Chapter Twelve #2
“I have one for you that’s not under there.” She rose, stepped over him, and hurried to her purse, nerves causing a shake in her fingers. She felt the same way when she’d given him the baseball drawing in high school.
Carefully lifting the package from her purse, she moved back to him, but didn’t go to her same seat. She cleared a spot and sat on the coffee table so she could watch his face.
“What’s this?”
“Something special. From me to you.” She handed him the gift before she dashed back to her studio to mess with it some more.
She could have painted or drawn him many times in the years they’d been together, but she hadn’t.
Too emotional, too involved, and positive she wouldn’t get it right.
But this one she powered through and hoped against hope that he’d love it.
He took the small gift and studied her face. “There’s a story to this?”
“Oh yeah. You’ll understand when you see it.” She mimed locking her mouth shut.
Again, Mr. Careful, but she didn’t tease him this time. He released the tape on the paper on either end, then removed the frame. It was upside down which prolonged the moment.
He turned over the frame. Surprise crossed his face. He carefully turned the drawing to the light. “It matches my baseball picture.”
“Yes.”
“How?” He stopped, at a loss for words.
She squirmed in her seat. “Confession. Those times you thought you saw me? You did. I was taking pictures of you so I could get the right angle in the drawing. Do you like it?”
“I’m…” Tom cleared his throat, staring at the portrait. “I’m touched, thrilled, speechless. I never guessed. And I love you. For thinking of this.”
“I took a picture in my head when we got married. Remember when I stood at the end of the aisle and stared at you before walking to you?”
“Yeah. I do.” He took her hand. “I was knocked off my feet. You were beautiful.”
She moistened her lips. “I planned to draw it. But I couldn’t get past all the emotion to paint the moment clearly.
But you in an everyday pose and so darn handsome in your uniform?
And the way the town reacts to you when they see you that way?
” She etched the vision with her hands. “They love you, respect you, as much as I do – only different. I wanted that in the portrait, and the two should hang together. Because my perception of you at sixteen is not the perception of a woman who adores her husband.” She watched his face, trying to discern his expression, but he dropped her hand and cupped the drawing as if precious.
“Where?” He cleared his throat again, and she touched his face. His eyes, a magnificent shade of blue she loved, were flush with tears. “I’ve told you how much the baseball one meant to me and that was before I fell in love with you.”
A blush spread across her cheeks. “Yes, you have. I was in love with you, too – well, as much as a young girl can be, before I even drew it. It’s why I did. It’s time for the baseball one to come out of our bedroom – then and now is how I saw it.” She lifted her hands to approximate the spacing.
“I think over there.” He pointed to a side wall by the antique credenza they’d bought together as a wedding present to each other. The wall had stayed blank because they’d found no art that didn’t outshine the antique, but the two portraits would enhance not detract.
He carefully placed the drawing on the side table. “I have one more gift, too. It’s not exactly a gift. It’s something I found.”
Puzzled, she let him move to the closet in the hallway. What was he doing?
He came back with a large cardboard box. The flaps were crisscrossed on the top, and it was old and bent in places. He set it on the coffee table. “Another family should be in consideration for the mural.” He popped open the flaps, and she leaned to peek.
Her eyes widened. “My grandparent’s wedding picture.” She grabbed his hand before he could give it to her. “What is this box?”
“Pretty sure it’s family history. Yours. Bunches of pictures and notes.” He rubbed her knuckles and sorted past one of her grandfather and his engine to another picture. “This one is my favorite.”
Summer gasped, tears flooding her eyes. “My grandmother in her garden with me and my little wagon.”
“And a tiny Summer Girl. What were you? Three?”
Summer nodded, lightly tracing her grandmother’s happy face. The color photo was faded and bent on the corner, but overall in pristine shape.
“This one framed for your art room would keep your grandmother present.” He eased onto the sofa and lifted her to his lap.
“Where was this box?”
“Storage room.”
She dropped her face to his shoulder, inhaling his scent to help conquer the overwhelming emotions. She’d turned away from so much and couldn’t do it anymore. He knew it. “The things you think of,” she sighed.
He rubbed her back for long silent moments, his other arm around her waist. He kissed her softly and with such reverence she fell into his world, desperate to be only there.
More long moments passed, his mouth on hers. His deep husky whisper washed over her. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
She dropped her forehead to his. She’d drawn him in uniform, the man Echo Falls leaned on. He’d given her a gift from her past. Between them lay canvas and pictures, but both said the same thing.
They saw each other clearly.
This was where she belonged, the truest gift of all.
Her heart quieted, soothed by the rightness. “Merry Christmas, love.”