Page 131 of Courage, Dear Heart

JILLIAN

Five years later

“Mom!Leah is awake. And she needs a diaper change,” Jamie’s voice calls from his sister’s room.

Hmmm. No, no, no. I want to sleep.

Movement next to me on the bed has me cracking one eye open. “What time is it?”

Elliott kisses my forehead. “A little after seven. Go back to sleep. I’ll get the baby.”

“Yes, thank you.” I settle deeper under the covers, pulling the blanket up to my nose. There’s a chill in the air. A hum tells me the heat kicked in. Both Elliott and Jamie like the house to be cooler during the night. They claim to sleep better. Between the AC constantly running in the summer and the chilly nights of winter, I need an extra blanketall year round.

I close my eyes, but I know sleep will not come. Not after I wake up. So I get up and make my way to the bathroom to get ready for the morning. Not that we have anything to do today. Not on Christmas Eve. I finish up and put one of Elliott’s hoodies over my pajamas. It swallows me. I tuck my face inside and inhale his scent. Walking to the window, I open the curtains and let in the daylight—it catches on the ring on my left hand—a family heirloom that belonged to Grace before she gave it to Elliott to propose to me. I said yes, of course, much to my mother’s dismay.

My mother finally accepted that I’ll never go back to Ohio once she saw me walking toward Elliott at our small and intimate wedding at Grace’s ranch. Mom is trying very hard to be less demanding. I don’t know what Grace told her at the ranch, but she’s been better since, or so Dad says.

I place a hand on the cold windowpane, grateful to be here, back where it all started when I was a scared eighteen-year-old girl and then again when I was a scared thirty-year-old woman. When I signed those papers five years ago, I never imagined it was a gift from Elliott to me. And how Leonora caught her sons trying to falsify her signature to sell the building. That, along with Elliott’s proposal, made her sell it out of spite. And put that money in a trust for her grandkids. Her sons didn’t get a penny. Never piss off a Sicilian woman. Especially if she’s your mother.

We rebuilt using money from the insurance and Elliott’s sale of his apartment, plus the money Grace loaned to him—us. We added a third floor, making this a four-bedroom apartment over the flower shop. Every detail designed by Elliott. He even managed to save the mural CJ painted, and it’s now in Leah’s room. The apartment is bigger and brighter,and it still feels like home. Elliott said designing the building scratched the architect itch in him and he decided that with his father and uncle gone, he actually likes his job. So much happened in the last five years. I never imagined I’d be this happy again. Jamie no longer reads the book every night, but he’ll bring it out every so often and read for his sister.

Outside, seven or eight inches of snow accumulate on the sidewalk and cars. A plow drives down the street slowly, creating a clear path for drivers. We’re having a white Christmas this year. A rarity for New York City. The weather people on the news mentioned this is the first time in over ten years the city sees snow for the holidays.

Arms wrap around my waist, and I’m pulled against a broad chest. Elliott drops a kiss on my shoulder. “So that’s why I couldn’t find my favorite hoodie.”

I turn in his hold. “Did you look in your drawer?” I know all too well he would not find it anywhere. Because I took it last night and hid it between the towels in the bathroom closet.

“Yes, I did. My other hoodies are there. But this particular one”—he tugs at the sleeve—“never seems to stay where I put it when I do the laundry. And come to think about it, it’s never in my drawer when you do the laundry either. It’s the mysterious case of the wandering hoodie.”

I try to hold back a laugh and fail. “Yeah, must be Christmas magic.”

“I’ll show you the magic.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “You did. Last night.”

He pulls me in closer. “I’ll show you again.”

His lips are on mine, warm and coffee-flavored. He pulls me closer still, our bodies flushed and hot.

“Yuck.” Jamie’s voice comes from the open bedroom door. “It’s morning. Aren’t you supposed to do that stuff at night? In the dark, so I can’t see it?”

We separate, laughing.

Elliott leads the way. “One day, Jamie, you’re gonna have a girl in your room, and I’m going to come in and remind you of what you said.”

“Ewww, no, cooties. And if I have a girl in my room, I’ll be smart enough to lock the door,” Jamie says with the kind of disgust and snark only an eleven-year-old can have.

I’ll never get tired of hearing him speak. Jamie’s voice is a gift I treasure every day. I hug him and kiss his cheek. He’s tall for his age. In another year or two, he’ll be taller than me.

Screeches come from the living room.

Jamie points back over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, Daisy is on the Christmas tree again, and she’s tossing all the decorations on the floor.”

We walk into the living room to a scene that belongs in a movie.

The living room is bathed in light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the snow falls in big, fluffy flakes. The eight-foot Christmas tree next to the lit fireplace takes an entire corner of the room. Daisy peeks in and out of the branches, blending with all the green.

Leah is sitting in her baby bouncy chair in hysterics, while Daisy flaps her wings and picks ornaments off the tree and tosses them to the floor. Thankfully, we don’t have anything breakable.

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