my feet, I’d probably stumble on the runway.” She nuzzled the baby’s soft blond hair as Sam tenderly guided Amy to a chair. Her oldest brother, who’d just turned forty, had it good, and he knew it. No biological clock ticking for him. Or Amy, who at thirty-six was only three years older than Nicole. With the birth of their son in two months, Amy would have her family complete. At least that was her plan.
“I’ll take Grace, and you can put this wherever Mom has the other presents stashed,” Sam said.
Her brother held out the prettily wrapped package Amy had brought in. Nicole glanced at the silver bow and embossed paper. All that fancy wrapping was wasted on her dad. Now, her mother on the other hand...
“No, I’m good.” She so seldom got to hold her niece, and she wasn’t ready to give her up yet. “Put that in the dining room and then go drag Pop out of his wood shop and tell him dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Chris and Aaron should be here by then.” It would take that long for Sam to pry their dad away from whatever special project he was working on and get the sawdust brushed off his clothes.
Just as she’d predicted, twenty minutes later when the two men came in from the shop, her other two brothers arrived with their families. When it came to celebrating birthdays, or any holidays for that matter, no one did it up any better than the Montgomerys, and an hour and a half later, the house rocked with the sound of conversation and laughter.
With the meal finished, Nicole leaned back in her chair and glanced around the dining room table, lingering on each face, especially her dad’s at the head of the table. He sat with his steepled fingers against his chin, a contented smile on his lips. She glanced down at her matching long fingers. She’d always been fascinated that his large hands could tease a delicate dolphin out of a block of wood or set a bird’s broken wing. He was probably the reason she hadn’t married—she hadn’t found any man who could measure up to him.
Her mom set the candle-laden cake in front of him, and Sam said, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”
Daniel Montgomery raised an eyebrow. “Better be careful what you say—you’ll be here one day.”
Then he took a deep breath and blew all the candles out while everyone cheered. Nicole sighed, wishing her empty apartment had a little of this warmth and hominess. Except celebrations like this also served as a reminder of what she didn’t have.
On days like this when the whole family was together, she felt like an outsider, the only one without someone special and without children. Oh, good grief. Being single wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends. She traveled when she wanted to and controlled the TV remote—what more could she ask for?
“I neef potty!” Her niece’s yell broke her thoughts.
Thank you, Grace. Nicole pushed her chair back and threw her brother a smile. “I’ll take care of this.”
Sam glanced at his brothers. “Now, that’s the way to train your sister.”
She whacked him on the shoulder as she led Grace toward the bathroom.
“Tank you, Aunt G.,” Grace said a few minutes later as Nicole helped her with the Pull-Ups. All of her nieces and nephews had trouble saying “Nicole,” so the problem was remedied by calling her by her first initial.
“You’re welcome, honey. Let’s wash your hands.” When she finished drying Grace’s hands, she asked her, “Having fun today?”
The golden curls bobbed, and Nicole swept the tiny girl up in her arms, marveling at how light she was. With her dainty frame, no doubt she would become the ballerina her grandmother always wanted. A good thing, since the other three grandchildren were boys.
As Nicole neared the dining room, her mother’s voice carried through the open door.
“Samuel, I want you to make sure your sister goes to the children’s shelter cleanup Peter Elliott is doing Saturday. And Aaron and Chris, I expect you to encourage her and to be there, as well.”
Nicole stopped midstride as heat raced up her neck to her cheeks. She should have known her mother wouldn’t listen to her. She counted to ten, giving her heart time to still, then, setting Grace down, she slipped her phone from her pocket and texted her best friend. Invite me to lunch and Christmas shopping Saturday? PLEASE.
Less than a minute later a message pinged. Sure. But why the PLEASE?
Explain later. Nicole put her phone back in her pocket. Then in a voice loud enough to carry, she said, “Okay, Gracie, let’s get you back in your booster seat.”
Silence greeted her as she reentered the dining room and slid Grace into the high chair. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope,” said her brother Aaron.
Nicole caught the look her mother gave him.
“Oh, by the way,” Aaron said. “I’m volunteering Saturday to help Peter Elliott fix up the shelter. What time do you want me to pick you up?”
“Pick me up for what?”
“Aren’t you going to help?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I have a lunch date, but I hope you have fun.”
“Lunch date?” her mom repeated. “You never said—”
“Cheryl sent me a text a few minutes ago. We’re doing lunch and then we’ll pick up some Christmas presents.” Which wasn’t a lie. She glanced at her brothers, and the sympathy in their eyes burned her insides. Burned enough to make her blink back tears.
Her dad cleared his throat. “Hey, Nic, if you’re finished eating your cake, come see what I’m working on in the shop.”
She cut a sharp glance at him. No sympathy, just love in his face. She nodded.
Her dad crooked his arm for her to slide her hand through. “We will be back directly, unless Nicole decides to sand a little on that bookcase she’s making,” he said over his shoulder.
“Don’t either one of you dare!” her mother called after them. “You still have your presents to open.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As they stepped out of the house, her phone alerted that she had a text, and she glanced at it. It was from Cheryl, already canceling their lunch date because she’d remembered a prior commitment. With her boyfriend, no doubt, but Nicole would keep the cancellation to herself.
She strolled with her dad to his workshop.
“Can you believe it’s almost the first of December and seventy degrees?” he said.
Thank you, she replied silently. “I think it’s supposed to turn cold this weekend.”
One thing about her dad—he didn’t push her to talk about something she didn’t want to discuss. The fragrant smell of cedar washed over her when she stepped through the door. “You’re making a cedar chest.”
“Yep. It’s over here.” He led her to the chest, which was finished except
