Page 16 of All in for Christmas

Dean’s clearly astounded. “Your mom’s doing what ?

” We’re in the living room suiting up to go play in the snow.

Dean and I wear ski pants and jackets. An assortment of hats, mittens, and gloves lie on the sofa beside me.

I whispered the news to him while we gathered our winter weather gear from the coat closet near the front door.

Finally . Someone who sees the absurdity of the situation like I do. I guess my update on the houseboat finally sank in. “I know, right? What’s Mom thinking?”

A houseboat in Wilmington? Besides the dicey nature of that living arrangement, given potential hurricanes, that’s five and a half hours away. From Eleanor, Henry, and Scout. The dog lies snoozing by the fireplace, his head down on his front paws. From all of us, including me.

Dean’s amazement is clear. “Wow. I think that’s great!”

Wait. What?

“Great? Dean. ” I cut a glance at the kids, aware I shouldn’t say too much about their grandma in front of them. “You can’t mean it. Who relocates in December?” I choose “relocate” on purpose, guessing the kids won’t know that that means.

“What’s ’locate?” Eleanor asks. Case in point.

Ahh. I stare down at her, arriving at an answer. “It means moving someplace new.”

Her bottom lip pokes out. “Grandma’s ’locating?”

Not if I can help it. Someone’s got to save her, even if that means saving her from herself.

I know I shouldn’t have a vote on anything, being as new here as I am, but she’s my mom, after all, and I care, no matter what dimension we’re in.

I fret again about what’s happening in the other universe.

What if she takes off with Roger before I can return to stop her?

What if I lose her indefinitely in both worlds?

Dean tugs on Henry’s snowsuit, stuffing the boy’s stubby legs into the pants portion like bulging sausages, while Henry sits on his lap. They’re on the love seat while I help Eleanor from my perch on the sofa.

“Maybe this guy, Roger, is okay?” Dean suggests. “Hold up your hands, buddy,” he instructs Henry before tugging on his mittens.

I’d like a chance to see that for myself. “I told Mom we want to meet him.”

“Good. What did she say?” He adds a baby blue pom-pom hat with penguins on it that brings out Henry’s eyes.

“She’s checking their calendar.” I huff and situate Eleanor’s red reindeer hat on her head, straightening her darling pigtails beneath the fleece-lined earflaps.

Dean stands Henry on the floor in front of him, bringing the top portion of the boy’s snowsuit up and over Henry’s stout chest and securing the wide straps over his heavy sweater.

I work on Eleanor in the meantime, but she helps me, pulling up her bibs all by herself.

I snap them over her shoulders. Tighten the straps.

Her green sweater’s got candy canes on it.

Henry’s sweater is black with a snowman design.

Both sets of kiddie snow bibs are navy blue.

Dean and I wear red pants and puffy black jackets.

Before long we’re all ready to go, but I’m still fretting. It must be obvious to Dean because he notes my frown. “Well, let’s not worry about that right now,” he says. “All right?” He corrals our group toward the front door. “Let’s go build that snowman!”

He hands Eleanor a scarf and a floppy, black brimmed hat. Henry holds a carrot in his baby blue mittens. We’ll scrounge pebbles from the drive for the snowman’s eyes and “buttons” and use sticks for his arms.

The kids both cheer and I behold their cherubic faces. How can I be grumpy about Mom’s move with this right in front of me? I can’t. So I open the front door and an icy blast of wind bursts toward us, but we soldier on—out onto the porch.

Dean summarily studies the lawn, now piled deep with fluffy white stuff. “Troops!” he says, pointing toward the yard. “Onward!”

One hour later, Dean lifts Henry up to add the final touch to our snowman.

He tilts Henry forward and the boy plunges the carrot in deep, right in the center of the snowman’s face.

Unfortunately, he sticks in the wrong end—the skinny one.

So after a brief second, the carrot drops to the ground.

Gravity. “No worries,” Dean says, and he bends and picks it up.

Hands it to Henry. Turns it around in the proper position in Henry’s mitten.

He leans toward the little boy and says kindly, “Let’s try again. ”

Henry nods seriously and they do.

Success!

I clap my gloves together and cheer. So do the kids.

Dean’s incredibly handsome in the snow, his face tinged pink from the cold, his dark eyes shining beneath his black stocking cap.

I’ve got on a white pom-pom hat and a matching scarf.

They’re both covered with snow and ice crystals.

My nose stings from the chill and my fingers tingle beneath my gloves.

“We should probably bring the kids indoors,” I say to Dean, and he nods.

“Good idea.”

He takes Henry by the hand, and I turn toward Eleanor, but she surprises me, holding a big snowball in her hands. “Eleanor! What?”

