“Do you read comics?” he asks, but his voice slurs and he seems to be drifting. “A combination of mythology, gods, and superheroes. That’s what my screenplay is… I wonder if you can finish it for me when I go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I take a tissue and wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I’m staying right here next to you. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’ll be here to make this your best Christmas ever.”
He doesn’t answer, because his breathing is deep and steady. When I look up, the door opens and Braden comes in.
Without speaking, he takes my hand and leads me out of the sickroom. I don’t realize tears are streaming down my face until he wipes it with a tissue.
“You were great. How did you connect with him so well?” His voice is low and close to my ear.
“You heard?”
“I was right outside the door in case you needed me, but it looks like you guys got off on the right foot.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m proud of you.”
“Well, don’t get all mushy with me. What’s next? You promised me a real Norman Rockwell Christmas—the complete works.”
“I’ll deliver you to the Brant girls for that,” he says. “I have some family business to attend to.”
“Great.” I give him a peck on the cheek, and he sends me upstairs to dress for a hike through the snow to find a Christmas tree. It’ll be a wholesome, outdoors activity, and it’ll keep my hands and dirty thoughts off my supposedly superhero father—for now.
