A Cliché Christmas(26)

The little girl smiled. “You got my drawing?”

My throat tightened as my heart swelled. “I did. In fact, I designed the whole show around that pretty picture. Your artwork inspired me.”

Savannah beamed, her sweet dimples coming to life and resembling those of the man who stood at her side. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, speaking softly into her ear. Her eyes sparkled, although there were dark circles beneath them.

Weston pulled up a stool and took her hand in his. The sight overwhelmed me. Who was this kindhearted man? Had he always been this way? Had I missed it somehow between our fights and flirtations?

“Wes,” Willa said, “Mom and I haven’t had lunch yet. Would you mind staying here while we go down to the cafe?”

“Sure thing.”

“Did you want to come along, Georgia? You’re welcome to.”

I looked to Weston, unsure of the correct response. Where would I be less of a burden today?

“I want her to stay,” said a soft, sweet voice.

Everyone looked at Savannah.

It was in that moment that I understood why Nan had opted to stay home from Hawaii, why an entire town would be willing to raise funds for her care during a busy holiday season, and why Weston would put aside his dreams so he could watch her grow up.

My voice diminished by half. “I’d love to stay.”

I pulled up a chair to the side of her bed opposite Weston and watched as he gave her the books Nan sent with us. I saw one—Madeline—that I’d loved as a young girl: I was inspired by her adventures, her friends who eventually became her family, and her imagination.

“Ooh, these are from Nan?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yep, and actually, they were mine when I was young.”

Her eyes smiled. “Will you read me one?”

“I sure will.”

I read Savannah two books while Weston held her cold hand in his and laughed at all the funny scenes.

“I like your silly voices,” she said. “That’s how my teacher, Mrs. Maple, reads, too.”

Weston leaned over and kissed her temple. “You should probably rest, sweetie. We’ll stay here with you, though, okay?”

She started to close her eyes, her voice trailing off as she spoke. “I always wanted to meet you. Cuz of our names . . .”

And then she was asleep.

I looked to Weston for clarification, but his eyes were glued to Savannah’s resting face. I sat quietly, waiting for whatever Weston wanted to do next. It didn’t feel like my place to ask questions or make small talk.

Now that she was asleep, I glanced around the room, taking it all in: the IVs in her arm, the uneaten food on her plate, the container beside her bed that was obviously meant for unexpected bouts of nausea.

“I hate this.” Weston dropped his head into his hands and pulled at his hair.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Why her? I mean, I believe God has a purpose and a plan for everything, but this—what’s the good that comes from a child having cancer?”

I couldn’t even begin to understand the reason. I couldn’t fathom why God would allow something like this to happen to someone so precious. I’d always been one to have a lot of questions but not many answers.

I reached over Savannah’s still form and held my hand out for Weston. He took it.

“Thanks for coming with me today.” His eyes pierced mine with a mixture of vulnerability and strength.

“Is she asleep?” Willa’s voice broke the spell. I pulled my hand away, tucking it back into my lap.

“Yes, she just dozed off a minute ago. Georgia read her a couple of books.”

“Oh, I bet she loved that,” Mrs. James said, smiling at me kindly.

I watched them interact for the next hour or so while Savannah slept, and one thought looped over and over again in my mind: this is a family.

I’d always had a special relationship with Nan—she was the most important person in my life to date—but still, I’d always ached for something more.

“You ready?” Weston asked me after saying good-bye to Savannah, his sister, and his mother.

I nodded, my voice lost somewhere inside my longing for a fantasy family I’d never have.



The ride home to Lenox was far less playful than the ride to Portland had been. We were both preoccupied with our thoughts of Savannah. And though we stopped for gas and grabbed a quick bite to eat, we had little to say. I wanted to be sensitive to Weston. He had a lot to process, and who was I to interfere with that?

Halfway home, he picked up my hand and broke the silence. “Your mom had twins a few years ago, right?”

Startled, I pulled myself from my introspective stupor. “Yes.”

“And you never considered moving there—to Florida, I mean?”

Was that a note of accusation I heard in his voice? “No.”

“How come?”

“We aren’t like that.”

“Like what?”

Sighing an I-wish-you-would-drop-this sigh, I said, “Like . . . normal.”

His chuckle rumbled low. “What is normal when it comes to family?”

“I don’t really want to talk about this, okay?”

“Hmm.” He was doing it again, that scrutinizing thing he does when he thinks he knows me better than I know myself.