NO ONE TOLD JOHN that he couldn’t fix something. Not his marriage. Not Romeo. And certainly not the decrepit box for the Nativity scene the community called a stable.
“Hold the door open. I just need to grab this wood, and we’ll be out of here.”
Romeo held open the door to the shed behind the community center as John pulled out another section of the manger scene he’d finally tracked down.
Nate had only mentioned that the stable might need some work, but what did John expect from a Realtor?
“What is this thing?”
“It’s a barn. Sort of.” John would have to rebuild the entire stage. The structure fell apart as soon as he and Romeo pulled it from the shed. The roof hung in pieces and the ends of the display sagged, unable to hold up anything.
He set the boards on the ground, stood back to survey the damage. “It’s where we host the Nativity scene. But it’s not looking too good, is it?”
Romeo gave it a kick. He wore one of the boys’ old work jackets and an orange stocking cap. In the week since football ended, he’d helped John every day after school, as decreed, and they’d managed to get Darek’s house under roof, tarping it off for shingles in the spring. In the meantime, Darek would work inside.
John had taught Romeo how to run a table saw, a Skilsaw, and a nail gun, how to measure twice and cut once, and the basics of framing a house.
The kid listened as if he were preparing to appear on Surviorman, asked to live in the wild.
Ingrid’s words settled into John’s brain like glue. I was hoping you could fix Romeo. But now I’m not so sure you can, even if you wanted to.
If he wanted to. He couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed Romeo’s company. And the boy worked hard, without complaint, at home and at the animal shelter, according to Kate.
Slowly, over the past three weeks, John had seen the kid emerge from his shell. John even got him behind the wheel for the first time in his life and took him driving on the back roads.
Yeah, he could admit he hoped this mystery brother didn’t show up anytime soon. Ingrid had managed to contact the social worker regarding a visit to Romeo’s mother, but she reminded them there could be no visits until after Thanksgiving. And by her tone, apparently even that might be too soon.
E-mails to Matthew remained unanswered.
Ingrid’s hopes just might materialize —Romeo in their home for Christmas.
John secretly began to hope for it too. In a couple weeks the ice would be thick enough to skate on, and maybe he’d even take the kid snowmobiling.
As for his wife . . . I don’t think you can ever fix it, John.
Fix what? Their fractured family? A lonely Christmas? Perhaps, but he could try. The live Nativity display he drew up would be legendary, and if that didn’t prove to his wife that he could buy into her need to stick around, celebrate Christmas even without their family, he didn’t know what would.
He glanced at Romeo. “Grab that end. We’ll get it up to the resort and see what we can salvage.”
Romeo leaned down, grabbed the edge, lifted. They dragged it over and tossed it into the back of the truck, went back for the rest of the pieces. As John closed the tailgate, Romeo climbed into the cab, blowing on his hands. “I can’t wait for that turkey.”
Him, either. Ingrid had been in the kitchen basting the Thanksgiving bird when they left. Ivy and Darek wouldn’t be heading over until this evening, but still, he had to wonder how he’d landed right here, dragging around a busted barn in the middle of a football Thursday. He had an idea who might be the real turkey.
But he refused to let his marriage —or Romeo —go down on his watch.
“You suppose the Lions are winning?”
John glanced at Romeo. “Let’s not think about it.”
A hearty two inches of snow blanketed the ground. Winter had gusted in last week with slate-gray skies, an ice storm, and below-zero temperatures on the eve of the second play-off game of the season.
The Huskies lost by one touchdown, and even John couldn’t hate the fact that the cold hours in the stands had ended.
He pulled out, headed home. If he worked hard, he could get the frame rebuilt by tonight and have the structure constructed in parts by Sunday. Then he’d have to shingle it —he had some shakes left over from the cabins. Finally he’d paint it, string lights, and —his brain child —install heaters along the base. He’d heard Ingrid on the phone and knew the prospect of standing in the cold for an hour scared off any potential Nativity family.
But if he could offer them warmth . . . he might not just save his own marriage with his stable, but someone else’s as well.
“Why a barn?” Romeo asked.
“Well, I guess it’s more of a stable, and in real life, it was supposedly a cave, but we work with what we have.”
Silence.
He looked at Romeo. “What?”
“Tell me again why we’re building a barn?”
“Because that’s where Mary gave birth? She put the baby in a manger?”
“Oh.” Romeo looked away, tucked his hands under his arms.
