An Endless Christmas, page 4
Micah pre-warned her to tread lightly around the subject of Madeline and Mackenzie’s mom. Lynda had fought valiantly, Micah said, but the pancreatic cancer had advanced too far before detected. The girls were eight and twelve when they collected their last hugs from her. Katie swallowed the bite of dumpling despite the constriction in her throat. It had nothing to do with carbs.
Uncle Paul crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward, watching Katie eat. He’d been gifted with the perfect face for the comedian and chief practical joker in the family. Much taller and bulkier than Pippin Took in The Lord of the Rings movie, his eyes perpetually shone, like Pippin’s. His mouth tilted in an ever-present grin.
Katie tried to avoid eye contact. Turned to strike up a conversation with Micah’s mom. But Deb was embroiled in a discussion with Aurora, or Sunburst, one of the two, on the subject of piano lesson burnout. Katie crunched a piece of raw cauliflower, chewing all twenty-five recommended times. Uncle Paul didn’t discourage easily. She sipped cold cider, swallowed, and sighed as if psyching herself for an exam. “Did you have a question for me?” Katie asked him.
His grin widened. “No question. Watching for that moment when you realize Micah is the best thing that ever happened to you. And you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. I don’t want to glance away and miss it.”
Katie assumed the heat crawling up her neck meant her ears had reddened to the color of the wreath bows on the split-rail fence.
“Paul Stephen Binder! Don’t you make me come over there.” Grandma Dodie’s voice carried above the cacophony.
Paul shrugged and reached for a slice of cheese.
The best thing that happened to Micah? Her? The jury was still out on that verdict. Katie had, after all, humiliated Micah in front of his family. Although every one of them, including Micah, seemed curiously impervious to the sting of humiliation. Their superpower?
“You’re good for him,” Paul said. “Especially compared to those other—”
“Paul!” Grandma Dodie fired a baby carrot at him from a table away. Dead aim.
“That’s my boy,” Grandpa Wilson said, clapping his thick-fingered, stiff hands.
Katie leaned back. So, the true Binder family dynamics were about to be unleashed. All that ease with each other, about to erupt into something with which Katie was more familiar. A cavernous spot deep in her core—the part that had started to fill with hope that real families could weather storms and keep loving—caved in. She waited, unbreathing, for harsh words to replace vegetable missiles.
None came. Chatter resumed. Laughter. “Pass the applesauce, please.” Honestly, people. Did Grandma Dodie threaten you all to play nice this week?
“Katie,” Micah’s mom said, “Tim and I felt so bad about having to cancel our trip to Florida in August. We so looked forward to meeting you then.”
“Glad his surgery turned out okay.” Deb pressed her lips together until they almost disappeared. What did that mean?
Katie watched as her maybe-someday-mother-in-law’s elegant, long fingers smoothed the sliver of tablecloth between them. She drew a slow breath that moved her chest but not her shoulders.
“Deb?” Should she call her Mrs. Binder? Half the room would answer if she did, and if she were talking louder than barely above mute.
Micah’s mother, tastefully blonded hair tucked behind her ears, looked much younger than she probably was. Smooth complexion, as pale as Katie would expect from someone who lived in the Northwoods, sported a faint blush either natural or expertly administered. A woman who somehow pulled off classy and approachable at the same time.
Deb leaned toward Katie. “I hope you and I have some time alone while you’re here.” She squeezed Katie’s hand. The action said more than, “Glad you came.”
Katie tried to focus on the stew in front of her, wondering what stews bubbled under the surface of the lives gathered around the dinner tables. Motherless children. Single dad. A couple harboring medical news. A jilted would-be-groom—her own. An engagement ring stuck under the washing machine in the mudroom.
Jilted wasn’t the right word. What verb had she committed? She’d said no. Not “I won’t,” or “I don’t want to.” Both of those were untrue. Did she mean “I can’t”? As in, I can’t picture myself as yours forever, Micah? No. That wasn’t it. She glanced his way. With his attention focused on his young nieces, Katie could study this enigma of a man from an enigmatic family.
