Page 64 of Schooling Little Sage

“Daddy, look what Sage got me, and he said it’s from another Rawhide Ranch place.” Dempsey made the crochet rainbow fish we got him at Calla’s swim around. “It’s so pretty.”

“It is. I see there’s more on the floor, what else did you get?”

“He found me fairy coloring books and a super cute fairy playset. Thank you, Sage,” he nearly brained Sage giving him a hug.

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey, Sage, why don’t you take your turtle luggage into the playroom.” And now for the final surprise of the year.

“Come on, Dempsey, let’s go play with my new stuff.” The boys wandered off, Burke and I stood back waiting for the changes to sink in.

“Daddy, how did you do all this?”

“You said it yourself, this place is magic. Do you like it?”

“I love it. I have a big turtle rug and the dresser is so amazing!”

I’d seen the pictures Colton sent but hadn’t checked it out firsthand. “Wow.”

“Big wow, Daddy. Look, the handles are all the turtle heads, and he colored their masks too. S-A-G-E,” he spelled out his name as he traced the letters. “And look at all the pretty butterflies he carved on it too. Now I have a place for all my special clothes.”

“Great job on the table,” Burke said. “Turned out fantastic.”

“You made the little table and chairs for me Daddy?” I nodded and he asked, “When?”

“In the afternoons while you were with the other butterflies.”

He ran over and hugged me. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, little butterfly.”

The boys played while I unloaded and Burke was kind enough to cook dinner for all of us. Having them here really was a game changer, though I knew once they left, my boy would return to being sad, and silently, I would too.

For New Years, we decided to keep it low-key and stay home instead of attending the Ranch festivities. We’d struggled these last few days to fall back into a routine, both still a bit wound up.

“Daddy, my room is missing stuff.”

“It is?” I couldn’t think of single thing other than maybe shelves. “What stuff?”

“Devon’s stuff.”

I let it go, having no answer was better than giving the wrong one. “It’s almost midnight, little butterfly. Time for the countdown and to make a wish at the stroke of midnight.” Together we counted.

“Ten.”

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”