“Merry Christmas, Mommy!” she says and hurls it at me. She’s short so it lands on my leg. I laugh.

“Oh, you little rascal.” I tussle the top of her hat and she stoops down for more snow. “Now, wait one minute.” I hold up a finger.

Dean enjoys the action from the sidelines. He makes a snowball for Henry. “Want to try it, buddy?”

“What?” I cry. “Not at me!” I feel totally ganged up on as Henry lumbers over, the snow halfway up to his knees. “Merry Kissmas, Mommy!” He hurls his snowball with both hands. It plops down in front of my boots.

I shake my finger at him and smirk. “Good try, though.” Then narrow my eyes at Dean. “You’re responsible for this malarky,” I challenge, hands on my hips.

He thumbs his chest, all false innocence. “Who, me?”

I pick up Henry’s dropped snowball and pound more snow into the orb. “Now you’re going to get it,” I tell Dean.

Eleanor chortles. “Go get him, Mommy!”

Dean playfully backs away then turns, darting behind the snowman with his arms outstretched.

“Dean Burton!” I shout. “Come back here!”

“Why?” he shouts, dancing away from me and springing from side to side so I can’t aim properly at him. I try. No—this way. That. “So you can clobber me with a snowball?” He snickers. “Don’t think so.” I huff and decide I need a team.

“Here,” I say, handing my big, heavy snowball to Eleanor. “This one’s for you.” Excitement lights up her face.

I make another snowball for Henry. “And this one’s for you!”

Dean watches askance while I make my own snowball and motion the kids closer. They huddle in, lumbering through the snow. “Let’s go get Daddy,” I whisper slyly.

Eleanor’s eyes sparkle but Henry just grins. I’m not sure he knows what’s happening, but he understands this is family fun. “O-tay!”

Dean shouts with a glove held by his mouth, “What’s going on over there?”

I continue whispering to the kids and they giggle. “On three.” Solemn nods. “One,” I say firmly. “Two.”

Dean strides toward us, his boots crunching through the snow. “Is everything all rig—?”

“Three!” I shout and we wheel on Dean. I lob my snowball at him. It hits his chest! “Score!”

Eleanor shouts “Wheee!” and does the same. Her missile smacks her daddy in his middle and Dean gawks in surprise.

Henry gives it his best shot. His snowball arcs through the air—but only slightly—and lands on Dean’s boot. The kids giggle in hysterics. I’m laughing too and holding my sides. The look on Dean’s face is priceless.

He arches his eyebrows at me. “That was very sneaky, Mommy.”

Uh-oh. He’s making a new snowball of his own, and somehow I don’t think he’s targeting the kids.

“Dean!” I hold up my gloves and back away. “Enough’s enough.”

“Fine to say now.” He strides toward me, and I start to run. He chases after me.

“Dean!” I scream but I’m chuckling. “Stop!”

He’s closing in, but I run faster. Still.

Not fast enough. It’s hard to move in all this winter weather stuff, flailing about like a scarecrow.

Dean lobs his snowball at my back and— oof —it lands dead center.

The kids cackle when he grabs me by the waist. “Very funny.” His husky breath is on my neck and my breath catches.

“It was funnier”—I huff and puff—“when we were throwing snowballs at you .”

“Ha. Ha. ” He holds me snugly around the middle and kisses my cheek, and sizzling tingles shoot through me. “You’re freezing!” he says in surprise. Except now, I’m all warmed up. My face burning. My heart hammering. Oh nooo.

I think I’m falling for Dean. I think I’m falling for all of them.

That’s inconvenient.

Dean motions everyone toward the house, where our Christmas tree gleams prettily in the front window and icicle lights drip from the porch. “Great job with the snowman, everyone!”

Snow pounds us from above as he leads Henry by the hand.

Eleanor reaches out, latching onto mine, and my heart thumps.

I’m not supposed to develop an attachment to these children, because I’m bound to be leaving here soon.

But it’s hard not to be charmed by how Eleanor trusts me instinctively as her mom, and by Henry’s darling garbled phrases.

I hope I’ve been a good mom to them, and when they grow up one day, they’ll look back with happy memories.

My brain freezes up like someone’s jammed cogs on a wheel.

I can’t start thinking of Eleanor and Henry as mine.

Only, in a very-hard-to-grasp way, they are.

My heart twists painfully. Dean is also my husband, but that won’t last, I remind myself.

None of this is going to last, so there is no future in this realm.

Dean holds open the door, and we’re enveloped by a cheery warmth when we step indoors. “How about we get the kids out of their snow stuff and light a fire? We can have an early supper and make some hot cocoa.”