“You do know the story, right?”
Romeo offered one of his signature shrugs.
Seriously? “Romeo, did anyone tell you the real story of Christmas?”
“I thought it was about Santa.”
John cut down Main Street. Already holly and pine boughs decorated the lamps along the street, a holiday glow upon the crystalline snow. This weekend, a glittering tree would appear in the park off the harbor.
“Santa is an add-on. The real story is about God sending His Son to earth to save us from ourselves. We celebrate His birth at Christmas.”
“Oh, right. Mary and Joseph and some angels. I thought it was a fairy tale.”
The story, the gospel, embedded John’s bones, as familiar as breathing. He tried not to take offense at Romeo’s almost-mocking tone. “It’s not a fairy tale, and that’s what this live Nativity is all about —to make it real. To put ourselves in Mary and Joseph’s place and get a new perspective. Imagine you’re about to get married and the girl you love tells you she’s going to have a baby.”
“I’d be pretty mad.”
“Yeah, and then she tells you the baby is God’s. And He’s going to save the world. Crazy, right?”
Romeo regarded him with a frown.
“Exactly. So you don’t believe her, until an angel appears and tells you that not only is Mary telling the truth, but you’re supposed to marry her and be the father to this baby.”
“So Joseph wasn’t the real father?” Romeo held his hands in front of the heater.
“He was Jesus’ earthly father.”
“But I’ll bet he didn’t want to be. Raising someone else’s kid? No guy wants that.” Romeo said it without rancor, just matter-of-fact. “At least that’s what my mom said after Eddie left.”
Huh. John turned onto the highway. “I thought you said he died.”
A muscle pulled in his jaw as Romeo shook his head. “It’s just easier that way. To think he got sick and died. And he took the dog too.”
John suddenly wanted to clamp the kid’s shoulder, maybe even wrap an arm around him. Especially when Ingrid’s voice haunted him. But now I’m not so sure you can, even if you wanted to.
Oh, he wanted to. But he was in way over his head.
“I think Joseph took it pretty seriously. He took Mary as his wife and protected Jesus like a father would. Saved His life a couple of times, just because he listened to God.”
But it had to be overwhelming, when John thought about it. As he held his own son in his arms at the Deep Haven hospital, his knees had nearly buckled at the responsibility. And every child after that had shaken him to his core.
So much on his shoulders, sometimes it felt like it could crumple him.
Imagine raising the Son of God.
“So why Joseph?” Romeo asked.
“What?” John turned onto a dirt road. Snow blanketed the bushy pine trees, a trail of white that, under a starry sky, might feel magical.
“Why did God pick Joseph to raise His kid? I mean, what did Joseph have that made him so special?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
John pulled into the driveway. Christmas lights bordered the doorway, the edge of the roof, twinkling in the twilight, beckoning them home. Darek’s doing —a hint of cheer for the resort pictures he’d taken to post online.
“Let’s get the barn unloaded; then we’ll check on the game.” He got out. Romeo’s door shut on the other side.
Romeo began to unload boards. “We slept in our car once. My mom cried all night long.”
John glanced at him, but Romeo didn’t seem embarrassed, just continued working.
“Imagine how awful Joseph had to feel for his wife to give birth in a barn. Yuck.”
John picked up some boards, shouldered them, and brought them to his freshly built garage.
Romeo’s words needled him. Yeah. It would be humbling, especially for a young man hoping to provide for his family.
“Let’s put the boards back here.” He opened the garage doors and pointed to the workshop in back. Romeo carried his armful in and dropped them on the floor.
John dropped his own boards as Romeo moved past him on his way for another load. John stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, his chest suddenly thick, cottony. He met Romeo’s eyes, level with his own.
“You won’t ever sleep in a car again, Romeo. You’re a part of this family, whether you like it or not, and you’ll always have a place here.”
Romeo blinked, swallowed. Looked away.
John clamped him around the back of his neck, drew his head to his shoulder. Slapped him on the back fast, then let him go. “Get us another load.”
Romeo nodded and stepped away quickly.
John flicked on the light and began to stack the boards. He had a few decent two-by-fours, a two-by-six he could saw in half. The rest he’d use to construct a new manger. Yeah, he could fix this.
What was taking the kid so long? He saw the truck’s headlights, although he thought he’d turned them off. And saw Romeo outlined against them. He simply stood there.
