Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Rachel lets me cry until I finally run out of tears. “I’ve ruined your holiday,” I say, as Lennox passes me a small stack of tissues from what must be a fresh box.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rachel says. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve cried?”
She’s shedding a few tears now as she continues to rub my back, though her expression seems more bittersweet than sad.
I should have been over here consoling Rachel this past month. I should have visited my dad more over these past few years. I should have been a better daughter.
A shudder goes through me as emotional exhaustion and numbness set in. Regrets will get me nowhere.
I can be a better stepdaughter to Rachel, and I can vow to be a different kind of parent when, and if, I have children of my own. I can be forgiving, and I can break down some of the walls I’ve put up on every side of me.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, standing to go to the bathroom. I feel all of their eyes on my back as I go, especially the four brothers. I don’t imagine they were expecting to have to watch me break down tonight. They’re only used to seeing my anger these days, so this must be quite a shock.
I run my hands under the cold tap water until they’re numb, and then I press them hard into my cheeks, hoping the cold will seep down through my skin. I wipe away my smeared makeup and do my best to look something close to normal before I rejoin my family.
My family.
They’re talking in low tones when I return. Lincoln’s saying something about the weather and the beach. Barrett’s eating a cookie and Rachel is sipping from her mug.
All of them turn toward me when I re-enter the room. The men look concerned; Rachel looks brighter. “Feeling better, dear?”
“Yes.” I nod my head. “I think I can keep it together now,” I add with a small laugh.
“You have to let it out sometimes,” Bronson says with his usual directness. But there’s empathy in his tone. Maybe I haven’t freaked them all out too badly.
After I settle back into my chair and take a sip of hot chocolate, which is now lukewarm at best, the gift exchange begins again.
Bronson delivers a big box to Rachel, which turns out to contain gardening equipment: a padded stool, a few sets of gloves, and tools.
The men open gifts from their mother, mostly clothes, several books for Barrett and Lincoln, assorted gadgets and accessories for Bronson and Lennox.
Memories of Christmases past come to mind, with scenes similar to this. I wonder if Rachel has any trouble selecting gifts for her sons now that they can afford to buy themselves whatever they want.
Rachel has more gifts for me too, and I feel bad that I only came with a small houseplant. The men haven’t given me anything, and I’m relieved that they apparently reached the same decision I did about not exchanging gifts. Maybe next year, after we’ve settled back into being stepsiblings.
When the bottom of the tree is empty, the cookies are nearly gone, and I’ve drained my mug, I’m about to stand and start to clean up, when Bronson and Barrett come to sit on the floor in front of my chair. Lennox and Lincoln move to sit behind them, and a dizzying sensation passes through me.
The four of them are looking at me with a mixture of hopeful smiles and serious expressions. Something’s up, and I’m not sure I’m going to like it.
Then they hand me a tiny white box wrapped with a delicate red ribbon.
28
In my heart
“What is this?” I ask, hesitant to take it from them.
“Surely you don’t think we’d forget to get a gift for you,” Barrett says, his voice softly teasing.
I glance quickly to Rachel, then back to them. “I didn’t think we’d be exchanging gifts…”
“This isn’t about an exchange,” Bronson says. “Open it, Caz.”
Hands shaking once again, I pull at one end of the ribbon and the bow comes apart. I slip off the lid and find a ring-size jewelry box, similar to the one my dad gave me, but white instead of blue, and clearly brand new.
“You really shouldn’t have,” I say, stalling, worried about what’s inside. They wouldn’t; would they? Their mother — our mother — is sitting right here.
“Open it,” Rachel says. I’m sure she must be thinking they bought earrings for me, or something similarly innocent. Maybe they did and I’m worrying over nothing.
I open the lid.
It’s not earrings.
I’m nearly blinded by the sparkle.
Inside, a large — very large — square-cut diamond shines like the sun. Surrounding it are four smaller diamonds, each as perfect as the next.
It’s not a ring you give your sister.
I risk another glance at Rachel. She merely looks curious and expectant.