42
claire
When Chris walks in the door on the evening of December 23, a fresh wave of remorse washes over me, especially when I notice how tired he looks. While I was asleep on Daniel’s lap, Chris was probably still burning the midnight oil at a Holiday Inn Express somewhere.
He sets down his suitcase seconds before Josh and Jordan tackle him. He gathers them in his arms, holding them tight. It isn’t hard to tell from the expression on his face and the way he kisses Jordan’s cheek and ruffles Josh’s hair that he missed them.
“Do you think you’re on Santa’s nice list or his naughty one?” Chris asks.
“Nice!” they yell.
“I was maybe naughty once,” Jordan admits.
“Just once, huh?” Chris teases. “I wonder if your mom might tell me otherwise.” Chris looks over at me and grins.
“Maybe twice,” I say.
Chris’s good mood fills the room. He’s been looking forward to this break for a while now, and I was worried he might call to say that his boss changed his mind about letting him have the time off. The kids would have been crushed.
“Do you want something to eat?”
He shakes his head. “I ate at the airport. And frankly, I’m looking forward to not doing so for a while.”
“I’ll make all your favorites while you’re home,” I say.
He nods and smiles. “That would be great.”
“Go get your pajamas on,” I tell the kids. “Santa wants you to go to bed on time.”
They don’t want to leave Chris, but they do as I ask because they’re more worried about upsetting Santa.
“I got promoted,” Chris says. I can tell by the smile on his face how happy he is.
I smile, too. “That’s fantastic, Chris! I knew you would.”
The kids will be thrilled. My household can find its equilibrium.
“So you won’t have to travel anymore, right?”
“Eventually.” Chris leans up against the counter, arms crossed. “I’m not even gonna try and spin this, Claire. The promotion is great, but I’m going to be even busier than I was, if that’s possible. I’ll be doing both jobs until they hire my replacement. I don’t know how soon they’ll bring me back to headquarters. Hopefully it won’t take too long.”
I don’t want Chris to know how disappointed I am that his return from the field isn’t imminent, so I say, “It’s okay. We’ll get by.”
“I don’t think we should say anything to the kids just yet.”
“No.” I don’t mention that I never say anything to the kids unless I know it’s set in stone. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.
Jordan comes tearing back into the room. “Dad, will you watch Frosty with me? Please?”
“Let me get changed, okay?” Chris comes back downstairs a few minutes later, wearing gray sweatpants and an old KU T-shirt. Josh and I pop popcorn and join them on the couch.
“This is nice,” Josh says. “All of us here together.” Chris and I look at each other and smile, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears when I think about how lucky I really am.
• • •
On Christmas morning, the kids wake us up at five fifteen. We were up way past midnight, assembling and wrapping toys. My eyes feel like they’re cemented shut.
“Go back to bed,” Chris mumbles. “Please, I’m begging you.”
“But, Daddy, I want to see if Santa came,” Jordan says. “I was actually naughty several times. I’m very worried.”
Expecting them to go back to bed is highly unrealistic, so I sit up and yawn, rubbing my eyes.
“Yay, Mom’s up,” they shout. I nudge Chris.
“Come on. I’ll dump some Baileys in your coffee.”
He groans but finally sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. After he pulls on some pajama bottoms and a T-shirt we follow the kids’ excited cheers and head downstairs. The wrapping paper flies, and we spend the morning eating eggs and bacon and cinnamon rolls, and putting batteries in all the new toys. Chris joins me on the couch where I’m drinking coffee and trying to figure out Jordan’s new Barbie camcorder. He has a gift-wrapped box in his hand.
“Want to open your present?”
Just like last year, we’d both claimed that we didn’t want or need anything for Christmas, but Chris insisted that I have at least one gift under the tree. I take the box from his outstretched hand.
“Sure.”
The box is ornately wrapped in red and green. I open it. Nestled in the tissue paper is a sterling silver picture frame. It’s a picture of Chris and the kids and me, taken at my parents’ house on Thanksgiving. “Did my mom send you this?”
“Yeah, I asked her to e-mail me the pictures from her camera.”
I laugh. “Did she know how to do that?”
“No. I had to walk her through it. It was hysterical.”
In the picture, Chris and I are sitting on the raised hearth of my parents’ fireplace. Josh is on my lap and Jordan is on Chris’s. Everyone is smiling. “It’s my fault that we didn’t have a family picture taken last Christmas. And I wasn’t home long enough this year to get one taken professionally. This is the best I could do.”
“It’s perfect,” I say.
I hand him a square box wrapped in blue with a big bow on top. He unwraps it and pulls out a DVD case. The disk is silver, but the case is blank. “What is it?” he asks.
“You’ll see. Play it on your laptop when you go back out on the road,” I say. “Not before. Just trust me.”
He nods and snaps the disk back into the case. “Okay. I’ll wait.” He leans over and places a soft, gentle kiss on my lips. “Merry Christmas.”
We spend the next week together, as a family. I keep my contact with Daniel to a minimum. Chris tries his best not to work too much. The kids have never been happier.
And just when I feel as though we’ve made some progress, he’s gone again.