Then another figure stepped into the lights.
John headed outside when the two figures embraced.
“Hello?” His chest had already tightened, his stomach burning as he moved into the light.
Romeo stepped back from the man, and John recognized a military bearing despite the beard, the black baseball hat. He had Romeo’s eyes and high cheekbones and wore an Army-green jacket, jeans, black boots.
As if he’d just stepped off the transport from Afghanistan.
The man extended his hand. “Hi, Uncle John. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Matthew —Romeo’s big brother.”
This just might be the worst Thanksgiving Ingrid had ever endured. And that counted the year Darek, Casper, and Grace all had the flu and lost their dinners on the family room carpet. Or even the year of the great storm that shut off the power halfway through the roasting of the turkey. She’d made a festive meal of pumpkin pie, chocolate milk, and Jell-O salad.
No, nothing compared to the misery of watching Romeo’s half brother woo him with stories of the military. The camaraderie, the adventure.
The danger.
She fabricated a smile and managed to ask appropriate questions, to nod without censure, and even to not chuck an entire pie into Matthew’s too-handsome face.
“We tried to get ahold of you, Matthew,” she mentioned later that night as they played their annual family game of Sorry! and she mercilessly sent him back to start.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to get e-mail sometimes. But I got them and, of course, stopped by to see Mom on my way here.”
“They let you see her?” Romeo asked, sending a frown toward Ingrid. Like she made up the rules?
“They weren’t going to, but they made an exception because I’m just back from deployment.” He drew a one and put his piece back out on the board. Of course.
“How is she?”
“Missing you, pal. But okay. I think she’s going to be in there for a while, though. She’s lost a lot of weight, and they have her on antidepressants.”
Ingrid glanced at John, begging him to stay silent. But he seemed to have his own thoughts, based on the way he eyed Matthew. Especially when Matthew suggested he and Romeo hit the road for a couple of weeks and head down to Disney World.
Yeah, she wanted to strangle hero-boy, then, for the way Romeo brightened up.
“You’d think Santa Claus arrived right on our doorstep, a month early,” she said to John later as she put lotion on her arms. He burrowed under the covers, his eyes closed. A chill had settled over the house, frost already scrolling up the windows. She climbed under the covers, tucking them in around her. “I mean, I expected him, but . . . he can’t be serious. Romeo has school, and he can’t just take off with Matthew. Disney World costs a fortune. How come Matthew has that kind of money?”
“We can’t trap the kid here, Ingrid —”
“What are you talking about? We’re his legal guardians. He can’t go anywhere without our permission.”
He opened one eye then. “You do realize he wants to join the military, right? Be an emancipated minor —”
She held up a hand. “Don’t get me started on that harebrained idea. Seriously, would you let one of your boys drop out of school to go to Disney World?”
“If he was going to take his GED —”
“And join the military? At seventeen?”
He sighed. “Listen, honey, I don’t like it any more than you do, but he has to make his own choices.”
“Just tell me, John: would you let your son do it?”
“He’s not my son.”
“But see, right now he is. He’s legally your son, and clearly you’ve forgotten that.”
John opened both eyes now. “Ingrid. I like the boy —I really do. And frankly I was hoping he would stay for Christmas. But he’s not my son. He’s not our son. He’s just a boy who —”
“Who God gave us to love and care for.”
He stared at her, a slow frown creasing his face.
“I know you weren’t in the market for another gig as father, but like it or not, you’ve been given a rare opportunity to care about Romeo, and I think he cares about you too.” She blinked hard, fighting the rise of emotion.
He sat up, put his hand on her back. “I know you wanted him here —that in a way, he filled a void, but —”
She shook her head. Drew in a breath. “Do you know what today is, John?”
“Thanksgiving?”
She looked away, catching her lip in her bottom teeth. “It’s Benjamin’s due date.”
He said nothing. Then, “Ingrid . . .”
“It’s okay. I know you don’t really think about it. But I do. Every year. And this year . . . this year it felt as if Romeo was sort of . . . well, the son we should have had.”
Silly. Stupid. Even desperate. She pressed her cheeks, feeling the moisture there. “Just don’t let him leave. I don’t trust Matthew —something’s not right. Please.”
“I don’t know what I can do, Ingrid.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, you do. Fix it, John. Please, just fix this.”
Fix it, John.
The words hung in his head as he finished adding the last of the shakes to the half roof of the stable. He didn’t know exactly what, however, he had to fix.
