Evergreen (8 page)

He hustled back inside, thankful for his warm, dry home, and slipped off his boots. Flicking off the lights in the kitchen, he headed upstairs.

Light streamed out from under the door to his room. He took a long breath, then eased the door open.

Ingrid sat on the floor, her craft supplies scattered around her, a tall light pulled close to illuminate her stocking project. A dozen white, brown, and red shapes
 
—cut out and organized into piles
 
—surrounded her, along with tiny containers of sequins, colored thread strung around cardboard, and various pieces of stocking already constructed. She had her earbuds in, swaying to what he supposed was music as she worked a needle and thread.

She wore black yoga pants and a red T-shirt over a long-sleeved white shirt. He recognized the tee as one of Amelia’s, the one with Rudolph on the front. A stocking cap
 
—red and fuzzy
 
—held her hair back, letting it curl out the bottom.

So Ingrid. No one did Christmas like his wife, and in an instant, the final vestiges of his frustration vanished.

He shut the door, and she looked up, popped one of her earbuds out. “Is he in his room?”

“Yeah.” John sat on the edge of the bed. Took a breath. “I think we’re in for a storm tonight.”

She looked back at her work but nodded.

“Do you think you’ll finish by the time his brother arrives?”

She lifted a shoulder, then reached out and handed him the kit cover. “I know it’s a little young for him
 
—Santa on a sled, holding a bear
 
—but it’s very northern Minnesota, and . . . well, it’s what I had.”

He stared at the picture. “I know . . . I know it was Benjamin’s.”

“Yes. But Benjamin doesn’t need it, does he?” She swallowed, looked away. “He’s with Jesus.”

John frowned, nonplussed at her words. “We need to talk about what happened today, Ingrid. You should have told me Romeo skipped practice.”

She pulled the other earbud out. “I just found out today. But maybe you want to tell me what he meant about getting his GED?”

She kept her tone light, but he could spot an ambush. Although he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done wrong. “I
offered to agree to his emancipation. I figured it’s the least I could do for him. Help him have his future.”

She put the earbud back in. Nodded.

“Ingrid, I’m not sure what’s going on here
 
—”

“I got an e-mail from Casper today. He’s staying in Roatán for Christmas. I admit I was holding out hope that he might come home. . . . Can you imagine? The Caribbean for Christmas.”

Uh, yeah. In fact he’d imagined a lot for them. And frankly he couldn’t figure out why those dreams felt so far away.

He slid off the bed and moved to sit facing her. She didn’t look at him.

“Honey, are you angry with me?”

She gave him a tight smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Why would you think that?”

Why would he
 
—? “Because I’m not an idiot. Because it feels like no matter what I do, it makes you angry. Because even though I’ve let Romeo into our home, you still act like I don’t want him here.”

“Do you?”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. The more you grow attached to this kid, the more it’s going to hurt when he leaves.”

“Motherhood is about letting go, John. I’m not ignorant of the fact that my children are leaving me. In fact, I want them to. I’ve spent my entire life preparing them to leave me. I’m ready to get hurt. What I don’t want is to spend every moment that Romeo is here guarding my heart. I want to savor him being here.” She put down her sewing. “We can’t live our lives trying to protect ourselves from getting hurt. And you can’t live your life trying to protect me.”

But . . . wasn’t that his job?

He reached out, touched her face, let his fingers run down her cheekbone. He expected her to lean into his touch, to meet his eyes, perhaps offer an invitation.

Instead, she focused on her sewing. He watched her fingers make one tiny stitch after another.

He dropped his hand. “I’m supposed to protect you, Ingrid. That’s my job.”

A tear dripped off her chin onto the felt. She swallowed, pressed her thumb into the moisture.

He stared at it in horror. “Tell me what I did, and I’ll fix it. Please.”

Only then did she look up at him, her eyes red. She shook her head. “I don’t think you can ever fix it, John.”

Then she put down the stocking, got up, and headed to the door.

He stared after her, his breath hot in his chest. What
 
—? He couldn’t help but follow her.

She went to Romeo’s room and cracked open the door. The light streamed in over Romeo, curled up under the sheets of Owen’s bed. Butter lay at the foot of the bed, and she lifted her head as if to say,
I got this. All is well.

Ingrid closed the door. “I was hoping you could fix Romeo. But now I’m not so sure you can, even if you wanted to.”

Then she walked away and left him standing in the hallway, her words like fists in his chest.
Even if you wanted to.

N
O ONE TOLD
J
OHN
that he couldn’t fix something. Not his marriage. Not Romeo. And certainly not the decrepit box for the Nativity scene the community called a stable.

“Hold the door open. I just need to grab this wood, and we’ll be out of here.”

Romeo held open the door to the shed behind the community center as John pulled out another section of the manger scene he’d finally tracked down.

Nate had only mentioned that the stable might need some work, but what did John expect from a Realtor?

“What is this thing?”

