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Authors: Susan May Warren

Tags: #FICTION / Christian / Romance, #FICTION / Romance / Contemporary

Evergreen (6 page)

BOOK: Evergreen
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And watched with an eerie, almost-painful sense of pride as Romeo did everything John had told him to do and shut down the running play on that side of the field.

The Huskies punched it into the goal one more time for the win, and when the whistle blew, John began to breathe.

“Good game!” Nate high-fived him. “And if I didn’t know he wasn’t your son, I would guess Romeo is from Christiansen blood.”

John had nothing for that
 
—and he couldn’t look at Ingrid. Not when she’d been right.

Shoot, but he liked this kid. And if he didn’t watch himself, Ingrid wouldn’t be the only one getting hurt when Romeo left.

As they headed out of the stands, the sky began to sift out glistening snowflakes across the lights, landing like fairy dust on the field.

A
LAYER OF CRISPY SNOW
coated her yard, concealing the blemishes that remained from the forest fire over a year ago. Ingrid stood at the window a moment, watching the waves against the shore, the bushy pine trees, a golden sun melting away the clouds.

How quickly the seasons had changed, grace blanketing her world, a dusting of the magic to come.

“Nana!”

The voice turned her, and she set down her hot cocoa just in time for Tiger to leap into her arms. “Oh, you’re getting so big!”

“I made this in church today!” He handed her a turkey, made from the outline of his hand, cut, colored, and glued to a Popsicle stick.

“Apparently we’re supposed to post it on our fridge for the month as a reminder to be thankful,” Ivy said, setting a towel-wrapped casserole on the counter.

“I agree,” Ingrid said. “I’m thankful for my family. And especially for nose kisses.” She rubbed her nose against Tiger’s and he giggled. Then he scampered over to Butter, launching himself at the dog, playing with her ears.

Butter opened an eye, bored, but lifted her head to lick him.

They’d made the right decision about her surgery, even if it had cost their savings. And the trip to Europe. And perhaps even a smidge of warmth between her and John. Although maybe he’d finally forgiven her.

At least a little.

He’d seemed less annoyed with her, perhaps, in the two weeks since they’d attended Romeo’s game. Maybe it had everything to do with Romeo and the fact that he loved football as much as John did.

Or maybe John simply realized how well Romeo fit into their family. Easily, as if he’d always belonged here. Like when he’d helped Ingrid take Butter to the vet for a checkup, carrying the dog to the car without being asked and then soothing her on the table.

And Ingrid couldn’t deny the turn of her motherly
heart watching him play with a litter of puppies tumbling over one another in a gated area of the foyer. He’d made friends with the runt and returned home with puppy kisses on his chin.

Yeah, Romeo fit, and today, right now, she intended to soak in the joy of having her family around the table for Sunday dinner, without a football game to interfere.

Until the 7 p.m. Vikings kickoff against the Lions.

“What did you bring?” she asked Ivy as she unwrapped the towel.

“Apple crisp,” Ivy said, pulling out plates. “The lasagna smells amazing.”

“Hey, Dad,” Darek said, settling down on the sofa and grabbing the sports section.

John leaned back in his recliner, paging through the editorials. “Son.”

Romeo came down the stairs, having changed after church into a pair of sweatpants and a Huskies sweatshirt Ingrid had purchased from the booster club. He’d given her not even a mumble of complaint when she woke him for church that first Sunday or in the weeks since. But although he sat quietly in the pew as if listening, she noticed he didn’t sing along, didn’t crack the pew Bible.

At least he attended.

He came over, took the plates from Ivy. Brought them to the table.

Ivy glanced at Ingrid, wearing an expression of approval. But that was Romeo
 
—a charmer to the bone. Ingrid had figured that out about two days into his stay, and he hadn’t broken her heart yet.

He returned for glasses while Ivy tossed the salad. Ingrid pulled the lasagna from the oven, then the garlic bread wrapped in foil.

