got the vacuum out of the hall closet, for once grateful the house was small. He could hear his daughters in the kitchen, practicing Christmas carols for the evening’s event—Millie’s, high and sweet, Charlotte’s lower and out of tune. His oldest daughter would come to the Green to help him with the twins, not because she wanted to, but because he needed her to. Halloween was more her thing. Not a single Hunter Moon passed without five pairs of shoes being set outside in hopes of being the lucky one to find theirs full of pebbles in the morning. After Gina left, his oldest daughter forgot to put the shoes outside on the full moon in October, but she did a lot of things she wouldn’t have before—like comb lice eggs from her little sister’s hair.
The vacuum’s roar drowned out their voices. For the next hour, he cleaned. It took him only half that time to shower, wash his hair with the de-lousing solution, and get dressed again. Trotting down the steps, he smelled the sausage and peppers he had earlier prepared, already cooking.
“Thanks, baby.”
His daughter barely looked up from the smartphone in her hand, her long and graceful fingers flying through a text. Charlie pulled the steaming pan from the oven and set it on top of the stove. Another ten minutes, to give it that crisp the kids expected. Gina had given him a few good tips before packing up her life and flying south. The secret to her sausage and peppers had been essential.
“Yours is better.”
Charlie straightened and closed the oven door. “How so?”
“Mom always put too much garlic.”
“She’s Italian. I don’t think there is any such thing as too much garlic for her.”
Charlotte tried hard not to smile, but she cracked.
“You’re a really good cook, Dad. And not because you don’t just open a jar of sauce and splash it on boxed pasta. I’m really impressed with what you put on the table.”
“It’s because you’re used to the cafeteria food at college.”
“It’s because you care. Anyone can put food on the table.”
Another last lesson from Gina—there was food, and there was food. Taking the time to prepare something more than simply edible made people feel loved, cherished. Charlie had wanted the kids to keep that feeling after she was gone, even if they never consciously recognized it like his eldest had.
“I like to cook,” he said. “But your mom is a tough act to follow.”
Charlotte turned away, though not before rolling her eyes.
“Look, baby—”
Charlotte slammed the table. “Goddammit, Dad, look at me. I’m two years older than you were when you had me. I’m not a baby.”
Charlie took a deep breath, tried to remember what the counselor said about kids over-reacting to one thing because it was really about another, one they didn’t want to deal with.
“Charlotte,” he said gently. “You will always be my baby. I’ll never look at you that I don’t, for a split second, see the infant in pink frills, the toddler I helped walk, or the little girl I taught to ride a bike. But I’ll try.”
She looked away, fiddled with her phone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have popped off like a stupid baby. It was dumb.”
“I suppose I can forgive you, considering you combed lice out of your sister’s hair.”
Charlotte chuckled. “Why is it always Millie?”
“I have no idea. Call her and your brothers. Dinner’s on the table in five.”
His eldest left the kitchen, shouting for her siblings. Charlie took the hot pan out of the oven and started slicing bread. Worse than Tony and Millie, who he had worried about most, Charlotte’s anger over her mother’s leaving lingered the longest. Even Will, who vowed to never see her again, had mellowed. How would any of them feel if they knew, once his ego got over the sting of her affair, Charlie had been all for the divorce itself? It was the thought losing his kids he could not handle. To see them only every other weekend and two weeks a year? He couldn’t do it. Gina had made a difficult decision, after more than half her life mothering, to follow love to Florida. Charlie didn’t know how she did it, but he cried like a kid when she didn’t contest his request for full custody, as long as he sent them to her over summer break, and every other Christmas. He had not done either, yet. The kids had refused. Gina let it slide, she said, to let them get used to things.
The real reason was that Gina and Bertie’s house on the beach was way too small to house five kids. This summer would be different, though. His in-laws had finally forgiven Gina enough to see her. She was spending Christmas with them. If all went well, he’d put the kids on a plane as soon as school was out for the summer, and they’d spend it with their mother at their grandparents’ house. She would see her children for the first time in over a year, and he would be alone in Bitterly for the first time in his life.
A week ago, that thought had hollowed his stomach. Today, thoughts of Johanna Coco still popping up at random in his head, it brought an only-slightly-guilty smile to Charlie McCallan’s lips.
* * * *
Luminaries lined the barely shoveled sidewalks. The street had not been plowed after the last snowfall to allow for the horse-drawn sleigh rides usually turned into hayrides for the lack of it. Strings of white lights lit up the trees erected along the length of the Green. The clomping of hooves and jingle of bells rang a constant harmony. Bitterly-town was a Christmas card, painted by Norman Rockwell, and already, groups were singing.
Charlie stood in line with Millie and Tony, gazing at the spectacular, drawn into the familiarity and the joy of this town he loved. He never understood the disdain his wife—ex-wife—had for Bitterly.
Probably reason one why we’re not still married.
Charlie let his thought end there—it would lead to no place good—and instead hoped the twins got their turn before the caroling started. People came from several towns around for the annual sleigh-ride and carol-sing. There were more in attendance than in years previous. He and the kids had already been in line an hour.
“Here you go.” Charlotte returned bearing hot chocolate, handing them around.
“Thanks,” the twins chorused, using mittened fingers to flip the sip-lid that left brown stains behind.
“Do you mind if I go back to the coffee shop?” Charlotte leaned in to ask. “A few friends from high school are hanging out.”
“Not at all. Go. You want me to come find you when we’re done here?”
“Or you can use your cell.”
Charlie laughed. “Right. I’ll call you.”
“Text. Dork.”
He laughed. “Fine, I’ll text you. Have fun.”
Charlotte kissed her little brother and sister, cackling madly as they squealed and wiped their cheeks. She trotted across the street and back into the brightly lit coffee shop where she had worked during high school. Once inside, she pulled off her cap and mussed her hair into spikes.
Charlie
