“That’s as it should be,” he said. “I’m just…accustomed to meddling.”
“Well,” I said, more lightly. “If you do it again, I’ll just have to beat you in another duel.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“Someone once taught me,” I said slowly, “that winning a fight and surviving a fight were the same thing.”
He snorted. “Suppose I did,” he said. He stared out at the night for a moment. “My God, grandson. When you went down, and I thought I’d…” He swallowed. Then he looked up at me. “Are we okay?”
“I’m not okay,” I said firmly. “I’m more not okay than I’ve ever been. But you and I. We will be. I’m working on it.”
“Ms. Murphy,” he said quietly.
It was my turn to fall silent.
“Oh, Hoss,” Ebenezar said. “I’m sorry. I know how it feels.”
I believed him. I tightened my hand on his arm and bowed my head.
“You’re going to be all right,” he told me, his rough voice firm. “It takes time. But you’ll heal. You’ll sleep right again. Food will taste right again.”
I huffed out a little laugh.
He did know how it felt.
Standing there in the cold and the darkness, I felt my grandfather stand before me and understand me. As I had begun to understand him.
I could feel the bridge being built between us by that understanding. I could feel something easing out of my shoulders and my belly.
“She was pretty great, wasn’t she?” I said quietly.
“Brave as hell,” he agreed.
The candlelight in the nearest house blurred.
“I miss her,” I said. “So much.”
“Oh boy,” he said, his voice compassionate.
And at some point, he had his arms around me and I had bent over to hug him back. The damned stubborn old fool.
“Christmas morning,” I said. “I need you. Maggie needs you.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. His arms tightened. “I should have been there. So many times.”
I’d spent a lot of Christmas mornings alone, after my dad had died.
“You were trying to protect me,” I said quietly. “Keep me at a distance from your enemies. I get that.”
Get it?
I was doing it.
Oh, I could excuse myself, since the Carpenters had her and were superlative parents whose children had all thrived, in one way or another, and were good friends who would treat her with kindness and patience and love.
But they weren’t Maggie’s father.
I was.
