Page 76 of This Broken Heart
51.
Erin
Some years, we went to church on Christmas Eve.
Some years, we didn’t.
We weren’t exactly a devoted, church-going family. This culture is a little foreign to me. We sit in one of the back pews, in the corner. I’m on the end and when another couple sits in our row, they cause a domino effect of people scooting down the pew. Josh ends up squashed up next to me. He shifts, putting his arm around my shoulders.
It’s cozy and very distracting.
They’ve dimmed the lights, and people are taking turns playing solos. A guitar. A flute. Two sisters performing a hauntingly beautiful duet of silent night. I’m kind of amazed by all the home-grown talent in this little church.
Trace and his preschool class perform an adorable rendition of The Little Drummer Boy. Trace can’t stand still, but he does the motions like a pro. I can’t stop grinning.
I can feel a chuckle rumble through Josh’s chest and we glance at each other, sharing an amused grin. Josh tightens his arm around me and I feel myself just melting into him. It’s nice, the familiar music. The soft glow of a candlelit service. I can see the appeal.
If every church service was like this, maybe I’d think about coming more often.
When they start passing out candles, I lean in to whisper to Josh. “What’s happening?”
“We’re going to sing now.”
“Christmas carols?” I whisper.
He nods, tipping his candle against his neighbor’s. When his is lit, he turns and lights mine.
“By candlelight?”
I’m probably grinning like an idiot. I can feel the smile stretching across my face. But I’m just so damn excited. I didn’t think I’d get a chance to sing carols this year, and here I am melding my voice with hundreds of people. Josh holds his candle in one hand, slipping the other around my waist. We don’t need to look at the hymnals. I know these words by heart. I let the words sail from my lips, joy suffusing my body from head to toe. I was in the choir in high school, but that was pretty much the end of my singing career. Singing with a group is like a balm for the soul.
Josh’s thumb slides up and down my spine and I glance up at him, realizing he’s not singing at all. He’s just watching me with a quiet smile on his lips.
Almost like… he’s just listening to me.
My cheeks get warm and I lean my head into his chest to avoid his searching stare. There’s something kind of magical about the church on a night like this. It just sweeps you up. I find myself caught in the spell, until just as quickly, it’s over.
The thing about candle lit services is that they’re late at night.
Too late for a gussied up two-year-old and an energetic preschooler. Maven must have fallen asleep at some point during the service. Keith carries her to the truck himself. Josh carries Trace, who insists he’s not tired in the least.
About a mile down the road, both kids are sound asleep.
I glance over at Josh. His features are just visible in the dim light from the dash. He’s got a faraway look in his eye. I’m betting he’s trying to wade through the memories dredged up by the Christmas season.
I doubt he wants to talk about it. I sure as shit don’t want to talk about dad. But I want him to know he isn’t alone. So I just reach out and brush my fingers over the back of his hand. He glances at me; the frown easing from his features, and weaves his fingers through mine.
We drive down Josh’s lane. His house is lit up with colorful lights. I carry Maven and he takes Trace. We quietly pass through the house, settling them in their beds.
I stop in the living room, glancing at the tree. “We forgot to put out cookies. You should take one of the gingerbread men and pretend Santa took a bite out of it.”
“Okay,” He turns to the kitchen and I follow behind him.
I start to button up my coat. “I wrapped all the presents. They’re in the garage underneath that old blue tarp.”
He puts two cookies on a plate, pausing to look at me. “Wait, are you going back tonight?”
“Yeah.” I glance at his worried expression and laugh. “Josh, we already talked about this.”