Wrapped in Rain(94)

Jase lifted the lid and released the intoxicating smell of cedar into the room. The memories flooded back and reminded me that that box contained every physical thing I held dear as a child. "Wow, Mom, look." Jase lifted my one-holster belt out of the chest and held it up. The leather was worn but still in good condition. He strapped it on and lifted the gun from its holster. Its fake ivory handle was worn and oily. Next he pulled out my hat and red scarf. Then my boots, a bag of marbles, my collection of matchbox cars totaling almost a hundred, my Lincoln Logs, a bag of nearly two hundred green plastic army men, two rubber-band guns, a pirate's sword, and a pair of glittery wings that might fit a little girl. He spread the loot on the floor around him and sat in the middle of it. Katie eyed the wings, looked at me, and began shaking her head in disbelief. Jase jumped onto my lap, wrapped his arms around my neck, and said, "Thanks, Unca Tuck."



"I'm glad you like it, partner. It's yours."

"All of it?"

"Every bit."

I turned to Katie. She picked up the wings and held them in front of her. "I can't believe you kept all this."

"I had some help." I took Katie by the hand and said, "You ready for your present?"

"When did you have time to get me anything?"

"I didn't need time. Close your eyes." Katie set down her coffee and closed her eyes, and I spun her in a circle eight times. While she tried to balance, I led her to the piano bench and sat her down. "Open your eyes."

Katie opened her eyes and saw the piano stretched out before her with a giant bow across the top. Her jaw dropped, and instinctively, her fingers fell silently on the keys.

"Tucker," she said, shaking her head, "I can't."

I held out my hand and stopped her. "You'd better claim it before Mutt does. I'd hate to see what he'd do to it with that chain saw. Besides, it only sounds right when you sit here." She smiled, pulled me down next to her on the seat, and placed both her palms on my cheeks, cradling my face. I spoke like a kid whose face had been caught in the school bus door. "It's from me, Mutt, and Miss Ella."

Katie pulled my face close to hers, whispered, "Thank you, Tucker Rain," and kissed me on the lips. They were warm, soft, and tender, and I felt the tingle from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Behind my belly button, the ache grew.



Katie set her fingers on the keyboard and played every Christmas song I'd ever heard, remembered, or thought of. Everything from "Silent Night," "Frosty the Snowman," "Rudolph," and "The Little Drummer Boy" to "0 Holy Night." And for the second time since she had driven her car into that ditch, the windows in our house spilled over with the happiest sounds I'd heard since Miss Ella died.

Mutt walked into the den wearing pajamas that were unsnapped in the front. "Merry Christmas." Mutt looked confused, so I pointed at the tree. "Merry Christmas."

"It's Christmas?"

"Yep

Mutt walked to the window and looked out across the front lawn. He studied it for several seconds and then said, "It's not Christmas."

"Well, according to most every calendar in the world, today is Christmas."

Mutt pointed outside and shook his head. "It's not Christmas." Mutt's eyes narrowed, and he walked out as quickly as he'd walked in, then disappeared into the barn. Five minutes later, I heard an engine crank, and Mutt walked around the front of the house, holding the pressure-washer wand and dragging the hose. He stood on the front porch, turned up the pressure, inserted the smallest nozzle he could find, and depressed the trigger. Water, under almost four thousand pounds of pressure, shot over forty feet into the air, misted into an umbrella, and froze into tiny droplets. For the next hour, Mutt waved his wand across Waverly and painted the house in snow and ice. Inside, Katie played, Jase drew his pistols and marched his army men across the den floor, and I hugged a coffee cup, kept one hand over my belly button, and tried to hide the tear that kept creeping into the corner of my eye.



Mutt, stepping through three inches of snow and satisfied that it was now Christmas, returned his wand to the barn and climbed up into the attic. A few minutes later, he came down scratching his head and tapped me on the shoulder. "Wonder if I could ask you a question."

"Sure."

We climbed into the attic, and he pointed at something in the corner, covered in a dusty sheet. "Can I have this back? I want to give it to that boy."

I lifted the sheet and saw the Lego castle that Mutt had given me almost twenty-five years ago. I nodded. "Yes, Mutt. I think he'd like it very much."

We wrestled it downstairs, placed it on top of the empty cedar chest, and uncovered it, throwing the yellowed and dusty sheet into the fireplace. Jase stood like a kid before the castle at Disney World. Frozen at the intersection of the wonderful and the impossible. Katie tiptoed across the room, gently took Mutt's hand, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Mutt." It would have made a beautiful picture.

Katie made pancakes, and I watched Jase give his mom sticky, syrupy kisses that left lip prints on her cheek. That day, we laughed by the fire, threw snowballs, played army, freed the princess from the castle tower, fought alligators in the moat, and sang every song we knew at least twice.