“So my own children can beat me up?” But the smile didn’t fade. “I’d count myself blessed, Dal.”
Dalmar made short work of the fish, then rose to put the plate in the sink. Asking him to wash it was clearly a bridge too far, so Anders just followed him back out to the door.
“If Kristin’s still mad, I might be back. Save a place on the couch for me.”
“It’s yours, but you won’t need it.” Dalmar loved his wife too much to let the day end with this between them. And she was crazy about him. Painting them had been easy, the way they always leaned into each other.
Which made his lips purse. “Do you remember that painting I did of the two of you?”
Dalmar blinked. “Hard to forget, given that it’s staring at me from the foot of my bed.”
A little thrill went through him. “You... you never told me what you did with it. I never saw it out. I thought...”
Dalmar’s brows rose. “You thought what?”
“I don’t know. That you stashed it in the attic or threw it out. You barely reacted when you opened it. Kristin didn’t either.”
Dalmar shrugged into his coat. “Maybeyou’rethe idiot. We were choked up, you fool. Couldn’t speak around it. And it’s... it’s not the sort of thing we justsay.”
Anders’s chest felt warm. Full. “We could, you know.”
His brother shot him a look. And reached for thedoor. “You know that thing about letting people be who they are?”
Anders grinned. “Dal?”
“What?”
“Why do you always say no when I ask if you want a copy of my latest book?”
His brother squared his shoulders. And opened the door. “Because Ibuythem, you numbskull. To support you. We all do.”
Confusion warred with the glow. “I’ve never seen them with your children’s books. Anyone’s.” And heaven knew he was acquainted with each and every shelf, as often as he read to his nieces and nephews.
Dalmar looked at him like he really was an idiot. “You think we’d put them there to be torn up and worn out? They’re with the family Bibles.”
With the... heirlooms?
Dalmar rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Anders. See you on Christmas Eve.”
“Night.” He stood there until his brother’s footsteps faded down the stairs. Then he turned and smiled at the half-paintedJolabokaflod. It seemed this Christmas was one of miracles.
The smile lasted until he picked up the post he’ddeposited by the door and unwrapped the books from Tandri. Then he read the note.
Anders,
Of course I’d be pleased to sign these books for you and your mother and sister! You ought to know by now that it’s no presumption. As I count my blessings in these last few weeks of the year, I’m so grateful to number you as one of my friends. Thank you again for all the hard work you put into my story. The next one is nearly finished, and I should have it to you on time.
I hope you and your family have a beautiful Christmas.
Tandri
His smile faded. Wait... no. He set the note aside and flipped open the first book—signed to Gilla. The next—to Ada. The third... he winced. Tohim. “No,” he moaned. He’dknownhe shouldn’t have included that jest about signing one to him. No doubt when sitting down to sign them, Tandri had been thinking mostabout that and had then just skimmed and grabbed the first two names he’d listed.
He sighed and set the three books on his desk. There wasn’t time enough to send him another to sign and get it back before Christmas Eve. So... he’d just have to hope that Elea was right, and the painting would be a good-enough gift.
ELEVEN
23 DECEMBER 1944
