Page 39 of One Last Storm
She smiled at Dawson. “How’s our hero this morning?”
“Apparently I’ve been adopted.” Dawson indicated Caspian, who had somehow managed to position himself on the bed.
“Smart dog.” Tillie’s laugh was musical, full of the joy that had been missing for a month.
Moose’s heart grew ten times its size.
She walked over, patted Caspian, then Dawson’s good leg. “He knows good people when he sees them.” She gave him a soft smile and something passed between them. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah. I’m going to be okay.”
And maybe, for the first time, Moose believed him. Weirdly, Wilder’s voice landed in his head.
Sometimes the storm isn’t trying to destroy you. Sometimes it’s trying to clear away everything that doesn’t belong so you can see what does.
Huh. Well, maybe God had plans for Dawson they couldn’t yet see.
She turned to Moose “Ready to go home?”
“Please, take me home.”
She wove her fingers through his and they headed out into the hallway.
In the hallway, Christmas Eve morning was in full swing. Families moved between rooms carrying presents and flowers, nurses wore holiday pins on their scrubs, and somewhere a radio played soft carols.
Silent night, holy night...
Hazel was waiting by the elevators, with London. Her hair was braided but already coming loose, and she clutched a small stuffed reindeer that someone had obviously bought from the gift shop.
“Daddy!” She launched herself at him with eight-year-old enthusiasm. “Is Uncle Dawson going to be okay? And is Caspian staying with him? Because if he is, that’s good, because I think Caspian loves him and that’s more important than Christmas presents.”
Yes, yes it was.
Still. He’d wanted that for her. He crouched and embraced her. “Yes, sweetheart, Uncle Dawson’s going to be fine. And yes, I think Caspian is staying with him.”
“Oh no he’s not.” Nurse Christmas Tree came down the hallway, her hand in Caspian’s collar. Poor dog skittered beside her. “You are taking this animal with you, Mr. Mulligan.”
Caspian blinked at him with sad eyes.
Moose took the dog’s collar. “We’ll keep an eye on him until Dawson gets out.”
Moose knelt to her level. “I know you really wanted a puppy for Christmas. I need to tell you?—”
“Daddy, it’s okay I don’t have a puppy. I’m going to have a baby sister, and that’s way better.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Tillie knelt beside them, gathering Hazel into a hug that included Moose. They stayed like that for a moment. The three of them—soon to be four—in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by the controlled chaos of Christmas Eve morning.
Warmth expanded in his chest until it seemed too big for his body to contain.
Crisis stripped away everything nonessential, leaving only what truly mattered.
Family. Love. Faith.
The knowledge that even in the darkest storms, you weren’t walking alone.
Lord, I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but thank you. For bringing us through. For keeping us together. For this family you’ve given me.
“Excuse me.”
