Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(12)

“I know who she is. Maggie something. Conner, Carter…”

“Conroy. You’ve met her?”

“No, but Scolari’s been trying to get me to go out with her.”

“He never mentioned her to me,” Mark said, instantly offended.

“You’re going out with Shelby.”

“Shelby and I aren’t exclusive.”

“Scolari thinks Maggie’s my type. We’re closer in age. So she’s cute? That’s good. I thought I’d check her out before committing to anything—”

“I’m only two years older than you,” Mark said in outrage.

Setting down the spoon, Sam picked up a glass of wine. “Did you ask her out?”

“No. Shelby was with me, and besides—”

“I call dibs.”

“You don’t get dibs on this one,” Mark said curtly.

Sam’s brows lifted. “You’ve already got a girlfriend. Dibs automatically go to the guy with the longest dry spell.”

Mark’s shoulders hitched in an irritable shrug.

“So what did Maggie do?” Sam pressed. “How did she get Holly to talk?”

Mark told him about the scene in the toy shop, about the magic shell, and how the suggestion of make-believe had worked a miracle.

“Amazing,” Sam said. “I never would have thought of trying something like that.”

“It was a matter of timing. Holly was finally ready to talk, and Maggie gave her a way to do it.”

“Yeah, but…is it possible Holly would have started talking weeks ago if you or I had just figured it out?”

“Who knows? What are you getting at?”

Sam kept his voice low. “Do you ever think about what it’s going to be like when she gets older? When she starts needing to talk to someone about girl stuff? I mean, who are we going to get to handle all that?”

“She’s only six, Sam. Let’s worry about it later.”

“I’m worried that later’s going to get here sooner than we think. I—” Sam broke off and rubbed his forehead as if to soothe away an oncoming headache. “I’ve got something to show you after Holly goes to bed.”

“What? Should I be worried about something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn it, tell me now.”

Sam kept his voice low. “Okay, I was going through Holly’s homework folder to make sure she’d finished that coloring page…and I found this.” He went to a stack of paper on the counter and pulled out a single page. “The teacher gave them a writing prompt in class this week,” he said. “A letter to Santa. And this is what Holly came up with.”

Mark gave him a blank look. “A letter to Santa? We’re still in the middle of September.”

“They’ve already started running holiday commercials. And when I was at the hardware store yesterday, Chuck mentioned they were going to put out Christmas trees by the end of the month.”

“Before Thanksgiving? Before Halloween?”

“Yes. All part of an evil worldwide corporate marketing plan. Don’t try to fight it.” Sam handed him the sheet of paper. “Take a look at this.”

Dear Santa

I want just one thing this year

A mom

Please dont forget I live in friday harbor now.

thank you

love

Holly

Mark was silent for a full half minute.

“A mom,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I get it.” Still staring at the letter, Mark muttered, “What a hell of a stocking stuffer.”

After dinner, Mark went out to the front porch with a beer and sat in a comfortably beat-up wooden chair. Sam was tucking Holly in and reading her a story from the book bought earlier that day.

It was still the time of year when sunsets were long and slow to fade, painting the sky over the bay in saturated pinks and oranges. Watching the shallows glitter between the brackets of deep-rooted madrone trees, Mark wondered bleakly what he was going to do about Holly.

A mom.

Of course that was what she wanted. No matter how Mark and Sam tried, there were some things they couldn’t do for her. And although there were countless single dads who were raising daughters, no one could deny that there were milestones that a girl wanted a mother for.

Following the child psychologist’s advice, Mark had set out a couple of framed pictures of Victoria. He and Sam made certain to talk about Victoria to Holly, to give the child a sense of connection with her mother. But Mark could do more than that, and he knew it. There was no reason Holly had to navigate the rest of her childhood without someone to mother her. Shelby was as close to perfect as it got. And Shelby had made it clear that despite Mark’s ambivalence about marriage, she was willing to be patient. “Our marriage wouldn’t be like your parents’ marriage,” she had pointed out gently. “It would be ours.”

Mark had understood the point, even agreed. He knew he wasn’t like his father, who had thought nothing of backhanding his children. Theirs had been a tempestuous house hold, filled to the roof with caterwauling, violence, drama. The Nolan parents’ version of love, with its screaming fights and lurid reconciliations, had featured all the worst components of marriage, and none of its graces.