“What about you? Tell me a happy memory, Beth Dorsey.”
“My childhood was very different from yours.” She glanced at him. Go on. “My mom was the queen of Christmas. She decorated the whole house. Bought the biggest tree. Everything was so magical and beautiful. Looking back, I can see how worn out she was by New Year’s Eve, but she never backed down. Jonathan and I always had great presents, but nothing too extravagant. I guess one memory that stands out was when Granny and Pop came for the holiday. We were so excited we couldn’t stand it. We were around ten and eight. Mom was baking, so the whole house smelled like cinnamon and warm dough. Big snowflakes piled up in the yard and on the tree limbs. You know how the whole world feels peaceful when amber streetlights shine on fresh snow? Dad had the fireplace roaring and Christmas carols playing. It was literally a winter wonderland meeting ‘all is calm, all is bright.’ Dad and I played a game while Jonathan helped Mom. Then Pops and Granny showed up three hours early to surprise us. They told Dad they were on a different flight. I thought, ‘Every day should be Christmas.’”
“Maybe it should. Maybe that’s what Christmas is trying to tell us.”
“You mean keep Christ in Christmas,” she said. “Keep Him in all things.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Tell you what, I’d love a little Christmas weather about now.” Ryder wiped his brow. “It’s roasting in this box. Even with all the holes.”
“Thanks for telling me the minibike story.” Elizabeth pressed her hand over his.
“Thanks for listening. And telling me about your Christmas.” He turned his hand over so her palm fell into his. “Want to help me repair the stairs? My knee is still roaring. We’ll work for as long as we can stand the heat.”
“Lead the way.”
Yet neither one moved. The sunlight through the leaves, the curt edges of the breeze, the feel of her hand in his…this was the happy memory he wanted to relish.
It was well after dinner with low-sloping sunlight when Ryder said, “That’s all the boards I brought. Good work, Dorsey.”
“Good work, Donovan.” She slapped him a high five, liking that he clung to her hand a second longer.
They’d rebuilt the second set of stairs—tread and riser—with the nosing to be done last. It took way longer, and was harder, than she thought, but she loved it—the scent of the wood in the heat, the sound of the saw and the drill, the presence of Ryder. And she loved making something old and defeated strong and new.
Would that happen for her? Would she ever stop seeing herself as the girl with a virus that could rear its ugly head again?
“Can I buy you dinner? Ella’s? Fry Hut? Angelo’s? It’s the least I can do for all your free labor. I couldn’t have done this much without you.”
She hesitated, removing the oversized gloves she’d borrowed from him. Spending more time with him meant feeling more. But hey, she was an adult woman capable of controlling her feelings. What’s wrong with being around a man who made her feel wanted and pretty, appreciated?
“How about Angelo’s again with a side of Pop’s Yer Uncle ice cream?”
“You read my mind.”
She helped him clean up and load his tools. But by the time she climbed behind the wheel of her Bug, she was exhausted. Her muscles and joints ached—not just from hauling and hammering. She had a headache, and maybe it was her imagination, but the lymph nodes in her neck felt swollen.
Reaching for her phone, she called Granny to let her know she was dining with Ryder. Then she dialed Mom.
“I think I need to come home,” she said. “See Dr. Roth.”
“I’ll make an appointment,” Mom said. “Does next week work? I’ll book you a flight.”
“Next week is—” Her voice broke with a whimper. “It’s happening again. Just as I’m moving forward.”
“We don’t know that, Beth. Just keep your head up, be positive, and maybe stop working two jobs. It’s okay to rest. You’ve made your point. If Wharton doesn’t want you with your résumé, then they’re not the school we believe them to be.”
Mom, the corporate executive and Christmas queen, was also the consummate cheerleader. As well as a legendary secret keeper.
They chatted a few more minutes as she drove toward town and Angelo’s. Pulling into the parking lot, she saw Ryder waiting for her.
“Mom,” Elizabeth said, her voice low. “One more thing. How do you know you’re falling in love?”
11
Wednesday afternoon, Elizabeth sat in Mom’s beautiful white-marble and gold kitchen, eating a sandwich and downing a glass of milk. The last thirty-six hours had been a whirlwind—an evening flight out of Nashville and an early-morning visit with the doctor.
He’d just called to say the virus had not reactivated.
“I’m glad you came home, Beth,” Mom said. She’d taken off a few days to be with her. “You can’t afford to sit on symptoms hoping they’ll go away. We saw what happened the last time.”
