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“And your mother will probably not be able to find a copy of yours,” she continues.
“I know that too.”
“I’ll see if there’s a copy here somewhere. I used to have it in the safe with mine and Cobie’s, but I don’t know if I still have it.”
“Thank you.”
“I can’t promise I do,” she quips.
“I appreciate you looking all the same.”
The line goes silent, and I know she wants to say more.
“Spit it out, Lonnie.”
“It’s not that big of a deal, Isaac, if you don’t make it to Paris. You did insure the trip, right?”
“I did, but I don’t want to disappoint Cobie and ruin her Christmas,” I bark.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Isaac. She’s eight years old. The only thing that can ruin her Christmas is you,” she snaps.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Do you know what she talks about every time she video-calls me?” she asks.
“What?”
“The things you guys are doing in Lake Mistletoe.Daddy took me to get cocoa. Daddy helped me decorate cookies. Daddy and I made snow angels and built a snowman. Daddy and I found an elf. She doesn’t need a fancy trip or expensive gifts, Isaac. The only thing that matters to that little girl is watching holiday movies, eating all the Christmas cookies, trying her best to stay up in hopes of catching a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer, and being with you. Wherever that is,” she spells out.
“I just wanted to make it a Christmas she’d never forget,” I mutter.
“So, get to doing that,” she commands.
“When did you get so wise?” I ask.
“I’ve always been wise. You were just too unwise to realize it,” she clarifies.
I chuckle. “Thanks, Lonnie.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll let you know if and when I find what you need.”
I end the call and dial the customer service number for the airline and explain the situation.
They credit my account for the tickets we are unable to use so that I can use the funds to book us on a later flight. Then, I contact the owner of the Airbnb I booked in Paris and let him know that we won’t be arriving this evening.
Cobie climbs into my lap. “Are you angry or sad?” she asks.
I smile down at her. “I’m just frustrated with myself for losing our passports and causing us to miss our flights,” I admit.
She takes my chin into her little hands. “It’s okay, Daddy. Don’t be frustrated.”
I place my forehead against hers. “I’ll try.”
“We should take a nap. Mommy says naps help me when I’m irritable,” she declares.
I laugh as I stand with her in my arms. “I think a nap sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Sela