Some might say he looked like a younger, short-cropped version of Bradley Cooper. Same clear blue eyes. Same perpetual smile. Same dusting of whiskers that seemed purposeful rather than unkempt. Katie preferred the Micah version. She watched him lean in toward Sunburst, or Aurora, chuckling at her animated story. He listened with his whole being—eyes, body language, attention, heart.
That.
She’d add that to her Christmas card she’d bought for him. She appreciated the way he dove in to listening like others dive in to a pool. All in.
“Smiling about anything in particular, Katie?”
She dragged her thoughts back to Deb next to her, the mother of the one who’d captured her heart. Katie shrugged. “Life in general?”
“He’s a good man, Katie.” Deb’s words held a lifetime of weight behind them.
“I know.” And she did. She stopped herself from blurting, “It’s not him. It’s me.” That sounded cheesier than the way Micah preferred his nachos.
“WILSON, GET YOUR fingers off that cookie jar lid.”
“Your hearing is still pretty good.” Wilson lifted the lid quietly and drew out a peanut butter thumbprint cookie. One. “You’re such a fine cook.”
“Nice try. But you’re the one who made those, while I was working on the cutouts.”
“So I did. So I did.” He examined the treat for symmetry. Not bad. “You do have more than this one jarful around here somewhere, don’t you?”
“All kinds of them.”
“Are you going to tell me where?”
“Not on your life.”
Wilson watched Dodie’s jaw flex as she attempted to keep from smiling. Unsuccessfully. “I love you, old woman.”
“You know what they say.” She didn’t turn from folding towels on the kitchen table.
He took a bite. “Whwht?”
“That a family with an old person in it is in possession of a jewel.” She lifted her chin, queen-like. “Chinese proverb.”
“Only one old person?” he asked, then popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth and wrapped his arms around her from behind.
She leaned her head against him. “It’s better with two.”
“I agree,” he said, a little jolt shooting through his center.
CHAPTER THREE
“DO YOUR GRANDPARENTS OWN A TV?” Katie circled the table, stacking bowls—most of them practically licked clean—while Micah grabbed silverware and dropped it into an ice cream pail of sudsy water.
He chuckled. “What show could possibly be more entertaining than this circus?” He shoved stray carrot missiles into the bowl designated for food scraps.
“Just curious.” She stubbed her toe on a chair leg.
“Are you okay?”
About assuming any marriage in which I’m involved is doomed to failure? No. She turned to haul the first stack of bowls to the kitchen sink. “Steel-toed wool socks. Not a problem.”
She dodged various Binders engaged in cleanup—anyone whose first name started with A through M—and grabbed another stack of bowls.
Micah followed and started taking down the folding chairs. “It’s in their bedroom closet.”
“What is?”
“Their television. Stays buried all week. The Binder men are the only ones in the state of Minnesota who watch all the football games on DVR a week later than the rest of the world. And we don’t mind.”
Uncle Paul called from the kitchen, “Some of us. Some of us don’t mind.”
“Those who can stay through New Year’s,” Micah added, “get the marathon of gridiron action compressed into two days of nonstop football mania, sans commercials. Some of us,” he stressed, angling his comment toward the kitchen, “have jobs that won’t let us stay that long.”
Katie’s stomach clenched.
“Which is why I chose teaching for a career path,” Paul said. “Yep. The only reason. I don’t have to be back to work until after I’ve caught up on football.”
“What are you doing in the kitchen, Uncle Paul? Some teacher. It’s not your half of the alphabet serving on the cleanup crew tonight.”
“Grandma Dodie needed someone to taste-test the fudge. I told her to get someone else, but she seemed so desperate.”
“Paul Stephen Binder!”
“On my way to the barn, Mom.”
Micah slipped his arm around Katie’s waist. “We’ll have to sneak out to the barn later too.”
Katie elbowed his middle.
