the others to hear. Walter and Bruce were watching football. “Would you help me wash the lettuce, please?”

Carrie was glad to help. Even though Adam probably didn’t want her there socializing with his family, the rest of them seemed to welcome her. Joyce had actually gotten her from her room tonight after the children had gone to bed and asked if she’d help prepare supper. Since her arrival, Carrie had made late suppers to accommodate Adam’s work schedule. She didn’t like that they didn’t eat as a family, but the children needed to go to bed. It made for great leftovers the next day, but Carrie wondered if Joyce, too, was secretly waiting for Adam.

Carrie pulled the lettuce leaves off the head and ran them under the stream of water at the tap. “Is she okay?” she asked. Sharon’s response to Adam had worried Carrie all day. There was so much emotion behind it that she’d tried to pick it apart over and over. Sharon had looked angry, but her tears showed the hurt she felt—that much was clear. Carrie didn’t have any sisters, and, as an only child, she’d always wanted one. Her mother was of a different generation than she was, and while she was very close with her father, it wasn’t the same as having another girl with whom she could share her secrets. When she was little, Carrie would write in her diary and pretend she was talking to an imaginary sister. She always wanted someone who would listen to her, who would understand whatever she was going through. Carrie didn’t understand what Sharon was going through, but she wanted to try.

“I honestly can’t say if she’s okay,” Joyce said. She was chopping cucumbers into thin slices, the peel already grated to make a striped design. Just like her own mother, Joyce spent a lot of time and effort on the preparation of her suppers. They weren’t just thrown together; they were meticulously made with the utmost care and attention to detail. It all made Carrie a little homesick. In her adult life, she’d spent some Christmases with her parents—not every Christmas, depending on her work schedule—but she’d always been able to visit sometime around the holidays. Since she wasn’t even in the state, she wouldn’t be able to come home this Christmas.

She missed seeing the porch light all the way down the road as soon as she turned the corner onto her street, she missed the way her mother opened the door to greet her before her car had come to a complete stop in the driveway, and she missed her dad’s smile from his favorite chair when she dropped her bags at the front door. She’d called her mother and explained the situation, and her mom had been gracious and sympathetic, but it didn’t ease the weight she felt because she couldn’t celebrate Christmas with the people she loved.