"You just go on." Cale motioned for her to follow behind his sons, and closed the door. He turned to the snowman and asked, "What would Christmas be without a tree?"
"Well, boys, what do you think?" Cale stood the little tree upon its cut trunk and gave it a twirl.
The boys looked at it in horror.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"What's that?" They frowned.
"This," Cale told them, "is our Christmas tree."
"That's not a Christmas tree!"
"That's a twig!"
Crestfallen, Cale stepped back to take another look at the little tree he had chopped from where it had grown at the foot of the porch steps, trying to see it through his sons' eyes. It had been the only tree he could get to without running the risk of being lost in the storm.
It was a bit... scraggly.
"Why, that tree's just right," Quinn announced, having seen the look of disappointment cross Cale's face. "It'll be wonderful, once we decorate it You'll see, guys. It'll be perfect."
"'We don't have any decorations," Evan wailed.
"Then we'll make them," she told them. "Eric, get out that art kit of yours."
"Oh, brother," the boys moaned joylessly.
"Here." Quinn handed Eric a pair of scissors and a pile of construction paper. "You cut out strips, like this." She folded the paper into strips of equal width, then cut out the first two.
From the art kit, she withdrew a container of paste and, removing the lid, told Evan, "And you can glue the strips together into a chain, see?"
She demonstrated, then held up the two resulting circles. Cutting one more strip, she added the third circle and handed them to Evan.
"We used to do that, Val and I did," Cale said softly from behind her. "With our grandmother. We never had anything on our tree that we hadn't made."
Quinn turned to him, wanting to put her arms around him. From somewhere across the years, the old Cale had come back. She recognized every fiber of him now, recalled all the hurts he had shared with her, all the pain of his mother leaving and his grandmother dying, the shame of having a father who came home only when he had nowhere else to go. "We made things, too," she told him as she sorted through the pile of colored paper until she found the white. Sitting next to him at the table, she cut wide strips, then folded the strips into squares, over and over until the entire strip was little more than two inches wide. With the scissors, she clipped and trimmed, then unfolded the strip and held it up for him to see.
"It's a chain of hearts," Quinn said simply, holding it out to him.
He met her eyes from across the table, then reached out and took the simple gift she offered, his hand lingering on hers for just a moment.
"Hearts are for girls," Eric said, looking over his father's shoulder.
Cale frowned, and began to fold one of the white strips that Quinn had cut and laid upon the table. When the paper was nothing more than a square, he cut as he had seen her do, then held the paper up so that the hearts unfolded, as hers had done. Smiling, she took his chain and pasted it to the one she had made, and for a long moment, it seemed that time stood still, and they were alone.
"Daddy, are you going to let her hang hearts on our tree?" Eric asked suspiciously.
"I would let her hang whatever she wants on our tree," Cale said softly.
"Boy," Evan grumbled, wondering what had gotten into his dad.
"How might Christmas cookies look on the tree?" Quinn asked.
"Christmas cookies?" The boys asked in unison. Now she had their attention. "Like the ones we made yesterday?"
"Different ones today. Special ones to put on the tree," she told them.
"Yea!" They clapped their hands, and the little demons turned back into little boys again.
"You guys finish the chain," she instructed. "And while you do that, I'll make us some lunch and get stuff ready for cookies."
"How long does the chain have to be?" Eric frowned.
Quinn tried to gauge how long it would take her to make soup from a can and the first batch of cookie dough.
"The chain should reach from the door to the sofa." She nodded, figuring that ought to buy her a little time and keep the boys occupied.
Cale watched her later as she worked with his sons, as she rolled out the dough and patiently showed them how to cut shapes. He watched the small faces of the boys, so intent on learning the new skills, so pleased with their efforts, so eager for Quinn's attention and approval. Their faces were wonders to behold, the boys' and the woman's, and the simple joy of the scene settled around him. As the warmth of the day spread through him, it occurred to him that he could not remember the last time he had been this happy. He wanted to hold on to it with both hands. Instead he leaned against the counter and willed himself not to weep at the sight of the beautiful woman and the two beautiful boys who were busy cutting uneven stars out of cookie dough.
It was all exactly the way he had dreamed it would be. He wondered if it was true what they said, that it was never too late for dreams to come true.
"The tree looks pretty good, fellas," Quinn commented as Cale prepared to carry one young boy under each arm into the waiting tub of warm water.
"It's a great tree," Eric sang gleefully, "and we made it ourselves."
"It doesn't have any sparkly lights," noted Evan.
"It doesn't need lights." Eric tried to swat at his brother. "It's like a pioneer tree, and pioneers didn't have 'lecticity. Right, Dad?" "Right, son." Cale hoisted the slipping boy a little higher and headed down the hallway.