Dreaming of His Snowed In Kiss - Jessie Gussman Page 0,18
between them.
This was with his favorite time of year. The anticipation and promise of new life.
Seeds in the ground, plants coming up, everything wide open. All the mistakes and bad luck of the past year forgotten. All the possibilities of the growing season ahead, ripe with opportunities and the thought that anything could happen with just a little hard work, having the chips fall in his favor, and the year could be better than anything he’d ever dreamed.
He wasn’t afraid of hard work, and he felt that luck followed that. He wasn’t afraid to dream big either.
Except this year wasn’t shaping up to be like anything he’d planned. Certainly not like his dreams.
“I think she’d like them to be with her during her last days,” his mom said slowly, pinching her pant leg together before brushing it out and looking up at him. “I think she’s hoping that she can stay with you...until the end.”
He never intended to meet his mother’s gaze, wanted to look anywhere but, but somehow as his eyes skimmed across hers, they caught and held.
Her expression held compassion, and her hand squeezed his while the breeze ruffled her hair and she pushed it back. “I understand that’s not what you want. I’m sure I can make arrangements for someone else to help. We could find a bunch of different places to take all the children.” Her eyebrows shifted just a little of that, and he figured she was probably thinking about him and his siblings and how they’d been farmed out when his parents died.
“I’ll keep them.”
How could he say anything else? How could he not do for these kids what Race and Penny had done for him? “Until after she passes.”
Penny nodded. “It’s inevitable.”
“How long?”
“The doctor didn’t know. Could be days. She could last months. He’d said less than six.”
West nodded. Not surprised.
“His biggest concern was managing the pain. We’ve gotten some prescriptions, and hospice will help.”
West’s jaw twitched. Hopefully what the doctor had done would work. The kids didn’t need to see their mother suffering as well as dying.
“There were two things she’d said to me that she wanted more than anything.”
Finally, something he might be able to take action on. “Yeah?”
“This was in the waiting room. Before she heard the diagnosis. I think she thought she had more time.”
Didn’t they all? Didn’t everyone think they had more time? Because they thought they had forever, they took the people they loved for granted? Thinking there would always be another day, another weekend, another vacation. No one ever thought it was going to be the last.
As a teenager, that was certainly the way he’d thought.
Even though he’d experienced the shortness of life and the abruptness of its ending, he still made the same mistake.
“I think that’s a mistake we all make.” It was him being honest.
Penny nodded. There was no way she couldn’t agree with that. “She talked about how Gabriella had been born the day after Christmas. And how she’d wanted Gabriella to have a Christmas with her. Just one. For the pictures and all that. I know that’s not going to happen now. Not without a miracle.”
His mother didn’t have to ask him to pray. Before she’d even stopped, even though he knew it would make for a long year for him, he’d asked the Lord to give Minnie a Christmas with her kids.
“That would give her four months more than the six the doctor thought she could have.”
“I’m pretty sure the doctor was being very optimistic when he said six months. I would say it’s more a matter of weeks,” Penny said slowly.
“I appreciate you guys sending meals out. That’s been helpful.” Maybe it was a bit of a subject change, but he didn’t want to talk about death any more than the next guy. Didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to face it. And now it was going to be in his house.
“Poppy has organized all of that. If you want to thank someone, you can thank her.” His mother turned her hand over, patting his knuckles. “She’s a good girl.”
“I know she is. Too good for me.” He didn’t mean for that last bit to slip out, but since it had... “I don’t want people talking about us. There’s nothing there. There never will be. Maybe you can make sure people know that.”
His mother bit her lips, and that couldn’t be a smile at the corners of her mouth. Couldn’t be. They were talking about four children who