chuckled. “Today is one day I appreciate your bluntness,” she said. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, there’s Christmas to get through, right?”
She didn’t have to decide anything right now.
“Which reminds me—I really need to get out of here.”
“What about you and J.C.?” Hope asked.
Grace grinned at her. “Like I said, I really need to get going. See you around town, Hope.”
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Hope replied as Grace put her cup in the sink.
“Believe me,” Grace replied acerbically. “I’m nowhere near off the hook. Anyway, bring your camera today.”
She slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Hope in peaceful silence. With plenty of time to think. Was Grace right? Had she forgotten who the real Hope was? When had she disappeared? And was there a chance she could find her again?
She’d had hopes and dreams once. She’d wanted things—like love and a family. She’d been so sure, knowing that if she had them she’d never let them go like her mother had.
And it hadn’t been any one particular thing that had caused her to throw those hopes away. No, it had been a constant chipping away. Every time they moved, every time there was a disappointment or an argument, or every time Hope tried to hold things together and failed. She’d been eighteen and the girls had been teenagers. Of course they hadn’t wanted to listen to her. But years of insecurity, of little failures, had drained her of energy. Of hope. She gave a bitter laugh. Ironic that that was her name, when she thought of it.
She’d given up hope a long time ago, and her other plans with it. Someone to share her life with. The sound of a child’s laughter. Blake had given that back to her, even if it was just for a brief moment. Those kids weren’t just his surrogate family, they’d been hers, too, for a very short time.
She went back upstairs and fired up her laptop, sitting at the small desk where she’d once written in her journal and sometimes done her homework. Within seconds she’d brought up the pictures. Looking at Blake’s laughing face during the hockey game made her both smile and feel weepy. She clicked through each image. Each one was attached to a memory. The picture wasn’t always perfect but the memory was. The boys unlacing their skates. The farmyard during a snow flurry, with flakes softening the edges of the barn and the trees. Anna in her apron, holding a casserole in her hands.
Hope hadn’t even looked at the ones from the party—just copied them to the disk for Blake. But she clicked through them now, each one a tug on a tender heartstring. The children in front of the tree, Blake in the middle. The two kids she’d met the first day, sitting together and sharing a plate of cookies. A small boy playing with a new set of toy cars, his grin dominating his whole face.
This was Blake’s family. She understood it now. This was the reason he got up in the morning. The reason he sacrificed. She blinked. They really were alike, weren’t they? They would do anything to make life better for the ones they loved. Except Blake hadn’t closed off his heart, had he? She’d accused him of doing that, of not having a family of his own, but he’d opened his heart by choice, to those who needed him.
The final picture popped up on the screen. Blake was holding Cate in his arms with the Christmas tree behind them, its colored lights muted and providing a warm backdrop. Cate’s hands rested on each side of his cheeks and above their heads was a sprig of mistletoe. Blake’s eyes were closed and his lips were in an exaggerated pucker as the little girl kissed the man she clearly idolized.
In all her years of taking pictures Hope had never accomplished it—not until now. But this was the perfect picture. Not because of the lighting or the balance or the colors or exposure. But because it hit her square in the heart and squeezed, making it difficult to breathe.
Blake’s words—the ones she’d dismissed so easily from the first—came back clearly, echoing through the empty chambers of her heart, filling them with bittersweet love.
“You can’t organize perfection. You can’t plan it. It just happens. And when it does, it’s magic.”
Magic.
To start with, she’d been in control. At the first sign of stinging behind her eyes or wetness on her lashes she’d locked it down—even when Blake had got her talking about Julie. But it was impossible now, as she stared at the courageous little poppet and the man who held her in his arms.
The man Hope had fallen in love with. She was sure of it now.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as, for the first time since she was eighteen, she let her heart out of its prison. She wept for the girl she’d been, and the one she’d become. She cried for Julie and the loss of someone who’d been more than a friend. And her heart cracked as she thought of Blake. He’d seen past it all to the truth of her—something she hadn’t even been able to see in herself. And now he was there and she was here.
She heard again the words she’d said to him that last night and felt the heavy weight of regret. She hadn’t been fair, and he’d been right all along.
After she’d mopped up her eyes and washed her face, she picked up the phone in the quiet house and dialed Blake’s number.
“Hello?”
It was a woman’s voice—probably his mother, already in from Arizona.
“Hello, is Blake there?”
“I’m sorry, he’s out. Can I leave a message?”
She paused. What could she say? Tell him Hope called was too little. Anything more was too much.
“No—no message, thank you,” she said, her voice faltering as she put the receiver down.
She stared at the phone for a few minutes and then took a deep breath. Okay. So it wasn’t going to be fixed today. She could accept that. She had to accept it. Right now she needed to get ready and head downtown to the festivities, enjoy the time the family had together. Faith would be here later, and after this morning’s peacemaking session with Grace it would be good to hang out.
But when she got back she was going to call the airline and switch her ticket. She was going back to Alberta and she was going to face her feelings rather than run away. Everything after that she would take as it came.
* * *
The batteries in her camera had run out and a check of the camera bag had come up empty. Rather than stand in line at the drugstore, Hope walked the extra few blocks home to grab a new set.
She’d enjoyed the day. The variety of food had been staggering—including the chowder lunch she’d had at the Steaming Mug. The spiced cider had been piping hot, the decorations had been splendid, and the children’s activities had put a smile on her face. And yet it had all left her feeling a little down, too, because each time she saw a couple pass by holding hands she wished Blake were there to share it with her.
He’d love this sort of thing—a real sense of togetherness and holiday spirit. Hope had spoken to the few journalists in town, covering the events, and she was proud of what J.C. and Grace had accomplished. Grace was a writer and Hope took pictures. It was better late than never—maybe they could do something together about Beckett’s Run.
She
