Chapter 6
Chapter six
Holly
The house felt too quiet after Blake left the next day.Biscuit followed me everywhere, nails clicking on the floor, tail sweeping like a metronome. I told myself I was just cleaning, just keeping busy—but my hands itched for something to do.
When I opened the closet in one of the spare rooms, the smell of cedar and dust floated out.
Inside were old boxes stacked neatly, labels faded to ghosts.
Two were marked “Christmas” and I wondered if he decorated inside, although Christmas was barely a week away so I doubted it.
One had “Lila” scrawled on the side in a child’s careful handwriting.
Curiosity tugged harder than sense. I pulled the box down.
Inside were toys. A row of worn picture books, a pink-handled hairbrush, a soft stuffed bunny whose ears were half-detached. Tiny barrettes shaped like stars. A jumble of beads strung on elastic—clumsy, bright, happy. Lots of plastic ponies with colored manes.
“Oh,” I breathed. My chest squeezed.
I sat right there on the floor. The bunny went in my lap without asking. The beads slipped through my fingers with a quiet click. Biscuit laid beside me, chin on his paws, watching as I set up a little parade of plastic ponies across the floor.
The sunlight made the beads sparkle. For the first time in forever, I let myself hum. That’s when the door creaked. I didn’t even look up until his voice filled the doorway.“What are you doing?”
My stomach dropped. The bunny slid from my lap as I scrambled to my knees. “I’m sorry! I—I found the box, I wasn’t—I’ll put them away right now.”
Blake stood there, still in his work jacket, snow melting off his boots. His expression wasn’t angry—just surprised, tired around the edges.
“Holly, slow down.”
“I didn’t mean to touch them. They’re probably—someone’s. I should’ve—”
“They were,” he said quietly.
I stopped.
He came farther into the room, crouched beside the box, lifted a pony to examine it “Her name was Lila. She was eight.” His voice had gone low, almost gravelly. “We fostered her for a while.”
The words hit me in the soft place under my ribs. “What happened?” I asked.
He set the bunny back gently. “She went home after a year. The state said her mom was clean, her dad was back in the picture, everything was stable.” He looked at the floor for a moment. “It wasn’t. They called a few months later. Said there’d been…an incident. She was dead.”
He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.
“I kept her things,” he went on. “Couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. Figured maybe someday I’d pass them on to someone who needed them.”
The back of my throat burned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t expecting to see them again.” he looked in the closet and his eyes fell on the two boxes marked “Christmas.”
“I was playing,” I whispered. “It was stupid.”
His eyes lifted to mine. “No, it wasn’t. Lila used to do the same thing. She’d build little villages all over the floor.” His mouth twitched in something close to a smile. “You reminded me of that for a second. That’s not a bad thing.”
It made me blink fast, unsure what to do with that kind of softness. “But I’m not eight,” I whispered.
He straightened, brushing his palms on his jeans. “My mom was a smart woman. She used to say folks should do what brings them joy, and I agree. Leave ’em out if you want. The bunny, too. Lila would have liked that. She'd have liked someone to love him.”
I looked down at the small pink creature. “What was his name?”
"Didn't have one. Reckon you get to name him."
"Sure?" I said hopefully, thinking of the perfect name.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough again, but kind. “Pretty sure she’d approve.”
Then he turned and headed for the kitchen, Biscuit trotting after him.
I sat there, the room still warm with dust and sun, the bunny back in my lap. I stroked its worn ear, tracing the stitching where it had once come loose.
It didn’t feel like I’d stolen something. It felt like I’d been trusted with a secret.
I was eight when Nana died.
The house smelled different afterward. Not of baking or lavender or the soft soap she used on my hair, but of polish and perfume—sharp, cold, grown-up.
We were already living in Nana’s house, but Mom said we had to clean everything out. “New start,” she called it. But it didn’t feel new. It felt like throwing love away.
I was sitting on my bed, holding Banjo, the teddy Nana had given me the Christmas I was born. He had one button eye and a patch on his paw where Nana had stitched him after her dog chewed it. His fur was thin and smelled faintly of sugar cookies no matter how many times he got washed.
Mom came in carrying a box. Her heels clicked on the floor. “Pack those up,” she said gesturing to my dolls.
“All of them?” I asked in shock.
