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“Of course,” I manage. And I let her take me into her arms briefly before ushering her inside where Miranda lets out a whoop of joy, and my dad watches, distant but not angry. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, takes a seat beside him.
Family—it’s partially what you’re given, and partially what you choose. It’s rarely perfect. But this Christmas night, I’m grateful for what I have, however flawed, especially considering what’s been lost.
Everyone gathers around the Christmas tree while Badger and I insist on doing the dishes together. Laughter wafts in from the living room, but it’s silent in the kitchen except for the clanking dishes, and the running water, the dishwasher being loaded.
Finally, I find my voice.
“And the music box?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. He’s tied his hair back and trimmed his beard. I can see more of his face, still as boyish as it always was.
“I knew things were done with Bekka. They had been for a while. I knew she was leaving, heading to Florida to open Graveyard Classics. I promised myself that I’d tell you by Christmas.”
I stop and turn to face him. He turns to me, dries his hands on a dish rag and hangs it on the sink.
“Well,” I say. “It’s Christmas.”
He puts his hands heavy and warm on my shoulders. “If I tell you again and you tell me I’m your best friend, we’re done.”
“I get that.”
“Madeline.”
“Yes, Steve.”
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve loved you since kindergarten. I loved you when I married someone else and every day after that. There’s only ever been you.”
More emotions flooding through my body—this time a love that I took for granted, the deep abiding friendship of a person you’ve known all your life, a new desire, one that’s healthy and strong and rooted in respect for self and other.
“You’re my best friend,” I whisper, with a smile. “And so much more. I love you.”
And then his lips are on mine, the scruff of his beard, the strength of his arms. Since Evan, I’ve been in this tight cocoon, not allowing myself to feel, not trusting myself to move on. Now, finally, I’m free.
And then we hear applause, and everyone is crowding into the kitchen.
“Oh, my god,” says Miranda. “It’s about damn time.”
I feel heat come up on my cheeks, my scar burning. Even Badger blushes as everyone piles into the kitchen, laughing and clinking glasses. The kitchen is the heart of the house. Family is the soul. And love is the foundation.
I watch in wonder as my mother links her arm through my father’s and he doesn’t pull away. And there’s the other thing I haven’t allowed myself to feel. Forgiveness.
I see them—Steph, Ainsley, Sam. Not as they were, but as they would be now, here with us. Mothers maybe, sisters, daughters, friends.
“Merry Christmas, Madeline,” whispers Badger into my ear, pulling me tight.
“Merry Christmas, Steve.”
STRANGER THAN FICTION
A Long Form Investigation Podcast
Season 6:Evan Handy, the Murder of Stephanie Cramer, and the Disappearance of Ainsley and Samantha Wallace
Episode 10:Conclusion
Investigated and written by Harley Granger
Produced by Roger Wheeler