He drew back, his hand over his heart. “Good lady, I know not what thou must have been thinking. I referreth to yonder barn addition tack room, which now serveth as . . . well . . . as a tack room”—he lost his Old English accent—“and rec center, and is the warming house for those who skate, snowshoe, cross country ski . . .”
“I’m a Floridian. Native.”
“Snowshoeing is a lot like walking in scuba flippers in deep sand. You’ll catch on fast.”
“Or break a major bone.”
“Which shouldn’t be a problem with your medical knowledge. Nurse practitioners can set their own bones, can’t they?” he teased. “When I told the family you were coming for the week, I billed you as our circus nurse. You’re okay with that, right?” He kissed her on her forehead.
Was preserving the sanctity of the Binder Family Christmas Week reason enough to postpone telling him what was coming? If this kind of family was what he was looking for, she was the unlikeliest candidate for a wife. Could she beg for a little peace on earth on that subject until after Christmas Day at least? It was time she was honest about their future together. But not right now.
“Here, Dad. I’ll get that.” Tim, Micah’s father, took the folding chair from Wilson Binder. “Plenty of us around to help. No need to stress your heart any more than necessary.”
Grandpa Binder’s heart. Her suspicions were right. All the more reason why now was not the right time.
“I’m not done living yet, son.”
“Which is why”—Tim grunted as he hoisted the banquet table onto its side and collapsed its legs—“you should take advantage of all this muscle power while you have it around this week.”
Tim. Starts with a T. The man was as thoughtful as his son. His section of the alphabet wasn’t serving. It didn’t seem to matter. Katie smiled. Paul, Silas, Timothy, Titus. Dodie and Wilson hadn’t given birth to any sons who naturally fell into Cleanup Crew One.
Wilson found his favorite armchair, still among those lined up around the perimeter of the room as if framing a dance floor, and lowered himself into it. “You won’t catch me arguing with that logic. I don’t mind relinquishing my role as the only muscles around here for a few days.”
“Is the neighbor boy still coming over to help with Jericho?” Tim asked.
Another family member she had yet to meet?
“Horse,” Micah mouthed. Who had she known who so deftly anticipated her needs?
“The boy and his folks took off for parts unknown this week,” Grandpa answered. “Disney Cruise or something. Miss him.” Grandpa Binder rubbed his left shoulder. Katie tried to mask her concern as she cleared the rest of the meal remnants while she observed him.
Micah and his dad reset the family room while the A through M women loaded the dishwasher, put away the leftovers, cleaned the counters, and chatted about their girl’s day out the following day.
Katie’s true confession could wait. It wouldn’t change anything except make it clearer why Micah would have regretted it if Katie had accepted his proposal.
Grandma Dodie and Deb prepped two batches of baked French toast for the morning and gentled them into the already full refrigerator.
“Want me to take the cider to the fridge in the tack room?” Paul’s wife, Allie, asked. “That’ll free up a little space.”
“Good idea. I’d suggest we nestle it in a snowbank, but the Stanleys next door said we have a bear who is resisting hibernation like a toddler resists an afternoon nap. You girls be careful,” Grandma Dodie said, “if you’re out walking alone. I don’t recommend it. Walking”—her voice seemed to drift to another plane of thought—“alone. Not . . . recommended.”
Allie put her arm around her mother-in-law. Dodie leaned her head on Allie’s shoulder.
It never lifted, despite the humor and tender moments. It remained like an unfortunate stain on an otherwise tidings-of-great-joy holiday—the ever-present threat that this was the last year they’d spend together as an intact family. Katie would survive her personal crisis. Micah was the kind of guy who would rebound. Neither of their concerns was worth wasting worry over compared to what this older couple faced.
Katie determined to do all she could to push aside the constriction around her heart, to put her distress on hold and help this family milk all the love they could from this last holiday with Grandpa Wilson. It was the least she could do.
The Christmas music looped around to the familiar song about being home for Christmas. She prayed Grandpa Wilson’s heart would hold out long enough to allow the family sweet memories in this place that defined the essence of home.
