Those Christmas Angels (Angels Everywhere #5)(65)

Earlier, she’d told him she hadn’t written that she loved him, but he felt it in every word.

After reading the letter once, he set it aside and tried to take in everything she’d said. Then he read it again, more slowly this time, sometimes rereading a sentence twice.

“She’s right,” he whispered. “She’s so right.” He’d been given this chance. The most wonderful gift of his life was within his grasp and he was rejecting it. He could allow what Aimee had done to taint the rest of his days, or he could move forward.

Christmas Eve, and he was alone. But he didn’t have to be.

He could spend Christmas with Julie.

Christmas and every other day.

A surge of joy rushed through him. He wasn’t waiting a moment longer.

Twenty-Five

For her father’s sake, Julie was trying to make this first Christmas without her mother as cheerful as she could. For dinner on Christmas Eve, she served the meal Darlene had always prepared. A big pot of homemade clam chowder simmered on the stove and a loaf of freshly baked bread waited on the counter. Although she didn’t have much of an appetite, Julie was determined to sit down, smile and enjoy their evening together. Emily had phoned earlier, and Julie had done her best to sound optimistic. She didn’t know how well she’d succeeded.

“Something smells mighty good,” her father said as he stepped into the kitchen. He lifted the lid from the large pot and gave Julie a smile. “Your mother’s recipe?”

She nodded.

Her father closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the chowder. “I feel that she’s with us.”

“I do, too, Dad.”

“For the first time since she died, I feel her presence more profoundly than I do her absence. I’m sure it has to do with Christmas.”

“I’m sure it does, too.”

“She was such a Christmas person.”

Her father wasn’t telling Julie anything she didn’t know. The house was always beautifully decorated for the holidays. Her mother spent endless hours seeing to every detail. Even her Christmas cards were special—because she wrote individual messages to each person. She baked and cooked for weeks beforehand, and every December she presented their neighbors with gifts of homemade cookies and candies. Julie had made an attempt to do the same, but she didn’t have the time, the patience or the skill to match her mother’s efforts. Her lone batch of fudge was a humbling experience and she ditched it before her father got home to see what a mess she’d made.

“Everything’s ready,” she announced. Instead of eating in the kitchen as they routinely did at night, they were using the dining room. After dinner and the dishes, they’d leave for Christmas Eve services at church.

“I’ll bring out the chowder,” her father said as the doorbell rang.

Julie frowned. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Her father shook his head. “I’ll get it.”

While her father dealt with whoever was at the door, Julie ladled soup into the tureen her mother had saved for special occasions. The bread, a recipe handed down for more than three generations, was a holiday tradition, too. Julie remembered how her mother had called Emily and Julie to the kitchen table and taught them the importance of kneading the dough. They’d loved doing it.

“It appears we have company,” her father said from behind her.

Julie turned around. Had there been anything in her hands, it would have crashed to the floor.

Roy Fletcher stood beside her father, his arms full of gifts, which he arranged under the tree.

“I’ll set an extra place at the table,” Dean said as though it was a foregone conclusion that Roy would be joining them.

Julie was cemented to the floor. Had her life depended on it, she couldn’t have moved. “What are you doing here?” she choked out.

“I read your letter.”

Better late than never, she wanted to tell him, but speaking had become rather difficult.

“Oh.”

“It was a beautiful letter.”

Her father walked past Julie. “The two of you can sort everything out after dinner. You will stay, won’t you, Roy?”

“Yes. Thank you, Dean….” He nodded, although the entire time he was speaking, his eyes were on Julie.

“Come on.” Her father urged them toward the dining room.

As if in a dream, Julie left the kitchen. Roy held out her chair for her, and her father set the soup tureen in the middle of the table, moving aside the centerpiece of fir branches and silver bells Julie had created. He hurried back to the kitchen for the bread. When they were all gathered at the table, they joined hands for grace.

Julie bowed her head and closed her eyes. She’d prayed for this, prayed Roy would feel her love, prayed he’d know she was sincere. Still, there was a sense of unreality about tonight. Her father’s words, asking God to bless their meal, barely registered in her mind. At the sound of his “Amen,” she lifted her head to discover Roy watching her. Her breathing stopped at the unmistakable love she saw in his eyes. She didn’t understand what had happened to him, but whatever it was had completely changed him. Or, more accurately, made him the person he was meant to be. The person he really was.

“Your coming by is a pleasant surprise,” her father said conversationally as he stood and reached for Roy’s bowl.