I hid a smile. Jo sometimes forgot our baby sister was an artist, as ambitious, as talented in her own way as Jo. Amy disguised her determination beneath a bright, shallow surface, but the two were more alike than either wanted to admit.
“Ash, will you read to us now?” our mother suggested. Smoothing things over, the way she did. The way I did. “Before Beth has to leave for the airport.”
Every year that he was home, as far back as I could remember, our father read the Christmas gospel to us in his deep, beautiful preacher’s voice. The memories washed over me as he told the old, familiar story. The hospital noises faded away, squeaking shoes, beeping monitors, the jabber of the TV in the next room. Jo and Beth stood by the window, their arms around each other. I looked from our mother’s serene face to John cradling Daisy to the fluorescent light gleaming on our son’s head, resting on Amy’s shoulder. I was surrounded by love, a lovely pull at my heart, a tug in my womb.
My father stopped reading.
In the silence, Beth’s voice rose, singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” the melody achingly clear as angel song.
I blinked back tears as my sisters joined in. Jo was flat, as usual. John caught my eye and smiled.
Christmaswasn’tperfect this year. It was messy and flawed and human. It was real. It was wonderful.
I sang, my voice blending with my sisters’.
CHAPTER 23
Jo
Dad took Beth to the airport. I swallowed tears as we said good-bye in the hospital parking lot.
“I wish I was staying,” she said, clinging to me. “We barely had any time together at all.”
“Oh, honey.” I squeezed her tight, like a teddy bear. Tried to smile. “You have to go. Your fans are waiting.”
She blushed. “That’s what Colt says.”
“Anyway, you’ll be back before you know it. New Year’s is only a week away. We’ll have a long visit then.”
She looked away, across the parking lot.
“Bethie?”
She took a deep breath. “Colt... He asked me to come with him to Nashville after the show closes. He wants to record my song in his studio. But—”
“But that’s wonderful,” I said heartily.
She met my gaze. “It’s a long time to be gone.”
My heart wrenched. “Mom would want you to go. Did you tell her?”
She nodded. “Last night. Will you be okay?”
She was worried about us. About me? I pulled myself together, channeling Momma, determined not to make her leaving harder. “We’ll be fine. I’m so proud of you.” I hugged her again. “Nashville! You have to tell me all about it when you get back. Promise?”
Her thin face broke into a smile. “Promise.”
I waved wildly as Dad’s car pulled away, satisfied that Beth, at least, was on her way to where she belonged. Following her passion.
And Meg was going home with John. She told me, smiling, that she had given him a weekend away at some wrestling competition for Christmas and that he gave her a weekend at the beach. The same weekend, apparently, but she seemed confident they could work it out.
“It’s like ‘The Gift of the Magi,’” I said.
Meg looked blank.
“The short story. By O. Henry?”
“English major.” Meg pointed at me, then tapped her own chest. “Accountant.”
