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“I don’t want him to be in heaven,” Stef had protested.
Adele had pulled her onto her lap and with tears in her own eyes said, “I don’t, either, but that’s where he is.” She’d kissed the top of Stef’s head, then set her back on her chair, given her a cookie and fled the kitchen, off to her bedroom to cry.
“Daddy can visit you in your dreams,” Frankie had improvised.
Stef had looked at her with such hope. “He can?”
“Of course,” she’d said.
Stef had nodded, her tears drying.
The next morning, she’d announced to Frankie that Daddy had visited her and said he loved her. Who knew whether she’d really dreamed about their father or imagined she had? Either way, it had helped. Their father visited Stef again in her dreams, a week later, the night Adele had called the real estate agent about putting their house up for sale.
The house had sold in January, and they’d moved in February, and it had felt like their father wasn’t the only one whose life was over. Frankie had balked, and Stef had cried, but in the end, they’d found a new house in Carol, the one Adele still lived in, and life eventually turned onto a pleasant path. Paths never ran straight, though, and they never stayed smooth.
But you had to be grateful for the smooth parts.
Natalie returned Warner to the kitchen, all scrubbed up and ready to create treats. Frankie got her grandson busy taking the wrapping off Hershey’s peppermint Kisses and balancing them on top of mini-pretzels.
As they worked, she kept thinking about the little boy who’d written the letter, and his father. If the man was on his own, maybe finding the right woman was exactly what he needed for Christmas. A man who came complete with a little boy—how perfect would that be for Stef?
So much better than Brock.
The treats were put in a warm oven for a couple of minutes, just long enough for the Kisses to soften. Frankie removed the cookie sheet, and with Warner standing next to her on a stool, she demonstrated how to gently press a Christmas-colored M&M into a melted kiss to spread out the chocolate. It took Warner a few tries to find his finesse, but he did.
“Now we’ll put them in the fridge to harden, and soon you’ll have treats to take home,” Frankie promised as he hopped off the stool.
“Yay!” whooped Warner. He pointed to where the rest of the M&Ms sat. “Can I have some candy, Nana?”
“Of course.” Frankie picked up the bag. “Hold out your hands.”
The little boy held out two cupped hands and squealed in delight as Frankie emptied a small pile of candies into them. “These aren’t as good as what your mommy makes, but they run a close second,” she said.
“All that sugar—now we’ll never get him to sleep,” said Natalie as Warner stuffed the candies in his mouth. But she was smiling.
“’Tis the season,” said Frankie.
She smiled down at the little angel with the same green eyes as her daughter’s and those darling honey-colored curls. Here she was, surrounded by the people she loved. This was what a perfect day looked like. And days like this were what made life worth living—maybe it wasn’t the perfect life she’d once envisioned, but it was darned close.
Yes, it was a good life, she thought later as she settled with a big bowl of popcorn into the corner of Mitch’s leather couch that she had long ago claimed as hers.
“Glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” he said as the show started.
“I don’t hold a grudge.”
“Good. Anyway, you know I’m right.”
Her brows pulled down, and she lowered her handful of popcorn back into her bowl. “Right.”
“You ought to get busy and match Brock up with somebody.”
“Somebody...younger?”
Mitch was too busy watching the car chase on the TV screen to see her frown. “Maybe Elinor. She’s sweet. And isn’t she about his age?”
There it was again, that insinuation that Frankie wasn’t the right age, that she was past her prime. A fifty-year-old woman was not past her prime.
“What are you all of a sudden, Match.com?” she demanded.
