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“Like the ones Santa goes down.” She giggles.
“That’s right.”
I’m about to stand to leave when she calls to me once more. “Hey, Brant?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think I want tap shoes anymore,” she says, pulling the comforter up to her chin. “I want Santa to bring me something else.”
My heart stops. “What do you mean? You were so excited about tap shoes.”
“I know, but that’s not what I really want.”
Oh, no. What am I going to do?
I gulp hard, biting at my lip. “Okay. What is it you want, then?”
“I want a sword.”
“A sword?”
“Yes, a sword for fighting. A sword to make me brave, like you.”
“You don’t need a sword to be brave, June. Bravery comes from here.” I press my hand to her chest, right over her heart. “I don’t have a sword.”
Her big blue eyes twinkle in the glow of her night-light. “That’s just what I want, Brant. Do you think Santa will get it for me?”
“I…” My mind races with anxiety. It’s way too late to change my gift now, and I doubt she’ll be getting a sword from anyone else. June will be so disappointed on Christmas morning. Heaving in a deep breath, I stretch a smile. “We’ll have to see, but for now, it’s time to get some sleep. Merry Christmas, Junebug.”
“Merry Christmas, Brant.”
She sends me a final smile, then closes her eyes and buries herself under the covers.
I step out of the room, my heart squeezing tight.
I’m not sure what to do. June seemed so excited about shiny new tap shoes, and now she’s going to hate them. Now she wants a sword.
The image of my little ballerina with a mighty sword causes me to laugh out loud through my worry. What a sight that would be.
When I step out of her bedroom, I lean back against the wall and try to come up with a plan. It’s after 9:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve in the middle of a blizzard. There’s no way to even get to a department store right now, even if one were open. And I know I don’t have any toy swords, and neither does Theo, and…
Wait!
A thought springs to life. My skin tingles with a possible idea.
Marching down the hallway, I half jog into the living room, calling out for Mr. Bailey. He glances up from his mug of cocoa. “Everything okay, Brant?”
“I think so. I hope so,” I spit out, checking the time on the giant wall clock. “I need your help with something.”
“Anything.”
Anything. No questions, no hesitation.
I smile.
“I need a sword.”
Christmas morning is a blur of chaos.
