“Because I don’t live here.” He looked over her shoulder to where Layla stood, stirring but obviously listening. “I’m going to California for Christmas. I won’t even see it.”
“He said your mom put up a huge Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving every year.” Bonnie’s hands flitted around her hair.
“She did,” Darren said. “So?”
“So he wants to do that,” Bonnie said. “While all of you brothers are here. Sort of continue the tradition.”
Layla turned down the heat on one of the burners and said, “We’ll have a teeny, tiny tree to go with our teeny, tiny apartment.” She threw a smile over her shoulder. “So you better get your Christmas tree spirit here.”
Darren didn’t need to get his Christmas tree spirit in Wyoming. He had a whole farm full of trees in Vermont. Some pine, just like what they’d find in the forests nearby the farmhouse. But he didn’t want to argue. Sam wanted to continue their parents’ traditions, and Darren wouldn’t stand in the way of that, even if he wasn’t feeling up to it.
He nodded and gestured downstairs. “I’m going to go shower.” He escaped downstairs before the women could ask him to stay by making up a chore they needed his help with. Sam hadn’t come in from the stable yet, and Darren hadn’t seenLogan at all that morning. He liked to sleep late, and he’d take the afternoon shift with the animals.
By the time Darren went back upstairs to make the pilgrim hats, the living room and kitchen were full of people. Sam sat at the piano and played softly while the women cooked and Ben baked pretzels and Jackie rocked in her swing.
Logan was setting the table, and he gestured Darren over. “So who has Rambo this weekend?”
“He’s with Tucker and Missy.” Darren opened the package of cookies. “He’s doin’ great, Logan. I think he might like me more than you by the time you get back.”
Logan chuckled and folded another napkin. Darren stared at the embroidered B on the light blue cloth. A vivid memory spilled forward, rendering him silent for a few moments. He and Logan had been playing outside one spring day after school. They were probably in fourth or fifth grade, and they weren’t supposed to play in the equipment barn with the tractors.
But they were, and Logan had sliced open his forearm on a spoke. Darren had run to the house for help and he’d burst in on his mom while she sat in the armchair, her needle flying in and out of that blue cloth, putting in that white, flowery B.
B for Buttars.
She’d brought the napkin with her as she followed him out to the barn. She’d pressed that blue cloth right on Logan’s wound, and then she’d taken him into the house before loading him and Darren into the car and going to the hospital.
She’d left Sam in charge of Ben, and Darren had never seen the napkin again.
“Is that a full set?” he asked Logan, his mouth barely moving.
“What?” Logan reached into a basket and pulled out another napkin.
“Those napkins. How many are there?”
“Twelve.”
Darren nodded. So she’d finished the set and never used them. He wondered why. He wondered what they could’ve been for.
“There are green ones too,” Logan said. “And a set of yellow. And tan. I think mine were the yellow ones.” He folded the corner in, and Darren wondered how he’d learned to do that. “These are Sam’s.”
“We all have a set?”
Logan nodded, obviously not nearly as emotionally invested in this conversation as Darren was. “Yeah. Mom wanted us to be Buttars.” He glanced up. “Don’t you remember her saying that all the time? ‘Be Buttars, you guys. It means something to be a Buttars.’” He chuckled and shook his head.
Darren vaguely remembered that. He couldn’t fathom why he could remember her stitching the napkins and not that she’d made each of her sons a set. Couldn’t immediately recall that she’d always told them it meant something to be a Buttars.
“I think she was right,” Darren said as he smeared the first bit of frosting on the cookie. “It does mean something to be a Buttars.”
Logan nodded, folded the last napkin and set it in place. “Yeah, I think it does too.” He left Darren to finish the table decorations, and then they all sat down to eat.
“All right, all right.” Sam stood at the head of the table the way their father had for each meal. He always shared something that had happened on the farm that day, and Sam looked like he might cry.
“It’s so good to have everyone here.” He glanced at Ben. “I mean, not everyone.” His eyes landed on Darren too. “But hopefully, one day, everyone can be here.” He cleared his throat. “But all the brothers are here, and I think we should go around the table and share one thing we’re grateful for this year.”
He sat and tucked himself under the table. “I’ll go first. I’m grateful for family.”
“That’s too easy.” Logan scoffed. “I’m grateful for a brother who takes good care of my dog.” He reached for Layla’s hand. “And a wife that lets me follow my dreams.”
