“Horrifying.” Leaning into me, she gives me a kiss and a warning. “You’re gonna be the one to pull the tinsel out of Zelda’s butt.”
I dig out the tote bin full of ornaments and remove the bubble wrap from the one on top. Each one is a walk down memory lane.
The ocean wave carrying a starfish and a pair of flip-flops is first. Holding it up, I ask, “You remember this?”
She turns to look at me, a smile tipping her lips. “We got it on our honeymoon. Cabo.”
Memories soar. Bellamy in a teeny bikini, salty skin and wavy hair. So many damn piña coladas, bad hangovers and bogarting the microphone at the karaoke bar until we were banned.
“I don’t think we left the room more than twice.” My mouth ticks up.
Flushing, she takes the ornament from me and hangs it high on a branch.
I smile as sheoohs andaahs over each one. With each memory we unearth, it feels like we’re moving another step closer to us. Keeping our holiday traditions, the roar of the fireplace, snow falling outside, Christmas music blasting from the speaker, Zelda nipping at our heels…
If I could keep only one memory from the last three years, this would be it.
I lift another bauble from the box, and Bellamy’s chatter stops. I blink at the look on her face, the little furrow between her brows, then look at what I’m holding.
My stomach drops. It’s the ornament she got me the Christmas she was pregnant. A mini framed photo of her sonogram. Beneath it the wordsBABY BLUE.
The decoration is tiny, yet it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
“Fuck.” I take in her bright eyes, her pale face. “Sugar, I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean to do this. Make her sad.
“No.” She steps forward, cupping it in her shaky hand. “Cody was a part of our life. We shouldn’t forget him.”
“You’re right.” I push the words out through my thick throat.
A wobbly nod of her head, at the small frame, at me. “You should hang it.”
I do, choosing a sturdy branch at the front. With sweaty hands, I loop the twine over pine needles, arranging it gently, ensuring it isn’t hidden.
Bellamy tilts her dark head as we step back to take in the tree. “It was hard, wasn’t it? Seeing Clint with his baby.”
“Yeah.” I take a shaky breath. My fingertips graze hers, and she moves a fraction closer. “It was. Felt like it should have been us.”
“He’d be four in April.”
My heart thuds painfully. “I know.”
Her voice comes out rushed, choked, as she says, “He was the best thing we ever did. And we were good together without him.”
“We were.” I drape an arm around her, pull her in.
She sighs, tipping her head to my shoulder. We hold each other in the warmth of the cabin. In the place we love. In the place that holds so much pain. This is the most we’ve ever talked about our son, about our loss. It feels like some kind of healing. It gives me hope that even though we’ll never get over it, we can move on.
Bellamy sniffles, then wiggles her way out from under my arm. My hands itch to pull her back to me. To earn her softness, her warmth.
She wipes beneath her eyes, gives me a teary smile. “Well, that was cathartic.” As she stacks up the totes, she says, “Maybe I can get some painting in before I go after all.”
It takes a second for my brain to play catch-up, for her words to register.
Fuck.
With my heart in my throat, I ask, “Why do you? Have to go?”
She stays quiet for too long, her back to me. “Because of my job, Hank. Because of my life.” A scoff pops out of her mouth, the slender line of her shoulders stiffening. “That’s what people do when the holidays are over.”
