Yuletide Hearts. Ruth Herne Logan
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can I help Matt this weekend?” Jake asked, pulling her attention away from cute guys and broken dreams, definitely in everyone’s best interest.
“We’ll all be working this weekend, as long as the weather holds,” Hank told him. “Your mom has a couple of shifts at the diner—”
“I switched them up with Gina,” Callie cut in.
Hank eyed her, speculative.
“I make more crewing and we have no guarantee on the weather this late in the game,” she explained to Hank, then turned her attention back to Jake’s word list. “Yup, short I words here, long I there. Perfect.”
Jake beamed. “Mrs. Carmichael told me to picture them like puzzle pieces, looking for clues.”
God bless Mrs. Carmichael, Callie breathed silently. Between Hannah Moore’s tutoring and Jake’s teachers, he’d come a long way academically, and since his ADD prognosis, his continued progress thrilled Callie. She knew strong middle school academics required a solid foundation now, and she’d worked extra hours to pay for his tutoring, his book club, his interactive educational games, anything it took to surround him with learning opportunities.
So far, so good.
She smiled, ruffled his hair, tried not to glance out the window and failed, then said, “Yes, you can help, but The General can’t be over there all the time, okay? We can’t have someone’s attention diverted when they’re on a rooftop.”
“Okay.”
“And I want to get those Christmas lights strung this weekend. Thanksgiving’s next week and I’d rather do it before we get big snows than after.”
“That’s a good idea,” Hank agreed. “If we use both ladders we can do it together and get it done in half the time.”
“True.” The ladders were about the only thing not seized when Hank’s business bellied up. The bank had considered them household use instead of business inventory. “I want to finish scrubbing that side, too. Get rid of the mold.”
“Not much sense if we don’t have time or the right temperature to paint,” Hank told her.
“It looks better when it’s clean.” Callie didn’t elaborate, but something about coming home to that worn facade weighed on her. Painting could wait until spring, but decorating for the holidays with the front of the house looking tired and worn…
That didn’t sit right.
“When can we get our Christmas tree?” Jake’s eagerness refused to be contained.
Callie laughed and stood. She stretched and fought a yawn. “Let’s tackle Thanksgiving first, okay? And decorating the front of the house.”
“Can we put up Shadow Jesus?”
Hank exchanged a grin with Callie. He’d created a plywood Holy Family years ago, the images of Jesus, Mary and Joseph done in silhouette, then painted black. Two spotlights tucked into the grass bathed the cutouts in light at night, making their shadowed presence appear on the white house. The simple, stark visual was an eye-catcher for sure.
Jake had referred to the infant in the manger as “Shadow Jesus” from the time he could talk, a sweet memory and a good focus on the true meaning of the upcoming holy season. “Next weekend,” Hank promised. “It doesn’t take long, but let’s get the outside lights up first.”
Jake nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Good night, Grandpa.”
“Night, Jake.”
He was such a good boy, Callie thought as Jake headed upstairs to bed. She would never understand Dustin’s cool disregard for his beautiful son, but then she hadn’t understood Dustin for a very long time.
Maybe ever.
“He’s doing fine, Callie.” Hank drew her attention with a nod toward the stairs. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
“I know. It’s just rough at holiday time, when most kids get presents from their dads. Visits. Cards.”
“He’s happy enough.”
“But he wonders, Dad.” When Hank went to speak, she held up a hand to pause him. “I know he’s content, but it weighs on his mind from time to time. His birthday. Christmas. When they do father-son events at school and church. And those are the times when I could wring Dustin’s neck for brushing him off.”
“And brushing you off.”
She shrugged. “Not so much. We married young, we were both in the service, we thought we could conquer the world and when that didn’t work, we grew apart.”
Hank’s snort said more than words ever could. “In my day skirt-chasing was called just that, and it didn’t involve growing apart. It involved breaking vows, going back on your word. A good soldier never goes back on his or her word.”
His righteous indignation struck a chord with Callie. “You’re right, Dad, but it’s in the past and I’ve moved on. We all have.”
“And the future is ripe with possibilities,” Hank reminded her. “Seek and ye shall find. Knock and the door will be opened unto you.”
Callie leaned forward and planted a kiss on Hank’s bushy cheek. “Are you letting your beard grow to keep your face warm on those rooftops?”
“Yes I am.” Hank scrubbed a hand across the three-day stubble and grinned again. “One of the advantages of age and gender. I can grow my own ski mask.”
Callie shook her head, laughing. “And I’m just as thankful I can’t.” She headed for the stairs. “I’m turning in early so I can work on the front of the house before first light. I’ll turn on the small spotlights to help me see. Another few hours of washing should do it.”
“If we had a power washer…”
Hank’s quiet aside made her shrug. “We don’t want to disturb the paint too much anyway. It’s pretty loose in spots and a power washer might peel it off. Hand washing is fine for this year.”
Hank hugged her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You make me proud. You know that, don’t you?”
She did. And she appreciated Hank’s commonsense take on Dustin’s behavior, but the image in the mirror once she climbed the stairs showed a strong, rugged woman, a laborer. And while her father’s approval was a lovely thing, and Callie took pride in her work, her dexterity, her intrinsic knowledge of building, some days it would be nice to look in the mirror and have downright beautiful looking back at her, the gracious swan that evolved from the misunderstood fictional duckling.
But that wasn’t about to happen.
Startled awake, Callie stared at the clock, rubbed her eyes and peered again.
She’d overslept the alarm. Not only would she not be scrubbing clapboard that morning, but she’d be lucky if she got lunches made before the bus pulled up for Jake. And what on earth was that noise?
Her father sent her an amused smirk as she ran down the stairs in her robe. “Tired?”
Grr.
Hank held up Jake’s lunch bag. “We’re good to go.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a half hug as she kissed his cheek on her way to the coffeepot. “I have no memory of turning the radio off or hitting the snooze bar. I must have zonked. And what is going on out there?” She jerked a thumb toward the subdivision.
Hank shook his head. “Not there.” He pointed toward the street side of the house. “Here.”
Here?
Callie followed the direction of his finger, pulled back the curtain and stared.
Matt Cavanaugh had brought over a small power washer. Using care, he splayed the