“You’re all right, Pop. Just rest,” Rush murmured.
Pop blinked up at him, confusion flickering in and out. He reached out and caught Rush’s wrist with a surprisingly forceful grip.
“I’m proud of you, my boy,” Pop said.
Rush froze. He looked up, searching Pop’s face for signs of confusion, expecting to see the distant haze that came more and more often. Instead, he found sharp recognition staring back at him.
“Thanks, Pop,” he managed, forcing his voice to stay even. “I’m proud of you too.”
Pop shook his head faintly. “No. I mean it. You’ve been a good grandson. Better than good. You took care of your sisters. Now you’re taking care of me. You’ve carried us all when you didn’t have to.”
The words landed like a punch, straight to the center of his chest. Rush looked down at the remote, concentrating on the numbers instead of the emotions swelling inside.
“Loving people means forgiving yourself too,” Pop said quietly. “You can’t keep punishing yourself forever.”
The bottom dropped out of Rush’s stomach. He stiffened, pulse spiking as icy-cold water threatened to drown him again. Forgive himself? Christ. He didn’t even know what that would look like. How could he, when a little girl lived without her mom because of him? Because he didn’t do enough.
Lily’s soft green eyes flashed in his mind, and Rush knew she’d say the same thing. He shoved the thought away hard, fumbled for the remote, and clicked through the channels. “What channel do you want to watch? The Bills play tonight. It’s their year, ya know?” He kept his voice calm even as his heart surged in his chest, thumping madly.
Pop sighed and leaned back, and just as quickly, the clarity dimmed. He closed his eyes, already drifting in a world that didn’t include Rush.
Rush sank back in the chair with the remote loose in his hand now. Riggs pressed warm and solid against his leg, sensing that Rush was in another world too.
Love. Forgiveness. He wasn’t sure either belonged to him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The bad newswas that Baby Jesus had gone missing. Again.
The good news was that no one in the audience had a clue.
By the time the curtain rose in the community center auditorium for the last part of the pageant, Lily had located the baby, replaced two bent halos, and bribed a shepherd with a cookie to stop picking his nose. From the seats, it probably looked charming. From backstage, it was utter chaos.
To Lily, it was perfection.
The music for the last carol began, and Savvie and Tessa were front and center. After waving at Allie and Davis, Savvie loudly and proudly sang off-key and two beats behind everyone while Tessa elbowed her and tried to steal the show. By the time the final song notes played from the speaker, the audience was holding their sides from laughing. Lily and Evie laughed too. Those girls were a delightful menace, God bless them, but they added so much joy to their family too.
Finally, the beginning notes to the last song, “Silent Night,”began, and the packed auditorium quieted. Some of Lily’s older students handed out candles, and row by row, they flickered to life, warm light spilling out over their faces. It was Lily’s favoritepart of the pageant—the whole town joined in to sing the final song of the evening.
Her gaze stayed locked on Chloe. For weeks in rehearsal, they’d only mouthed the words together, with no sound at first. Then, gradually, Chloe began humming, and lately, Lily had thought maybe she’d been ready to really sing. She never pushed, of course. She firmly believed Chloe would talk when she was ready. It was enough that she was here, smiling and twirling in her angel costume and part of the magic of Christmas after her little life had been devastated.
The music swelled, and Lily joined in with Evie next to her.
Chloe opened her mouth, and her voice rang out in the hushed auditorium, clear and certain, along with the others.
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.”
It wasn’t louder or sweeter than any of the other children’s voices, but Lily heard it. She knew it because she’d been waiting for it for months. That small, brave voice weaving into the chorus like it had always belonged.
Her heart nearly burst. Tears stung her eyes as she reached for Evie’s hand, and her twin squeezed back.
In the first row, Lily caught sight of the Whitmores. Chloe’s grandparents were on their feet, candles trembling in their hands, tears streaming openly down their faces. They clung to each other, pride in their granddaughter etched alongside the grief for their daughter.
Lily’s own eyes blurred. All she could think, through the lump in her throat, was how much it would mean if Rush were here to see this. If he could see what she saw—that Chloe wasn’t broken. That she was healing.
Chloe was finding her voice again.
The final verse rose, the children’s voices sweet and soft, the audience’s deeper ones layering beneath them until the soundfilled the room. It was magical. Lily swiped at her cheeks, trying to compose herself before the curtain fell.
