Chapter 9 - The Christmas She Chose
Two Christmases after the slap, Elsie asked for something that terrified everyone.
She wanted to read a letter from Tessa.
Tessa had written twice from a court-mandated residential program after her plea agreement.
I had returned the first letter unopened.
The second had been addressed to me, not Elsie.
I read it.
There were no excuses.
That surprised me.
Tessa wrote that therapy had forced her to recognize how often she treated humiliation as power.
She admitted she had initially approached Ryan because Hale wanted access to Noah’s family.
She also admitted that somewhere along the way, the assignment had become a relationship.
She loved Ryan.
Or believed she did.
But she never told him the truth because truth would have cost her the life she wanted.
Then came the paragraph about Elsie.
I have replayed Thanksgiving more times than I can count.
I wish I could tell you I didn’t know what I was doing.
I did.
I was angry that she was reaching for the piece I needed, and I believed being bigger gave me the right to stop her.
Nothing about my childhood, Victor, fear, or pressure excuses that.
I hit a child.
She deserved an adult who protected her.
Instead, I became the adult she needed protection from.
I had not shown Elsie.
But she eventually learned that Tessa had apologized.
“Can I see?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Why do you want to?”
She shrugged.
“I want to know if she’s still mean.”
Children had an astonishing way of reducing moral philosophy to useful questions.
I spoke with her therapist first.
Then we read a shortened version together.
Elsie was quiet.
Finally:
“Do I have to forgive her?”
“No.”
“Will she be sad?”
“Maybe.”
“Is that my fault?”
“No.”
That answer came instantly.
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Then she folded the letter.
“I don’t want to see her.”
“You won’t.”
“Can I forgive her but still not see her?”
I stared at my seven-year-old.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It can mean you don’t want to carry anger anymore, but you still remember what someone showed you.”
She considered it.
“That sounds good.”
Then she asked for hot chocolate.
And life moved forward again.
Ryan and Hannah became serious.
Very serious.
The kind of serious where Mom started casually leaving bridal magazines in visible locations and pretending they belonged to somebody else.
“Mom,” Ryan said one Sunday.
“What?”
“Why is there a wedding magazine inside Dad’s woodworking catalog?”
“Advertising?”
Dad snorted.
Hannah nearly fell off the couch laughing.
Ryan proposed the following spring.
Not at Christmas.
Not in front of the family.
Not with a performance.
He took Hannah to the little park where they had their first date.
She said yes.
When he told Elsie, she demanded an important role.
“Flower girl?”
Ryan shook his head.
“Too ordinary.”
“Princess?”
“Hannah says no swords at the ceremony.”
Elsie sighed.
“Fine.”
She became junior best woman.
At the wedding, Ryan saved an empty chair.
A small framed photograph of Noah rested on it.
That was his idea.
When I saw it, I cried before the ceremony even began.
“You okay?” Daniel asked.
“No.”
“Good crying?”
“Annoyingly.”
He offered his hand.
By then, we had been together nearly two years.
Everyone expected us to marry.
Everyone except Daniel, apparently.
He had never mentioned it.
And I told myself that was fine.
Mostly.
Then one December afternoon, I found a jewelry receipt in his coat.
I immediately felt ridiculous.
The amount was significant.
The store sold engagement rings.
For three days, I became exactly the kind of woman I had mocked in romantic comedies.
Every time Daniel reached into his pocket, my heart stopped.
Every dinner reservation became suspicious.
Every walk near Christmas lights became unbearable.
Nothing happened.
Christmas Eve arrived.
Nothing.
Christmas morning.
Nothing.
By afternoon, I was furious with myself for expecting anything.
Then Daniel said, “Elsie has something for you.”
I looked at my daughter.
She was smiling far too broadly.
“Traitor.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You literally just confessed with your face.”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the tree.
There was a package underneath.
Small.
Square.
My pulse went insane.
Daniel stood behind me.
Ryan began recording.
“Put that phone down.”
“No.”
I opened the package.
Inside was—
A compass.
I stared at it.
Daniel looked delighted.
“A compass?”
“Yes.”
Ryan started laughing so hard he had to lower the phone.
I looked at Daniel.
“You bought me a compass?”
“It’s antique.”
“Wonderful.”
“Turn it over.”
Engraved on the back were coordinates.
I recognized them.
The lake.
The place where Noah and I had taken Elsie for her first picnic.
My throat tightened.
Daniel held out my coat.
“Come with me.”
Thirty minutes later, we stood beside the frozen lake.
Elsie between us.
Snow drifted across the shore.
At the base of the old oak tree was a small wooden bench.
A brass plaque read:
NOAH BENNETT
BE KIND. BE BRAVE. ASK QUESTIONS.
I covered my mouth.
“The jewelry receipt?” I whispered.
Daniel looked confused.
Then laughed.
“The plaque came from a jeweler who does engraving.”
“You horrible man.”
“What did you think?”
“Nothing.”
Elsie shouted, “She thought you bought a ring!”
I closed my eyes.
Daniel stopped laughing.
Then he looked at me.
“Did you?”
I wanted the frozen lake to swallow me.
Instead I told the truth.
“Maybe.”
May you like
His expression became very still.
And then he reached into his coat.