“It’s a barn. Sort of.” John would have to rebuild the entire stage. The structure fell apart as soon as he and Romeo pulled it from the shed. The roof hung in pieces
and the ends of the display sagged, unable to hold up anything.

He set the boards on the ground, stood back to survey the damage. “It’s where we host the Nativity scene. But it’s not looking too good, is it?”

Romeo gave it a kick. He wore one of the boys’ old work jackets and an orange stocking cap. In the week since football ended, he’d helped John every day after school, as decreed, and they’d managed to get Darek’s house under roof, tarping it off for shingles in the spring. In the meantime, Darek would work inside.

John had taught Romeo how to run a table saw, a Skilsaw, and a nail gun, how to measure twice and cut once, and the basics of framing a house.

The kid listened as if he were preparing to appear on
Surviorman
, asked to live in the wild.

Ingrid’s words settled into John’s brain like glue.
I was hoping you could fix Romeo. But now I’m not so sure you can, even if you wanted to.

If he wanted to. He couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed Romeo’s company. And the boy worked hard, without complaint, at home and at the animal shelter, according to Kate.

Slowly, over the past three weeks, John had seen the
kid emerge from his shell. John even got him behind the wheel for the first time in his life and took him driving on the back roads.

Yeah, he could admit he hoped this mystery brother didn’t show up anytime soon. Ingrid had managed to contact the social worker regarding a visit to Romeo’s mother, but she reminded them there could be no visits until after Thanksgiving. And by her tone, apparently even that might be too soon.

E-mails to Matthew remained unanswered.

Ingrid’s hopes just might materialize
 
—Romeo in their home for Christmas.

John secretly began to hope for it too. In a couple weeks the ice would be thick enough to skate on, and maybe he’d even take the kid snowmobiling.

As for his wife . . .
I don’t think you can ever fix it, John.

Fix what? Their fractured family? A lonely Christmas? Perhaps, but he could try. The live Nativity display he drew up would be legendary, and if that didn’t prove to his wife that he could buy into her need to stick around, celebrate Christmas even without their family, he didn’t know what would.

He glanced at Romeo. “Grab that end. We’ll get it up to the resort and see what we can salvage.”

Romeo leaned down, grabbed the edge, lifted. They dragged it over and tossed it into the back of the truck, went back for the rest of the pieces. As John closed the tailgate, Romeo climbed into the cab, blowing on his hands. “I can’t wait for that turkey.”

Him, either. Ingrid had been in the kitchen basting the Thanksgiving bird when they left. Ivy and Darek wouldn’t be heading over until this evening, but still, he had to wonder how he’d landed right here, dragging around a busted barn in the middle of a football Thursday. He had an idea who might be the real turkey.

But he refused to let his marriage
 
—or Romeo
 
—go down on his watch.

“You suppose the Lions are winning?”

John glanced at Romeo. “Let’s not think about it.”

A hearty two inches of snow blanketed the ground. Winter had gusted in last week with slate-gray skies, an ice storm, and below-zero temperatures on the eve of the second play-off game of the season.

The Huskies lost by one touchdown, and even John couldn’t hate the fact that the cold hours in the stands had ended.

He pulled out, headed home. If he worked hard, he could get the frame rebuilt by tonight and have the struc
ture constructed in parts by Sunday. Then he’d have to shingle it
 
—he had some shakes left over from the cabins. Finally he’d paint it, string lights, and
 
—his brain child
 
—install heaters along the base. He’d heard Ingrid on the phone and knew the prospect of standing in the cold for an hour scared off any potential Nativity family.

But if he could offer them warmth . . . he might not just save his own marriage with his stable, but someone else’s as well.

“Why a barn?” Romeo asked.

“Well, I guess it’s more of a stable, and in real life, it was supposedly a cave, but we work with what we have.”

Silence.

He looked at Romeo. “What?”

“Tell me again why we’re building a barn?”

“Because that’s where Mary gave birth? She put the baby in a manger?”

“Oh.” Romeo looked away, tucked his hands under his arms.

“You do know the story, right?”

Romeo offered one of his signature shrugs.

Seriously? “Romeo, did anyone tell you the real story of Christmas?”

“I thought it was about Santa.”

John cut down Main Street. Already holly and pine boughs decorated the lamps along the street, a holiday glow upon the crystalline snow. This weekend, a glittering tree would appear in the park off the harbor.

“Santa is an add-on. The real story is about God sending His Son to earth to save us from ourselves. We celebrate His birth at Christmas.”

“Oh, right. Mary and Joseph and some angels. I thought it was a fairy tale.”

The story, the gospel, embedded John’s bones, as familiar as breathing. He tried not to take offense at Romeo’s almost-mocking tone. “It’s not a fairy tale, and that’s what this live Nativity is all about
 
—to make it real. To put ourselves in Mary and Joseph’s place and get a new perspective. Imagine you’re about to get married and the girl you love tells you she’s going to have a baby.”

“I’d be pretty mad.”

“Yeah, and then she tells you the baby is God’s. And He’s going to save the world. Crazy, right?”

Romeo regarded him with a frown.

