Chapter 15 Maddie
MADDIE
Iwatch Dylan as he reaches for the brand-new card the librarian is handing over the counter.
His first library card.
Well, technically it’s my card since he’s too little to have an account in his own name. But Mrs. Chalfont, the librarian, seems to sense what this means for him. She’s smiling down at him like she’s half in love with the kid.
And who could blame her? As far as I’m concerned he’s a walking miracle with a mop of brown hair.
“Thank you,” Dylan remembers to say, as he gazes in wonder at the card.
“You be sure and use that right away, young man,” Mrs. Chalfont tells him. “It’s good luck to use your card the day you get it.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “We’ve got big plans.”
“Where are your Christmas books?” Dylan asks, suddenly all business.
“We were thinking children’s picture books about Christmas,” I tell Mrs. Chalfont.
“Our children’s section is the biggest part of the library,” she tells us proudly. “Just follow any of the aisles toward the back and you’ll see it.”
Dylan takes off down one of the aisles and I follow after him. The back of the library has a normal ceiling height, which means it’s probably a bit more forgiving of noise in the children’s section.
The building is a massive brick Victorian house that was converted into a library.
The layout is unusual but striking with a three-story ceiling here in the lobby.
What used to be the front of the second floor is now just a wrap-around balcony with built-in shelving that you can see from the lobby, and a closed office in the back.
A big front window that starts on the second floor and extends up into what would have once been the third floor floods the whole space with golden light.
When we reach the children’s section there are high-backed chairs and shelf after shelf of picture books. It’s warmer back here too, without the high ceiling.
“Whoa,” Dylan breathes, stopping so fast he almost falls over.
I jog to catch up and see that he’s found a huge display of Christmas books.
He’s already piling them off the shelf and into his arms as fast as he can.
It might be one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, and I really feel his excitement. But I place a hand on his shoulder.
“We can only borrow five books at a time,” I remind him. “So let’s really look at them and make sure we get the ones you like best.”
“Okay, Maddie,” he says, looking up at me with serious eyes.
“Grab the three best looking ones for now,” I tell him. “And meet me over on that chair.”
He looks at where I’m pointing and then nods to me.
I force myself to go over to the chair to wait for him. Though I’d love nothing more than to pick out books for him, I know part of the pleasure of having free range of a library is choosing your own books, and I don’t want to take that experience away from him.
Dylan spends a good amount of time deliberating, which unfortunately gives me enough time to think about last night—the food, the fun, the songs, the hot tub, and…
Jake.
I’m probably too vulnerable to be making smart decisions right now, but I’m not too far gone to know that falling for my boss is the worst kind of idea at the best of times, but especially given my current financial situation.
Still, it’s so hard not to start caring about someone when they show you who they are. Jake said so little about his childhood, but I felt it in my gut, like I could see the little boy he once was.
I let my guard down and I’ll probably pay the price for it later.
But for now, I can’t help reveling in this time when I get to play house with Jake and Dylan Stone.
“Maddie, Maddie,” Dylan squeaks. “I got the best three.”
I smile at him and open up my arms so that he can scramble into my lap and read with me.
The time at the library passes quickly. At some point, there’s a shadow over the page and I look up to find Jake standing over us.
“Dad,” Dylan cries happily. “We got a library card. We can check out five books.”
“That’s great, bud,” Jake tells him, his blue eyes dancing as he smiles down at his boy.
“You’re finished with your market research already?” I ask him.
Jake gets this odd expression and then he shuts it down and nods once.
“I can pick it up again another day,” he tells me.
“Okay,” I say. “Dylan, should we check these out?”
“Yes,” he says, very happy because he’s convinced we’ve got the best ones.
It was fun to read with him, but I’m starting to be more convinced that he does need extra attention. He doesn’t mind helping me out with a word or two when we read his books at home, but now I think that the bright little guy has those books mostly memorized.
Once we got into the new picture books, I quickly discovered that he has a very hard time with new material, so instead of asking him to help me with a lot of words, I asked him to tell me about the pictures instead.
It’ll be okay, I remind myself. His dad has all the resources in the world to get him the help he needs to thrive.
The main thing I want to do is make sure he likes the idea of reading and writing.
And if our daily reading sessions, Froggy stories, and letters to Santa are any indication, he certainly does.
As long as he doesn’t lose that feeling, I’m pretty sure he can learn to do those things as well as anyone else.
My bestie Monique certainly mastered it.
She even went to college to become a teacher herself.
I really miss spending time with my friend, but I know she’s happy in her grad program and we’ll catch up when I’m back on my feet.