“All,” she said. “You’re too old for this nonsense now. You need to grow up, Holly. No more baby things.”
I held Banjo tighter. “But—”
She snatched him before I could finish. I remember the sound of the button eye scraping against her bracelet. The tiny pop of a stitch coming loose.
“He’s nothing,” she said, tossing him into the box with the others. “You’ll thank me later.”
I didn’t thank her. I didn’t say anything at all.
After she left, I crept into the hallway where the box waited by the door.
I reached in and touched Banjo’s paw through the cardboard flap.
Just once. Mom had caught me and it had been the first time I’d gotten hit.
I’d been smacked before when Nana wasn’t around, but Mom didn’t hold back this time.
Then she hit me a second time for crying.
That was the day I stopped expecting comfort, even though I learned to be obedient. Because I thought if I said yes to everything and be quiet they’d love me.
I'd been wrong.
I heard Blake go out to his truck and curious, went into the kitchen in case I needed to help.
He didn’t even try to hide the armful of bags he brought back.
There were at least six of them, all festive paper, heavy.
He carried them by the handles like they weighed nothing.
He dumped the bags on the kitchen table, one after another, until it looked like Christmas morning in a department store.
I stood in the doorway, the bunny from the box still clutched in my arms, and stared.
Blake shrugged out of his jacket first, like he needed his hands free to deal with me. “Come here, Holly.”
I hesitated. It wasn’t a request, though. His tone made my feet move.
He was already unpacking things. The first bag overflowed with blankets, all different kinds.
Fleece. The kind with stars printed on them.
A thick, blue one that looked like it belonged on a cloud, a pink fuzzy one, and a sunshine yellow one.
The next bag was full of socks, toasty and bright.
One pair had little dogs on them. I blinked hard.
And then he opened the third bag, and there were clothes.
Not expensive, not fancy. Just warm. Soft sweatpants, leggings in three different colors, long-sleeved t-shirts, a couple of sweaters that looked like they’d swallow me whole.
Panties in sealed packs. A flannel nightgown with tiny red hearts. I felt my face go up in flames.
He didn’t even pause. Just kept unpacking, stacking everything in neat piles. “You needed clothes,” he said, like it was obvious. “Didn’t want you freezing in my old shirts.”
I couldn’t breathe. “You bought all this? For me?”
He nodded. Didn’t look up. “Yeah. Didn’t know your size, so I guessed. You can try them on, see what fits. I’ll return what doesn’t, or what you don’t like.” He paused as I pulled out a long sleeved tee- shirt with a kitten on it. The sort you’d buy a child.
There was a bag with slippers. Pink, fuzzy, with little bows. My heart twisted so hard I thought I’d break in half. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to accept this without crying.
He set the last bag down and glanced at me, eyes scanning my face. “You all right?”
I nodded, clutching the bunny that was definitely Banjo until my knuckles hurt. I couldn’t let go or I’d start shaking.
He picked up one of the blankets—a pale yellow one, soft as a dream—and handed it to me. “Here. This one’s supposed to be the warmest. Try it out.”
I reached for it, but my hands weren’t working right.
He noticed. Of course he did. He held the blanket open, wide enough, and I stepped into the space before I could think about it.
The fleece swallowed me whole, all the way to my ankles.
It was like being wrapped in sunlight. I squeezed my eyes shut and nearly dropped the bunny.
He didn’t say anything, just waited. Let me have my minute.
When I could breathe again, I looked at the table. “That’s so much. I… I don’t need this much. You shouldn’t have.”
He just huffed, like it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “It’s the basics, Holly. You didn’t have a coat. You didn’t even have slippers. You needed these.” He finally looked at me, and his eyes were almost annoyed. “There’s nothing here you don’t deserve.”
I felt the words hit. My ears rang. I wrapped the yellow blanket around my shoulders and held the bunny tighter, face hot, hoping he wouldn’t notice how close I was to crying.
Blake started stacking things back in the bags, sorting them by type, lining up the socks and pajamas and the little packs of underwear.
He worked like it was just another job site, efficient and focused, but I could tell he was watching me in the corner of his eye.
Waiting to see if I’d panic. Or if I’d run.
I didn’t. I just stood there, toes curling in the soft new blanket, staring at the pile. When he finished, he nodded toward the guest room. “Go put everything away. Try stuff on if you want. If you need help with tags or anything, just holler.”