“Yip.”
“You’re a good dresser.”
“Yip.”
Danielle sorted through the items on the floor, folding them as she went. No sign of the matching pajama pants, so she tried the middle drawer. There they were, right on top, in all their pink glory among the folded-up socks. She chased Madison, caught her and helped her into the ruffly pink bottoms. There. One kid almost done for the day.
First, she had to turn off the bathwater, then she began turning back Madison’s bedcovers, not sure if Madison was going to give an argument or not.
Tyler’s footsteps preceded him down the hall. He poked his head into the room. “Daddy’s sleepin’,” he said, then thundered into the bathroom.
Sleeping? She knew Jonas hadn’t made the trek down the hall to their bedroom yet. He would have had to pass by the bathroom and the kids’ rooms. Did that mean he’d fallen asleep on the couch? “Okay, prayers, cutie.”
Madison bent to her knees and steepled her little hands. Her tiara slipped forward—yes, it appeared she was still wearing it—and Danielle removed it as she knelt down beside her. She listened while Madison said her prayers and tucked her in with a kiss.
“My story, Mommy?” Madison used her puppy-dog look, rendering her completely impossible to say no to.
“Let me check on Tyler and your daddy first. You stay right there, okay, bubbles?”
“Yip.”
A quick glance into the bathroom told her that Tyler was safe and sound, covered with bubbles and busy playing with his floating fire tanker that shot water all over the tile. She reminded him to remember to wash before padding down the hallway, where she found Jonas stretched out and sound asleep on the couch.
The poor man. He had to be exhausted. Danielle hit the power off button on the TV remote and circled around to lift the warm fleece blanket off the back of the couch. He didn’t stir. She’d wake him up later, after she got both kids put to bed. For now, she shook the blanket out and gently covered him.
Help him find his way back to me, please, Lord, she prayed in the darkness. She kissed her husband’s forehead and tiptoed from the room.
Chapter Three
“Sorry.”
Danielle glanced up from pouring Jonas a second cup of morning coffee. “What are you sorry for?”
“Falling asleep.” He didn’t look at her as he concentrated on wrapping his hands around his spoon. Long months of hard rehabilitation had helped, but his motor skills were still limited.
She popped open the top of the flavored coffee creamer and poured it for him and then added some into her own cup. “It was a big day for all of us yesterday, with you coming home.”
“You’re dis-disappointed.” He stumbled on the word.
Since she couldn’t admit that, not without hurting him, she set the carafe on the ruffled blue place mat at Tyler’s empty place and slipped into the chair. “Are you?”
He gulped. “Could be easier.”
She nodded, seeing now what she’d been too busy this morning to notice, getting Tyler ready for the church summer program and keeping Madison out of trouble. Jonas had managed to dress himself in a sweatshirt and jeans, but the sweatshirt hung on him, twisted to the left. His feet beneath the table were in socks, not shoes. “I should have helped you more this morning. I’m sorry. I won’t forget again.”
“You helped enough.” Jonas straightened his shoulders, as if his pride were involved, too. “The kids first.”
“Yes. That’s what we agreed back in Seattle, but—” She stared down into her steaming mug, unable to find any answers in the dark depths. She’d let him down, and that’s the one thing she didn’t want to do. Somehow she had to figure out a way to manage everything on her own. “It’s going to be difficult for a while, but I don’t mind working hard for you, Jonas. For the kids. For us.”
He swallowed hard, as if her words mattered to him, and turned in his chair toward the wall. “Our wedding pictures.”
“Yes.” She looked at them, too. How young and carefree they seemed back then. On impulse, she rose and plucked the collage frame from the wall. “There are some of the reprints I framed up from that day. I should dig out our wedding album. It’s in the closet somewhere out of reach, for safekeeping.”
“You’re smiling. It must have been a good day.”
“One of the best of my life.”
She laid the gold frame on the table, and he moved his coffee cup aside to make room. As they leaned forward to study the pictures together, she smelled the scent of his shampoo and the soap on his skin. Her heart cinched a notch. Yes, she thought, tenderly, he was still her Jonas. “If you notice, you’re smiling, too.”
“Yep. I look pretty happy.”
“You were.”
She touched her fingertip to the glass frame, where they’d just parted from sharing their first kiss as man and wife. Hand in hand, they stood smiling, facing their family and friends with the jeweled light from the sun-drenched stained glass gracing them. Their happiness was palpable, so shining and new. “I wish you could remember how that felt to finally be married. To be together with the whole world at our feet.”
“Was our marriage good?”
She noticed the concern in his eyes, the sadness on his face and the wonder. It was not fair that one bullet had stolen so much from him. At least she had the memories of their love. At least she knew what they could have again. “It was very good.”
“We were close.”
“Yes. Very close.”
He nodded once in acknowledgment but not in understanding.
How did she tell him that was her greatest fear? That they might never find one another again. They might never again share that rare close bond they’d had. Grief stabbed deep into her soul, and she fought it away. She had to keep her faith strong and believe that God would not forsake them. “We were best friends. Best…everything.”
“E-very-thing.” Jonas lingered over that word, as if he were trying to figure out what that meant. He remained bent over the pictures.
She moved away and took the carafe with her to rinse in the sink. All around them, hung on the walls or in stand-alone frames or snapshots tacked to their refrigerator, were photographs of their life together, of the babies and of the kids growing up. Of a happier time—her soul ached with sadness for the loss of that happy, innocent time when Jonas was whole.
It wasn’t fair to keep wishing for the past, she thought as she turned to the sink, rinsed out the pot and slipped it into the top rack of the dishwasher. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jonas struggling to stand, his attention focused on one of the photographs on the wall. She leaned a little to see what he stared at with such fascination. Her heart stopped when she recognized the picture. It was of her, propped up in a hospital bed, exhausted from forty-one hours of labor and cradling their precious son in her arms.
He did not remember that day, she realized, or how happy they were and how proud he was. She closed the dishwasher quietly, feeling reality settle into the damaged places in her heart.
When he looked away, she saw his eyes were silvered with tears. Tears that did not fall as he blinked them away and straightened his shoulders. Strong—that was her Jonas, always strong.
“I’ll help you to remember,” she promised him with all the strength and faith in her soul. “It’s going to be all right.”
In the corner, untouched by the sunlight