Page 26 of Christmas Treasures (Sugarville Grove #6)

MAX

B y the time they got back to the apartment, snow was falling again—light and steady, dusting the edges of the windshield, gathering on the branches of the tree still tied down in the truck bed.

Max parked and killed the engine but didn’t move right away.

He felt sad and tired and worn down. And he had no idea what to do for the little girl with the wan, pale face in the back seat.

Bianca unbuckled herself and climbed out of the SUV, walking toward the door that led up to their apartment.

He followed behind her. She climbed each step as if her shoes were filled with wet sand, shoulders hunched. At the top, she waited for him to unlock the door and then went in without a word.

She didn’t take off her coat. Didn’t ask for water or anything to eat. She simply walked to her room and shut the door. Not loud. Not angry. Just utterly sad and defeated. He knew the feeling.

Max stood in the kitchen a moment, still wearing his coat, keys in one hand, unsure of what to do.

Should he go to her? What would help her the most?

It was one thing to feel this rejection himself, but knowing how much it hurt her was the worst thing of all.

It was his fault. Trusting a woman who clearly wasn’t equipped for what he and Bianca had to offer.

He heard a soft, stifled sob. And another.

This would not do. He had to comfort her somehow.

He crossed the apartment in three strides and stood outside her door, freezing from uncertainty.

The sobs grew louder—quiet, hiccuping gasps that didn’t belong in the chest of someone so small.

They weren’t angry or tantrum-fueled. They were grief.

Max knocked once, softly. “Bianca?”

No answer. Just a muffled cry.

He opened the door.

She sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, still wearing her coat and hat. Max perched on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry about what happened with the tree. I thought she’d like it.”

Bianca shook her head, tearing her hat from her head and letting it fall to the floor. “Non è colpa tua.” It’s not your fault.

He sat fully on the end of the bed and opened his arms. She crawled into his lap and buried her face in his chest. He held her, stroking her hair and letting her cry.

A memory came to him.

He was ten years old, sitting in the loft of the old barn, jeans scuffed, heart cracked. His best friend, Ethan, had told him that morning—in front of everyone—that he was annoying. You always try too hard, Max. No one thinks you're funny. Stop acting like an idiot. You’re embarrassing yourself.

Max laughed as though it was nothing. He laughed too loud, as always.

He rode the bus home with his brothers, walking down their long driveway toward home.

If any of them noticed how quiet he was, they didn’t comment, just joked and played around as they always did.

Instead of following the other boys inside, he headed to the barn and climbed into the loft and stayed there. Alone.

His dad found him sometime later, knees tucked up, crying.

Dad didn’t ask questions. He didn’t push. But he sat beside him and waited for Max to tell him what was wrong.

Max wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his flannel shirt and told him what Ethan had said to him.

His father nodded, a flicker of anger in his eyes before he masked it. “Sounds to me like this boy isn’t your friend. Friends lift each other up, not tear each other down.”

“Am I annoying?” Max asked in a small voice.

“You? Annoying? I don’t think that’s possible.

You’re a good boy. A kind one. And you know that sometimes laughing is the only thing you can do when things are bad.

Don’t lose that, buddy. Life’s hard sometimes.

People can be cruel. But a pure, generous heart can fight for what’s right despite it all. ”

“I just want people to like me. I’m not smart like my brothers, so I have to try to make people laugh.”

“Listen to me now. You’re very smart. Creative and charismatic. And you know, good senses of humor, which you have in abundance, are a sign of intelligence.”

“They are?”

“For sure. Your brain works a little differently than the other boys’, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid.

Your mom and I know you. Better than anyone.

Even yourself at this point in your life.

And someday you’re going to look back and understand why God made you the way you are.

He does everything with a purpose. To him, and to your mother and me, you’re exactly as you should be.

As far as what other people say to us—this Ethan, for example—we can’t let that change us.

You know who you are, deep down. You keep lifting your head high, proud of who you are and where you came from. ”

“Okay, Dad. I will.” Even though he’d felt too old to do so, he’d crawled into his father’s strong arms and let him hold him as though he were still a baby.

And in that loving embrace, his tears had dried up and his sore heart returned to normal.

His dad and mom and brothers and the Lord above loved him, and that was enough.