Matthew hadn’t mentioned Disney World once in the last three days and, in fact, hung around like he might be staying forever. He’d helped John and Romeo build the stable and had strung the lights around the outside of the frame.
Sure, the man reminded him of Kari, back in the day when she could charm her way into people’s trust, then break their hearts. Carefree, even reckless. The fact that Kari had settled down with Matthew’s father, at least for a while, seemed a miracle.
“How many tours have you completed, Matthew?” John picked up the thermos of hot cocoa.
“This was my fourth,” he said. “But maybe not my last.”
Romeo looked at him. “Really?”
Matthew lifted a shoulder, a familiar Young family gesture. He handed John his cup. “You headed inside? I’d love more of those cookies if there are any left.”
But John didn’t move. “Matthew. Help me understand something. Are you . . . are you staying stateside, or are you just on leave?”
Matthew grabbed a hammer, tossed it in his grip. “On leave.”
Romeo stood. “You’re going back?”
“In two weeks, yeah. I thought I told you that. Two weeks, we zip down to Disney World; then I’m back in the sand.”
“And Romeo?”
Matthew looked at John. “Uh, Romeo’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
Ingrid’s words had niggled at him for the past three days, and now he knew why. I don’t trust Matthew —something’s not right.
After thirty years, a man should trust his wife’s sixth sense. “Matthew, I’m afraid your trip isn’t going to work for Romeo. Or us.”
Romeo rounded on him. “What?”
“Romeo, you can’t drop out of school to hang out with your brother —especially since he’s leaving in two weeks. Then what?”
“You said I’d always . . .” Romeo bit his lip.
John’s words flooded back to him. Have a place here.
John drew in a long breath. “As your legal guardian, I need to tell you that leaving is not okay. You can’t just take off —”
“Because if I do, I can’t come back, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. Listen, dude. I don’t need a father —I’ve done fine for seventeen years without one, so you can just —”
He spit out a word that should have made John wince. But he just stared at the teen, sadness sweeping through him.
It was Owen all over again. Angry, frustrated. Needing someone to step in. But Owen was twenty-one.
Romeo needed more from John than what he’d given Owen.
“You’re not going.”
“Oh yes, I am.” He dropped his hammer and stormed out of the shed.
Matthew had whisked off his hat, held it between clenched hands. “I didn’t . . . I mean . . .”
“He needs someone who is going to stick around in his life right now.”
Matthew nodded. “I get that.”
“And that’s not you, is it?”
Matthew shook his head. Sighed. “I think I’m going to get my stuff.”
“Matt —”
“No, I gotta get going anyway. The Disney thing . . . Probably that was just a dream anyway. I got buddies waiting for me in Minneapolis.”
John stilled. “Wait. You weren’t even planning on taking him to Disney World?”
Matthew made a face. “It just sort of came out, and then I was stuck in the lie, and it kept getting bigger and bigger and . . . But I was thinking about it.”
“What, were you going to sneak out in the middle of the night, not tell him —? Oh, my. You were.”
“I’m not sure what they’re teaching you in the military, son, but that’s not what honor is.”
“Whatever. Tell Romeo I said bye.” He brushed past John.
“Matthew, don’t you dare leave Romeo without saying good-bye yourself.”
But Matthew ignored him and headed to the house. John wanted to throw one of the mugs after him. Or worse.
Instead, he followed him inside, set the mugs and the thermos on the counter.
Ingrid looked up from where she sat, phone in her hand, the church directory open on the counter. “What happened?”
“I fixed it,” he said quietly.
Her eyes widened when she saw Matthew appear moments later, his duffel slung over his shoulder.
“Romeo,” she said, glancing at John.
Matthew said nothing as he stormed out of the house.
“Romeo!” she shouted, getting off the stool.
But by the time Romeo made it back downstairs, Matthew had pulled out. Romeo didn’t bother with shoes, just banged through the door, running out into the snow and ice in his stocking feet.
The night closed around Matthew’s red taillights.
John stood there a moment, watching as Romeo stared into the darkness. Ingrid touched his back, but he shook her away.
John went to the door. “Romeo, come inside.”
Romeo marched past him. At the foot of the stairs, he turned, glaring first at Ingrid, then at John. “You’re not my parents.”
Then he headed upstairs. Ingrid pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Yeah, I really fixed it,” John said.