It’s probably for the best that she’s not around right now.
I definitely can’t stand the idea of anyone feeling sorry for me, and I’m not sure that I could talk to her and not spill the beans about everything that’s happened.
At least so far the news about me hasn’t been interesting enough to publish. I can be grateful for that much, since it’s given me the opportunity to have a roof over my head.
By tricking the man I’m starting to really care about…
We get to the lobby and Dylan puts his five choices on the counter along with the library card.
“Hello there, Mr. Stone,” Mrs. Chalfont says fondly to him. “I can see already that you’re going to be my favorite kind of library customer.”
Dylan grins at her, looking pleased as punch.
But Jake is behind us, tapping his foot. And when I turn to see why he’s providing a drum track to our library checkout, his jaw is tight and he looks really impatient.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Of course,” he tells me without making eye contact.
I can’t begin to imagine why we’re suddenly in such a rush, but we hurry off to the SUV and load in Dylan with his stack of books. He keeps one in his hands and insists that the other four have to sit on the seat next to him.
As Jake drives, Dylan tells us all about his book. It’s the story of a city rabbit going on the Christmas train to visit his cousin in the countryside. He’s delighted as he talks through the pictures.
And the little stinker is definitely brilliant at memorization. He repeats back half the dialogue in the book verbatim, even though I only read it to him once at the library. If I didn’t know any better I would definitely think he was reading it.
He’s so smart…
“Who’s that?” Dylan interrupts himself to ask as we pull up to the chalet.
A pair of men in work overalls are coming down the front steps, and there’s a truck in the drive.
“Just a little surprise,” Jake tells us, pulling in quickly and launching himself out of the SUV.
I help Dylan and his library books out, and by the time we approach the house Jake is handing one of the men a wad of bills and the other guy is tipping his hat at us.
“Hello,” Dylan says to them as they pass us on the way to their truck.
“Hey, little buddy,” one of them says as the other chuckles and waves to him.
He does look pretty cute with his stack of books hugged to his chest.
“Here we go,” Jake says, his jaw tight.
So this is what he was tapping his foot about, I realize. He wanted to get back here to pay those guys for whatever is going on inside.
And whatever this surprise is, Jake is nervous about it. But he shouldn’t be, because Dylan hero-worships him and I’m sure I would love literally anything he chose to do.
I’m definitely not expecting what I see as the door swings open, though.
What was an enormous and practically empty space yesterday has been transformed into a generously furnished and warmly lit home that looks like something out of a Christmas magazine spread.
The modular sofa that was the only large object in the living room has been replaced with a big overstuffed green sofa, a loveseat, and a couple of red velvet armchairs.
A gorgeous hand-knotted wool rug in reds and greens pulls the room together and makes it feel warmer.
And there are end tables everywhere with small lamps that will be perfect when we want to curl up with a book.
There’s art on the walls now too. I don’t have the eye to tell if they’re prints or originals, but the framed paintings look like all my memories of the Poconos under a blanket of snow.
They must have come from a local artist. There’s even a fire dancing behind the fireplace screen.
On the stone hearth is a kit of the equipment needed to have fires whenever Jake wants.
And best of all, an absolutely enormous Christmas tree is set against the back wall. It’s not decorated, but someone has left a brand-new wooden A-frame ladder beside it.
It’s beautiful, and there’s something about the whole thing that’s… familiar.
“It’s Christmas in the Mountains,” Dylan says in wonder. “It’s Christmas in the Mountains.”
Suddenly he’s dashing around the room, examining everything, and yelling out what it is.
“The blanket,” he says, patting the red and green plaid throw blanket on the sofa, then blasting over to the armchairs. “The special chairs.”
My jaw drops when I realize that he’s right. Jake has had this whole house outfitted to look exactly like the house from Dylan’s favorite picture-book.
Suddenly I hear my own words from last night:
He loves all the Christmas stuff in the books we’ve been reading. But it’s not like you’re going to furnish a rental just for ambiance.
But he did it. Somehow he did it.
How did he do something like this overnight?
But I know it’s the wrong question before I even finish wondering. The how of it is easy—the man has more money than some small countries. He can do anything he wants, as fast as he wants.
The real question I should be asking is, why?
And I know the answer as soon as I turn to him and see those cerulean eyes locked on me.
Because he listened.
Because he actually cares what I have to say.
And because he loves his son more than anything in the world.
As Dylan runs up and flings himself at his father, wrapping his arms around his waist and laughing with delight, I feel what was left of the wall around my wounded heart dissolving like a candy cane in hot cocoa.