Now, Max bent his head to rest against Bianca’s and whispered, “It’s all right, piccolina. I love you. I’m your family.”

Her crying became only sniffles and soft hiccups. “Ma tutti vanno via.” Her voice cracked. “Anche tu andrai via.” But everyone leaves. Even you will leave.

Max took her face in his hands and looked straight into her eyes. “Tu sei la mia famiglia adesso. Non ti lascerò mai. Siamo legati per sempre.” You’re my family now. I’ll never leave you. We’re bonded forever.

Her lip trembled. “E se ti deludo?” And if I disappoint you?

“Impossible.” He brushed her curls back. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would change my mind. I will always love you.”

She leaned her head against his chest again. They sat like that for a long time.

Finally, in a voice small but certain, she said, “Charlie è rotta. Come me.” Charlie’s broken. Like me.

Max closed his eyes, heart aching.

“Ma non puoi rimetterla insieme.” But you cannot put her back together.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to try.”

Bianca’s breath slowed. She wrapped her arms tighter around him and whispered, “Stammi vicino. E io starò vicino a te.”

Stay with me. And I’ll stay with you .

“I will, my love. I will.” And he would. For as long as he had breath in him, he would stay and protect her and champion her. No matter what.

He would be her father.

The familiar aromas from Mom’s kitchen, cinnamon-spiced apples, buttery pastry, the subtle hint of vanilla, momentarily pushed aside the sadness that had followed him around all day.

No matter how hard life could be, he could always come here and know his family would shower him with love and support.

He knew with certainty that he wouldn’t be the same man had he not had them.

Regardless, he felt terrible, as if his light had been snuffed out with no warning.

Bing Crosby’s voice lilted through the speakers as adult conversation mingled with bursts of laughter from kids watching a Christmas movie in the next room. The decorated tree cast flickering shadows across the walls.

Max paused inside the door, clutching a brown paper bag of cheese and crackers. He breathed deep, trying to dislodge the weight pressing against his chest.

Bianca stood beside him, her face tight with the effort of holding everything in. Max recognized the look—he’d seen it in the mirror this morning.

Before he could speak, Lily barreled around the corner, her face lighting up at the sight of them.

“Bianca, you’re here.” She grabbed Bianca’s hand. “We built a fort and Sophie made popcorn with M&M’s mixed in and Jack got a blanket and pillow all set up for you.”

For a moment, Bianca hesitated, her eyes darting to Max.

He nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll be in the kitchen with the grown-ups. ”

Lily tugged on Bianca’s hand. “Come on. They’re singing the ghost song—that’s the best part.”

Something in Bianca’s shoulders eased as she let herself be pulled down the hallway. Max caught a glimpse of Sophie waving from beneath a canopy of blankets, Jack scooting over to make room in their elaborate nest of pillows.

Bianca didn’t look back.

Max watched her go, a pang tugging deep in his chest. Thank God for these young people. For their pure hearts and willingness to accept a new cousin without question. He would remember their kindness when the world felt particularly ugly or mean and take comfort.

He slipped into the kitchen. For a moment, he just took it all in. The familiar scene of his loving and ever-growing family. Just two years ago neither Laney nor Abby had been part of the family and now here they were—blending in as if they’d always been there.

Mom was checking on an apple pie in the oven while his dad peeled potatoes. Abby and Laney were arranging pickles and olives on a platter and talking about the young woman old Joe Fournier had to rescue after her car got stuck in a snowbank.

“Should we do something for her?” Abby asked.

“No, we don’t want to poke into something that’s not our business,” Mom said.

“Since when?” Dad asked, chuckling.

That got a stray potato peel tossed at his head by his devoted wife.

“From what I heard, West Lawrence has taken her under his wing,” Abby said. “She’s staying out at the Lawrence farm.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Laney said.

Max drifted toward his brothers. Luke, Logan, and Nolan were clustered around the island, beers tilted, debating football.

He had to admit to himself that part of the reason he felt so crushed over Charlie was wrapped up in his desire to have what Luke and Nolan had with their wives. To be loved and accepted exactly as he was? Surely there was no better joy.

But he also had to face the facts. He’d pushed her too hard, just as he always did. He was too impulsive. Too sure everyone would succumb to his charms. How wrong he’d been.