Chapter 22
~ Sammie ~
I want to be alone.
And I want to cry.
When Braden’s family made that circle with me in the center, surrounding Braden and his grandfather in prayer, I felt like a phony, all shriveled up inside, an alien in their midst.
They believed I belonged, and it should have felt great to be included. Even after Braden mushed the dogs, and we all stood rooted to the spot, watching them fade away in the white curtain of snow, they still had me in the family circle.
Lindsay and the kids are in the kitchen with Susanna, but everyone else made the climb off the porch, despite the cold and early hour.
“Who’s up for a hot pot of coffee?” Jolene puts on a jovial voice with signs of strain at the edges.
“Wow, we’re up early for Christmas,” Nash says, rubbing his bare hands together. “This has to be a record with no one sleeping late.”
“Especially you, the epitome of sleeping in.” Damon stomps the snow off his shoes on the porch and opens the front door. “Last one in has to sing ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.’”
Okay, so they’re all going for the Christmas spirit, and I’ve got nothing against keeping up the cheer and being positive.
Abbie meets me in the foyer and hugs me so naturally, like she’s my little sister. “Poppy told me to be brave, but I’m scared. I don’t want him to die.”
“I don’t either.” I hug her tight. “He’s going to be okay. The dogs will help him to the hospital.”
“Hey, Sammie,” Will says, hanging back with downcast eyes. “Will Poppy be back for Christmas dinner?”
“I believe he will.” I put on a more upbeat tone. “And I bet he’ll be hungry for a sugar plum pie.”
“Will, Abbie, it’s back to bed for you two.” Lindsay herds them from my side. “Excitement’s over, and everything’s going to be okay.”
“But Mom,” Abbie whines. “I want to wait for Poppy to come back.”
“You are going to do as I say.” She drags Abbie toward the bedrooms.
Nash claps a hand over Will’s back and says, “Let’s get some Z’s and when we wake up, we can rehearse a duet for Poppy’s return. Okay, bud?”
He nods glumly but allows himself to be steered toward the bedroom.
“I’m all for a Christmas morning do-over,” Macy says, yawning. “Maybe it’ll be a sunny day, and we can ride to town to meet them.”
“Then we can race Grandpa back.” Riley gives her a fist bump. “Horses against dogs.”
“Can’t open presents without Grandpa,” Damon says, stretching his arms high and yawning. “I say let’s hit the hay.”
Lindsay returns from shepherding Will and Abbie back to bed. I don’t know why I was so paralyzed watching Braden’s family attempt to comfort each other with normality.
Maybe because it’s so different from what I’m used to. In my family, it would be nonstop emoting, complete with fearful and disastrous scenarios, described in gory detail.
My mother would be frantically clawing the wall, lamenting the fates and puking “what-ifs” like a bulimic at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
My stepfather would be pounding tables and slamming doors, telling her to shut up, but adding fuel to the fire and topping her dire predictions.
By the time the sun actually rose, our Christmas morning would already be ground zero for a nuclear disaster detonation with a mushroom cloud of calamities spreading across the upper atmosphere.
“What did you say?” I snap to attention as Lindsay takes my arm.
“You poor thing.” She pats my hand. “You must have been through so much.”
