Page 18 of Finding Forever

Dave slid the lid open a little wider and pulled out a small clay disc. It was cracked along one edge, with a child’s handprint pressed into the middle of it. Someone had written a date on the back in marker, faded now to almost nothing.

Beth stood beside him. “What have you found?”

“Something a child made. My son, Mark made one like this.” He held up the decoration so Beth could see it. “I still have it somewhere, packed away.” He turned the disc over once more before setting it back in the crate.

Beth smiled softly. “Kayla made one too. I kept it on the mantel for years, until it started to crumble. I couldn’t throw it away, so I wrapped it in a piece of fabric and put it in a drawer.” She was quiet for a moment. “When she was little, we didn’t have a lot of money. Jessie and I used to make a holiday out of whatever we had. Some years that wasn’t much.”

“I know how that feels,” Dave said. “I used to wonder how people with large families coped with the rising cost of everything.”

Beth looked at him, and something in her expression was more open than he’d seen it. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How much happens in December. It’s a magical time of the year, but it’s also when a lot of stress hits you straight in the heart. When I remember Jessie, my mom and dad, and all my family and friends who have passed, I feel like curling in a ball and letting Christmas take care of itself.”

Dave returned the ornament to the crate. “If it weren’t for Mark, I’d probably do the same thing. He’s the only family I have left. Some Christmases, it feels like the loneliest time of the year.”

Beth rested her hand near the rim of the crate, close enough that her fingers almost touched Dave’s. Neither of them moved away. “I’m glad you’ve got your son,” she said.

He took a deep breath and looked at their hands. “There were times after Carol died when I thought Mark had given up on me. We’d both retreated into grief. The anchor that held our family together was gone, and neither of us knew how to keep going.”

Beth moved her hand until it covered his. “How are things now?”

Dave let go of the crate and held Beth’s hand in his. It was connection, kindness, and understanding. All the things that were missing in his life. “Mark and I are much better at telling each other how we feel now. We talk on the phone each week and get together when we can.”

Beth’s fingers tightened around his. “Kayla and I are the same. I don’t know if that will change after she’s married and working sixty-hour weeks, but I hope not.” Beth gave Dave’s fingers a gentle squeeze, then let go. “As much as I’d love to stay here for a while longer, I should get going. I promised Natalie I’d see her before she finishes for the day.”

Dave straightened the lid of the box. “And I’ve got to call Jamie before he leaves Finley Point. I’ll let you know what Jamie says about the wood.”

“That would be wonderful,” Beth said.

They walked to their trucks, boots crunching through snow that had started falling again while they were inside.

Beth took her keys out of her pocket. “Thanks for today. I enjoyed spending time with you away from the center.”

“I should be thanking you,” Dave said. “Without your suggestion and Ben and Kylie’s generosity, we’d still be hunting for lumber we could use.”

Beth smiled. “It’s nice to be useful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dave nodded and watched her leave. He told himself the good feeling in his chest was about solving a problem at the center. Nothing more than that.

He didn’t quite believe it, but for now, it was easier to let himself think it was true.

Chapter 12

Dave hadn’t been to a Friday dinner at Hank and Rosa’s in longer than he cared to admit. When he pulled into their driveway a little after six, he stayed behind the wheel, admiring the solar lights Hank had installed since his last visit.

Throughout the year, Hank and Rosa’s garden was full of color. Whether it was from the flowers and shrubs they’d planted, or the solar lights, it always reminded Dave of what a home should look like.

Rosa opened the door before he’d made it up the steps. “Well, look who remembered where we live.”

Dave handed her a bottle of wine. “I’ve been busy, Rosa.”

“You’ve been busy for too long.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you. Now come inside. Hank has already told me you’ve been insufferable this month, and I want to see for myself.”

The house was warm and loud, the complete opposite of Dave’s home. The pot roast Rosa had cooked filled the entryway with the smell of garlic and herbs, a radio was playing in another room, and Hank was shouting something about the Griz game to no one in particular.

Dave took off his boots at the door and followed Rosa into the dining room. The pot roast sat in the center of the table. Creamy polenta, green beans, pasta, and two loaves of crusty bread filled the remaining space.

“Sit,” Rosa said, pointing at the chair that had always been his. “Help yourself to dinner. Then Hank can pester you, because Lord knows he’s been dying to.”

Hank hurried into the dining room, kissed his wife on the cheek, and told her everything looked delicious.