“Smells good, Mom.” Darek got up, taking the casserole pan to the table. “I can’t remember the last time we had lasagna.”

“It’s Romeo’s favorite.”

Romeo glanced at her, wearing a hint of a smile. “How did you
 
—?”

“You told me about that time you visited Grandma and Grandpa Young on your birthday and they served you lasagna. This is my mother’s recipe.”

He gave her a full grin now, and she could feast on it.

She put the garlic bread on the table and surveyed it. “Water
 
—”

“I’m on it,” Romeo said, grabbing a pitcher from the cupboard.

John came to the table. “Tiger, it’s time to eat. Go wash your hands.”

Tiger gave Butter a kiss on her head, then ran to the bathroom, emerging a moment later with the front of his shirt sopping wet.

Ingrid hid a smile as Ivy dried him off, then scooted him onto his chair. Romeo sat next to him. “Hey, kid.”

He held up his fist, and Tiger bumped it, saying, “Pow!” Apparently they’d developed a ritual.

John watched, wearing a frown.

Ingrid held out her hands. “Let’s pray.”

And for a moment, as John’s voice rose, all felt right. As it should be. Her family around her, safe. Whole.

“Amen,” John said.

Indeed.

They dug into the meal and Ingrid dished up extra for Romeo. He grinned at her.

“So you started in Friday’s away game, huh?” Darek passed him the salad.

“Yeah. Rigley is out, so they put me in.”

“What was it that they were calling you before the game?”

Romeo made a face. “Chunks.”

Ingrid raised an eyebrow.

“Because I sorta lose it before every game.”

“Ew,” Ivy said. “I suddenly don’t feel well.”

Darek turned to her, concern on his face. “Are you sick?”

She laughed. “I’m just kidding, Darek. Stop worrying.”

Why would Darek worry? The question landed on Ingrid’s lips just as John reached for the bread and said, “If you keep playing like this, you’ll wind up in the play-offs.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Maybe your brother will make it back in time to see a game.”

Romeo set his fork down and reached for his glass of milk. “Yeah. Maybe.” He took a drink.

Ingrid wanted to turn her husband to ash. “You know what you should do after lunch? Take Tiger outside and play some football. See if Darek and Tiger can keep up with you and Romeo.”

Now John was frowning at her.

Romeo looked at her, then at John. Swallowed. “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah! And Butter can play too!” Tiger waved his fork in the air as if in triumph. Ivy grabbed for his wrist before he cast tomato sauce onto the walls.

John nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ll help work on the costumes for the live Nativity,” Ivy said. “I can glue wings.”

“What is a live Nativity, anyway?” Romeo said.

“It’s a community project. Every year, one church hosts the Christmas Eve live Nativity scene, complete with a small petting zoo for the kids
 
—goats, bunnies, sheep, and a live Mary and Joseph. The kids dress up as angels and shepherds, and the community gathers to sing carols together. It’s really quite festive. I signed us up a couple years ago and then forgot about it.”

“Sounds . . .”

“Cold?” John said. “Yes, it is. Mary and Joseph have to stand there for at least an hour while the community sings songs and the pastor of the church gives a sermonette.”

“When did you become the Grinch, Dad?” Darek asked. “Tiger can’t wait to be an angel, right?”

“I wanna be a shepherd.”

John smiled. “You’ll be a cute shepherd.”

“Scary. I want to be a scary shepherd.” Tiger set his fork down, put his hands on his hips, and growled.

“He’s got shepherds on the brain,” Ivy said.

“What are you going to be for Halloween, big guy?” Romeo asked.

“A shepherd!”

“See?” Ivy said.

Ingrid laughed.

“You know what I’m going to be?” Romeo said. “I’m going to be seventeen.”

“It’s your birthday?” Ivy asked.

“Yep. I’m a Halloween baby.”

“I’ll make you a scary cake,” Ingrid said.

“So you had to choose between trick-or-treating and celebrating your birthday?” Darek said.

