"Good idea. Yeah, let's do it." Woody's voice holds no argument. He pulls up a number and turns his phone to me.
I punch the number on his screen into my contacts and then click to call. It rings four times before clicking over to voicemail.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Carly. This is Lane Beamer, Sanders's mom." I force a smile, knowing it will carry through my voice even though she can't see me. "I'm here with Woody—Dr. Beamer—and we wanted to touch base about the donations coming in for Luke. The fund has already reached over sixty-seven thousand dollars."
Woody leans closer to the speaker. "And Good Morning America wants to feature the story this Wednesday."
"The show will cover all travel expenses," I continue, my tone professional but warm, the same voice I use with anxious insurance clients. "We'll make sure this is manageable for you and Luke. Woody said he can line up dialysis while we are there."
We discuss details, fumble over the awkwardness of these three unlikely adults, and virtual strangers, plan a trip together. Carly is so gracious and kind it almost hurts. I can tell we will be fast friends.
She lets us know she has to get back to work and wrap her brain around all of it.
My fingers tighten around the phone as I finish, "We're so grateful for what Sanders has started. Please call us back after you've had time to digest everything. Woody will figure out the GoFundMe stuff in the meantime."
I hang up and stare at the dark screena second too long. My insides knot. It's too much too fast, and I hate that Woody is already the steady one, calm while I'm unraveling.
Glancing toward the living room, I see Sanders sprawled on the couch, humming "Deck the Halls" as he types furiously on his tablet. His face glows with pure joy, like the world is brand new and filled with endless possibilities.
The last bit of sunlight retreats through the kitchen window, leaving only a smudge of orange on the horizon. Shadows stretch across the countertops cluttered with coffee mugs and yesterday's mail.
I inhale the heavy scent of pine from the Christmas tree in the next room.
I'm about to suggest ordering dinner when Sanders bursts into the kitchen, cheeks flushed, eyes wild with excitement.
"Mom, Dad—we have to go. Luke's counting on us. Everyone's counting on us!" His words tumble out in a breathless rush.
The raw hope in his voice makes my chest ache. Nine years old and still believing grown-ups can fix anything if they just try hard enough.
"Sweetheart, there's still a lot to figure out," I start, but his enthusiasm bulldozes right over my caution.
"The comments keep coming! People are saying we're saving Christmas for real!" He bounces on his toes, practically vibrating with purpose. "This lady from Michigan said her daughter had a kidney transplant last year, and now she plays soccer again!"
I glance at Woody, who's leaning against the refrigerator, arms crossed. His expression hovers somewhere between determination and guilt. It's a look I've seen athousand times from him. The pre-cancellation face. My body tenses, preparing for the inevitable.
"I'll see if I can move my surgeries," he says, voice steady. "But if not, you and Sanders should still go."
There it is. The words land exactly as expected. I force a nod, my smile plastered in place for Sanders's sake. I still know the script by heart.
"We're going to see the big Christmas tree, right?" Sanders's eyes dart between us, oblivious to everything else. Good. I prefer it that way. I can absorb all of the angst and let him bask in the magic of it all.
"Absolutely," I manage, my voice higher than normal. "We'll make a list of everything you want to see."
Sanders rattles on about toy stores and skating rinks, his voice bubbling with hope. I keep smiling, but inside I already feel the disappointment of Woody’s empty seat on that plane.
SIX
Woody
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The brass knocker is icy under my hand, each strike echoing in the unusually frigid December air. My breath clouds as I wait until a small silhouette rockets toward me through the frosted glass.
Sanders flings open the door. "Dad! Did you see? We got another nine thousand, four hundred overnight!"
"That's amazing, Dude." I ruffle his hair, stepping into the warm house that used to be mine.