“Exactly. So you don’t believe her, until an angel appears and tells you that not only is Mary telling the truth, but you’re supposed to marry her and be the father to this baby.”

“So Joseph wasn’t the real father?” Romeo held his hands in front of the heater.

“He was Jesus’ earthly father.”

“But I’ll bet he didn’t want to be. Raising someone else’s kid? No guy wants that.” Romeo said it without rancor, just matter-of-fact. “At least that’s what my mom said after Eddie left.”

Huh. John turned onto the highway. “I thought you said he died.”

A muscle pulled in his jaw as Romeo shook his head. “It’s just easier that way. To think he got sick and died. And he took the dog too.”

John suddenly wanted to clamp the kid’s shoulder, maybe even wrap an arm around him. Especially when Ingrid’s voice haunted him.
But now I’m not so sure you can, even if you wanted to.

Oh, he wanted to. But he was in way over his head.

“I think Joseph took it pretty seriously. He took Mary as his wife and protected Jesus like a father would. Saved His life a couple of times, just because he listened to God.”

But it had to be overwhelming, when John thought about it. As he held his own son in his arms at the Deep Haven hospital, his knees had nearly buckled at the
responsibility. And every child after that had shaken him to his core.

So much on his shoulders, sometimes it felt like it could crumple him.

Imagine raising the Son of God.

“So why Joseph?” Romeo asked.

“What?” John turned onto a dirt road. Snow blanketed the bushy pine trees, a trail of white that, under a starry sky, might feel magical.

“Why did God pick Joseph to raise His kid? I mean, what did Joseph have that made him so special?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

John pulled into the driveway. Christmas lights bordered the doorway, the edge of the roof, twinkling in the twilight, beckoning them home. Darek’s doing
 
—a hint of cheer for the resort pictures he’d taken to post online.

“Let’s get the barn unloaded; then we’ll check on the game.” He got out. Romeo’s door shut on the other side.

Romeo began to unload boards. “We slept in our car once. My mom cried all night long.”

John glanced at him, but Romeo didn’t seem embarrassed, just continued working.

“Imagine how awful Joseph had to feel for his wife to give birth in a barn. Yuck.”

John picked up some boards, shouldered them, and brought them to his freshly built garage.

Romeo’s words needled him. Yeah. It would be humbling, especially for a young man hoping to provide for his family.

“Let’s put the boards back here.” He opened the garage doors and pointed to the workshop in back. Romeo carried his armful in and dropped them on the floor.

John dropped his own boards as Romeo moved past him on his way for another load. John stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, his chest suddenly thick, cottony. He met Romeo’s eyes, level with his own.

“You won’t ever sleep in a car again, Romeo. You’re a part of this family, whether you like it or not, and you’ll always have a place here.”

Romeo blinked, swallowed. Looked away.

John clamped him around the back of his neck, drew his head to his shoulder. Slapped him on the back fast, then let him go. “Get us another load.”

Romeo nodded and stepped away quickly.

John flicked on the light and began to stack the boards. He had a few decent two-by-fours, a two-by-six he could saw in half. The rest he’d use to construct a new manger. Yeah, he could fix this.

He glanced outside. “Romeo?”

What was taking the kid so long? He saw the truck’s headlights, although he thought he’d turned them off. And saw Romeo outlined against them. He simply stood there.

Then another figure stepped into the lights.

John headed outside when the two figures embraced.

“Hello?” His chest had already tightened, his stomach burning as he moved into the light.

Romeo stepped back from the man, and John recognized a military bearing despite the beard, the black baseball hat. He had Romeo’s eyes and high cheekbones and wore an Army-green jacket, jeans, black boots.

As if he’d just stepped off the transport from Afghanistan.

The man extended his hand. “Hi, Uncle John. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Matthew
 
—Romeo’s big brother.”

This just might be the worst Thanksgiving Ingrid had ever endured. And that counted the year Darek, Casper, and Grace all had the flu and lost their dinners on the family room carpet. Or even the year of the great storm that shut off the power halfway through the roasting of the turkey.
She’d made a festive meal of pumpkin pie, chocolate milk, and Jell-O salad.

No, nothing compared to the misery of watching Romeo’s half brother woo him with stories of the military. The camaraderie, the adventure.

The danger.

She fabricated a smile and managed to ask appropriate questions, to nod without censure, and even to not chuck an entire pie into Matthew’s too-handsome face.

“We tried to get ahold of you, Matthew,” she mentioned later that night as they played their annual family game of Sorry! and she mercilessly sent him back to start.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to get e-mail sometimes. But I got them and, of course, stopped by to see Mom on my way here.”

“They let you see her?” Romeo asked, sending a frown toward Ingrid. Like she made up the rules?

“They weren’t going to, but they made an exception because I’m just back from deployment.” He drew a one and put his piece back out on the board. Of course.

“How is she?”

“Missing you, pal. But okay. I think she’s going to be in there for a while, though. She’s lost a lot of weight, and they have her on antidepressants.”