He shrugged. “I never really went trick-or-treating. Or celebrated my birthday. Or any holidays, really. My mom tried, but she worked a lot, and she got overtime when she worked a holiday, so . . .”

The table went quiet. Romeo took a drink. Put his glass down. “But we still celebrated. I mean, my mom would bring home leftovers from the restaurant where she worked, and one year we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for Christmas. I’ll never forget that Christmas morning. I came downstairs and Santa had been there.” He looked at Tiger. “You know Santa, right?”

“I have a special stocking he puts candy in. Nana made it. It has my name on it and everything.”

Romeo looked at her. “Wow. I had a stocking that Christmas too
 
—something fuzzy and red. It didn’t have my name on it. But it was a great Christmas. Just Mom
and me
 
—my brother was at his dad’s. It was about a year after Eddie died, but we were okay, you know? And Mom was happy. She was . . . doing good.”

He swallowed then, his voice dropping. “Yeah, that was a good Christmas.”

Ingrid had stopped eating, the food in her stomach going cold, sour. She looked at John, who met her eyes with a dark expression and pursed lips.

“How about if I heat up the apple crisp, and you guys can go play some football.” She cleared her plate, and the conversation behind her turned to Vikings football and their chances against the Lions.

She blinked back tears as she rinsed the plate in the sink. Why hadn’t her sister replied to even one of her letters? If she’d known . . .

Romeo brought over his plate. “That was really good, Aunt Ingrid. And don’t worry about a Halloween cake. But I would be happy with some of your chocolate chip cookies.”

“As you wish.” When she looked at him, he grinned, and she couldn’t help it. She popped him a kiss, right there on his cheek.

He didn’t wipe it off as he went back to the table to bus the dishes.

“Go long!” John took the ball off the line, backed up, and began to dodge Tiger as Romeo bounded through the veneer of snow toward the makeshift goal line.

John laughed, putting his hand on Tiger’s head. The boy had him by the jacket.

“Grandpa, you have to fall down!”

Romeo faked one way, then sprinted the other, waving his hands. John spiraled it out to him, right in the breadbasket, and Romeo caught it a second before Darek wrapped his arms around him, slamming him to the ground.

John let Tiger take him down, grabbed the little boy, and tickled him.

“I think that was a touchdown!” Romeo said, getting up.

“I think we’re going to miss kickoff,” Darek said, giving him a hand. “And I think I’m too old for this.”


You’re
too old?” John said. “Whatever. Tiger, push Grandpa off the ground.”

Tiger put all his weight into John’s shoulder, grunting. “You’re too big!”

John hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of grain as Tiger laughed. “Look, another football!”

Darek came running up, and John flipped Tiger into
his arms. “A handoff!” He let Darek carry the rascal into the house. They’d made a mess of the snow, but he could admit that Ingrid’s suggestion had loosened the tension in him from lunch.

Romeo had the power to steal his wife’s heart right out from under her, and frankly John could feel himself losing the battle to hold back his own affection for the kid. But Romeo had a future that they had no right to, and John needed to keep that in the forefront of his brain. In the meantime, maybe he could step up and help give the boy what he needed
 
—freedom and the opportunity to make something of himself.

Away from the vices and mistakes of his mother.

Romeo walked over, a flush to his cheeks. “Great game. You might have played defensive end, but you throw like a quarterback.”

“And you have soft hands, kid. You could be a wideout if you wanted.”

Romeo flipped John the ball.

John caught it, lined up his fingers along the laces. “In fact, you could do anything you wanted. Including join the military. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d be happy to sign the papers for your emancipation, if you’d like. Ingrid says you’re doing well in school. You could get
your GED and enlist, maybe even be stationed near your brother.”

Romeo had stopped, his expression enigmatic. “Oh.”

John frowned. “Isn’t that what you want? You said you did
 
—or at least I thought the social worker mentioned it
 
—”

BOOK: Evergreen
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