Katie rubbed her upper arms, chilled by the clear picture of what she’d missed.
“Too cold for a moonlit walk?” a familiar voice spoke near her ear.
“What’s the temp outside?” she asked.
Micah came around to face her. “If you have to ask, it’s too cold. I know, native Floridians have to be broken in slowly to these conditions. We can wait for another night.”
Katie glanced at the Binder women who’d stopped what they were doing to hear her response. “Grandma Dodie says there’s a bear who—”
“Won’t be a problem,” Micah said, patting his hip.
“You have a gun? You didn’t tell me you carry a gun.”
Micah’s laughter mingled with that of the Binder women. “Not a gun, Katie. Fudge. We’ll throw fudge at him and run like crazy.”
“Won’t the smell of fudge attract a bear?” She’d watched a few Alaska survivor shows.
“Good point,” he said. “You carry it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small canister.
“That’s pepper spray.”
“So it is. I guess we’ll have to rely on that.” Micah’s eyes glinted. “Want me to grab your coat for you?”
“You know which one it is among all those?”
“I can tell by the smell.”
“Micah!”
“Bad word. Bad word. I mean, by the fragrance.”
Katie planted her hands on her hips. “I bought it at Goodwill. I don’t own a winter coat, as you can imagine. So I bought it secondhand.”
“Not that fragrance.” Micah lifted his hands in surrender. “Try to say something romantic and look what you get.”
“My counsel, Micah?” His mom snatched up the last of the dishtowels and headed for the mudroom. “Quit taking relationship advice from your uncle Paul. No offense, Allie.”
“Oh, none taken. I’m married to the guy. I would have said it if you hadn’t.” The sisters-in-law high-fived each other.
The delight of a functional family that seemed to find humor in the smallest things washed over her. “Poor Micah. It’s hard being the only male grandchild sometimes, isn’t it? My coat is the—”
“You don’t have to tell me. I really do know.”
He brought her the right coat. Someone else’s scarf and hat.
“Micah, these aren’t—”
“Aren’t yours. I know. Yours were stylin’. Don’t get me wrong. But a little wimpy for walking in these temps. I borrowed them from Elisa.”
“Elisa?” She’d never get these names straight.
“Paul’s oldest.”
“But Micah, stylin’?” She scrunched her nose.
He shrugged into his coat. “Be right with you.” He gave his grandmother a hug and told her he loved her. Did the same with his mom when she reentered the kitchen from the mudroom.
“We’re just going for a walk, right?” Katie pulled on her gloves and slid into her boots. “We’re not risking our lives out there, are we?” She felt in her coat pocket for the pepper spray.
“I always tell the women in my life—including you, if you hadn’t noticed—that I love them before I walk out the door.” Micah held the door for her. They stepped out into the crystal bright night. “Habit, I guess.”
“Because you never know when it will be the last opportunity?”
“One of these days, it will be.” He would have sounded matter-of-fact if not for the faint catch in his voice. “Watch your step here. The stones on the path heave with the cold.”
A few fat flakes danced in the bluish light of moon on snow. A yard light attached to the compact barn spread its competing illumination in a wide arc. With the moon that bright, Katie almost asked if they could douse the yard light. Where were the flakes coming from? The moon seemed unimpeded by clouds. Maybe it, too, picked its path carefully.
She slipped her hand into the crook of Micah’s elbow for stability. Emotional as well as physical. They hadn’t had any extended time alone since they’d arrived, since she refused his ring . . . which was still hiding under the washing machine! “Micah! The ring . . .”
“About that. I apologize.” He steered them toward the long driveway. “I should have realized meeting my family would be more than enough stress without adding a major life decision like that into the first few minutes.”
“They’ve been wonderful.”
“I’m quite fond of them.” He kicked at the fresh inch of fluff at their feet.
“Do I need any prep work for my time with The Girls tomorrow?”
“And by that you mean . . . ?”
“I don’t know what’s expected of me.”
